The Board

This is a type of murder-mystery conspiracy that I'm working on. All copyright belongs to me. Do let me know what you think.

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1

One hardly ever hears about traditional, biblical sacrifices these days. Have the gods become less hungry for blood? Were those biblical tales just elaborate lies constructed to keep the masses in line? The answer to the first is ‘no’, the second is ‘absolutely’. You hardly hear about them anymore because no one wants to look, the masses are scared enough and they’ve lost the appetite for watching these things.

The car rolled slowly through the streets carrying herself and her husband to the board hearing. They had donned their board masks before embarking, as was the tradition and their right as board members. The wrapped the mink shawl around her snugly as it was a bit chilly this evening, and looked over to her husband. His aging physique was robed in the modern cloth of power, and their union was fitting for these times. Their families’ storied bloodlines had to be proud of their work in this city, the ancient and continued faith that upheld the foundation of this place in the heart of the country.

She took in a deep breath as she stood out of the Bentley, her city was quiet tonight. Her mask fit as well as ever, the shroud that was a piece of this hallowed tradition. The night air was crisp, and the city almost groaned for its next sacrifice. The spilling of sacrificial blood tonight would fulfill the moonlit cycle, and thin the herd of peasants simultaneously which pleased her. Under the mask was her grin, which no one else on the board would be able to see. She gazed around the table as she entered the dining room, the 12 were standing behind their chairs waiting for the heads of state to walk in. With their gaze fixed on her and her husband, they took their seats as he motioned them to do so. Identities were hidden from one another, but she and her husband knew who was who. Her husband’s entire bloodline had stood where he was now, and he took the reins as masterfully and ruthlessly as any before him had. He called the meeting to order and started the business of the night. He sat, and she stood behind him off right with her hand placed on his right shoulder.

He called on the members of the board to cast their votes in silence on several matters, they had pen and paper in front to write 1 strike for yay and 2 strikes for nay. When the time came and the votes were cast on all matters, he looked to her to call in the sacrifice. She raised her hand toward their new Master of Ceremony, a large man from the Mother Country named Sven. He stood easily 7 feet and was built stronger than an ox.

Sven opened the double doors to the kitchen, and revealed the sacrifice. The man was naked, unconscious, and strapped to a board that was on a dolly. His name wasn’t important, but he was a local man who had been running his business locally that the board saw as distasteful. His guilt had been established, the vote was cast, and his sentence was death as sacrifice. Her husband chanted the ceremony, and once it was complete she motioned to Sven once more. Sven took an intricate dagger out of his jacket and sliced into the sacrifice’s torso. The sacrifice awoke in time for his death, and his screaming made the ceremony much more evocative and almost erotic for her. The screams reached their peak, he died, and Sven started to clean the room. Two men emerged from the back door and took the sacrifice away.

She wrapped her coat around her, Sven escorted her outside to the curb, and they got back into their car. She reached over and held her husband’s leg as the drove, and felt his pulse pound as strongly as ever. A beautiful evening, a traditional ceremony, and their ironclad union.

2

3 a.m. rolled around again, sleep as elusive as ever. Chris rolled over in bed and went to kiss his wife, Anne, on the forehead, expecting the usual groan as if to say “get off” to emanate from the sleeping beauty. After 2 kids, and 13 years together, groans almost became their shorthand talk. Chris then felt slapped as his lips hit the mattress and he realized she had insisted on the trial separation, and his work had moved him to an alien city. Darkness crawled up the walls of the bedroom as he realized it was completely empty. He was the typical bachelor in this moment, clothes everywhere and he was sleeping on a mattress on the floor.

It was a very plain one-bedroom apartment he’d found, and all-in-all perfect for him. Living room, kitchen, bathroom and a bedroom all fit neatly into a third floor space. Big houses freaked him out, too many entry points for a suspect to sneak in and hurt you. When you’re a detective, you’re always thinking about ramifications.

Chris got up and grabbed his overcoat, the sweats and t-shirt would be fine this time of night. He slipped on his favorite sneakers, grabbed the keys and slipped out the front door as quickly as he could.

He put the Buick in drive and started to roll around the streets of this strange city. Chris was starting to get the hang of the different flavors the town had to offer. Italian on the Hill, great Thai and Indian off Grand, and the best BBQ he’d ever had in the heart of the city near the ballpark. He rolled the windows down so he could smell if someone was starting to cook. Maybe one of those bakeries had their cooks out for a boatload of production and prep in the wee hours. He thought that at 3:45 a.m., still a touch early, but it was worth a shot.

If Chris was honest with himself, he was a bit turned around at this point. The houses were a bit larger and very close together, so he pulled the Buick over and parked her near an intersection. It was time for his bad little habit. She hadn’t warmed up that much, so the breath was still visible as he sighed and opened the jacket up to grab his pack and lighter. He got out of the car and shut the door, no sense in checking to see if it was locked since there was nothing of any value to steal. He’d heard the horror stories of theft and crime here in St. Louis, but he wasn’t concerned about anything he had here.

He lit a cigarette and sighed again, if Anne caught him he’d certainly hang high for this transgression. That now familiar sting that she was all but gone returned. This was the trap his mind kept falling into. He’d heard stories from war vets on the job that described having an amputated limb. That feeling that it was still there, but only when you looked down did you realize it wasn’t. Something you’d been so fond of, but maybe had taken for granted year after year was suddenly ripped from you. Somewhere along the way, through all the neglect and absence, he’d forgotten her needs and the fact that they were a team and not a support system for him alone.

She’d been a good trooper, and had the herculean effort of helping the kids as the job was time-consuming, and he couldn’t really blame her for that look in her eyes that she wanted to take a swing at him. Hell, he would have if he were in her place. So many times. Too many times. He squeezed his eyes when the count started to pile up in his mind, he noticed tears rolling down his face and the wind bite at them with a cold hunger that only a month like February knew