All the Wicked Girls by Chris Whitaker

Author:Chris Whitaker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zaffre Publishing

26

Perfumed Girls

There was a backwater behind the church, a mirror of rippled sky that twisted and wound miles through woodland till it met with the Red somewhere near the county line.

The church was burned till just a skeleton of the building remained.

The West End Mission.

It was Della Palmer’s church, ’cause if you cut through the pines it was only ten minutes to Standing Oak.

They’d had trouble after, when someone decorated it with a pile of dead squirrels and a large pentagram. Rumor was their own pastor lit the match, maybe ’cause he wanted to see if it would burn and not consume. The Mission took a hard line; their faith was unflinching.

A year back, when the case was red hot, Black had been called to a party that got outta hand at a rental near Brookdale. They’d got there and found the usual; high school kids getting lit and getting high, music loud. But then he’d gone round the back and seen the girls, three of them, scared white. They were pointing in the direction of the woods. Black had called for backup, gone in with Milk, locked and aiming. They’d nearly blown the kid’s head off. A jock, big and dumb, as was the custom. He’d made the feathered suit himself, thought it’d be funny to scare his girlfriend.

That was the first of the hoaxes.

The newspapers had been first to speak of the devil. There weren’t no grounds for it. Folk lapped it up, what with the Panic looking for kindling. Some idiot at the Briar County News cooked up a cover sketch of Baphomet with feathers, said they sold out in every town so ran it again week after week till it was burned in the minds of every kid in the area. It kept them outta Hell’s Gate, though into Ouija boards and other nonsense that freaked them out enough to call in every weekend.

Black walked over to the church and ran his hand along a piece of charred timber twenty foot long.

“You lookin’ for a rabbit at the altar? Or was it a parakeet?” Milk said.

“It was bullshit, that’s what it was.”

Black looked down and saw a BOWDOIN CONSTRUCTION sign in the dirt.

“Don’t look like Ray’s done nothin’ at all,” Milk said.

Pastor Roberts had made the complaint. He reckoned the church had paid Ray Bowdoin five grand to begin clearing the site ready to rebuild it. Ray had taken the cash months back. Hadn’t done shit yet.

“You still friendly with the mother? That girl that came here, I forget her name.”

“Peach Palmer,” Black said. “Her name’s Peach Palmer and her daughter’s name is Della.”

“Della was the first,” Milk said, his tone softening.

“Yeah.”

Black rubbed his eyes.

“They made the link already. Connected dots that ain’t there.”

Milk was talking about the hacks. The Bird was back, God sent the cloud ’cause the devil was at work in Hell’s Gate.

“So now we’re back chasin’ shadows,” Milk said.

“This guy ain’t even got a shadow.”

“There’s somethin’ we’re missin’.”

“Maybe. We’re tryin’ to see what others couldn’t.

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