Dove Of War

For Joe LaHoud, yesterday is all that matters! Following the disappearance of his 16-year old daughter a decade ago, his life since has been a living Hell. Resigned to constant drudgery and broken dreams, he has nothing to live for. That was before he retrieved the call on his answering machine: "Daddy, are you there? Please pick up! I'm so scared! He's going to hurt me again, Daddy! Please help me! Please help me before. . ." Click. The line went dead. Now in a race against time to uncover the truth and find his beloved Tammy, Joe is about to discover an evil older than time, an evil growing stronger and more deadly by the hour. And in the midst of it all is the mysterious man known only as "Hato." Some call him a Prince, but his friends and enemies alike refer to him as: The Dove Of War! www.billcainonline.com

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DOVE OF WARBy BILL CAINAuthorHouseCopyright © 2012 Bill CainAll right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4772-2415-1Chapter OneThere are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them. Andre Gide Furcas O'Malley was a monster in every sense of the word. The unwanted, physically deformed child of a drug addict mother and God-only knows who else, he'd shuffled from one foster home to another until he turned eighteen and was cast out from society. There are those who would shed a tear of sympathy for Furcas, but those tears would be misplaced. Furcas O'Malley was a monster in every sense of the word. Do not be deceived. And now, he was standing in the front yard of sweet Josie Warren, waiting for the lights to go out. Numerous families tried to take him in over the years and show him love, respect and inclusion, but Furcas would have none of that. He began showing signs of violence when he was five. By the time he was twelve, he was impossible to handle. Bouncing from one juvenile court to another, he learned early in life that the one thing that made him happy was hurting others. He did not care about emotional pain or anything so cerebral as feelings ... he liked to cause physical pain. He began practicing on dogs, cats, any stray unlucky enough to venture into his world. Every animal cursed to wander into the Hell ruled by Furcas O'Malley died a horrific death. By trial and error, Furcas perfected his "craft." He could stretch out an animal's suffering indefinitely until his excitement could no longer be restrained and he would succumb to the tremendous rush of power he felt at the moment of the kill. Once he discovered sex, there was no stopping him. For Furcas, sex and pain were synonymous. He understood that physical appearance was his curse. Born with an abnormally large forehead, he also suffered from a strange bone deformity that jutted his cheekbones to sharp points that threatened to protrude through his skin. His eyes were also uneven ... the left eye was a full inch lower than his right ... and the left eye was blind, laminating a glassy haze. It was wide and normally streamed liquid. It was "the devil's eye!" That's what Ida Wincey used to call it when Furcas was eight. Poor Ida died in a terrible home fire in her sleep. But there was talk that the fire was no accident. That's what the neighbors said, anyway. Furcas also limped along for years with clubfoot. Also known as `talipes', Furcas' malady was specifically diagnosed as "talipes equino varus" ... born with the foot pointing down and twisted inwards at the ankle. Had Furcas been treated and fitted for casts as an infant, this problem would likely have been resolved early in his childhood. But neglect and abuse only made his situation worse, thus adding to his perceived appearance. By the time he was thirteen, he dreamed of kidnapping, rape and murder. He selected several potential victims. The only thing that held him back was deciding if he wanted to go after his history teacher, the divorcee who lived in the apartment complex across the street from his foster home, or one of his classmates. He was certain the victim would absolutely be female. Besides his slow nature in determining his victim, he was also worried about getting caught. His errors that had led authorities to the bodies of his animal victims only got him sympathy and attention from authorities, damn them all! But if he killed a human? He knew what would happen next. And in prison he'd have no chance to continue his search for women to abuse and terrorize. So he prayed ... prayed to Satan to show him the way and provide him with all his worldly needs and desires. He sacrificed animals and profaned the name of God in every way his flagitious, thirteen-year old soul could imagine. And that's when he met Alexandru Vasilie. In an instant, Furcas knew his prayers had been answered. Over the next five years, Alexandru introduced Furcas to all his worldly desires. Women were not the only pleasure bestowed on his animalistic countenance. Vasilie also gave Furcas "the power!" At least that's what they called it in the secret meetings. While Furcas had only met Vasilie a precious few times over the years, he met regularly in the Brimstone and Powder Pub, an out of the way dive on the seedier side of Tacoma, Washington. The Pub does not open until midnight and always keeps the doors closed. Not many patrons frequent the place, but it remains the perfect meeting spot to gather and bond with others who were outcast by society and found favor with him ... with Vasilie ... with the devil himself. One day, it would be Satan who ruled the universe with unchecked power and authority. And with Vasilie as his chief on earth, those who swore allegiance to him would be princes! When Vasilie first offered 'the power,' Furcas was hesitant. More than a few people, fellow miscreants he had known and confided to, had taken the treatments and did not survive. Dying from a fatal reaction to "the power" was not a pretty sight. Who knew the body was even capable of such contortion and spasmodic contraction? Furcas had seen it happen more than once. The "Korean" (none knew his real name) was the sole administrator of "the power." The Korean explained that some people simply did not have a heart black enough to withstand the infusion inherent with receiving "the power." About three in ten recipients died horrific deaths upon their first injection. Because of the high mortality rate and the extreme expense carried by Vasilie to forge the power, potential benefactors were required to prove worthy prior to the first treatment (men only ... women are slaves in the world of Vasilie, so only men are considered as candidates for "the power.") Maria was the only exception. She was very special to Vasilie. Furcas had, according to the Korean, achieved the highest score possible in his test for "power distribution." He had staked out an elderly lady who was beloved throughout her community to the south, in Portland. Sweet Karen Shafer, a widow of many years, was living on a fixed income but had opened her home to the poor and needy for decades, whether those in need were human, canine or feline. She operated entirely from donations by other `do-gooders' and was regularly featured in local papers and church drives for the poor. She had even been recognized by the local town mayor as the person "most reflecting the spirit of God in modern times" from the community. But she lived alone and would open her door to anyone who knocked. Anyone at all ... even Furcas. Mrs. Shafer disappeared on a rainy night in Portland in the early spring from her home. It took a week or more before anyone finally came to check on her and discovered that she was missing. Her physician, Dr. Morris Belt, revealed that Mrs. Shafer had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Syndrome, so it was possible that she had wandered outside her home and lost her way back. The local police accepted this prognosis as there was no sign of a struggle and nothing appeared to be missing from her home. After a few weeks, the police stopped looking. Poor Mrs. Shafer's body was never found. Furcas shivered in excitement recalling those vivid memories of three years ago. Mrs. Shafer had not just "wandered out and lost her way." And she did not have Alzheimer's Syndrome ... Dr. Belt was just one of the many employees on the Vasilie payroll. Shafer, the trusting fool that she was, had simply opened the door for Furcas when he knocked and actually felt sorry for him when she saw his physical shortcomings and heard his sad story. She'd invited him inside to rest and eat, even spend the night if he so desired. A simple sleeping injection had rendered her unconscious and in the dead of night, he'd transported her to a desolate, remote place (courtesy of the Korean) where he knew he'd not be disturbed. No, Mrs. Shafer was very alert and quite aware of all the things Furcas did to her over the course of the next month. He never dreamed she could survive that long, but he was so happy that she did. It was the best month of his life. Even the Korean was impressed! He was immediately "green-lighted" for his initial treatment and application of `the power.' And now, he was standing in the front yard of sweet Josie Warren, waiting for the lights to go out. In the last thirty months, Furcas had done more than his share of horrible things. Now that he was under the protection of Vasilie and the Korean, he had no worries about seeking out potential victims and doing whatever he wanted with them. He would arrive at the Brimstone and Powder Pub each night around midnight and from time to time, one of the denizens buried deep within the Byzantine coils of Vasilie's secret empire would give him instructions of who, when, and where his next victim would be located. And on a regular basis, he'd see the Korean for his injection of `the power.' Furcas had surged with delight almost immediately with the first treatment. The injection was painful, true, but he felt immense energy rushing through his veins unlike anything he had ever imagined. After a month of treatment, his foot became straight, his eye gained sight, and his head and face began correcting themselves. He no longer looked like a monster on the outside, but he was clearly a monster on the inside. Over the years, the treatments had given him new strength ... he clearly bristled with the might of at least ten men. His bones were unbreakable, his speed catlike, his lust for blood insatiable. With a moment's concentration, he could "will" his teeth to sharpen and claws to emerge from his fingers. He did not fully understand everything about `the power,' but other residents of the Pub explained that it was a fluid cocktail blended with various ingredients from Hell that formed some type of demonic DNA. When the day would eventually come for Satan to ascend to the throne, mere humans would be considered little more than bovine pets. Those who were sworn to honor Vasilie and his arcane host would be changed, and Furcas was undergoing that change, thanks to "the power" treatments and the fey handling of the Korean. The Bible thumpers boasted of being changed in "the twinkling of an eye" when Christ returned to claim His own. Furcas did not have to wait. He was already changed. And he was getting anxious to kill somebody tonight. And now, he was standing in the front yard of sweet Josie Warren, waiting for the lights to go out. It was shortly before midnight when Furcas saw the light from Josie's bedroom finally go dark. He smiled his dastardly smile and licked his lips with a scaly tongue. He'd become quite aroused and, automatically, his teeth transformed to sharp spikes and his fingernails to razor sharp talons. His eyes emitted a soft red glow, allowing him to see as clearly in the darkness as he might in the middle of the day. Somewhere in the distance, a soft glow of lightning scattered and danced across the sky, followed by the low rumble of the thunder and the gentle breeze carrying the unmistakable aroma of the coming rain. "That's perfect," he thought aloud. The rain would help wash away any evidence of his presence there. Not that evidence would matter, of course. Vasilie had so many police, judges and lawyers on his payroll in this town that Furcas had no worries at all. Still, he was disappointed that he could not take his time with this woman. His orders were clear ... make a quick kill but make it as brutal and shocking as possible. Vasilie wanted this to be a clear message to someone, but who that "someone" might be was not shared with Furcas. Vasilie ran his organization like a highly-disciplined military operation, and rightfully so. When Furcas had finally been briefed on who Vasilie actually was and what his plan entailed, well, how else could the outfit be organized? Still, it would have been nice to have a few days to "play" with Josie. He clucked with glee recalling a night one year ago to the day in this very neighborhood. He began humming an old song from the ancient days, a song designed to bring blessings and protection from the dark gods of eons past. They were the ancient ones, the lords of chaos who walked the earth before the coming of man. In his self-imposed stupor, Furcas reverted to speaking in the tongue of the Azif. It sounded like the chirping of a cricket or aphid, perhaps one of the dozens of other insects who sang their song of woe in the night. Furcas began giggling like a happy child on Christmas morning as he thought of the mindless sheep who heard those sounds in their back yards and drifted to sleep thinking it to be a sound of comfort. If those people only knew what really dwelt in the dark and damp recesses of the ebony night! As he clucked and chirped, he again recalled the young teenaged couple who missed their connecting bus from some Podunk town in the Midwest to Portland last year. One of Vasilie's lieutenants, the alluring Maria, approached them and offered to give them a lift. Furcas laughed lustily. Everyone trusted Maria. She looked and acted so sweet and innocent! Yep, normally, women would not be a part of the Vasilie world, at least not in a position of power and authority. But Maria was special. He supposed even the Devil himself sought female companionship from time to time, or at least that's what he'd been told. Maria was definitely a woman worthy of the Devil's affection. Anyway, once Maria had these teenage kids in her van, the rest was easy. They were twins, Benji and Buffy Tarkington, or some such foolery. Iowa or Nebraska or somewhere like that. Maria wanted the girl for Vasilie, but nobody cared about Benji. Vasilie especially liked twins, but he was partial to twin girls. There were plenty of brutes in Vasilie's employ who preferred boys, but Benji was almost eighteen so he was too old for most of the guys. Rather than just crush Benji and toss his body in a trash dump, Vasilie suggested that Furcas take him and use him to practice some new "techniques." And oh my, did Furcas practice. And practice. And practice. Benji lasted almost a month before he found sweet release. Even Furcas was amazed at how many body parts a human can lose and still survive. But he would not have the luxury of such time with little Josie. Still, there was something to be said for a quick, slashing good time as well. Now, at long last, it was time to make the move. Yes, Furcas O'Malley was a powerful, unstoppable, merciless killing machine. And now, he was standing in the front yard of sweet Josie Warren, moving in for the kill now that the lights had finally gone out. He paused for a moment on the side of the house and sliced through the telephone lines using his reptilian claws. Old people like Warren made it so easy. They did not have cell phones and still communicated using land line telephone access. It's almost as if she wanted him to have his way with her! As the light rain began to fall, he moved silently to the front door and inhaled mightily. He knew that in a matter of moments, the heavy rain would fall, muffling out any sounds of crying or whimpering from inside. Not that it would matter. He intended to cut away her ability to scream before he did anything else. That would at least give him the chance to have some fun before making good his getaway by the morning sunrise. To his surprise, the front door was not even locked. The old knob turned with ease in his massive hand, creaking and squawking as it opened on dry and well-worn hinges. The old crone was making it easy for him! He knew he only had at best four hours to finish her off, but after years of practice, he knew lots of things he could do in four hours. And he planned to do them all. He closed the door behind him and locked it. Being able to see perfectly in the dark, he stood at the foot of the stairs and looked upward to the bedroom where he knew she was resting. "Josie," he called out. "Oh, JOOOSSSIIIEEE!" His vulgar growl boomed across the room, amplified by the peaceful quiet interrupted only by the gentle `tick-tick-tick' of the Bavarian clock that stood mute watch in the corner. "JOSIE, I NEED YOU TO COME OUT AND PLAY WITH ME!" He chuckled and began banging on the wall, growling and hooting like a wild animal on the hunt. He paused, expecting to hear frightened shuffling upstairs, the `click' of a bedroom light switch being flipped, perhaps a shallow cry asking for identification. To his surprise, Furcas heard nothing. So he called out again, louder, and kicked over the lamp that crashed and shattered across the ceramic tile living room floor. "I'M HERE FORYOU, JOOOSSSSIIIEEE," he bellowed again. "I'VE COME TO PLAY WITH YOU. DON'T YOU WANT TO PLAY WITH ME?" He paused and waited, his head cocked to the side like some hellish lapdog awaiting verification from its pallid master. He began to get angry. No sound emerged from the upstairs bedroom. Bewildered and belligerent, Furcas bounded up the steps in two leaps. If she would not respond to coyness, perhaps she'd respond to brute force! But she WOULD respond, damn it! Nobody ignored Furcas O'Malley. NO ONE! (Continues...) Excerpted from DOVE OF WARby BILL CAIN Copyright © 2012 by Bill Cain. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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