Little Dead Red

by Mercedes M. Yardley

  She was afraid.

  Her lips pressed together. She remembered what was on them, and took a deep breath, letting them part.

  “Miss?”

  Glenn had come around the front of the desk. He had a hand out as if to help, but it hovered inches above her skin. His concern helped her catch her breath.

  “I’m . . . I’m going to the police department,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “That man I was with. He’s a really bad man.”

  Glenn nodded again.

  Marie licked her lips, tasted The Wolf there, and cringed.

  Glenn didn’t move, neither stepping closer nor moving away. His hand continued to hover in the air.

  “Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

  The kindness of this stranger nearly broke her.

  “I . . . I’m not worth it,” she said, and her face crumbled, and her skin crawled, and her hair was matted and she had just endured some of the worst hours of her life, listening to this mad man grunt and groan and howl as he ripped at her skin and bit at her breast. She was glad Aleta was dead. She was glad of it. Because if she had lived with these memories in her head . . .

  The hunter’s shine from earlier melted and turned into tears, which ran down her cheeks and dropped onto the freshly polished floor.

  “Come on,” Glenn said, and he took her hand gently. He put a steadying hand on her back and walked with her through the doors.

  “But you can’t leave your desk,” Dead Marie said. “What if you get in trouble?”

  Glenn laughed, and it was a beautiful thing. There was sunshine again. She could feel it on her skin, and squinted at the sky.

  “I’ll be all right. And so will you. If you need anything, I’m always here. All right? I mean it.”

  He helped her into the cab.

  “To the police station, please,” Marie whispered, and then turned around in her seat to stare out of the back window.

  Glenn raised his hand at her. She watched him until he was out of sight.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  She walked into the police station. Officer Will took one look at her and leapt up from his desk.

  “Marie!”

  “Don’t touch me. I have DNA. Lot of it.”

  “Marie, what did you do?”

  He reached out to touch her but she pulled back.

  “Please. Could you take me to the hospital? Is that what I need to do?”

  The officer’s face changed. Anger and concern, yes. A little bit of hope. Something that looked like sorrow, but she couldn’t be certain. But underneath, something primordial and snake-like roiled to the surface.

  Hatred and revenge.

  “He assaulted you?” he asked. “I can’t believe he would be so stupid. Where is he?”

  “It wasn’t like that at all. He didn’t do anything that I didn’t ask him to do.”

  Marie didn’t realize another person could look so stricken. His concern was making her lose her nerve.

  “Please,” she said. “The hospital. Because after this is done, I really want to take a shower more than anything else on earth.”

  “Marie.”

  He reached into his desk for his keys. Murmured something to a fellow officer.

  “Would you like me to call my wife?” he asked. “See if she could meet us there?”

  Marie gasped in relief.

  “Oh, yes, please! Please, if you could!”

  She saw that her gratitude hurt him. That he was simply being kind, and a little kindness shouldn’t bring out this type of reaction.

  “Will,” she said, and the seriousness made him look at her carefully.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear me? I have his DNA. Lots of it.”

  He nodded. She didn’t think he could speak.

  “And a bite mark. Several. Good ones.”

  Once again, stricken.

  Her heart fell. Her excitement, her triumph, everything that got her through this experience began to crack, break, shatter. It was breaking her. Breaking her more thoroughly than anything else could.

  “Tell me I did the right thing,” she said bluntly. Her eyes had swollen so badly that she could barely peer through them. “Tell me it was worth it, and you can catch him now. Because I don’t think I’ll make it through the night if you can’t say that.”

  His mouth dropped open.

  “Was it worth it?” she demanded. She held her arms up so he could take in all of her. “Will this help my Aleta? Will this help other little girls? Look at what he did to me! What if it had been other little girls?”

  “You did good, Marie.” His voice sounded strange. Strangled. Husky. Rough. “You did everything perfectly. I couldn’t ask more of you. Nobody could. We’ve asked too much as it is. And I’m sorry.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Will. You know that.”

  “I know we did the best we could and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, and now look at you. What you went through. I can’t even . . . let’s go to the car.”

  “All right.”

  She wanted to tell him how she had hoped The Wolf would make it quick, that she would simply pick up the discarded condom afterwards and bring it in a plastic baggie. But he had refused to use one. Refused to drink anything. He was actively protecting his DNA like sweet young things protected their virginity, and that’s when she knew she had to go deep and hard and give her all to get everything that she could.

  She put her mouth on him. She guided his teeth to her breast and begged him to bite her. He left imprints on her skin and her back and her neck and her buttocks. No pleasure, only pain. He didn’t want to please, he only wanted to hurt and dominate. When she cried out, it was in horror and a numbing type of agony.

  That was when he laughed, and the sound of it gutted her.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and raked her nails down his back. He was under her fingernails. He was in her teeth. In her hair and on her lips and everywhere she could possibly put him. She packed him into her body so wholly that she was afraid he’d never leave. She’d bleed him through her pores. Smell him in her sleep. He had infested her physical form just as much as he had her head.

  Thank you, Mom, she heard. Something brief and on the wind.

  Huntsman Marie had just caught The Wolf and nailed him to the wall.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Officer Will’s wife met her at the hospital.

  “Thank you for coming,” Marie sobbed. “Thank you so much.”

  “Of course I’d come,” Winnie said.

  She sat in the corner of the room while the nurses scrubbed and swabbed and collected everything they could. It was like being violated all over again, except with soft voices and lighter touches.

  The worst, Marie thought, was when she exposed her breasts. Bite marks everywhere. On her nipple and ribs and on her stomach.

  “I hope it helps,” she whispered to nobody in particular. “I hope it helps my baby.”

  They didn’t understand and she didn’t bother to explain, but pictures were taken. Bites were measured. Details were taken and carefully written down.

  It seemed to last for hours. At last they said she could go home.

  “I’ll drive you,” Winnie offered, and Marie nodded wearily.

  The car ride was silent for a long time. Marie leaned her head back against the seat and stared at the dark sky.

  “Thank you for coming today,” she said.

  Her voice. Was that her voice? So tired and almost shaking?

  “Gladly. I’m glad there’s something I could do to help.”

  Marie wondered what she was going to do now. If she should lie down in the road and hope something heavy ran her down. If she should get up to fight another day. But fight for what? Her part was done now, wasn’t it?

  “Tell me about your daughter.”

  Marie blinked slowly, twice, and tears flowed.

  “I’m sorry,” Winnie quickly apologized. “I
didn’t mean to bring up something so sensitive. I guess that between you doing what you just did for her, and with how hard Will has been working on this case, I just want to know more about her. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  The car was strangely quiet. The sounds of the city were muffled. Marie could remember the off-tune sound of Aleta humming.

  “Aleta used to be the brightest light you had ever seen,” she said slowly. She traced her finger on the steam inside the window. Smiley faces. Hearts. Things she would have drawn if she were a little girl. Or Aleta.

  “Yes? How?”

  “She loved carnivals. And lights. Anything shiny. She wanted to be a veterinarian when she grew up.”

  The stories poured out. The time Aleta asked her about Santa Claus. Teaching her how to play hopscotch in the back yard. Finding out about Lyle and his “little girl games.” Promising her that she’d keep her safe forever.

  “And you try,” she said, and her voice was wistful and tired. “You try to do that. Always know where she is and create a safe environment. Have dinner on the table even when dinner is pancakes for the fourth day in a row because they’re cheap. She never complained. She never said, “Mom, I’m hungry,” or “Mom, I’m cold.” You know the last thing she said to me?”

  “What?”

  “She said, ‘Mom, why don’t you take a bath. You love baths.’” And then she was murdered while taking her sick grandmother some goodies.”

  More silence.

  They pulled up to Marie’s front door, and she turned to Winnie.

  “Thank you for all of it. For coming today, and asking about Aleta. I don’t get to talk about her too much. There isn’t anybody to tell.”

  They said goodnight and Marie unlocked her house. She started undressing on her way to the bathroom, shedding clothes left and right. She swished with Aleta’s mouthwash that erased the taste of man. When she reached the tub, she turned on the shower as hot as she could possibly stand.

  “I did my part,” she whispered again, and stepped into the shower.

  She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The test results came back. This wasn’t The Wolf. Neither the DNA nor the bite marks were a match.

  She had done it, but it wasn’t worth it. Not at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Officer Will took the call with sorrow. Grim Marie had taken her own life. She was found in the bath with expensive-smelling bubbles and a candle. She had used a razor.

  He wished this hadn’t surprised him.

  His heart felt heavy, but he tried to convince himself that at least she was at peace now, enfolded in the arms of her mother and her daughter. A third little urn lined up on the shelf, perhaps. At least the pain and misery of her hunt for The Wolf was over.

  He sighed.

  “I’m responsible,” he said aloud, and the words pierced. They twisted up inside of him like a jangle of knives and sharpened bones and Dead Marie’s razor blades.

  He had sent her after the man she believed to be her daughter’s killer. Told her to keep an eye out for any DNA he might drop. He hadn’t believed this man was The Wolf, but it didn’t matter. It gave her something to do. Gave her something to throw her heart and soul into, since she had little heart and no soul left. Picking up a littered coffee cup from the street seemed like such a little thing. But what she had done, the lengths she had gone in order to find her daughter’s killer . . .

  It hurt. And made him proud of her. He loved and understood her in a way that few others did. They had a connection.

  The second he saw Aleta, he knew. The hard eyes with so much fear behind them. The way she wore her red hoodie like armor.

  It was easy for a policeman to get a little girl into a car with him, especially one so trained to trust the law like she had been. She had assumed it had something to do with her monster of a stepfather, and that was it.

  He had enjoyed every single second with that child.

  Marie, though, she was an anomaly. He’d grown fond of her, he had to admit. Her heartbreak and love for her daughter had almost, for the first time in his life, made him sorry for what he had done.

  He’d miss her. Miss her showing up at the station with determination and miss the way she had confided in his wife. Winnie would cry her eyes out when she learned. She’d beg him to throw himself even harder into Aleta’s murder, and he would do that gladly, making sure everything was perfectly covered up.

  So yes, he’d miss Grim Marie. Just as he missed her Little Dead Red.

  He reached into his desk drawer and fondled the tiny silver dimple piercings he kept hidden in there. Then he closed the drawer and turned away.

  THE END?

  Not at all.

  Not when you can dive into the first book from Mercedes M. Yardley’s The Bone Angel Trilogy:

  Nameless: The Darkness Comes—Luna Masterson sees demons. She has been dealing with the demonic all her life, so when her brother gets tangled up with a demon named Sparkles, ‘Luna the Lunatic’ rolls in on her motorcycle to save the day. Armed with the ability to harm demons, her scathing sarcasm, and a hefty chip on her shoulder, Luna gathers the most unusual of allies, teaming up with a green-eyed heroin addict and a snarky demon ‘of some import.’After all, outcasts of a feather should stick together . . . even until the end.

  If you enjoyed this book, I’m sure you’ll also like the following titles:

  Flowers in a Dumpster by Mark Allan Gunnells—The world is full of beauty and mystery. In these 17 tales, Gunnells will take you on a journey through landscapes of light and darkness, rapture and agony, hope and fear. Let Gunnells guide you through these landscapes where magnificence and decay co-exist side by side. Come pick a bouquet from these Flowers in a Dumpster.

  The Outsiders Lovecraftian shared-world anthology—They’ll do anything to protect their way of life. Anything. Welcome to Priory, a small gated community in the UK, where the only thing worse than an ancient monster is the group worshipping it. Is that which slithers below true evil, or does evil reside in the people of Priory? Includes stories by Stephen Bacon, James Everington, Rosanne Rabinowitz, V.H. Leslie, and Gary Fry.

  Tales from The Lake Vol.1 anthology—Remember those dark and scary nights spent telling ghost stories and other campfire stories? With the Tales from The Lake horror anthologies, you can relive some of those memories by reading the best Dark Fiction stories around. Includes Dark Fiction stories and poems by horror greats such as Graham Masterton, Bev Vincent, Tim Curran, Tim Waggoner, Elizabeth Massie, and many more. Be sure to check out our website for future Tales from The Lake volumes.

  Through a Mirror, Darkly by Kevin Lucia—Are there truths within the books we read? What if the book delves into the lives of the very town you live in? People you know? Or thought you knew. These are the questions a bookstore owner face when a mysterious book shows up.

  Where You Live by Gary McMahon—Horror is everywhere, in the shadows and in the light. It takes on every shape, comes in every conceivable size. But most of all it’s right where you live. With the WHERE YOU LIVE short story collection, Gary McMahon delves into the depths of dark and brooding horror in every day events, objects, and the ghost of human nature.

  Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle—No one can handle Scottish folklore with elements of the darkest horror, science fiction and fantasy, suspense and adventure like William Meikle.

  If you ever thought of becoming an author, I’d also like to recommend these non-fiction titles:

  The Writers On Writing: An Author’s Guide Series—Your favorite authors share their secrets in the ultimate guide to becoming and being and author. With your support, Writers On Writing will become an ongoing eBook series with original ‘On Writing’ essays by writing professionals. A new edition will be launched every few months, featuring four or five essays per edition, so be sure to check out the webpage regularly for updates.

  Horror 101: The Way Forward (http://mybook.to/
Horror101Amazon)—a comprehensive overview of the Horror fiction genre and career opportunities available to established and aspiring authors, including Jack Ketchum, Graham Masterton, Edward Lee, Lisa Morton, Ellen Datlow, Ramsey Campbell, and many more.

  Horror 201: The Final Scream—A must read for anyone interested in the horror film industry. Includes interviews and essays by Wes Craven, John Carpenter, George A. Romero, Mick Garris, and dozens more.

  Modern Mythmakers: 35 interviews with Horror and Science Fiction Writers and Filmmakers by Michael McCarty—Ever wanted to hang out with legends like Ray Bradbury, Richard Matheson, and Dean Koontz? Modern Mythmakers is your chance to hear fun anecdotes and career advice from authors and filmmakers like Forrest J. Ackerman, Ray Bradbury, Ramsey Campbell, John Carpenter, Dan Curtis, Elvira, Neil Gaiman, Mick Garris, Laurell K. Hamilton, Jack Ketchum, Dean Koontz, Graham Masterton, Richard Matheson, John Russo, William F. Nolan, John Saul, Peter Straub, and many more.

  Or check out other Crystal Lake Publishing books for your Dark Fiction, Horror, Suspense, and Thriller needs.

  BIOGRAPHY

  Mercedes M. Yardley is a dark fantasist who wears stilettos, red lipstick, and poisonous flowers in her hair. She is the author of the short story collection Beautiful Sorrows, the novellas Apocalyptic Montessa and Nuclear Lulu: A Tale of Atomic Love and Little Dead Red, and the novels Nameless: The Darkness Comes and Pretty Little Dead Girls: A Novel of Murder and Whimsy. She often speaks at conferences and teaches workshops on several subjects, including personal branding and how to write a novel in stolen moments. Mercedes lives and works in Sin City with her family and menagerie of Strange and Unusual Pets. You can reach her at www.abrokenlaptop.com.

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