I inhale a deep breath
to start my diatribe when he puts a single finger over my lips.
“Shhh. I support you.” The pain in his eyes fills the
entire room, piercing my soul with it’s sharpness.
I have to take a moment
to replay his words in my head to be sure I heard them right. “You
support me?”
He puts his hands on my
face to look me square in the eye and with a tight smile says in a
whisper, “I will follow you, be by your side, now and forever.”
“Really?”
is all I can say. The fact that he’s said he believes in me
amazes me.
“Yes, Shay.”
He hangs his head and drops to his knees still holding my hands. “I
will be with you; I will always find you when you’re gone. I
never want to spend another minute without you. There is nothing that
can ever keep me from you. Whether you’ll have me or not, I’m
here. I’m with you, now and always.” He presses his head
against my belly and I clasp him to me.
His words humble me
into a near submission, as though I want him to beg me not to do it
so I can surrender. “Surrender,” I whisper with my eyes
closed tight.
“What?” he
asks, looking up at me with his cobalt blue eyes.
“Nothing.”
I try to wipe the tears from my eyes before he can see them, but it’s
too late. I drop down to my knees because at that moment I need him
to hold me. I want him to feel me yield to him, not that I won’t
be doing what must be done, but just my general submission as a
proclamation of trust.
“I love you,
Eli.” I look up at him with a sappy grin.
He pulls me in tighter.
“Loving you is all I know.”
Carl
The
atmosphere at the warehouse is rife with death. Fear passes by me in
thick molecules of sulfur and the smell of blood. Pitch’s
rental car is parked in front and is surrounded by police cars, a CSI
unit, an ambulance and two coroner’s vans. That’s never
good.
The large bay door is
closed, but the smaller door is wide open, lending itself to the
flurry of activity going in and out of the building. The first body
bag is wheeled out. I have to get in tune with everyone. Quiet the
noise I don’t need to hear. Focusing has been hard lately, but
with some distance from Shay I should be able to regain it.
My eyes have a hard
time adjusting to the change in light. Pitch’s voice rings
through the air. “I’ve already told you I got a text from
my boss to come here, see this? It’s right here.” He
holds his phone up to the cop’s face.
Bad move, Pitch.
That little shit
had better get that phone out of my face,
the cop that came to
the hospital to talk to Shay thinks to himself.
Unless he hands me
the Baynes girl on a silver platter, these two guys are going to jail
today.
“We found them
this way.” Quag speaks up, and I notice his stutter is gone.
“Well, you’re
going to have to come down to the station,” the cop says.
“Excuse me,
gentlemen,” I interject, making my presence known.
I’m not
accustomed to seeing dudes my size; I can see why some people are
intimidated by me. Filson reaches me with his hand extended.
“Detective Filson. You are?”
“I’m Doctor
Wayne. We met in the hospital.” I shake his hand.
“Doctor, huh? I
didn’t realize you could get your PhD in assholery.” He
doesn't look up from his notes.
Wow, he went right for
the throat. I can appreciate that in an opponent. “Actually, I
have my doctorate in linguistics,” I challenge, raising my
eyebrows.
“Good for you.”
He chews on the end of the pen. “You do realize this is an
active crime scene?”
“I didn’t
before, but I do now. I was just here to make sure my guys were
okay.”
“’Your
guys’, huh?” He continues reviewing his notes.
“Yeah.”
This guy is an ass hat.
“Why were they
here?” he asks.
“I’m not
sure; they received a text message to come here. That’s all I
know.” True story.
“A text message?
From who?”
“They said it was
from me, but I didn’t send it.” I just need to talk to
them. “Can I talk to them?”
“Sure thing,
Doctor Wayne.” He makes a wide sweeping gesture toward Pitch
and Quag.
“Harry?” I
see him when he rounds the corner, talking with Miranda. I don’t
bother to acknowledge her. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey Carl, Filson
called me.” Harry’s demeanor is heavy with sadness. This
is obviously something pretty serious, not your average murder.
“What’s
going on? What happened?” Hopefully he’ll level with me
so I don’t have to go digging for it.
Quag looks at me with a
seriousness I’ve not seen in him before. “It’s the
worst thing I’ve ever seen Carl, this is bad.” He looks a
little green around the gills.
Harry takes me by the
elbow and leads me back away from the lighted area where cops are
collecting evidence and taking pictures. “This is serious, we
have two police officers down and Shayleigh’s name is all over
the walls.”
A wave of confusion
rushes over me, pushing me back a step. “This is bad, now they
are
all
going to be out to get her.”
“Yeah, well there
won’t be any protecting her from this. I think maybe we need to
get her out of Florida for a while.” I can’t believe
Harry is suggesting she run, but I think that’s what I just
heard him say.
“I’m not
saying it’s good for her to be here, but is running the right
thing to do?” I ask him.
“Not running,
presently she’s free to go where she’d like. I don’t
think that’s going to hold for long.” He pinches the
bridge of his nose. He stiffens when Miranda approaches us.
“Were you with
her all night?” Miranda asks point blank.
“Up until this
morning at around five AM, but Eli was with her all night,” I
answer.
“So the boyfriend
facing disbarment is her alibi.” She makes it sound so
hopeless.
“Eli isn’t
going to be disbarred.” Harry gives Miranda a disgusted look.
“Harry, Shay had
an incident of her own this morning.” I remember how she looked
when I found her huddled in the corner, drenched in blood.
“What happened?”
Harry’s refocused on me now.
“Bailey happened.
We can talk about it later, everyone’s okay.” For now
they are. I’m hoping that a simple talk with Bailey will be
enough to get him to leave her alone.
“But she’s
okay?” Harry’s brow wrinkles deeper with concern.
“Yes Harry, she’s
fine. She’s on the way to see Doctor Green and then she’s
having lunch with Trish.” I check the time. “I’m
going to be meeting them.”
“Lucky that she’s
seeing him this morning, and I think getting out will be good for
her.” Harry’s expression loosens.
“So, can I take a
look?” I motion toward the murder site.
“Yes, but stay
outside the plastic.” He hands me a pair of gloves and booties
to cover my shoes. I can’t help but think this is like closing
the barn door after the horse has already run away.
There are plastic
dropcloths hanging from three shelving units and strung across on a
line, creating an opening. The plastic is splattered with red
droplets varying in size from a small spray to wide dripping
splatters. When I pull the plastic aside I have to steady myself.
This really is awful. There is so much blood, so much. There’s
a body-shaped spot on the floor where there isn’t much blood.
I’m assuming that’s where victim one was. Another victim
hangs by his ankles against one of the shelving units.
The ceiling is
apparently too high to have strung him up from there, so he had to
improvise. This is similar to Taffy’s crime scene, but this one
feels different. There was joy in the making of this horror. I tune
in with the energy of the room. I’m disturbed on a cellular
level at the excitement the perpetrator felt while he was torturing
these people. Even though the second body is gone I can still sense
the echo of his spirit, clinging to this place in the disbelief that
he has moved on so suddenly, so violently. The ethereal see-through
form of a cop wanders the area, not knowing where to go.
My heart aches for him,
not knowing he’s really gone. He goes to the other victim and
kneels down to be level with his face. He’s trying to speak to
him, but I can’t hear what’s being said. I want to go
over to him, but I can’t enter the area. I have to try to
contact him from here. I inhale a preparatory breath and focus on the
ghost of the man left behind.
“Hello.” I
try to meter the tone in my mind so as not to startle him.
He looks up from the
other cop, choking back his grief. “Can you help him?”
“I’m sorry,
I really can’t. He’s gone. But I can help you.” I
extend my hand for him to come to me.
“I’m okay,
but he needs help. Can’t you call someone? Is the ambulance on
the way?” Rising panic colors his expression.
“What’s
your name, son?” He’s a younger man, I’d say in his
early twenties. He can’t be more than a year or so on the
force.
“Simmons, Mark
Simmons.” He walks toward me to shake my hand.
“It’s a
pleasure to meet you, Officer Simmons.” I take his hand and
press a tight smile, trying to hide my grief in this moment. “I’m
Carl.”
“Good to meet
you, Carl.” He’s vacillating between disorientation and
panic. He turns back to the body then gazes at me with a knowing look
in his eye. “Carl?”
“Yes, son?”
“Why are you the
only one who can see me?” His gaze falls to the floor.
“Because I was
sent to help you. Are you ready for me to help you?”
“Are you an
angel?”
A laugh gets trapped in
my chest, because nothing could be further than the truth. “No,
I’m not an angel. I’m a different kind of asshole.”
He looks at me,
curious. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve known
a few angels in my time. Most of them are self-important egomaniacs.”
I lean in close like I’m telling him a secret. “They
aren’t what you think.”
He nods knowingly. “So
how are you going to help me?”
“I’m going
to help you go home.”
“My girl will be
worried. She listens to the scanner while I’m at work. I should
call her, let her know everything’s okay.” He pats at his
pants pocket, looking for his phone.
“Mark, you aren’t
able to call her. But if you’d like to give me a message I will
be more than happy to do that for you.” I really hate this,
delivering the last words of the dead.
He inhales and looks
around the room then with watery eyes asks, “Am I—”
I nod and put my hand
on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You are going to a peaceful
place. You will never feel pain again.”
“Really? How can
I not know pain? I’ll be away from everyone I love. I have a
baby girl on the way.” He puts his head in his hands.
“She’ll be
okay, you’ll be able to watch over her.” Jesus Christ I
can’t take this.
He inhales again and
presses his lips into a thin line. “Okay, well I need you to
tell Felicity that I love her. That I wouldn’t have left her if
I had a choice.”
“I’ll tell
her. Anything else?”
He composes himself and
puts his hand on my shoulder. “Tell her to please name our baby
girl after my mom, Michaela. It will mean everything to me.”
“I’ll tell
her.” I drape my arm across his shoulders and urge him to walk
with me. I’m not sure why this technique works. I think it has
something to do with humans still feeling governed by earthly rules.
“Are you ready?”
“Yeah, well, I
guess.” He walks with me. “One more thing, Carl.”
“What’s
that?”
There’s peace
coming over him. “Tell Shay that I don’t blame her.”
I’m frozen in my
tracks. “Shay? Shay Baynes?”
“Yes, he told me
it was for her. That I had to die for her, but I don’t blame
her.” He fidgets with his fingers.
“Do you know who
did this?” I ask him, hoping to find some way to pin this on
the true culprit.
“All I saw was a
dark shadowy man. Sometimes when he was cutting me I was able to see
his flesh, a face, cuts on his fingers. But for the most part all I
saw was a dark haze of smoke around him.” His form is starting
to fade.
“Mark, did he
tell you his name? What did he look like? Were you able to see his
face? What color his hair was?” I need the answers; I have to
know before he fades completely.
Mark smiles now,
consoling
me
. “I think you already know. Thank you for
your kindness.”
“Mark, wait!”
He’s fading fast.
He closes his eyes as a bright white light surrounds him. “Your
pocket, Carl. The answers you are looking for are in your pocket.”
With that he fades to
nothing and the room falls back into the darkness only broken by the
harsh floodlights hanging from the ceiling. I reach into my pocket
and pull out a blood spattered business card. I read it. “Lieutenant
Mark Simmons.”
The warehouse feels
like it’s about to close in on me and consume me. What does
this mean?
“Carl?”
Pitch taps my shoulder, knocking me out of my trance.
I rattle my head to
shake off the confusion. “What is it?”
“You weren’t
quite with us. What have you got?” he asks.
“Helping one
cross over,” I answer, looking for somewhere to sit.
“They are
letting us go.” Pitch gives me a knowing look. Damn it, I know
it was necessary, but we really need to keep him in check.
“Pitch,” I
warn.
“I think we
should get the hell out of here fast. My powers of persuasion will
only get us so far.” He tugs at my blazer.
Harry approaches me.
“Are you okay? We kind of lost you there.”
“I’m fine.”
I look back toward the crime scene to finish taking it all in before
we go. There is an incredible amount of blood and I can hear the
remnants of screams from the torture that took place here. This scene
is reaching deep down inside and ripping through me. There are
entrails strung across the tops of the shelving like Christmas
garland. Blood seems to be this killer’s favorite art medium.
The other body's intestines are woven into a makeshift basket holding
him from the shelving. “That’s rough, strung up with your
own intestines.”