“Another victim of the Altar Killer was found this morning on the altar of St. Ignatius Cathedral. Police won’t confirm or deny whether they are linked to the brutal murders that demoralized the Catholic community, less than two years ago…”

Angelo threw the remote control across the room as he watched the news story regarding the Altar Killer unfold. The woman on the screen spoke in a low remorseful tone, but all he could hear was the underlying insincerity that marked her as a reporter. His face was utterly devoid of emotion as he pulled the cell phone out of his pocket.

He cleared his throat and tried to adopt his softest tone before calling Felicity Tramore. Felicity was the wife of his late brother Eduardo, and the mother of his nephews Fabian and Renaldo DiSantiago, and he was loathe to find out how emotionally fragile she would be right now.

The phone rang three times before she finally picked up. “Felicity? Why didn’t you tell me that Fabian was missing? I warned you…I can’t fix things if you don’t talk to me.” The woman on the other end of the phone was crying, half gasping for air. Angelo gritted his teeth in irritation, but for the sake of his late brother, he remained civil.

“How long has he been missing?” Still the sniveling, the useless unproductive maniacal drama of a woman. “Felicity, I’m going to send Raphael over and he’s going to take care of this. I expect you to cooperate. If you do, we might be able to overlook it. But. This is it. Do you hear me? This. Is. IT.”

Angelo hung up with a quick snap of his phone and began dialing Javier’s dog. He was looking forward to this about as much as he had his conversation with Felicity, but there was no time to spare. If Fabian was out there, they had less than 24 hours before another body was found lying on an altar.

Raphael was pissed. He was down $4500 dollars to these losers and his cards had gotten no better during the evening. He intentionally splashed the pot when he threw in his raise (on a bluff). He hoped the overly aggressive move would unnerve the rookie in front of him. Raphael was sitting on a 5-10 off-suit; and pretty sure that the kid was Ace-10. That was his read when flop contained a 10.

The kid reluctantly called the raise; but he was less sure of his hand than he had been moments ago. Raphael took a big puff on his cigar and fingered a stack of chips; he had this kid (barring a 10 on the turn or river).

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Raphael pulled it out and saw that it was Angelo. He thought about putting it through to voice mail and answering after the hand; but if Angelo was calling him, it was probably important. His uncle never talked to him directly unless it was an emergency.

He looked back at his chips, then to the kid. “I fold.” He said, throwing his cards down on the table. “I need to take this.” He walked out of the room and onto the deck of the house.

“Hola.” He said tersely.

Raphael couldn't see the strained grimace on the other side of the phone as Angelo bit back his first retort. "Raph. There's a situation with Fabian and it isn't fucking right that I find out about it on the six o'clock news." His tone was borderline accusatory. "I want you to find him and clean this the fuck up."

If there was an accusation, Raphael ignored it. Fabian. He thought, Christ. "I'm on it." He said but before he hung up, he needed a second question answered, "When I find him, you'll need to be specific about how you want this handled."

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. Not even Angelo could decide the fate of a DiSantiago without considering the consequences. "Felicity is waiting for you. I've assured her that we'll do every thing that we can to bring him back to her. But I don't want him coming home, make it look like self defense if you have to, or tell her that he skipped the country. And I don't want any witnesses. Dispose of his victim as well, dead or alive, nobody finds her body."

"Understood." Raphael sliding his phone closed. Jesus. He had just been given a kill order for a member of the Family -- from Angelo. Had you let me kill him last time, none of this would be happening. Raphael thought, remembering the last time. The doctors said that he needed help; but Raphael had always thought he needed to be put out of his misery.

He left $3k in chips on the table as he drove away to his aunt's house. The last time, he had been the only one -- outside the cops and forensic team -- who had seen just what Fabian was capable of doing; and it turned his stomach. He dialed Detective Harold Ivens.

"I was wondering when you'd call." Ivers answered. "I can't help you like last time."

Raphael shook his head. "No. You'll help me better than last time. I need a copy of the file, forensics and everything."

"No." Ivers said, his voice increasingly irritated. "You don't understand. I closed this fuckin' case 20 months ago. I had the dead body of the killer and everything."

Raphael nodded, he had given the detective that body. "Harry. You're going to come through for me. Meet me in 45 minutes near that bar you like to go to."

"We're not having this ... " Harry began.

"Look, this is not the kind of request I make where you get to think about it." Raphael said, "This is the kind of thing you do without asking questions." Normally, he liked to make his cop allies think that they were working for the Family for the money. In reality, they were working for the Family because they were owned; the money just made things easier. "Bring me the old file too. Understand?"

"Yes. 45 minutes." The police officer began to shake a little. Raphael knew about his drug problem, and about his fetish for underage girls. Raphael knew where he lived. "I'll get what you want."

"Good choice." Raphael said closing his phone.

Fifty minutes later, Raphael was reading the file and looking at the new pictures. He had secretly been hoping that it was a copy-cat; but all signs pointed to it not being that. It was a hot night in Hudson City, the wind blowing off the water gave little relief from the heat - it just carried humidity. Raphael could feel a headache building and rubbed his forehead; he had no desire to listen to his aunt tell him how special Fabian was or how misunderstood her little killer was. He could still hear her bleating cries from the last time; he could feel Angelo giving in to her. Clock is running. Raphael thought. He sped toward Irishtown and his aunt's house.

Renaldo had come as quickly as he could. He could barely understand Felecity when she had called him, she tended to be the overdramatic sort, but this was something beyond that. He worked his way through the house, searching for her, and finally found her in the lower level.

This was Fabian’s domain, usually locked up tight to keep him safe from the world and the world safe from him. He was the delicate sort, much like Felicity, but he was touched with a genius and sensitivity that drove his fragile spirit into the realm of madness. It was there that he found his mother, doubled over and lost in the anguish of her tears.

Fabian was nowhere to be seen.

Memories flooded back to Renaldo as he padded through the old house. It was more of a mansion really, sprawling and opulent to the point of tawdriness. More suited for the hills of Hollywood than the outskirts of Hudson City. Felicity Montross had been a Hollywood vixen before marrying into the DiSantiago family and demanded to be treated like a star. But now the decor of the house was fading and outdated - just like her owner. Also like its owner, the house carried troubles and secrets hidden from outside observers.

His mother was only half lucid when he found her, most likely from some self medicating. She had obviously been crying, her ruined mascara almost obscuring the glazed and distant look in her eyes. She was sitting in a darkened room, watching a home movie silently flicker against a cluttered wall, the images of him and his brother dancing over old family portraits and water colors.

She didn't notice him when he entered the room, so he took a moment to watch the movie. The rhythmic sound of the projector was almost hypnotic as he took in the scene of two young boys dancing in and out of a small wading pool, splashing each other and laughing. Fabian was wearing one his father's fishing hats and had a smile of pure childish joy. Renaldo closed his eyes and thought back to that day. He remembered that day as clearly as if he were the one holding the camera.

He opened his eyes and saw his mother looking up at him, her face filled with a profound sadness that Renaldo had seen too many times before. She choked back more tears and pleaded with her son, "Don't let anything happen to him... he's a good boy... he just needs to come home." She turned back to the movies and continued, "Look at your brother... he has an angel's smile."

Renaldo just nodded and sat down beside his mother, putting his arm around and pulling her close. He lost himself in the movie again, focusing on his older brother's smile. It was a smile he hadn't seen since he was 13 years old. The smile of a normal person with normal pleasures. But that smile was long gone. He hadn't seen his brother smile without blood on his lips and malice in his eyes for many years.

Still, he was family. He was flesh and blood. And Renaldo would not let his brother be hunted down like a wild dog. It would be more than his mother could bear. As he stood, he gently kissed her on the cheek and reassured her, "Don't worry, I'll go get him."

She didn't respond, lost in the haze of the past and her memories.

Raphael had gone over the files, tried to take in every detail; but he had had a difficult time of it. These crimes were beyond brutal: they were sadistic and they horrified him. The irony did not escape him. He grimaced when he saw Renaldo's car in the driveway; but he was not surprised. He locked the folder in a case that slid from the driver's seat and placed his pistol in there as well. This was, for all it's gruesomeness, just a social call.

Running his hand through his hair and straightening his suit, he walked up to the door and rang the bell.

As Renaldo walked back up the stairs, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Angelo, hoping he wasn't too late to prevent the manhunt that was sure to come.

The first two times Renaldo called his uncle, it went directly to his voicemail. Considering how high the stakes were, he didn't give up easily, and after a few more minutes had managed to get Angelo's personal assistant, Sophie, on the phone. It took a great deal of his considerable charm, but in the end she was sympathetic to his plight, or what he shared of it, and put him through to Angelo.

His Uncle's voice was more than a bit edgy as he came onto the line, making Renaldo wonder if Sophie still had a job or not. "Renaldo."

"Angelo," he answered, "we need to talk." His tone was calm, but familiar. He knew that Angelo wouldn't sit still and let Fabian run loose. The family's name was at stake. But how far was he willing to go? How many times was he going to deal with the same problem before his patience ran out?

"I'm not sure what there is to talk about," the older man replied, "he's loose again." Those last three words were spoken with a mixture of resignation and irritation. He obviously had no desire to continue the conversation, but the unspoken message was clear. Things were already in motion.

Renaldo understood, but didn't care. "There's plenty to talk about. What's the plan? Who are you -"

"Don't worry about it," Angelo interrupted.

"Are you serious? Don't worry about it?"

"You heard me."

"Bullshit. I need to be the one to find him."

"Stay out of it. You and your pure blood have already done enough."

"Not a chance. He's my... brother." Renaldo heard the doorbell ring and went to the front door.

"It's being taken care of. It's handled. It's done... Understand? This entire line is at its end." There was a note of finality to his words.

"Let me take care of it. I've done it before."

His patience at and end, Angelo spat back, "I'm not saying it again, so listen closely - Stay. Out. Of. It."

Renaldo looked out the front door and saw the family dog standing on the porch. "Fuck me! You sent who? Fucking Raphael?!"

Click. Silence. Angelo had hung up on him.

Renaldo yelled futilely back into the phone, "Damn you Angelo!"

Raphael saw the frustration and anger on Renaldo's face when their eyes met. "I'd like to come in." He said plainly.

Of course," Renaldo replied, trying to wipe the emotion from his face. He didn't want Raphael to see how angry the previous call had made him. Holding up his cell phone he continued, "I just got off the phone with Angelo... we need to find Fabian."

He let the lie hang in the air and waited to see if Raphael would see through it.

Raphael nodded as he walked into the house. "I'm sorry to see you again under such difficult circumstances." Raphael said. "I need to look at where Fabian lived; any place where he might have had away from everyone else." Raphael looked around this place, nearly everything seemed faded -- like the ex-starlet who lived here.

He knew very little about the Priest. He and Angelo had had one conversation about him in the past, and it was clear that there was something about Renaldo that ... concerned Angelo. But, his uncle would not be pressed on the issue. "Where's your mom? I have some questions for her."

Renaldo stepped back and pulled the door, inviting Raphael into house. "Mother's downstairs," he answered casually, "but she's in no condition to talk." Before the assassin had a chance to ask why, Renaldo mimed the internation symbol for drinking and took a swig from an invisible glass. He followed it up with an apolgetic half smile and helpless shrug.

"Not that I would've let you talk to her anyway." He kept his tone light, but there was a look in his eye that Raphael could tell was dead serious.

The priest didn't pause to give Raphael time to interject and continued on, "But you really came here to see where Fabian stayed. Follow me."

He eventually stopped in front of a heavy wooden door that would have looked more at home in a dungeon. It was standing slightly ajar, leading down an unlit stairway. It was the first time that Raphael had seen the prison, but he'd heard it whispered about at family gatherings. Fabian was almost as mysterious to his own family as he was to the small circle of Hudson City Socialites, single women, looking for an unwed man of wealth and standing.

"Anything in particular you're expecting to find?" Renaldo asked.

This entire night was shit; and he was taking it from all directions. And now, this fuck wanted to give it to him as well. Fabian had his next victim; Raphael was sure of it. "I'm not really sure what I'm looking for." Raphael admitted. "Who else has been in here and what has been moved?"

"To be honest, I don't think that anyone has been down there for over a decade... except for the last episode, of course. There's a dumb waiter that food, medicine and clean clothes are sent down in. He has a laundry chute and garbage chute for disposal. And he cleans up after himself - far better than any maid service I've ever seen."

He stared down the stairs and tried to forget the last time he walked down them. The last time Fabian had to be locked away from the world.

"I couldn't tell you what's been moved... but I'm sure the tape will. Other than the bathroom, every square inch is being filmed 24-7."

Tapes?! Raphael thought Angelo didn't say anything about there being tapes. "We can look at those tapes next."

Raphael closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Renaldo, I get that Fabian is your brother and that you're mother is downstairs and distraught. But, she was his guardian. There are questions that only she can answer. So, since you won't let me talk to her -- you get the questions and the answers while I'm in here. That work for you?"

"I wasn't kidding about Mother not being sober... but I'll go give it a try." He glanced at his watch, "I'll meet you back here in about 10 minutes... anything specific you want to know?"

"When was the last time she saw him? Where does he keep his meds? When, if ever, was she first aware that he was off them?" Raphael pushed the door open, turned on a flashlight and started down the stairs. Then he stopped.

Renaldo watched as Raphael finished descending down the stairs. Once Raph had made his way down, he quickly found a light switch to flip on and illuminate his surroundings. To his surprise, this was no dungeon, the furnishings were lavish and Fabian had over half the expanse of the mansion's lower level to himself. It would quite easily dwarf the square footage that most people would call a home in Hudson City. Everything down here was newer than what he'd seen so far of the rest of the house. It appeared that he had a preference for white and red, most of the furnishings were blood red, splashed against a luxurious white carpet. The paintings were abstract, nearly all of them red, white and black and hanging in expensive frames.

Raphael stepped off of the stairs and into the room, his feet sunk nearly three inches into the plush carpet. Everything here was pristine and smelled of disinfectant, with a hint of citrus. He walked through the living areas, kitchen, office, exercise room and bedrooms, giving everything a cursory glance for anything out of place. Unfortunately everything seemed to be in order, to the extent that he added obsessive compulsive to the already known list of issues that he figured plagued Fabian.

"If I were goddamn nuts, where would I hide something." Raphael asked himself. "Did Fabian ever think he'd even come back here?" Raphael walked over to his computer and turned it on. While it was booting up, he walked into Fabian's bathroom and looked into his medicine cabinet. Everything seemed in place. Pills laid out for each day of the week and all the pill boxes were appropriately filled or emptied as Raphael would have expected. He did a quick pill count and saw that nothing was amiss. Only, something was amiss. This kind of thing could be faked, especially by someone as smart as Fabian. He thought with a grimace.

He went back to the computer and desk. The desk was clean. There were four different Bibles (New International Version, Revised American Standard, King James Version and The Ignatius Bible) on a shelf. "Jesus, this guy likes his Bibles." Raphael said. On the wall above his computer was a map of the Ancient World. It clearly marked the missionary journey's of Paul and there were push-pins in several cities. In one of the drawers was a hanging file holder with several files, Raphael took several out to read later.

"Shit. What's the password." Raphael said looking down at the computer.

"Alter", he typed. "Alterboy", "Eucharist", "Pedophile". None of those worked. He looked around and sat on his bed. Another Bible lay on his night stand. This one was well worn, written in with passages highlighted. It was the Douay-Rheims version. Raphael picked it up and opened it to the passage that was marked with one of three ribbons. The Apocalypse of St. John, Chapter 2. For the first time ever, he wished he had paid attention in Church just once. He began reading the yellow highlighted and blue-pen underlined passage.

And to the angel of the church of Thyatira write: These things saith the Son of God, who hath his eyes like to a flame of fire, and his feet like to fine brass. I know thy works, and thy faith, and thy charity, and thy ministry, and thy patience, and thy last works which are more than the former. But I have against thee a few things: because thou sufferest the woman Jezabel, who calleth herself a prophetess, to teach, and to seduce my servants, to commit fornication, and to eat of things sacrificed to idols.

And I gave her a time that she might do penance, and she will not repent of her fornication. Behold, I will cast her into a bed: and they that commit adultery with her shall be in very great tribulation, except they do penance from their deeds. And I will kill her children with death, and all the churches shall know that I am he that searcheth the reins and hearts, and I will give to every one of you according to your works.

"Fuck." Raphael said. He thought back to the photos of the Alter Killer's victims and the way he arrayed their bodies. The photos read just they were taken from this passage. He walked back over to the computer and typed, "Thyatira".

He was in.

The first thing he did was look at his recent applications, and was surprised to see that a web browser was among them. While he wasn't as familiar with all of Fabian's restrictions, like Renaldo, he knew enough, to know that Fabian was not suppose to have access to the outside world. And that included phones and internet access.

"Damn." Raphael said quietly. He looked down to see that there was a wireless connection established. He opened his phone and called Javier. He quickly gave him the high points and asked that they send someone over here to take the computer. The data that Fabian was so careful to delete might be recovered.

Opening up the web browser, he tried to access the recent history, but Fabian had cleared it and there was no way that he could find to peruse his web log. He continued to poke around, opening various applications, and finally found an excel spread sheet of interest. The sheet included his financial records, investments, spending, assets and other items of interest.

Upon further examination he found several recent purchases from medical supply companies and one from a local hardware store. The entries were sparse at best, including only the company name and the amount of the purchase, similar to the basics that one would keep on a bank ledger.

He printed the financial records and other papers of interest as well as the spreadsheet. He would call the hardware store first. Fabian was most likely adept at forging doctors prescriptions; but Raphael was sure that he stood out like a sore thumb at True Value.

Meanwhile, upstairs...

Instead of heading back to his mother, Renaldo meandered through the rest of the house. None of the staff had been here when he arrived earlier. He wasn't certain if mother had given them the day off or if Angelo had arranged for their departure as soon as Fabian's absence was noticed. In either case, it looked as if they had left in a hurry.

He let his mind wander as he moved from room to room, looking for an obvious clue to his brother's whereabouts. He didn't expect to find anything, but Fabian had been known to like to play games. He checked all the bibles, crucifixes, portraits of Jesus and other religious items he found scattered around the house. He knew his mother had found God again, but he hadn't realized He was her decorator.

Eventually he found himself in the security room, which was really more of a converted closet. There was a shelf full of VHS tapes, a couple of VCRs that looked like they were from the late 80's and a bank of small black and white monitors. It was antiquated, but once upon a time it was top of line. He made a mental note to have it upgraded as he tried to remember how the set up worked.

After a bit of trial and error, he found the recordings he needed. Fabian's living space. The screen was quartered into 4 small screens, each showing a different room. Renaldo rewound the tape quickly to the beginning, which according to the label would have been yesterday morning, and watched. His patience was wearing thin however, and quickly began fast-forwarding through the tape. He watched as Fabian popped from screen to screen as he moved from room to room, going about his daily routine. Suddenly, the screen turned to snow.

He slowed the tape down and tried to capture the exact moment that screen picture died. Fabian was sitting in a chair reading a bible, just as he had been doing for several hours. But a split second before the snow, he saw his brother's eyes move and look into the camera - like he was locking eyes with Renaldo. He rewound it and watched it again. And again. And again. He thought he saw something else, something that he wasn't sure anyone else would see. But he would bet his life that Fabian had mouthed a word. "Father."

The rest of the tape was blank. There was no clue as to how he got out of his room. But a quick survery of other tapes showed Fabian as he made his way through the house and left. His only stop had been in the kitchen to make a sandwich before taking the keys to his mother's luxury SUV and driving away. It was good to know, but it didn't really help him. He still didn't know how his brother had escaped or where he was at.

With no better leads, he decided to heed Raphael's request and go speak with his mother. But when he made it to her makeshift home theater she was in no condition to speak. She had managed not to spill her wine when she passed out, but that was the only good thing he could say. Her sprawled form was illuminated by the projector, which continued to run despite the movie's end. It's spent reel flapped noisily along with the machine's hum and his mother's light snoring. When he lifted her and carried her to bed, she groggily opened her eyes for a half second and muttered, "Eddy?" But just as quickly, she fell unconscious. He smiled to himself at being mistaken for his father

He finally made it to the kitchen and tried to recreate his brother's steps. He knew Fabian always loved peanut butter and jelly. Crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jelly to be exact. One white bread with the crusts cut off. In the video, Fabian had used the largest butcher knife in the kitchen for the task. A quick check showed the knife was missing, but everything else seemed to be put away. As Renaldo looked inside the refrigerator he decided that if nothing else, at least his brother was tidy - at least when entrails weren't concerned.

Frustrated, he slammed the refrigerator door shut, rattling it contents and shaking off some papers. His mother liked to keep things stuck to the fridge with magnets - reminders, calanders, newspapare clippings, etc. It was always cluttered, but it seemed to be a filing system that worked for her. As he bent to pick up some of papers and reattach them his heart got stuck in his throat.

Written on the back of something in bold, red, sticky jelly was a crucifix. He flipped it over and saw it was an invitation to an engagement party.

Without bothering to read the details he headed down to share it with Raphael. He had found where Fabian planned to find his next victim.

It took a good fifteen minutes for Raphael to call the medical supply companies and hardware store, after finding their numbers. He was a skilled interrogator and did his best impression of Detective Ivers, as he called them concerning recent purchases made by Fabian DiSantiago. When their systems didn't show any record of that name, he continued down possible aliases, until finally they found a purchase receipt for Felicity Tramore.

He scrawled down a list of the items that Fabian purchased, horrified by some of the items on the list and completely ignorant of others. He asked for spellings of the pharmaceutical names, so that he could look them up later, and when they listed some larger items, he began to wonder how these things got in under the radar and where they were now. This was quickly clarified when he got the delivery confirmation address, it was quite possible that he was staring at the crime scene.

Raphael was done here. Fabian had broken about a dozen rules -- something that Raphael had warned everyone about when they decided to lock the psycho in his bedroom as punishment for his killings -- and had now escaped. He had drugs and ... paraphernalia ... to do his Alter Killer thing again. He walked back upstairs, hoping that Renaldo would have finished with him mom and the security tapes by now.

"Renaldo." He called, "What do those tapes show?"

File Closed