Where David Died
David Cardenas, 12 years old, child of a small town in the Rio Grande Valley town of Donna, Texas, at the southernmost tip of the state.
David Cardenas...what dreams you must have had, new adolescent dreams of a girlfriend, a family, success, love. Dreams of every normal child.
Did you know, David, that you're friends were evil, that they were pawns in the hands of the Prince of Evil?
What was your last dying thought?
Good Friday, 1998. I am on South Padre Island in Texas, taking some time off, trying to enjoy a few days on a beach, trying to salve the wounds of my father's passing and the wounds of this long, painful battle.
It is 5:00 p.m., and I am attempting a nap. I am startled out of my sleep by the voice of God: "Turn on the television - NOW!" I obey; I hear a reporter say, "Police originally speculated that it could be part of a satanic ritual, but now believe it to be gang related..." And I see young David's picture. It is Good Friday. I know it is satanic, whatever it is about.
The ten o'clock news mentions nothing about Satanism. On my way through San Antonio on the flight home, I call the news room in McAllen, near Donna, Texas. "First they said it was, now it isn't. What's the story?" "Well", the reporter told me, "At first they thought maybe, because we've had so many animal sacrifices around here lately." (THAT didn't make the papers.) "But then the police told us it was gang stuff." Thank you.
I arrived home, and the next morning, Officer Javier Garcia called me. He works for Weslaco, Texas PD, right next to Donna. "Did you hear about the boy?", he asked me. I had just been an instructor on cult crimes in our last Killeen Police Academy training in March; Officer Garcia and his partners were there to learn. "Yeah I did", I replied. "What do you know?" "Satanic, bro", he replied. "They cut the kid's arms and feet off, and the guy drank his blood while he was still alive. I've got officers from Donna on their way so I
can fill them in on what all this means. Can you maybe talk to them?" "Be glad to", I replied. Javier had taken every shred of stuff we taught and never knew he'd be thrown into a live case so quickly. I trusted him. I knew he'd make sure the Donna guys knew what this was all about.
I did talk to the officers to make sure they understood the larger implications of all this.
Three months later, Officer Garcia had me down to train their departments.
At lunchtime, a Donna officer took us to his town. I'm not a mystic or too spiritually sensitive - but the minute we entered Donna, my flesh crawled. "We're in Donna, aren't we?, I said weakly. "Just crossed the city limits," the officer replied. It felt as dark and evil as any city I'd ever entered.
We stopped outside of a huge two story house in the center of town. They wanted me to see the enormous stained glass pentagram symbol on the second story window.
A lot of big drug money passes through Donna. If that, I thought, a perfect connection for the transportation of children, too. Satanists are an obvious link.
I stood at the spot behind the abandoned building where David's little body was left in a shallow grave. "He wasn't the good kid everybody thought", a third officer said. "He smoked dope." "You mean he was a TEENAGER?", I said, half-angry. The officer fell silent. "Guess, yeah." My mind flew back to another 13 year old teenager whose older body I now inhabited, and I knew David was much like me. Lonely. Lost. Wanted to be accepted and loved. Willing to go with whoever would accept him.
I stood at the place where David's relatives lovingly placed a plastic cross with plastic flowers on this killing ground, and I restrained the deep, deep agony and grief I felt, so as to not expose my heart at that
moment to good men who were doing a good job in an evil place. And in one moment I realized: It isn't about "proof" anymore. Here's proof. Who cares? Proof of a satanic murder won't be accepted, will only bring secondary explanations by the "experts." Proof will NOT bring David back.
So when I got home, I wept for little David. Like every victim, they are brother, sister, son and daughter to my heart.
No - it isn't about proof anymore. Believe me, I have seen enough proof to provide nightmares for a lifetime. After David, something changed. I changed. It's about David. Every David. The skeptics mean no more to me than an annoying gnat on a hot summer's day.
I have stood on the Killing Fields of this war - and wept myself raw.
I will no longer acknowledge, nor respond to, skeptics.
I will only respond to the voice of Abel whose blood cries out from this unholy ground.