SciFi Story: ANIMAL INSTINCTS
Check out my short story below - A Boston detective and a psychic cat must team up to stop a satanic building contractor from stealing souls...
ANIMAL INSTINCTS
Jill Seacrest's attempt to bury her emotions was not going so well. While the young CSI poured through open case files at the Boston Police Department's Crime Lab, the recent deaths of her parent's best friends stole her concentration. Jill had a hard time coming to terms with the department's official ruling: Mary and Benjamin Heinrich had murdered each other. Jill's supervisor, Lt. Det. Stanford Carter, knew his rookie officer had every right to be upset. Carter believed a third party played a hand in the double homicide. But the veteran detective operated in the real world. Hunches didn’t play well with a jury. Prosecutors couldn't exhibit gut instinct in an evidence bag nor put it on a witness stand. Carter repeated this fact to himself every time he felt his blood pressure rising.
Seacrest and Carter were hot and heavy to nail Aldo Mollini for the murder of the Heinrich's. He had been contracted by the late couple to remodel two bathrooms in their 12 room Cambridge mansion. Mollini had ample motive. His contract with the Heinrich's stipulated he be paid in advance, in full. The baths were far from completion as Mollini had only begun to gut the downstairs shower stall when the murders occurred.
“Isn't it convenient for Mr. Mollini,” Jill complained to Stanford. “He gets to collect one hundred grand all for just tearing a few tiles off a bathroom wall.” This theory ate away at Carter as well. But the veteran detective would offer little clues to his crime team that he was upset. Stanford employed the Zen technique of meditation to help him cope with the vicious crimes he investigated on a daily basis. Seacrest, on the other hand, was not doing quite so good a job at concealing her feelings. The rookie officer had dropped her pen twice in addition to spilling the contents of a case folder in the crime lab hallway. Carter suggested he and Seacrest take a coffee break to discuss the case. The lieutenant detective frequently looked for an excuse to partake in his favorite beverage. He also could not deny his ever-increasing attraction towards Seacrest.
“Jill, I am going to keep a close watch on Mr. Mollini. I will share something with you; but you have got to promise me you will not act on this information.” Carter paused to pour a steaming cup of espresso into Seacrest's over sized coffee mug. The young CSI squirmed anxiously in her break room chair. As Jill's eyes grew wide with wonder, Carter's mind flashed back to last month when he had saved her life. Seacrest had been taken hostage by the crime lab's former medical examiner in her apartment. With gun in hand, Carter had come to her rescue. All it took was one shot to incapacitate the crazed coroner, who was now serving several life sentences for murder. Carter knew all too well crime scene investigators often walked a fine line to maintain their sanity. For this reason, Stanford felt compelled to offer his young CSI a small bone to quiet the inner voice in her head. He didn't need another member of his crime team jumping off the edge.
* * *
Celeste, the Tonkinese cat, paraded on the kitchen counter like it was a Paris runway. Just a few months ago, the felines intrusion on the counter top would have resulted in a desperately unsuccessful scolding from her owners.
In recent days, Marlene and Carl Anderson were simply too distracted to reprimand their vivacious pet. The Anderson's had also been friends of Mary and Benjamin Heinrich. And just like Jill, the Anderson's couldn't believe the couple was dead – let alone murdered by each other.
Marlena and Carl were comforted that Celeste was safe and sound. The Anderson's had sold the cat to the Heinrich's, who had been keenly interested in acquiring the pure bred feline affectionately referred to as a Tonk. As soon as Marlene heard the murders reported on the evening news, she rushed to the crime scene to retrieve Celeste. She struck up a conversation with Lt. Detective Carter who learned the Anderson's had also contracted Mollini to work on their house. This was the news Carter was about to divulge to his rookie CSI. The department would continue to keep tabs on the contractor; but outright casing of Mollini or his helper would not be tolerated. This advisory had come down from the district attorney who warned any encroachment upon Mollini's civil rights could easily result in a lawsuit against the city.
Aldo Mollini had told police he had been out of the house buying supplies when the murders occurred. Detectives had confirmed his story by tracking a credit card purchase he made at the local home improvement center. The cashier told the Boston PD she remembered a man who looked like Mollini's helper; but she could not say for certain if she had seen Aldo himself in her store. Carter had decided to keep this tidbit from Jill. He wanted to calm Seacrest down, not fan the flames of fury.
Marlene Anderson was sure of one thing - Celeste had witnessed the murders. Every time she retrieved an iron skillet from her kitchen cabinet, the cat would start baying hysterically and pacing the floor in circles. This was because an iron skillet had been used to bash in the head of Ms. Heinrich. Celeste would often repeat the same Shakespearean-like performance every time Carl used his carving knife. A similar type of utensil had been thrust into the stomach of Benjamin Heinrich. Everybody knew Mollini and the cat were linked to the Heinrich household. But what degree were they separated from the murders? Both the Anderson's and the Boston PD would continue to keep a wary eye on Mollini. Consequently, each was way too absorbed with the contractor to pay attention to Celeste – the sole witness to the crime.
* * *
Aldo Mollini finished work early one gloomy, November afternoon. Marlene Anderson was only too happy to consent to his early departure from her house. Every time she tried to greet the contractor, her true fears conspired to plaster a worried look upon her pale, alabaster-colored face. She knew Mollini must be aware of her suspicions. How could she not suspect him? He wore the same stained overalls to her house everyday. He also stared through the kitchen window at her when he took his outdoor smoke breaks. Marlene had no doubt, Mollini was a grade A - first class weirdo. But she had paid Aldo in full as required by contract. If she were to terminate the work, she would be out over 100 grand with two gutted bathrooms and an unfinished backyard Jacuzzi. Marlene and Carl decided to weather out the storm and allow Mollini to complete his work. The couple's late night discussions did not sit well with Celeste. The gray-faced Tonk leaped back and forth from their laps in an attempt to dissuade them.
Clearly, Celeste did not believe money was more important than her owner's lives. But try as she might, the blue-eyed ball of fur was not successful at changing their minds.
* * *
An errant gust of wind thrust a branch against Mollini's bedroom window. The self-proclaimed “remodel professional” was back at his Wellesley Hills dwelling. Nearly all the orange and red colored leafs had departed the large tree that dwarfed his charcoal gray house. The decay of the leaves reminded Mollini of human frailty. Next to pilfering money from unsuspecting homeowners, Aldo was deeply possessed with remodeling his own humanity. He desperately wanted to evolve into a powerful force. Aldo was not modest. He desired power on the level with nature. On the way to this transformation, Mollini theorized some sacrifices might be necessary. Mollini's twisted mind believed controlling the life and death of others would one day allow him to control his own life and death. It would also line his pockets quite well along the way. He fell asleep a few hours later with a book resting upon his chest. Its title was: The Occult and Self-Empowerment…
Drifting off to sleep, Mollini dreams exact details of his murders. A demented play-by-play accompanies the atrocity.
“He draws his back his arm and lets it fly! Wow, he’s really letting the skillet do the work for him. You saw right folks. A whack to the head of Ms. Heinrich splits her skull open!! Yes Sir, fans. Did you get a load of that delivery?"
The announcer shoves the mike in the victim’s face.
“What do you have to say for yourself Ms. Heinrich?”
Groggy and bleeding profusely, Heinrich gasps. “Ple-eease stop! I’ll give you what you want Mollini!”
“I’ve already got what I want. And it’s finders keepers.” Mollini explains his demonic hostage taking in a song - “I’ve got your whole soul in my hands, I’ve got your whole soul in my hands.” Benjamin Heinrich lies on the floor gutted like a fish. He’s very dead.
The announcer assures a home audience the roughhousing is all in good fun. “Don’t worry, she’ll be up and about in no time.”
“Not if I can help it,” Mollini grunts. He swings the pan again, connecting another blow to Heinrich’s head. But Mollini is only an apparition. Ms. Heinrich’s own hand is beating her to death. She slumps to the ground defeated. Looking up, she sees her reflection in Mollini’s black eyes. But it’s no reflection. Her soul has been transferred like money into a savings account. The banker is Mollini. Power surges through him. It’s orgasmic. He closes his eyes and let’s out a sigh. He thinks to himself: you would never have made good use of that soul anyway. He hums to himself and goes back to gutting the bathroom in his merry dream. The announcer starts screaming, realizing his flesh is burning from the inside out. In a few minutes, the annoying man and the microphone are charcoal briquettes.
In his bed, Mollini rolls over satisfied. He wraps a red and white comforter around his portly frame. The dream is as good as the real thing. With a smile on his face he sleeps soundly. In the morning he awakes refreshed, ready to begin another day of demonology.
* * *
Beep. Beep. Beep. The digital answering machine spouted a series of consecutive electronic burps. Carl Anderson was in the midst of programming the electronic device given to him as a birthday gift from his wife. The shrill chirping noises intrigued the gray and white, Tonkinese. Celeste cocked her head carefully each time Carl programmed a new number into the machine's speed dialing menu. The perky feline wanted to make sure Carl entered the next digits into the machine as if his life depended upon it.
In a way - it did. Carl was about to enter Stanford Carter's personal cell number into the machine. Carter urged Marlene to call him, anytime – day or night – if warranted. Mr. Anderson paused a moment to ask if wife if he should put Carter's number before Aunt Nora's. Marlene brushed off her husband's inquiry briskly, stating it made no difference to her. Carl's instinct told him his wife was upset over Mollini. It also told reminded him of Marlene's frequent annoyance with Nora. The prying relative never felt a hint of shame when pressing Marlene to reveal the most personal secrets of their marriage. And right now, Marlene was teetering on a steep enough precipice without being grilled by Nosy Nora.
Carl decided Carter's number should precede Nora's. “Either way you look at it,” Carl laughed to himself, “they're both distress calls.” But the stern look resonating in Celeste's jewel-like eyes should have told Carl this was no joking matter. Carl never looked up to notice how enraptured his cat had become with his task. Celeste pounced off the table when the programming was finished, arching her back as if the weight of the world was squarely placed upon it.
* * *
Mollini arrived bright and early at the Anderson's the next day. The contractor eerily greeted Marlene with the phrase “it won't be much longer now.” The short and cryptic statement sent a chill down Ms. Anderson's spine. Celeste also seemed spooked.
The cat pricked her ears up, trying to discern exactly what Mollini had meant. Celeste's usual motorboat like purr had been non-existent the past few days. More and more, the cat seemed like she was preparing to carry out a plan of great importance. However, to Marlene, Celeste's expression constantly conveyed a certain air of nobility. Whether she was dragging around a toy mouse or eating her dinner, Celeste always seemed to be silently hinting that her actions warranted front-page headlines. The look upon the felines puss was no less earnest today. There was no question in her mind. She was on a quest to protect the Anderson's. And that mission was no less urgent than saving the entire galaxy.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Marlene's anxiety began to subside. A weariness took grip of her body. Lacking a full night's rest for the past week, Marlene was succumbing more to her exhaustion than to fear. She had asked Carl to retrieve a sleeping aid at the local drugstore. Silent ramblings began to penetrate her mind during Carl's absence.
Aldo sat in the bathroom, entranced in deep meditation, sifting subliminal messages through the confines of the ravaged first floor bath. Celeste paused a moment from her perch atop the kitchen counter to listen. The telepathic communication was too faint for the felines ears. Nevertheless, the Tonk refused to move from this spot all day. For Celeste, this position provided the last line of defense for her owner. She diligently resumed her bath by licking her paws after confirming no danger was imminent. Unfortunately for Celeste and the Anderson's, Mollini was no longer dealing in the realm of physical barriers. He had penetrated a psychic wall, which was now in the process of crumbling.
* * *
“Do you think we could take a casual swing by the Anderson's?” Jill Seacrest asked her boss. “It just happens to be on the way to my favorite sub shop, anyway.”
Stanford Carter mulled over the CSI's request in his mind. There would be probably be no harm in taking the route, which would place the detectives in close proximity to the Anderson's neighborhood. As long as it didn't include outright surveillance of the Anderson home, there should be no harm,” Carter told his conscious. Moreover, his stomach was grumbling for some nutrition – even if it came in the guise of a pastrami sandwich. The pair had just processed a local convenience store, which had been robbed the previous evening. There was no reason further analysis of the scene couldn't be suspended for a few hours. All the thief had taken was a few grocery items, no cash. The investigation hardly warranted the efforts of two officers when murderers were loose on the streets of Boston. At least, that's what Carter told a voice, which played devil's advocate in his mind. The lieutenant detective navigated his vehicle towards the eatery, casting a few sidelong glances at his cell phone. Stanford wanted to make sure the phone was powered on. But there was no need for the detective to check on his intuitive senses. His gut instinct was always on standby.
* * *
Mollini's diabolical plan was proceeding on course. This time, the unfortunate couple would not be persuaded to off each other. Aldo wanted to try another tact with the Anderson's. He would command them to commit suicide. But just like the Heinrich’s, the maniacal contractor would leave no forensic evidence connecting the killings with him. Mollini laughed arrogantly under his breath, dreaming of creating another perfect crime. Not a trace of his DNA would grace the scene. In fact, he would be nowhere the couple as each inhaled their final breath. The Anderson's would not only succumb to Mollini's demented wishes; but be also deprived of any posthumous satisfaction of implicating their murderer. Mollini was confident he would achieve his results. But he was too quick to discount the one thing that could still thwart his plans – animal instinct. Fearing no recrimination, Mollini abandoned the silent approach. He began to audibly channel his telepathic wishes through the poorly constructed bathroom walls.
* * *
Marlene Anderson began to pop the sleeping tablets into her mouth. She stood in the kitchen, glassy eyed, while her husband left her in peace. Marlene thought she heard a man’s voice emanating from the bathroom. But as soon as she tried to investigate, Mollini’s telepathic stranglehold paralyzed her. Carl immediately went back to the garage after unwittingly dispensing the death warrant for his beloved wife. A voice was instructing Carl to sit in his vehicle with the engine idling. He was to remain there until carbon monoxide would send him on a permanent vacation.
* * *
Jill Seacrest stared at Stanford in uncomfortable silence while the detective munched on his pastrami hero. She looked like she was about to burst. Carter demanded the CSI to spit out whatever was preoccupying her mind, before he spit out his sandwich.
“Do you think this Mollini has psychic powers?” Jill blurted out.
The waitress at the counter named Wendy cast a wary eye in their direction. She hoped the pair would not become too immersed in their conversation to forget her tip.
“You mean he forced the Heinrich's to murder each other,” Stanford answered.
Carter swished a swig of coffee in mouth as if he was weighing the possibility.
“It would explain why we have no physical evidence linking Mollini with the murders,” Carter theorized.
“What if he preys upon the Anderson's in the same fashion?” Jill cautioned.
They will be helpless to call for aid if Mollini does possess this power. And don't look at me like I'm crazy. Did you know Czarina Alexandra fell under the hypnotic influence of a monk named Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin in the early 20th century? Even famous Russian chess masters have accused hypnotists of impairing their skills during tournaments. There are also plenty of well-substantiated cases of this type of trickery being performed in Moscow during the last one hundred years. Russian President Vladimir Putin even went so far as to outlaw any psychotronic influence which intends to cause harm.”
“This is all very fascinating, Jill. But we cannot make a move against Mollini without probable cause. We don't have any proof Mollini is influencing anybody with either his mind or a psychotronic weapon.”
Stanford silently cursed his predilections for following procedure. Deep down, he knew Jill was on to something.
* * *
Celeste did not care for the way her owner was behaving. It deeply disturbed her that Marlene was digesting one pill after another. The process had started to cause Marlene to wobble as if she was off balance. Celeste telepathically began to hear the auditory accompaniment of Mollini's rambling as well.
Celeste catapulted herself towards the living room located adjacent to the kitchen and the gutted first floor bathroom. The cat pawed furiously at the digital communication center until she accessed the speed dial menu. Pressing the button labeled “number 4” she dialed Stanford Carter's cell phone.
Stanford fumbled for his ringing phone, spilling his cup of coffee on the delicatessen counter top in the process. Cat cries quickly followed. A strange Tonkinese opera was emanating from Carter's phone. The whining was followed by the outgoing message of the Anderson's answering machine. Carter nudged Jill to head for the car. If looks could kill, Wendy the waitress would now be in a penitentiary. Wendy ran like a bull in Spain after the two patrons who had bolted from their seats without paying. “The mayor was right about cutting your salaries,” Wendy screamed at the officers who disappeared between the clanging of the shop's welcoming chimes.
* * *
Celeste was not quite finished manipulating the machine. The Tonk was on a mission. Celeste pressed the preset button to call Nosy Nora. She was depending upon the women's curious nature to help bring Mollini to justice.
Back in the garage, Carl's eye lids began to flutter as he inhaled the lethal contaminates emanating from his car. And in the kitchen, Marlene found herself involuntarily slumped against a cabinet. Her face had gone slack. In the bathroom, the arrogant murderer stood his ground waiting to claim the couple's life force.
* * *
Seacrest had called for the deployment of EMT's as well as backup during the anxiety-riddled trek to the Anderson's. By the time she and Carter had arrived, the Anderson's were only minutes from death. Stanford ordered Jill to cover the back of the dwelling while he attempted to gain access from the front. Fortunately, Carl had left the entrance open. But Carter wasted valuable seconds canvassing the 12-room mansion for Mollini. The perpetrator had extracted himself from the house as quick as a cockroach.
However, Stanford was undaunted in his pursuit. He soon located Mollini. He and Seacrest were engaged in a standoff in the backyard.
Carter could not believe his eyes. Mollini had commanded Seacrest to drop her weapon and she was complying! Jill slowly bent her body forward as if she was performing calisthenics. In another second, the weapon she was holding would be dropped harmlessly to the ground.
Stanford yelled at Mollini to freeze. The crazed contractor paid no heed. Mollini fixed his gaze upon Stanford, attempting to lure him into a cationic haze. Repeating the phrase “I am the only one in control of my mind,” Carter utilized his Zen techniques to repel Mollini's efforts.
Realizing his mind control would not take hold upon Carter, Molllini turned about face to flee. Just as he did, Aldo found himself staring into the barrels of a half dozen rifles. The Boston PD had also deployed a S.W.A.T. Team to the Anderson's.
There were just too many opponents for Mollini to work his black magic this time. Aldo reluctantly fell face first on the ground and surrendered as commanded.
* * *
The EMT's arrived in time to revive Carl and Marlene Anderson. But could the pair provide the incriminating testimony to nail Mollini? Carter struggled with this dilemma as he paced the Anderson's living room floor. Celeste broke his train of thought. The cat gallantly leaped from the floor, propelling itself onto Stanford's left shoulder.
“Well, hello old friend,” Stanford said, recognizing the cat was the same pet he had found at the Heinrich's.
Celeste mewled in short, vowel-like bursts until she was sure she had gained Carter's attention. Her cries pitched higher in tone as the detective clumsily made his way towards Carl's work desk. Stanford had never processed a crime scene with a cat hanging from his shoulder like a parrot. Likewise, Jill had never witnessed her boss taking commands from an animal. The young CSI liked seeing Carter in this new light. Seacrest stood in the doorway indulging her sense of humor, until it dawned on her what the cat's intentions were.
“She wants you to play the recorded messages,” Seacrest pointed out.
The playback did provide incriminating evidence. Nosy Nora had left a message.
She asked if Carl and Marlene were all right because she had just received a strange call from a cat. The remainder of the message contained the revelation the investigators could have only dreamt of. True to her inquisitive character, Nora recorded the incoming call from Celeste. In the background, one could clearly hear Mollini's voice, commanding the Anderson's to take their lives. Carter's face lit up like a hundred candles as he realized this was enough evidence to link Mollini with not only the attempted murder of the Anderson's, but also the killing of the Heinrich's. The brass contractor had carelessly begun to chant his evil orders out loud so Celeste and Noisy Nora could hear them. Now the investigators listened in stone silence to the demonic ranting on the tape. Carter paused a few minutes to stroke the fur of his feline crime fighter. Striding over to Mollini with the cat cradled in his arms, Carter advised a uniformed officer to read Mollini his rights. Mollini defiantly refused legal representation, telling Stanford Satan was the best lawyer anybody could buy.
“Don’t count on otherworldly figures to get you out of this jam my friend. I believe a jury will find enough here to convict you.” Stanford held the audiocassette under Mollini’s big fat nose for emphasis. But the arrogant contractor winked in smug defiance even as he was being hauled away by Boston's finest.
“And one more thing, Mollini,” Carter added, “For the publics protection, I am recommending you be placed in solitary confinement at the state's maximum security facility.”
Mollini knew what Carter was inferring. A telepathic conduit would be very hard to establish in these circumstances. Aldo quickly lost the gleam in his eye. His eyes broke contact with Carter’s.
Stanford silently thanked the stars for the lucky break. If the contractor had not audibly incriminated himself, he might still be walking the streets. Carter’s mind drifted. He wondered if Celeste could telepathically hear Mollini. Maybe the cat never had to verbally hear the contractor to perceive his evil intent. The pensive look on the detective’s face prompted Seacrest to speak.
“So you believe in his powers?”
Believing Seacrest was referring to Mollini, Carter contemplated the rookie’s question. A faint sparkle flickered in his eyes, conveying an unspoken signal. Jill surmised the veteran investigator was more intrigued by Celeste than the devilish contractor.
“I still need more evidence to make a satisfactory conclusion. However, I do believe I will be the first Boston police officer to recommend commendations for a cat.”
THE END
ANIMAL INSTINCTS
Jill Seacrest's attempt to bury her emotions was not going so well. While the young CSI poured through open case files at the Boston Police Department's Crime Lab, the recent deaths of her parent's best friends stole her concentration. Jill had a hard time coming to terms with the department's official ruling: Mary and Benjamin Heinrich had murdered each other. Jill's supervisor, Lt. Det. Stanford Carter, knew his rookie officer had every right to be upset. Carter believed a third party played a hand in the double homicide. But the veteran detective operated in the real world. Hunches didn’t play well with a jury. Prosecutors couldn't exhibit gut instinct in an evidence bag nor put it on a witness stand. Carter repeated this fact to himself every time he felt his blood pressure rising.
Seacrest and Carter were hot and heavy to nail Aldo Mollini for the murder of the Heinrich's. He had been contracted by the late couple to remodel two bathrooms in their 12 room Cambridge mansion. Mollini had ample motive. His contract with the Heinrich's stipulated he be paid in advance, in full. The baths were far from completion as Mollini had only begun to gut the downstairs shower stall when the murders occurred.
“Isn't it convenient for Mr. Mollini,” Jill complained to Stanford. “He gets to collect one hundred grand all for just tearing a few tiles off a bathroom wall.” This theory ate away at Carter as well. But the veteran detective would offer little clues to his crime team that he was upset. Stanford employed the Zen technique of meditation to help him cope with the vicious crimes he investigated on a daily basis. Seacrest, on the other hand, was not doing quite so good a job at concealing her feelings. The rookie officer had dropped her pen twice in addition to spilling the contents of a case folder in the crime lab hallway. Carter suggested he and Seacrest take a coffee break to discuss the case. The lieutenant detective frequently looked for an excuse to partake in his favorite beverage. He also could not deny his ever-increasing attraction towards Seacrest.
“Jill, I am going to keep a close watch on Mr. Mollini. I will share something with you; but you have got to promise me you will not act on this information.” Carter paused to pour a steaming cup of espresso into Seacrest's over sized coffee mug. The young CSI squirmed anxiously in her break room chair. As Jill's eyes grew wide with wonder, Carter's mind flashed back to last month when he had saved her life. Seacrest had been taken hostage by the crime lab's former medical examiner in her apartment. With gun in hand, Carter had come to her rescue. All it took was one shot to incapacitate the crazed coroner, who was now serving several life sentences for murder. Carter knew all too well crime scene investigators often walked a fine line to maintain their sanity. For this reason, Stanford felt compelled to offer his young CSI a small bone to quiet the inner voice in her head. He didn't need another member of his crime team jumping off the edge.
* * *
Celeste, the Tonkinese cat, paraded on the kitchen counter like it was a Paris runway. Just a few months ago, the felines intrusion on the counter top would have resulted in a desperately unsuccessful scolding from her owners.
In recent days, Marlene and Carl Anderson were simply too distracted to reprimand their vivacious pet. The Anderson's had also been friends of Mary and Benjamin Heinrich. And just like Jill, the Anderson's couldn't believe the couple was dead – let alone murdered by each other.
Marlena and Carl were comforted that Celeste was safe and sound. The Anderson's had sold the cat to the Heinrich's, who had been keenly interested in acquiring the pure bred feline affectionately referred to as a Tonk. As soon as Marlene heard the murders reported on the evening news, she rushed to the crime scene to retrieve Celeste. She struck up a conversation with Lt. Detective Carter who learned the Anderson's had also contracted Mollini to work on their house. This was the news Carter was about to divulge to his rookie CSI. The department would continue to keep tabs on the contractor; but outright casing of Mollini or his helper would not be tolerated. This advisory had come down from the district attorney who warned any encroachment upon Mollini's civil rights could easily result in a lawsuit against the city.
Aldo Mollini had told police he had been out of the house buying supplies when the murders occurred. Detectives had confirmed his story by tracking a credit card purchase he made at the local home improvement center. The cashier told the Boston PD she remembered a man who looked like Mollini's helper; but she could not say for certain if she had seen Aldo himself in her store. Carter had decided to keep this tidbit from Jill. He wanted to calm Seacrest down, not fan the flames of fury.
Marlene Anderson was sure of one thing - Celeste had witnessed the murders. Every time she retrieved an iron skillet from her kitchen cabinet, the cat would start baying hysterically and pacing the floor in circles. This was because an iron skillet had been used to bash in the head of Ms. Heinrich. Celeste would often repeat the same Shakespearean-like performance every time Carl used his carving knife. A similar type of utensil had been thrust into the stomach of Benjamin Heinrich. Everybody knew Mollini and the cat were linked to the Heinrich household. But what degree were they separated from the murders? Both the Anderson's and the Boston PD would continue to keep a wary eye on Mollini. Consequently, each was way too absorbed with the contractor to pay attention to Celeste – the sole witness to the crime.
* * *
Aldo Mollini finished work early one gloomy, November afternoon. Marlene Anderson was only too happy to consent to his early departure from her house. Every time she tried to greet the contractor, her true fears conspired to plaster a worried look upon her pale, alabaster-colored face. She knew Mollini must be aware of her suspicions. How could she not suspect him? He wore the same stained overalls to her house everyday. He also stared through the kitchen window at her when he took his outdoor smoke breaks. Marlene had no doubt, Mollini was a grade A - first class weirdo. But she had paid Aldo in full as required by contract. If she were to terminate the work, she would be out over 100 grand with two gutted bathrooms and an unfinished backyard Jacuzzi. Marlene and Carl decided to weather out the storm and allow Mollini to complete his work. The couple's late night discussions did not sit well with Celeste. The gray-faced Tonk leaped back and forth from their laps in an attempt to dissuade them.
Clearly, Celeste did not believe money was more important than her owner's lives. But try as she might, the blue-eyed ball of fur was not successful at changing their minds.
* * *
An errant gust of wind thrust a branch against Mollini's bedroom window. The self-proclaimed “remodel professional” was back at his Wellesley Hills dwelling. Nearly all the orange and red colored leafs had departed the large tree that dwarfed his charcoal gray house. The decay of the leaves reminded Mollini of human frailty. Next to pilfering money from unsuspecting homeowners, Aldo was deeply possessed with remodeling his own humanity. He desperately wanted to evolve into a powerful force. Aldo was not modest. He desired power on the level with nature. On the way to this transformation, Mollini theorized some sacrifices might be necessary. Mollini's twisted mind believed controlling the life and death of others would one day allow him to control his own life and death. It would also line his pockets quite well along the way. He fell asleep a few hours later with a book resting upon his chest. Its title was: The Occult and Self-Empowerment…
Drifting off to sleep, Mollini dreams exact details of his murders. A demented play-by-play accompanies the atrocity.
“He draws his back his arm and lets it fly! Wow, he’s really letting the skillet do the work for him. You saw right folks. A whack to the head of Ms. Heinrich splits her skull open!! Yes Sir, fans. Did you get a load of that delivery?"
The announcer shoves the mike in the victim’s face.
“What do you have to say for yourself Ms. Heinrich?”
Groggy and bleeding profusely, Heinrich gasps. “Ple-eease stop! I’ll give you what you want Mollini!”
“I’ve already got what I want. And it’s finders keepers.” Mollini explains his demonic hostage taking in a song - “I’ve got your whole soul in my hands, I’ve got your whole soul in my hands.” Benjamin Heinrich lies on the floor gutted like a fish. He’s very dead.
The announcer assures a home audience the roughhousing is all in good fun. “Don’t worry, she’ll be up and about in no time.”
“Not if I can help it,” Mollini grunts. He swings the pan again, connecting another blow to Heinrich’s head. But Mollini is only an apparition. Ms. Heinrich’s own hand is beating her to death. She slumps to the ground defeated. Looking up, she sees her reflection in Mollini’s black eyes. But it’s no reflection. Her soul has been transferred like money into a savings account. The banker is Mollini. Power surges through him. It’s orgasmic. He closes his eyes and let’s out a sigh. He thinks to himself: you would never have made good use of that soul anyway. He hums to himself and goes back to gutting the bathroom in his merry dream. The announcer starts screaming, realizing his flesh is burning from the inside out. In a few minutes, the annoying man and the microphone are charcoal briquettes.
In his bed, Mollini rolls over satisfied. He wraps a red and white comforter around his portly frame. The dream is as good as the real thing. With a smile on his face he sleeps soundly. In the morning he awakes refreshed, ready to begin another day of demonology.
* * *
Beep. Beep. Beep. The digital answering machine spouted a series of consecutive electronic burps. Carl Anderson was in the midst of programming the electronic device given to him as a birthday gift from his wife. The shrill chirping noises intrigued the gray and white, Tonkinese. Celeste cocked her head carefully each time Carl programmed a new number into the machine's speed dialing menu. The perky feline wanted to make sure Carl entered the next digits into the machine as if his life depended upon it.
In a way - it did. Carl was about to enter Stanford Carter's personal cell number into the machine. Carter urged Marlene to call him, anytime – day or night – if warranted. Mr. Anderson paused a moment to ask if wife if he should put Carter's number before Aunt Nora's. Marlene brushed off her husband's inquiry briskly, stating it made no difference to her. Carl's instinct told him his wife was upset over Mollini. It also told reminded him of Marlene's frequent annoyance with Nora. The prying relative never felt a hint of shame when pressing Marlene to reveal the most personal secrets of their marriage. And right now, Marlene was teetering on a steep enough precipice without being grilled by Nosy Nora.
Carl decided Carter's number should precede Nora's. “Either way you look at it,” Carl laughed to himself, “they're both distress calls.” But the stern look resonating in Celeste's jewel-like eyes should have told Carl this was no joking matter. Carl never looked up to notice how enraptured his cat had become with his task. Celeste pounced off the table when the programming was finished, arching her back as if the weight of the world was squarely placed upon it.
* * *
Mollini arrived bright and early at the Anderson's the next day. The contractor eerily greeted Marlene with the phrase “it won't be much longer now.” The short and cryptic statement sent a chill down Ms. Anderson's spine. Celeste also seemed spooked.
The cat pricked her ears up, trying to discern exactly what Mollini had meant. Celeste's usual motorboat like purr had been non-existent the past few days. More and more, the cat seemed like she was preparing to carry out a plan of great importance. However, to Marlene, Celeste's expression constantly conveyed a certain air of nobility. Whether she was dragging around a toy mouse or eating her dinner, Celeste always seemed to be silently hinting that her actions warranted front-page headlines. The look upon the felines puss was no less earnest today. There was no question in her mind. She was on a quest to protect the Anderson's. And that mission was no less urgent than saving the entire galaxy.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Marlene's anxiety began to subside. A weariness took grip of her body. Lacking a full night's rest for the past week, Marlene was succumbing more to her exhaustion than to fear. She had asked Carl to retrieve a sleeping aid at the local drugstore. Silent ramblings began to penetrate her mind during Carl's absence.
Aldo sat in the bathroom, entranced in deep meditation, sifting subliminal messages through the confines of the ravaged first floor bath. Celeste paused a moment from her perch atop the kitchen counter to listen. The telepathic communication was too faint for the felines ears. Nevertheless, the Tonk refused to move from this spot all day. For Celeste, this position provided the last line of defense for her owner. She diligently resumed her bath by licking her paws after confirming no danger was imminent. Unfortunately for Celeste and the Anderson's, Mollini was no longer dealing in the realm of physical barriers. He had penetrated a psychic wall, which was now in the process of crumbling.
* * *
“Do you think we could take a casual swing by the Anderson's?” Jill Seacrest asked her boss. “It just happens to be on the way to my favorite sub shop, anyway.”
Stanford Carter mulled over the CSI's request in his mind. There would be probably be no harm in taking the route, which would place the detectives in close proximity to the Anderson's neighborhood. As long as it didn't include outright surveillance of the Anderson home, there should be no harm,” Carter told his conscious. Moreover, his stomach was grumbling for some nutrition – even if it came in the guise of a pastrami sandwich. The pair had just processed a local convenience store, which had been robbed the previous evening. There was no reason further analysis of the scene couldn't be suspended for a few hours. All the thief had taken was a few grocery items, no cash. The investigation hardly warranted the efforts of two officers when murderers were loose on the streets of Boston. At least, that's what Carter told a voice, which played devil's advocate in his mind. The lieutenant detective navigated his vehicle towards the eatery, casting a few sidelong glances at his cell phone. Stanford wanted to make sure the phone was powered on. But there was no need for the detective to check on his intuitive senses. His gut instinct was always on standby.
* * *
Mollini's diabolical plan was proceeding on course. This time, the unfortunate couple would not be persuaded to off each other. Aldo wanted to try another tact with the Anderson's. He would command them to commit suicide. But just like the Heinrich’s, the maniacal contractor would leave no forensic evidence connecting the killings with him. Mollini laughed arrogantly under his breath, dreaming of creating another perfect crime. Not a trace of his DNA would grace the scene. In fact, he would be nowhere the couple as each inhaled their final breath. The Anderson's would not only succumb to Mollini's demented wishes; but be also deprived of any posthumous satisfaction of implicating their murderer. Mollini was confident he would achieve his results. But he was too quick to discount the one thing that could still thwart his plans – animal instinct. Fearing no recrimination, Mollini abandoned the silent approach. He began to audibly channel his telepathic wishes through the poorly constructed bathroom walls.
* * *
Marlene Anderson began to pop the sleeping tablets into her mouth. She stood in the kitchen, glassy eyed, while her husband left her in peace. Marlene thought she heard a man’s voice emanating from the bathroom. But as soon as she tried to investigate, Mollini’s telepathic stranglehold paralyzed her. Carl immediately went back to the garage after unwittingly dispensing the death warrant for his beloved wife. A voice was instructing Carl to sit in his vehicle with the engine idling. He was to remain there until carbon monoxide would send him on a permanent vacation.
* * *
Jill Seacrest stared at Stanford in uncomfortable silence while the detective munched on his pastrami hero. She looked like she was about to burst. Carter demanded the CSI to spit out whatever was preoccupying her mind, before he spit out his sandwich.
“Do you think this Mollini has psychic powers?” Jill blurted out.
The waitress at the counter named Wendy cast a wary eye in their direction. She hoped the pair would not become too immersed in their conversation to forget her tip.
“You mean he forced the Heinrich's to murder each other,” Stanford answered.
Carter swished a swig of coffee in mouth as if he was weighing the possibility.
“It would explain why we have no physical evidence linking Mollini with the murders,” Carter theorized.
“What if he preys upon the Anderson's in the same fashion?” Jill cautioned.
They will be helpless to call for aid if Mollini does possess this power. And don't look at me like I'm crazy. Did you know Czarina Alexandra fell under the hypnotic influence of a monk named Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin in the early 20th century? Even famous Russian chess masters have accused hypnotists of impairing their skills during tournaments. There are also plenty of well-substantiated cases of this type of trickery being performed in Moscow during the last one hundred years. Russian President Vladimir Putin even went so far as to outlaw any psychotronic influence which intends to cause harm.”
“This is all very fascinating, Jill. But we cannot make a move against Mollini without probable cause. We don't have any proof Mollini is influencing anybody with either his mind or a psychotronic weapon.”
Stanford silently cursed his predilections for following procedure. Deep down, he knew Jill was on to something.
* * *
Celeste did not care for the way her owner was behaving. It deeply disturbed her that Marlene was digesting one pill after another. The process had started to cause Marlene to wobble as if she was off balance. Celeste telepathically began to hear the auditory accompaniment of Mollini's rambling as well.
Celeste catapulted herself towards the living room located adjacent to the kitchen and the gutted first floor bathroom. The cat pawed furiously at the digital communication center until she accessed the speed dial menu. Pressing the button labeled “number 4” she dialed Stanford Carter's cell phone.
Stanford fumbled for his ringing phone, spilling his cup of coffee on the delicatessen counter top in the process. Cat cries quickly followed. A strange Tonkinese opera was emanating from Carter's phone. The whining was followed by the outgoing message of the Anderson's answering machine. Carter nudged Jill to head for the car. If looks could kill, Wendy the waitress would now be in a penitentiary. Wendy ran like a bull in Spain after the two patrons who had bolted from their seats without paying. “The mayor was right about cutting your salaries,” Wendy screamed at the officers who disappeared between the clanging of the shop's welcoming chimes.
* * *
Celeste was not quite finished manipulating the machine. The Tonk was on a mission. Celeste pressed the preset button to call Nosy Nora. She was depending upon the women's curious nature to help bring Mollini to justice.
Back in the garage, Carl's eye lids began to flutter as he inhaled the lethal contaminates emanating from his car. And in the kitchen, Marlene found herself involuntarily slumped against a cabinet. Her face had gone slack. In the bathroom, the arrogant murderer stood his ground waiting to claim the couple's life force.
* * *
Seacrest had called for the deployment of EMT's as well as backup during the anxiety-riddled trek to the Anderson's. By the time she and Carter had arrived, the Anderson's were only minutes from death. Stanford ordered Jill to cover the back of the dwelling while he attempted to gain access from the front. Fortunately, Carl had left the entrance open. But Carter wasted valuable seconds canvassing the 12-room mansion for Mollini. The perpetrator had extracted himself from the house as quick as a cockroach.
However, Stanford was undaunted in his pursuit. He soon located Mollini. He and Seacrest were engaged in a standoff in the backyard.
Carter could not believe his eyes. Mollini had commanded Seacrest to drop her weapon and she was complying! Jill slowly bent her body forward as if she was performing calisthenics. In another second, the weapon she was holding would be dropped harmlessly to the ground.
Stanford yelled at Mollini to freeze. The crazed contractor paid no heed. Mollini fixed his gaze upon Stanford, attempting to lure him into a cationic haze. Repeating the phrase “I am the only one in control of my mind,” Carter utilized his Zen techniques to repel Mollini's efforts.
Realizing his mind control would not take hold upon Carter, Molllini turned about face to flee. Just as he did, Aldo found himself staring into the barrels of a half dozen rifles. The Boston PD had also deployed a S.W.A.T. Team to the Anderson's.
There were just too many opponents for Mollini to work his black magic this time. Aldo reluctantly fell face first on the ground and surrendered as commanded.
* * *
The EMT's arrived in time to revive Carl and Marlene Anderson. But could the pair provide the incriminating testimony to nail Mollini? Carter struggled with this dilemma as he paced the Anderson's living room floor. Celeste broke his train of thought. The cat gallantly leaped from the floor, propelling itself onto Stanford's left shoulder.
“Well, hello old friend,” Stanford said, recognizing the cat was the same pet he had found at the Heinrich's.
Celeste mewled in short, vowel-like bursts until she was sure she had gained Carter's attention. Her cries pitched higher in tone as the detective clumsily made his way towards Carl's work desk. Stanford had never processed a crime scene with a cat hanging from his shoulder like a parrot. Likewise, Jill had never witnessed her boss taking commands from an animal. The young CSI liked seeing Carter in this new light. Seacrest stood in the doorway indulging her sense of humor, until it dawned on her what the cat's intentions were.
“She wants you to play the recorded messages,” Seacrest pointed out.
The playback did provide incriminating evidence. Nosy Nora had left a message.
She asked if Carl and Marlene were all right because she had just received a strange call from a cat. The remainder of the message contained the revelation the investigators could have only dreamt of. True to her inquisitive character, Nora recorded the incoming call from Celeste. In the background, one could clearly hear Mollini's voice, commanding the Anderson's to take their lives. Carter's face lit up like a hundred candles as he realized this was enough evidence to link Mollini with not only the attempted murder of the Anderson's, but also the killing of the Heinrich's. The brass contractor had carelessly begun to chant his evil orders out loud so Celeste and Noisy Nora could hear them. Now the investigators listened in stone silence to the demonic ranting on the tape. Carter paused a few minutes to stroke the fur of his feline crime fighter. Striding over to Mollini with the cat cradled in his arms, Carter advised a uniformed officer to read Mollini his rights. Mollini defiantly refused legal representation, telling Stanford Satan was the best lawyer anybody could buy.
“Don’t count on otherworldly figures to get you out of this jam my friend. I believe a jury will find enough here to convict you.” Stanford held the audiocassette under Mollini’s big fat nose for emphasis. But the arrogant contractor winked in smug defiance even as he was being hauled away by Boston's finest.
“And one more thing, Mollini,” Carter added, “For the publics protection, I am recommending you be placed in solitary confinement at the state's maximum security facility.”
Mollini knew what Carter was inferring. A telepathic conduit would be very hard to establish in these circumstances. Aldo quickly lost the gleam in his eye. His eyes broke contact with Carter’s.
Stanford silently thanked the stars for the lucky break. If the contractor had not audibly incriminated himself, he might still be walking the streets. Carter’s mind drifted. He wondered if Celeste could telepathically hear Mollini. Maybe the cat never had to verbally hear the contractor to perceive his evil intent. The pensive look on the detective’s face prompted Seacrest to speak.
“So you believe in his powers?”
Believing Seacrest was referring to Mollini, Carter contemplated the rookie’s question. A faint sparkle flickered in his eyes, conveying an unspoken signal. Jill surmised the veteran investigator was more intrigued by Celeste than the devilish contractor.
“I still need more evidence to make a satisfactory conclusion. However, I do believe I will be the first Boston police officer to recommend commendations for a cat.”
THE END
posted by Gary Starta Author at 2:42 PM
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