Morningstar/Alignment by Keith Trimm (people reading books txt) 📕

Brinkman sat back in his leather chair and puffed out cigar smoke watching Tony rub his forehead and squint his eyes.

"His DNA was all over the place” Most of them do," Tony replied. He thought for a moment. "Dorothy!" he exclaimed.

Brinkman nodded. "We suspected him the whole time. We found skin under her fingernails and the DNA matched his."

"And you did nothing?" Tony asked.

"We had no other proof," Brinkman said. "No witnesses. Nothing."

"This has been a very strange week," Tony said as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. " I need sleep."

"I’m sorry to tell you this, under your stress, but it gets a lot stranger."

"What now?" He asked.

"Speaking of DNA my friend. If you remember our last conversation about your DNA, I said it was unlike any other string I have ever seen. Well, I wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth."

"I’m not surprised," Tony said sarcastically. "Go on."

"As you know the US government has accesses to information that the general public does not, in order to insure and maintain national security."

"Of course."

"This goes no further than this office."

"I understand."

"Ok," Brinkman said tapping a pen on his lower lip. "I don’t know how much you know about ancient artifacts and religious relics. You have heard of the shroud of Turin haven’t you?"

"Yes, it supposedly has the burned on image of Christ on it."

"Well this has nothing to do with that fake."

"Fake? How do you know?"

"We’ve known the truth for the last thirty years. All this study they are doing now is just for show."

"How do you know?"

"Let’s say that the technology we use is probably fifteen to twenty years ahead of the private sector. Do you think Bigfoot is running around in the forests of Washington State? We have known the truth ever since the first spy satellite was put into orbit."

"Is he?"

"I would tell you, but I would have to kill you." Brinkman said with a smile. "But I digress."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Many old European churches keep artifacts in their churches as shrines. They are usually only brought out for special ceremonies and such."

"I am familiar with this," Tony stated

"Not all of the relics are, you see."

"You’re just full of secrets aren’t you?"

"That’s my business." Brinkman said leaning forward in his chair.

"We have had an on and off relationship with the Vatican for years. During WWII we were able to gain access to their private vaults and collections."

"Why?"

"Doesn’t matter, its all politics anyway. Fact is though, we were given access to something the church holds as probably its most prized possession."

"The Holy Grail?" Tony asked.

"That fails in comparison my son. In a air-conditioned, vault seventy-feet below the pope’s chamber, lie the crown of thorns."

Tony sat dumbfounded. "They still exist?"

"Yes, and many other things that I will not go into now."

"Why are you telling me this?

"I can’t go into the details, but we were allowed a sample."

"You desecrated it?"

"No, we took a very small sample from one of the blood stained thorns. At the time we were only interested in blood typing the sample. Hoping to see if the blood was indeed human."

"Was it?" Tony asked.

Brinkman paused and leaned back in his chair. "Yes and no," he stated.

"In what way?" Tony asked.

"I’ll get to that," he said standing. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured a cup of steaming hot coffee. "Would you like some?"

"No, please go on."

"DNA testing was thirty-five years away. When it was available we tested the sample. It was amazing, absolutely astonishing. The sample showed most of the same patterns of human DNA and some we had never seen before. Until now."

"What are you getting at?" Tony asked.

"Remember when we picked through your comb, as you put it? Your tests match those tests to a one hundred million to one degree of error."

Chapter 14

Saturday, October 23, 1973

Pastor Jack Rhine stood in the wind, blocking the sun from his eyes, gazing upon the stone brick Gothic style church before him. On the marquee was written in white letters, the name of the Minister, the Reverend Alex Parsons, and the schedule of services. Above his name, carved in stone, was the name of the church written across the top in tall letters. It read "Freedom Church."

In his hand the pastor held a crumpled envelope, and a photograph with a picture of his missing brother Seth, bordered by several unidentified men. In his other hand he held a brass key which came in the envelope with the photograph.

He turned over the picture and read the writing on the back as he had done so many times before. It read, "If you want to know the truth, here is the key. I’m sorry I can not tell you anything more. Be careful." At the bottom was the address of the church scribbled in red ink.

He walked across the street into the shadow cast from the huge building. His pace quickened and he ran up the steps to the front doors. He looked around to see if there was anyone on the grounds that could assist him. He saw no one. He turned to the door again and knocked several times and stood back waiting for a response. It was the middle of the day on a Saturday and he realized, as a Pastor himself, that the chances of anyone being here now were slim.

He pulled on the door and was surprised to find it locked. His own church was rarely if ever inaccessible to the public making him wonder why it was closed. He looked down at the key as he rolled it between his fingers. He thought for a moment and placed the key in the lock turning it with a click.

The door pulled out easily and he stepped inside the narthex, which was filled with stacks of boxes, taped shut and neatly arranged alongside the walls. He did not dare look inside he thought as he stepped over to the next set of doors.

The doors to the main room were dark stained glass with artwork portraying the birth and death of Jesus. He noticed right away that they were covered in dust and had lost their shine, no longer shimmering from the light that passed through the window.

He tried these doors first giving a little tug to see if they were locked. . They opened with some resistance as he shoved boxes across the floor on the other side. The scraping sound of cardboard on wood was the only sound he heard besides his own breathing.

Standing in the main hall, he looked out to the vastness of the room and stood numb staring out at the scene before him. His veins turned to ice as he saw rows and rows of children’s skulls facing away from him towards the altar. The positions of the skulls resembled the game pieces of a chess game on a chessboard. From one side of the room to the other, and from the back of the room to the front, they lined up neatly spaced one foot apart. The only thing interrupting the pattern was a two-foot pathway running the length down the center to the altar.

A twenty-foot cross-hung upside down above the altar at the far end of the room sending terror throughout this man of God. Pastor Rhine, his heart in his throat, walked lightly forward keeping his feet within the narrow path, horrified at the site, as he neared the altar. Halfway to the altar, he looked back at the many vacant eyes looking to him and said out loud, "The poor children."

He noticed along the walls, stacked four high, were more boxes neatly arranged and taped shut. It scared him to know what lie inside. He turned back and walked to the altar stepping up onto the platform beneath the overturned cross. Before him, set side by side on the altar, were six adult skulls facing out to the crowd of faceless children. They seemed to be addressing the congregation in a silent, spiritual cry.

The pastor walked around the altar and stood behind it looking out upon the many vacant faces looking back to him and his eyes began to water. He placed his hands on the altar and bowed to say a prayer for the dead. Looking down upon the skulls he noticed writing engraved on the back of them. He read as he scanned across them, "Follett, Davis, Thomas, Rhine!" The voice screamed in his head. It was Seth!

A hot flash came over him and he looked to the ceiling closing his eyes. Bible verses shot through his mind in an attempt to calm him. "Though I walk through the valley of the…" He stopped, "No!" he screamed in his head as he opened his eyes.

He reached out without thinking and grabbed Seth’s skull, and stuffed it in under his jacket. In a panic, he shot around the altar and darted out onto the main floor tripping and landing in the midst of the children’s skulls, sending them across the floor in all directions. He looked down to see the helpless, innocent, empty eyes looking back at him and scrambled to his feet.

Regaining his balance, he took off down the center aisle, pushing his way through the narthex. He stopped winded, with the skull tightly clutched under his jacket doubled over feeling ill. Taking a calming breath he moved to one of the boxes stacked alongside the wall and tore open the lid. His energy drained from his body as he looked upon the mismatched assortment of children’s bones within the box.

Stepping back he found the main door and pushed it open running out into daylight. Outside the building, he stopped and attempted to regain his composure trying not to attract attention to his find. Quickly, he trotted down the steps, walked across the grass, and kept out a watchful eye for anyone who may be watching.

He pulled out his car keys and unlocked the drivers’ door while grasping the skull under his jacket. The door swung open and he quickly tossed the skull on the passenger’s seat covering it with a stack of papers from the backseat. Once inside, he shut the door and started the ignition only to see a teenage boy on the sidewalk watching him.

The boy darted into the alley. Pastor Rhine put the car in drive, stomped on the gas pedal, and spun the tires as he left the church behind.

***

His heart pounding in his chest, the Pastor pulled his sedan into the parking lot of the Denton Valley Inn putting the car in park. Turning off the car, he opened the door, skull in tow, and ran to the staircase along the side of the building. Climbing to the second story landing, he proceeding down the walkway to his room at the end of the Inn. He fumbled for his Inn key, facing the bright red door keeping a firm grip on the skull now under his jacket.

The door opened before he could get the key inside. Standing before him in the doorway was his wife Emily, holding their three-year-old son Tony in her arms. She looked him in the eye and said, "Is something wrong Jack?" curling her brow.

"Grab everything!" he cried as he raced inside gathering up clothes and bags. He found an open suitcase, and with his back turned to his wife, placed the skull under a shirt, zipping the bag closed. He turned to see if she saw him do this noticing a grave look of concern on her face.

"Where are we going?" she asked, clutching Tony tight to her. "We just got her two hours ago!"

"I know! Something came up and we can’t stay," he said, gathering up the bags on the bed. "Get down to the car. I’ll be right behind you!"

She hesitated, then turned grabbing her purse and walked out of the room with her child in tow. He