Shadows from the Past

Chapter One

THE phone call, informing him that his father was dead, didn’t elicit a devastated outpour of emotions from Chase Churchill.

He accepted the news calmly—dispassionately—listening with mostly fringe interest, as Warden Trevor Sapp explained that, somehow, Samuel Churchill had managed to scrape together enough illegally obtained prescription antidepressants and sleeping pills to concoct a thoroughly lethal cocktail. Simple. Quick. Painless. He drifted off to sleep, well aware that he wouldn’t wake up again. A final cowardly action by a cowardly man. A formal investigation would be launched, of course, it was standard in such circumstances, but Sapp didn’t anticipate unearthing any hints of foul play. Samuel killed himself. Period. No, he hadn’t left a note, but Sapp suspected that the recent news regarding the rejection of his final appeal—thus granting North Carolina officials the green light to schedule an execution date—had likely prompted Samuel’s decision to end his own life on his own “personal” terms.

Frankly, Chase didn’t care how the man died; the fact that he was dead was all that really mattered.

He didn’t say that to Sapp, of course. He didn’t feel the need to expose his true feelings to a stranger.

As politely as possible, Chase thanked the man for calling to inform him personally, and with that, he ended the call.

After he hung up, Chase sat for a long moment, replaying the conversation, unable to deny that he was actually relieved. It was over. Samuel Churchill was dead. His victims could finally be at peace, as could their shattered families, the men and women who had lost daughters and sisters to Samuel’s twisted madness. Samuel’s death was a blessing for them. Justice served. Finally. Chase was certain that would be the top news story for every television station in North and South Carolina come six o’clock—understandably—but there wouldn’t be any mention made by any of the New York broadcasters, and for that Chase was grateful. Relieved. He didn’t need to see a recap of his father’s sins. He lived with vivid and graphic memories that couldn’t be escaped, and Sapp’s phone call had reawakened those memories.

Dragging a hand through his hair, Chase looked down at his desk, at the panels he had been inking most of the morning.

He was nearly finished with his latest project, the fourth installment in his widely popular Integrity series, a collection of graphic novels centered around an openly gay superhero and his various adventures. He published under the pseudonym C.A Hill. It seemed safer that way. God, the last thing he wanted was anyone connecting him—in any fashion—with the most infamous and most hated serial killer in North Carolina history. It would sink his career. At least Chase feared it would sink his career; mostly he just didn’t want anyone knowing what a fucked-up history and family he was dragging along with him.

The phone sprang to life again and Chase winced, realizing he had expected it. He had known another call would follow Sapp’s.

A glance at the caller ID confirmed his suspicion; he easily recognized the area code for Doverville, North Carolina. Joel. His brother. Possibly his mother. He hadn’t heard from either of them in years. They had opted to stand by Samuel while Chase opted to face reality and accept that Samuel was a vicious, murdering monster who deserved the death sentence a jury of his peers had advocated and the judge had approved.

Briefly, he considered ignoring the call, but ultimately he hit the speakerphone button, bracing himself for what was to come.

“Hello?”

“Chase? It’s me. Joel. Sapp said he was going to—”

“He called just a few minutes ago,” Chase cut in, eyes closed in an inner struggle to keep his emotions under control, because he knew his brother well enough to know Joel would purposely find a way to push his buttons.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what? Chase, our father is dead! Don’t tell me you don’t feel something.”

“I feel relieved, Joel. Okay? I feel relieved. He should have died years ago, but he fought to the end with appeal after appeal, dragging his victims’ families through hell time after time. So what I feel is relieved.”

“How can you say that?” Joel’s fury exploded over the phone. “Christ! I had hoped you were capable of feeling compassion and—”

“Compassion? Seriously? Joel, you want to lecture me about compassion?”

“Someone needs to, because you sure as hell don’t have any!”

“Think again.” Chase’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at the phone as if he were glaring at his brother directly. “Believe it or not, I have compassion, but I feel it for people who deserve compassion, and Samuel doesn’t! Can’t you understand that? Christ, Joel, why can’t you take off the blinders? Why can’t you see what Samuel really was? He was a monster! A murderer, for the love of God!”

“No, he wasn’t! He was set up—”

“Bullshit! He was guilty. DNA doesn’t lie. He was rightfully convicted.”

“You never heard his side of the story, never listened to what he had to say.”

“Joel, I was in the courtroom for the entire trial, and you weren’t.”

“I would have been,” Joel protested. “But I was only thirteen, and everyone said that I was too young.”

“You were too young, kid.” Some of the anger softened. “I wanted to protect you from all of it, but the trial was a media nightmare.” And his brother had sought out information, claiming it was his right, that he deserved to know the “lies” people were telling about their father. Chase tried to make Joel understand—and accept—that the charges against Samuel hadn’t been lies, but their mother made that impossible by repeatedly reinforcing Joel’s childish belief that Samuel was just an innocent soul facing false persecution.

“You’ve never protected me from anything!”

“Joel—”

“You never even went to see Dad after he was sent to prison.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I had no reason to. I said everything I wanted to say before he was sent to prison.”

“Lucky you. And now you feel nothing.”

“I feel a lot.” More than Joel would ever know. “But I don’t feel sorry for Samuel. And I won’t lie and say that I do.”

“No, you feel sorry only for yourself.”

“Wrong! I feel sorry for the women that Samuel murdered. I feel sorry for their families, and their friends, and the people whose lives Samuel destroyed.” He blinked rapidly, not wanting to shed any tears while Joel could hear him; he didn’t want Joel to assume, incorrectly, that Chase cried for their father. “Blaine Greer. Karen Carson. Nydia Logan. Cicely Chapman. Renee Piper. Donna Coleman.
Those are the people I feel sorry for. I’ve cried for them and for their families and I’ve even cried for the women the authorities suspect Samuel killed but there was never enough hard evidence to charge him. But I’ll be damned before I shed a tear for Samuel. He doesn’t deserve a tear. He doesn’t deserve anyone grieving over him, and believe me, little brother, he sure as hell didn’t deserve your loyalty.

“You looked at him—even after the truth came out—you looked at him, and you saw the man that played baseball with us, and you saw the guy that took us camping every summer, but he wasn’t that man!” Chase found himself briefly wishing he and Joel were face-to-face for this conversation, but deep down he knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. “Can’t you see? It was all part of a persona he projected to blend in with everyone else? He acted like the loving father, the devoted husband, but he didn’t really fit that role; Samuel Churchill—the real man—was a murderer and a rapist who kept women alive, for days at a time, in the basement of a cabin less than three mere miles from our house! Joel, after he tucked you in at night, he went to that cabin and… Christ, the things he did to his victims defied disgusting, and I wish you could finally realize what that twisted bastard really was!” Again Chase cursed under his breath, praying—to any god possibly listening—that Samuel Churchill was finally burning in hell, for not only the crimes he’d committed, but for leaving his youngest son completely baffled by his perverse deceptions. Chase didn’t understand it. Couldn’t fathom it. How had he seen the truth so clearly? Why couldn’t his brother? And his mother? Despite everything, Susan Churchill stood right by her husband’s side, never once questioning him or indicating for a moment that she doubted his claims that he was innocent.

Chase’s ability to see and accept the truth his mother and brother wouldn’t acknowledge drove a wedge between them.

And now, Chase realized sadly, Samuel was dead, but that wedge was still there, and there wasn’t any possible way to close the gap; there wasn’t any chance that he could reunite, in any fashion, with Susan or Joel.

“Well, if you’re finished with your self-righteous speech, I should tell you that it wasn’t my idea to call you.”

“Joel—”

“Mom begged me to call. She wanted me to ask you to come home. She thought having the family together at Dad’s funeral would be nice.”

“How is she?”

“How do you think? Her husband is dead,” Joel snarled.

“You think I don’t care about the two of you, but you’re wrong. I do care. But I can’t act like Samuel was some great man.”

“You keep calling him Samuel. Like he was a stranger. He wasn’t. He was our father, and you should respect that.”

Chase shook his head, rubbing absently at the back of his neck, where he could feel knots of tension building. “I can’t think of him like that. I haven’t for a long time. But I… look, for what it’s worth, I really do miss you, Joel. And I miss Mom. But there isn’t any possible way I can see Samuel in the same light you do, and we both know you can’t respect my feelings on the matter, so I… I can’t come back there for Samuel’s funeral.”

“Fine. I didn’t expect you would. I guess you’re too good for us now.”

“Joel—”

“Mr. C.A Hill, right?” Joel taunted across the line, and Chase tensed.

“How did you—”

“Please, Chase, I’m not stupid. It was easy to figure out. I recognized your style.”

“I guess I’m just surprised,” Chase responded calmly. “I didn’t think anyone would make the connection.” Actually, he had hoped no one would, especially someone so connected to his troubled and ugly past.

“Couldn’t stand to use your real name, could you?”

“How can I answer that, Joel, without pissing you off?”

“You can’t. It’s just one more insult. But whatever. Fuck it, right? You turned your back on us a long time ago, didn’t you?” The bitterness echoed in each word, and Chase hated hearing it, but there wasn’t much he could do to make things right. “Go on with your nice, comfy little life, Chase, and forget about Mom and me and Dad. But remember, there’s no escaping who you are, and maybe, one day, you’ll learn that lesson.”

The call ended with Joel hanging up, and Chase hit the disconnect button, telling himself that he was overreacting, that his brother hadn’t just threatened him. Had he? He shook his head to dismiss the thought. Of course not. He was being overly sensitive and more than a little silly. It wasn’t Joel’s way to make threats, and beyond that, what would be the point? Joel didn’t actually care about him, and, given how far from well their conversation had gone, Chase doubted he and Joel would ever speak again.

Of course, that was for the best; he and Joel would never see eye to eye when it came to Samuel, and while being so completely separated from his family certainly hurt, there was nothing that could be done.
Pushing away from his desk, Chase walked absently into the small bathroom attached to his home office.

Ignoring the sick feeling that chewed at his gut, Chase splashed cold water on his face, again in an effort to clear his mind and refocus. Shit! He hated this. Hated that he had allowed a phone call about Samuel and a conversation with his brother to shatter his calm, pull him back to the past he wanted to forget.

Grabbing a towel, he dried his face, and only then did he look at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror.

Looking at his reflection was never easy for him, not when he allowed himself to think about exactly how much he looked like Samuel, with sandy brown, naturally blond highlighted hair and cerulean blue eyes. A killer’s eyes, damn it! He had the eyes of a monster. And the smile of one too. And he hated it with a passion. He’d looked at photographs of Samuel when he was twenty-eight years old, and they were nearly identical to the face Chase saw each time he caught a glimpse of himself.

Once, he might have taken pride in that; once, before he learned that Samuel was a bloodthirsty madman, Chase would have found any comparison to Samuel flattering, but that wasn’t how he felt now, and he hadn’t felt that way in years. But what could he do? He certainly couldn’t complain about being unattractive. He’d tried wearing contacts during college, to change his eyes from blue to green, but they only irritated his eyes, and he’d hated cutting his hair into the short, buzz-cut style he had sported during that time as well.

Frustrated, Chase tossed the towel into the sink and turned away from the mirror, cursing himself and Joel and Trevor Sapp. And Samuel. Mostly Samuel. Even with his death, the bastard was still tormenting him.

Returning to his office, he looked at his desk, knowing returning to work would be utterly useless.

Now what? What the fuck do I do? If I sit here, I’ll just end up feeling sorry for myself, or I’ll start walking down freakin’ memory lane, and that’s the last thing I need. I’ve got to get myself out of the apartment.

Confident in that decision, Chase released a breath, figuring that a night out might do him some serious good.

He would head out, find a club or a bar, knock back a few drinks, and maybe find a stranger looking for some no-strings-attached action to give him a good, hard, mind-shattering fuck that would leave him feeling it for days. He hadn’t had that in a while. And fucking was the best way to release tension, especially when there weren’t complications involved to make life even more complex. He didn’t need more. Not at all. No emotions. No connections. Strings-free sex was what worked for him. Chase had learned that during college and his one attempt to let emotions become involved.… Well, that memory was pushed from his mind before it could grow from a memory into a desire.
Don’t even think it, Chase. No way. It’s been six months. You haven’t called Kayne in six months and you aren’t going to call him now, because he made his position clear: he isn’t going to be a casual fuck. He wants more. And you aren’t the man to give him more. Even if Kayne doesn’t know that, you do, so don’t forget it.

The mental reminder firmly issued—yet again—Chase turned off the lights and left the office, heading for his bedroom.

He would shower, change, and head out for a night on the town, and tomorrow he would get back to business.


BASTARD. Arrogant bastard. Who did he think he was? What right did Chase have to try and condemn their father? He didn’t know anything. Selfish bastard! Chase had never understood their father, not like Joel did; no, Chase thought he was better, special, but Joel knew that wasn’t the case, he knew he was the special one. He was the chosen one. He always had been. His father had personally selected Joel as his favorite, the special one, but Chase didn’t know that. There was a lot that Chase didn’t know, but that was all about to change, at long last. Finally. Joel had been given his father’s blessing, permission, to make Chase understand that there was a high price to be paid when one turned their back and walked away from family.

Long after the phone conversation with his brother ended, Joel sat in his room, in the dark, thinking, remembering, mentally reviewing everything his father had taught him during the private conversations they’d shared over the years. The lessons. Important ones. He didn’t care if everyone in the world called his father insane or crazy, because Joel knew the truth, he knew his father wasn’t really to blame for what had happened to those women; he knew those women had asked for everything that happened to them.

“They were whores,” his father explained sadly. “Women that teased and taunted men, and because they did, they required punishment… and that’s all I did, son. I punished women who had it coming. Simple as that. I never hurt an innocent. I never laid a hand on your mother. I only sought out those that truly deserved to suffer, for using their bodies—their sexuality—to try and pull good men off a righteous path.”
His father did what God told him to do; he wasn’t a murderer, he wasn’t a monster, and Joel knew it.

“You’re a good son, my best son, which is why I can tell you this, why I can trust you to do what needs to be done.”

“You want me to continue your work?” The idea excited him, thrilled him; he wanted to do what his father had done.

“When the time is right, yes, son, you will continue my work, but first you have to take care of family problems.”

For years now, his task had been simple. All he had to do was take care of his mother, and he had. But now, The Time had come. His first mission. Before he could take up where his father left off and pick up his mantle, he had to deal with his treacherous, self-centered, betraying, son-of-a-bitch brother.

Chase thought he had escaped them; he thought he had built a new, shiny life for himself, but he was about to learn a lesson.

Piece by piece, Chase was going to witness his life fall apart at the seams, and when he was broken and shattered and completely alone, Joel would happily swoop in for the ultimate kill of a lifetime.

Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t let you down. I swear. I’ll make Chase pay and then I will do as you wanted and follow in your footsteps, and no matter what, I will make you proud and do right by your name.