The Newton Prophecies

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

DiBianco couldn't believe his eyes. Besides a slew of papers--some printed, some written--and pictures cluttering the wall at the far end of the spacious room next to a small desk bearing a computer, it was clean and inviting. A small, yet attractive sofa; a quaint oak table for two; and a fancy kitchenette, with everything a single guy should ever need, even a dishwasher. An essence of berries kissed the air.
         Clinton slammed the door behind him.
         "Sorry," he said. "It sticks."
         "I'm impressed."
         "Thank you."
         "I mean it. You have a great place."
         "Enough flattery. Let's see what's in the bags."
         DiBianco dropped the bag on the sofa and walked towards the collage of papers on the wall. "What's this?"
         "My work."
         "Work?"
         "It's kinda hard to explain."
         "Peter. I know you're a fan of my work..."
         Clinton nodded, smiling.
         "A person's work speaks clearly about their life. I'd love to learn about yours."
         "It's complicated."
         DiBianco scanned the countless polaroids and printouts of satanic symbols, crime scenes, murder victims, serial killers; and articles, newspaper clippings, and notes galore.
         It's quite a shock seeing this stuff on anyone's wall, much less a young man whose apartment DiBianco was now standing in. He suddenly wasn't sure he wanted to know.
         "Why don't you begin with how you found me?" A sudden knot of fear stuck in DiBianco's throat. "What brought you to Saint Mary's?"
         "As you can see, I have an attraction to the occult, and the macabre--but it's not the type of attraction I'd call bad, or dangerous."
         "How so? This stuff looks pretty dangerous to me."
         "I work to expose this stuff. I don't live it--"
         "Could have fooled me."
         "Mike, hear me out." He was defensive, but confident. "I solve mysteries--shed light on the evil that lurks out there. I'm not one of them."
         "I see." DiBianco felt a little better. "You're kinda like a ... like a--"
         "--A private investigator?"
         "Yeah."
         "Only I work for myself ... Oh, and God."
         DiBianco walked toward the bag on the sofa and unzipped it. "Let's have a look, shall we."
         "You wanted to know how I found you." Clinton reminded, following DiBianco to the sofa, trying to glance inside the bag. "I seem to have this problem, at least that's what I've been told. I can't let mysteries go unsolved. I become trapped by them. It's a minor problem that sometimes gets me into trouble. This time, it led me to you."
         DiBianco pulled out his laptop, the purple Speedo and the dreaded hospital gown and tossed them on the sofa.
         "That's right," DiBianco said. "You overheard a strange couple whispering in a restroom..."
         "Yeah."
         "What the hell did they say that so compelled you to drop everything and follow them?"
         "I don't know, exactly, something about the tone of it all, I guess. A secret. They were planning something, something mysterious, dark. It was really...
         DiBianco pulled a brand new copy of God Science out of the bag; when he did a manilla folder fell to his feet. Something handwritten on the cover.
         "What's this?"
         Descendants of Lucifer.

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