The Everglades - Chapter Fifteen

15

May 17, 1963. A decade and a half of faithful service to the Germans offered Harry Northrup the ability to move about town with impunity. It wasn’t necessary to capture and control entire police forces; only those possessing lofty positions within institutions. It was those men who quashed investigations targeting members of the local cabal. Prosecutors, priests, and politicians, cloaking unnatural cravings for flesh, had been identified and compromised.

The bargain was one with the devil.

These men continued preying on weaker members of society; forcing sexual encounters upon women and children.

Campaigns were funded and elections rigged. Violence and bribery kept citizens from rising up against evil. Corruption became an acceptable way of life. Inner peace, enjoyed by the Godly, prevented them from realizing evil was ubiquitous. The need for more required fleshly manifestations of malevolence to exist inter-generationally.

The ecumenical church Harry Northrup built had been completed shortly after the man’s initial encounter at the Biscayne Bay Marina. Although not an ordained minister, the man moved about the complex in a supremely pious manner.

Unlike Renaissance cathedrals, the sanctuary designed and built by the man was all too uninspiring. It was simply a long narrow corridor beset by pews and headed by an altar. It was Harry Northrup to be worshipped in that blasphemous setting.

At a time when voices on televisions implored, “it’s ten P.M. Do you know where your children are?” Harry used oversized notoriety to attract children into his sanctuary. It became a lair-like space; more suitable to earthly pursuits than spirituality.

The sanctuary was dark. All church personnel were instructed to refrain from going near the building. Pest control chemicals were to be ostensibly applied both inside and out. Anyone venturing closely risked sickness; even death.

There would be destruction that night; of a child’s soul.

Harry entered the rear of the sanctuary in the company of a ten year old girl. The old man’d parked his car on the street in front of the building. The bay across the street offered a natural barrier. Few could be expected to swim to freedom from any point along the sandy beach.

The church manifested consumption of the girl. No greater sense of control was experienced by fallen angels than when innocence was torn from the nubile. Harry Northrup was a man possessing such an oversized self-conception.

The girl had been plied from family with promises of treats. Vigilance escaped parents possessing an all-too naïve world view. It was after all, Miami; a small mid-century fishing village that’d yet to achieve its full potential. Men possessing the foresight to see what it could become knew how to leverage individual skills to scrape wealth from unsuspecting citizens. Sexual conquests filled spiritual gaps left within souls vacant a Godly presence.

Never once did Northrup equate his actions that night to those of Marty Markham. His daughter Victoria had been brutally raped for three years by a man capable of making Harry’s financial life more lucrative. The narcissist valued only that which enriched him; physically and emotionally.

Consideration wasn’t afforded his own daughter.

The old man manipulated the singular switch illuminating the alter at the far end of the building. The two strolled hand-in-hand down the long carpeted aisle; between wooden pews.

Charlotte patiently awaited the experience she’d been promised. Harry’d told her what awaited was like Santa on Christmas Eve. If she spoke too much about it, the experience wouldn’t materialize.

Behind the altar was a long settee. It was out of sight of parishioner pews; hidden by the ornately decorated and perpetually clothed table where communions were prepared.

Harry instructed Charlotte to have a seat.

The little girl smiled and looked up at the man; excited for that which he promised.

The old man walked toward an opening where wine and water were stored. He reached inside and flipped a small switch on the inner-wall. Magically, the cross suspended above the altar by monofilament line reversed position.

The father of Victoria Northrup gazed reverently at the phenomenon. Not until the cross was fully inverted, did he once again direct attention toward Charlotte.

The symbol represented the upending of God’s love. Instead of the Patibulum reaching toward the divine; it descended into malevolence.

The old man walked to the small sofa upon which the little girl sat. He joined her.

Charlotte witnessed her so-called guardian’s countenance morph.

Northrup’s eyes conveyed covetous desires. The grandfatherly smile was replaced with pursed lips, grinding teeth, and flexing jaws. Random thoughts were replaced with wanton desires. He craved a singular tactile experience.

Charlotte became afraid of the man she’d trusted so openly. The only thing she knew to do was question, “is this where we're having ice cream?”

Harry Northrup deviated focus briefly enough to utter, “that’ll be in the parish hall later on.”

The old man’s mouth watered with desire. He reached out and forcefully grabbed Charlotte’s arm.

The little girl slumped onto the sofa. Fear radiated from her eyes. It was in that moment realization she’d been lied to wracked her prepubescent body. Anxiety tingled and radiated. Charlotte experienced primal fears of which she possessed no understanding.

Harry Northrup approached an age whereby primitive lust waned. Desperately the old man grasped for experiences through which he maintained control. The aging narcissist was incapable of imagining a weakened existence. Exhibiting strength could only be achieved when it was forced upon younger members of society.

Frustration drove anger. Exacting revenge on the youngest, those gifts from God, was the only manner which satiated the old man’s desires. Until his dying breath he’d lash out for being made to exist in a perishable state.

Harry forcefully pulled the girl off the small sofa and stood her in front of him. Beneath his fingers, gripped so tightly on nubile flesh, bruises began to form on the little girl’s arm. With his left hand Harry tore away clothes from her body. There was no thought of preservation. She was meant to be totally consumed.

The tussle between old man and ten year old girl continued until she was completely naked. There was a single oversight that cost Harry complete fulfillment of satanic desires.

Hanging around Charlotte’s neck was a silver crucifix.

The old man grabbed the girl’s long hair, wrapped it around his hand, and spun her away from him. He hadn’t the emotional strength to look the young girl in her eyes as he violated her.

Harry placed his oversized hand, swollen with age, into the middle of her back. He pushed her over while maintaining his grasp on her mane. Without the benefit of lubricant, the man violated God’s most precious gift.

Charlotte screamed in pain as tender flesh ripped and bled. The little girl had no conception of death. She didn’t understand life as she knew it was never going to be the same.

With every thrust of the old man’s pelvis he penetrated Charlotte’s anus; deeper into her rectum. The paedophile took great pleasure watching the girl, who’d been stripped of dignity, clutch the only item remaining on her body; the crucifix.

The old man amused himself hearing the little girl’s whimpers. He was certain the deity to whom she prayed didn’t exist. His failure was in not recognizing, that although he controlled the physical, Charlotte aligned herself with an eternal God.

Unlike Harry’s daughter Victoria, Charlotte was given the gift of eternal life through faith. There came a time during the rape, the little girl ascended emotionally toward her reward. Pain no longer wracked her body. The submissive nature of dogma no longer exerted control.

Possessing outsized strength, Charlotte tore herself from the clutches of the ravenous old man.

Charlotte ran from satan’s sanctuary.

Harry stood, pants around his ankles. He struggled to pull them up. The task was made more difficult negotiating an erection that paled in comparison to those of his younger days at the University of Florida; days when young boys becoming men amused themselves through sodomy.

The old man ran down the aisle stretching toward the rear of the church. He knew there was no way he could catch Charlotte on foot. He must make it to his car; hoping to encounter the girl before she found safety among the righteous.

Harry ran down the sloping hill toward the street.

Once inside his vehicle he quickly inserted the key and brought the engine to life. Throwing the transmission into gear, tires screeched and propelled the vehicle onto the road.

Nervously and intently the old man peered through the windshield; occasionally shifting glances through the windows of front and back seat doors. He tried desperately to maintain a three-hundred-sixty degree field of vision. There was no way he could allow the little girl to escape.

Briefly, the old man considered his standing in the community. If he were ever accused, he could simply claim the girl created a fantastical tale. Guilt would be shielded by the word of an accomplished businessman versus that of a little girl. There’s no way he’d be made to pay for his crime. After all, there were enough judges who’d been compromised.

Maneuvering cases into one of their courts was easily accomplished.

Realization of superiority inflated the old man’s self-conception. He slowed the car’s speed until it simply drifted along the thoroughfare.

It was late at night. The road was clear of traffic. Harry Northrup allowed the vehicle to come to a complete stop. He stared blankly into the illuminated wedge projected by headlights. The old man calmed as he created a mental timeline of events by which he’d be exonerated. The life he’d created for himself, with the help of Hochstühl and Von Unterscheisse, far outweighed those considered the dregs of society. Satisfaction based in overly pleasing self-conception returned to the narcissist.

At the far right wedge of his lighted path, Harry spied Charlotte’s nude, white body as she ran down the sidewalk.

She’d been hiding in the bushes. When the man stopped his car she was certain Harry knew where she was. Her only chance for escape was to run.

The old man smiled. He removed his foot from the brake and pressed the accelerator as far into the floorboard as possible.

The paedophile quickly closed the distance between his car and Charlotte. When the front fender of the vehicle was a few feet from the girl, he turned the steering wheel sharply to the right. The car’s tires hopped the curb with little resistance.

When the car came to a stop, the body of a little girl containing so much promise lay beneath the frame of the vehicle. Road-rash tore ten year old flesh from her skeleton. The existence of a young girl, who’d yet to fully conceive life, had been reduced to a meaty, bloody mass.

Charlotte was dead.

The old man released a soul into the universe. He had no idea if that spirit remained conscious. The possibility endured, that ten year old became strengthened beyond harm caused by the old man. Her experiences with Harry Northrup became resonant within a soul that wouldn’t suffer the happenings that night; but knew better how to recognize evil.

A single individual in society possessed the energy to completely destroy his community. Harry Northrup became a grandfather to many. From a single, evil being, tentacles of destruction extended throughout Miami and points beyond.