A serial killer, strong in his faith, never wavering in his mission, Exodus Roberts aka The Destroyer, has targeted a small, tight-knit community, taking the lives of its citizens.
Police are baffled by the seemingly random killings or the killer’s motivation as the body count continues to rise. Two things are certain however: the killer is not slowing down, and the murders are not as random as they appear.
The Mantle of God
Looking at his list Exodus crossed off yet another name. Years passed while he painstakingly, methodically, completed his tasks. Glancing up toward his mantle, he took in the gleaming silver as it stared back at him, serene and majestic. His mother’s ashes rested there. He loved her so much and she taught him invaluable lessons about life. “Exodus, God is needing strong warriors just like you,” she told him sweetly as they read the bible together.
“Some people will say what I do for the Lord is wrong, and they will say the same of you; but God knows who to choose. He knows who will be strong for him in the time of battle.”
Exodus nodded knowingly at his mother’s words.
“You are that one Exodus. Stay close to the Lord and hear the words of the Messenger when he comes, obey, and God will reward you.”
Exodus smiled thinking of her, even now, years after her death. A fine, upstanding, God-fearing woman, she died assured of her rightful place beside the Father in Heaven. Time for the next one.
Rising he headed into his kitchen to find a meal for the night. He picked up his worn bible, sitting down turning to his favorite passage, once again reading. A very familiar selection, it always brought him a measure of peace.
“The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.”
Exodus read the words aloud, his voice solemn, the reverence apparent. He read the entire Psalm before rising and retrieving the refrigerated leftovers from last night putting them into the microwave. Turning on the television finding the local news, he watched intently as his food heated.
“The city is still gripped in fear as a serial killer continues to remain free and bring carnage.”
The anchorman spoke in his most professional broadcasting voice, making the appropriate facial gestures to show his outrage at the headline read. Exodus hated the news people. They were phony and insincere. They sensationalized everything just for ratings.
The microwave dinged, breaking his thought momentarily. Rising he regained his bounty. Grabbing a fork from the water stained white plastic dish drainer resting near the white porcelain sink, he placed it next to the heat warped styrofoam container. Opening the 1950’s retro fridge once again, red and white matching the canned soda he retrieved before sitting down, ready to enjoy his meal. Exodus closed his eyes, praying over the food, ending it with a resounding Amen. Opening the lid, he speared a forkful of the sweet and sour shrimp contained. Exodus Isaiah Roberts destined for great things, even before his birth. His mother always taught him to respect God and be a decent person. She explained the power of his name, his importance in performing Kingdom work. Exodus
never really understood it, well, not until the day at the river. Pushing the thoughts aside he finished his meal, drank his soda and burped loudly. Giggling at the end, he imagined his mother there to chastise him. Standing, he threw away the container, washing the lone fork placing it back into the drainer. He walked into his bedroom. Plainly furnished, there stood a double bed, faded teakwood dresser, and one lone folding chair. A single beige cotton cloth double lined curtain hung across the window keeping the early morning sunlight out.
Taking his clothes off preparing to shower, Exodus glanced at himself in the full-length mirror affixed to the back of his bathroom door. He admired the towering stature. He took in his own creamy sable skin, the brooding almost ebony eyes. Exodus possessed dimples, that for the most part, remained invisible until he smiled. The latter offered sparse at best. Conceit running rampant, he examined his lips. Perfectly formed and constructed, they would meld in harmonic pleasure with any woman of his choosing. The sculpted and defined arms completed an enraptured bliss as he held her tightly. His taunt rippled torso would arouse her deepest, darkest, most animalistic desires. Vanity. A sin. He spent many nights repenting, only to backslide the very next time he stood before this mirror. Exodus garnered admiring stares from women practically everywhere he went.
It made him feel good. It chased away some of the darkness he seemed to always carry inside him. Turning on the shower, he allowed the water to heat up. The mirror began to steam, slowly erasing the image contained. Getting into the tub and letting the water warm his skin, Exodus’ mind began to take shape as he planned and prepared the next deliverance service.
1
Those Whom He Calls
Exodus spoke coming into the small breakroom.
“Hi Petra.”
She smiled returning his greeting.
“You want some coffee?”
“No, thanks. I like hot chocolate better.”
“How are you today Exodus?”
He grabbed one of the small white Styrofoam cups available and emptied the packet into it, adding hot water.
“I’m good.”
Stacey walked into the breakroom, completely ignoring Exodus.
“Hey girl, what’s up.”
Petra sighed softly, audible only to him, as he smiled to some extent.
“I am okay, Stacey, what about you?”
Exodus didn’t know why Petra pretended the two were friends. He knew for himself the woman could barely stand being around Stacey and her co-signer, Carmela. The two women were loud, brash, always scheming on some man or other to get bills paid, luxury items bought. So far Exodus never saw anything past a few trinkets here or there either collected. They both hated him, though he couldn’t recall any real incident between them to develop the bad blood.
Exodus spoke another time to Petra as he prepared to leave the room before Carmela arrived.
“I’ll see you later.”
“OK, have a great day.”
Exodus nodded, returning the earlier favor, ignored Stacey as he walked out of the room. He stopped right outside the door, leaning against the wall waiting and listening.
“Ugh, why do you talk to him?”
Stacey quizzed Petra making herself a cup of coffee.
“What’s wrong with Exodus, he’s a nice guy.”
Stacey gave her a look that said she should know better.
“He’s a mail clerk, Petra.”
“So?”
“So, if you’re going to get with a dude here at least get with a manager, VP, shit, not the stupid mail guy.”
“First of all, I’m not trying to get with anyone. Secondly, even if I were, I look at a man’s worth inside not his status outside.”
Stacey again scoffed.
“Girl please, I’m looking for someone to help me up, not hold me back.”
Tasting the coffee, Stacey frowned before adding more sugar.
“Well hey, do you. I think Exodus is cool people, so I’ll keep talking to him.”
Petra dismissed the conversation with the sentence.
Stacey shrugged.
“Suit yourself.”
Exodus walked away after they began to talk about Stacey’s latest conquest, passing the elevators just as Carmela stepped off the open car. The scent cloud descending upon her arrival reeked the entire content of her perfume bottle. The accompanying attire completely inappropriate for the office, as per usual. Tight, short, black skirt, three-inch stilettos without hose. Money green blouse, deep v-cut, breasts pushed up almost to her throat in the padded bra. The showstopper? Long, straight, flaming blood orange streaked weave. The gaudy makeup reminded Exodus of the whores he saw on the stroll nightly as he took his walks. They were all, however, a lot nicer.
“Ugh.”
Exodus knew without turning around she meant the remark for him, giving that repulsed by roadkill look she always wore when he came around. He didn’t care, having no love for her at all. Carmela the harlot; the type of woman the bible warned about. Their sole purpose in life, to destroy a man and his soul, leave him with nothing, condemned to hell and damnation.
“How are you doing, Exodus?”
Alfonzo spoke to him as they met coming down the hall.
“Hi Mr. Townsend. How are you?”
“I’m fine, fine, about to grab a cup of coffee.”
“Stacey and Carmela are in there.”
Alfonzo sighed deeply.
“Thanks for the warning.”
Exodus chuckled quietly as his supervisor walked away. He knew Alfonzo didn’t like either of the women, tolerating them for the sake of workplace harmony. Arriving at his small cube, Exodus sat down with his cocoa, pulled out his bible and began to read.
*****
Work wasn’t bad, though some of the people genuinely tried his faith most days. Glad to be home, Exodus smiled somewhat thinking of Petra. Attracted to her, he continued working up his nerve to ask her out on a real date. Exodus didn’t interact with the opposite sex much. At least not outside of the whores he paid to give him oral release. He couldn’t sleep with any of them. That would anger God, and of course the Messenger would come, condemning him as before when Exodus disobeyed God’s orders. He had to wait until shown his wife. He would court her, marry her, and of course make love to her. In the meantime, his needs were met through payment. At first Exodus thought God would be angry with him for allowing the vile women to touch him and bring pleasure, but the Messenger didn’t come after that first night. Nor did the Messenger come any time afterward when he visited them. Exodus knew then his actions were permitted. God understood his nature as a man with needs.
His recollection caused his mind to go to his mother and the awkward memory of his childhood once again. “Exodus, sit down,” she spoke softly seeing the embarrassment still covering his face.
She walked into his room catching him touching himself just as he finished and ejaculated. Exodus was mortified looking up finding her there when he opened his eyes.
“I want to talk about what you did tonight.”
He swallowed hard saying nothing.
“I know you have those feelings. They are natural. God gave them to you.”
She continued to speak while he silently endured.
“You must fight against the unnatural urges to touch yourself in that way.”
Pausing momentarily, she took a breath before speaking.
“You were thinking of a girl, weren’t you?”
She gave him another look. Exodus answered quickly.
“Yes.”
He grew nauseated that she might suspect he wanted to be with a man.
He learned early on in her teaching God frowned deeply on that.
“I do understand Exodus. I’m not going to punish you, but I want you to go and study your bible. Then I want you to pray.”
Rising she returned handing him a cup filled with dark liquid.
“Drink this.”
He obediently swallowed it without question or rebuttal.
“It will help take your mind to a place that God and the Messenger can speak to you.”
Exodus rose going to his room, reading his bible, praying until he could no longer keep his eyes open. The sleep overflowed with vivid images of fire, rotting, stench filled caverns packed with dead bodies. He heard voices telling him he was bound for this place if he ever spilled his seed again by his own hand.
Static from the radio released him mercifully from the memories. He quickly said a quiet prayer of thanks to God for deliverance. Since that night, he never touched himself in that way again.
Walking into his kitchen he stopped at the sink, depositing his now empty Tupperware. Deciding to wash it later, Exodus turned to his refrigerator opening it, extracting a bottle of cranberry-apple juice, popping the top. He surveyed the various take out boxes littering the shelves inside, deciding what he wanted for dinner. No clear front runner coming to mind, Exodus closed it instead returning to the living room powering on his TV set. The channel stayed set to 8, the local station for the area.
“Police are being very tight lipped about the serial killer still on the loose in our community.”
Even with his dislike of news people, Exodus tolerated this one speaking because of her exquisitely pleasant exterior.
“We spoke with Reverend Jeremiah Howard, Pastor at Shiloh Baptist Church and community activist today about the community reaction to the murders.”
The camera cut to a recorded interview.
Exodus watched, sipping his juice, eyes on the pastor as his voice began to resonate through the TV’s speakers.
“We are of course uneasy knowing there is a person capable of such violence in our community. The neighborhood is forming watch teams, and we are advising people not to go out alone, maintain the buddy system.”
The reporter smiled, responding to the statements made.
“Sounds like a great idea, Reverend Howard.”
Exodus listened to the rest of the interview unimpressed before the segment cut back to the anchor. After a quick reiteration of the words spoken moments earlier, she passed the desk off to Scotty the weatherman. Rising from the sofa, Exodus took his bottle back to the kitchen. Depositing it into the trash, he headed for the bedroom to shower. Walking over to his dresser he turned up the small radio sitting atop the oak wood surface. His favorite station immediately floated deeper into the atmosphere. Turning on the water, Exodus once again admired himself in the mirror, taking in every angle. Exhaling a cleansing breath, he stepped into the tub and lathered himself, singing along with the music blending into the steam filled atmosphere.
“Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves, we shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
One of his favorite songs, Exodus sang boldly. His deep tenor on key and vibrant. He sang along until the song finished, still humming it after exiting the shower. It being replaced by another selection on the station by this time. Exodus dressed for the evening. All black, he strode purposefully back into the bedroom picking up his bible, heading into the living room. Gathering more essential items, he headed out into the night.
Ready for more?