“You need my help.”
Antonia leaned forward and accentuated each word. “I need to do my job.”
Only when he gave a reluctant nod did Antonia creep past him. She glanced back once, but he showed no signs of pursuit and held up his hands to show he was still shackled. His only way out of those would be chopping off his own hand. Leaning over the railing, she dared to peek at the source of the noise.
Several stores had been melted and the displays turned into slag. Antonia crept down another escalator to the ground floor in time to see the murderer walk out of a store. Now that she was close enough, she saw he wore a black trench coat, undone so the sides flapped out to either side and a mask over his face. He carried a huge sword in his right hand, white flames dancing up and down the length of it.
“Drop the weapon!” Antonia shouted as she stood up and moved out from behind the edge of the escalator.
The man brought the weapon around to face her. Antonia fired a couple of shots and watched as they burst into flame like tiny fireworks when they got near the blade. He laughed and flexed his arm. Flames danced from the sword’s tip and streamed toward her.
She dove behind the escalator, which began to melt from the heat. She leapt over the railing in front of her, pulling herself on the up escalator. She pressed flat against the steps, the edges digging into her. Doing a twisted version of a backwards crab walk, she climbed the stairs as fast as she could without exposing her head. The escalator shuddered as the fire from the sword burst through the bottom section. Antonia got to the second floor and pressed herself flat on the ground. She heard the footsteps of the man with the sword as he stomped forward.
“Do you think you could stop me? I’ve been given everything I wanted. Now I have power and can strike back. I’m invincible!”
Reaching down to her belt, Antonia pulled one of her spare magazines and threw it over the side. It clattered to the ground on the far side of the murderer. As she had hoped, he jumped to face the sound. Seeing an opening, Antonia vaulted over the railing and dropped down, landing on him with a knee, driving both of them to the ground. Her gun bounced out of her hand with the force of the impact, but so did the sword. As soon as it flew from his hand, the flames snuffed out, and it no longer radiated heat.
She reached out for the man’s ankle, but he kicked at her face and she had to bring her arm up to block the blow. He pushed himself across the floor, kicks coming in rapid succession and keeping Antonia at bay.
“You can’t have it! It’s mine!” The murderer pushed himself up on all fours and lunged for the sword, but Antonia tackled him in the middle.
She tried to pin him to the ground, but he rolled over, taking her with him. Her shoulder clipped the corner of her gun and she hoped he wouldn’t notice. He kept his focus on the sword, reaching out for it. His eyes widened and sweat ran down the sides of his face. Antonia held his wrist in one hand, feeling him strain with every muscle to grab the blade.
“It was given to me!”
He brought his knee up and drove it down into her midsection, making her gasp for air, but she refused to let go. Twisting her hips, she threw him off her to the side, rolling on top to take a control position.
“You are under arrest…” she started.
The scraping of metal cut off her words and she looked at the sword. It slid across the ground, moving toward the murderer’s hand as if attached on a string. It picked up speed and the edge lifted off the ground.
Antonia let go and snatched her gun, firing a round into his outstretched arm.
He let out a howl of pain. The sword clattered to the ground, once again lifeless. She yanked off his mask and sucked in a breath of air through clenched teeth.
He was just a teenager.
She got off him and as she moved to kick the blade away, but hesitated.
The weapon sparkled in a way that seemed unreal, like a hologram. The hilt was white and gold, with scorch marks along the grip that couldn’t have been from the weapon itself. Someone had carved intricate swirls and runes into the guard, making it a work of art. The blade itself was black, somehow managing to absorb all the light and yet still have a shine and luster that defied reason. Its beauty was beyond compare.
Antonia reached out to pick it up.
Beads of sweat dripped off her jaw and her arm shook with effort. Blood drained from her face as she tried to resist, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Visions of the world on fire danced through her mind, and at the center of it all was the sword. She knew it would burn, but she longed to touch it, to feel the cleansing wash of flame. She heard a deep, throaty laugh, sounding like rocks rolling against each other and pictured a giant made of fire.
After a few seconds that felt like hours, a heavy cloth landed over the weapon and she stumbled back as she was released from its spell. Einar stood off to the side, his cuffed hands in front of him.
“It is not meant for mortal hands,” he said. “You resisted it, which is surprising.”
Antonia looked from the wounded teenager to Einar. “Who are you?”
Einar gestured to his pocket and lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“Go ahead but keep it slow.”
The handcuffed man reached into his pocket to retrieve an ID card and handed it over. Using her wristband, Antonia scanned it, pulling up a view of Einar’s entire record. Sacramento resident for several years, no arrests, a few tickets and warnings but nothing unusual, smoke jumper for several years. In short, a model citizen. She handed the wallet back.
“How did you get mixed up in this?” she asked.
Einar shrugged. “It’s a long story, and one we don’t have time for. You have my information on file and know both where I work and where I live. I’ll be more than willing to tell you the story when the sword is once again secured.”
She looked down at the weapon, remembering her visions and the temptation to grab it. Just the memory made her breath catch and she started to sweat.
“You can’t take it to the precinct. Neither you nor the other officers will be safe.”
“What would have happened if I had touched it?”
“You’d burst into flames.”
Antonia shuddered and took a deep breath. “How can you handle it? How could he?”
“I don’t know why I can. I have a theory, but again, now is not the time. As for the thief, check his wrists.”
Antonia squatted down and lifted the trench coat up to examine the boy’s wrists. He had black beaded bracelets on each, covered with bright white runes.
“I noticed them when he and I fought. They shed light when he’s holding the sword.”
The boy had quieted, still clutching his arm in a weak grip and mumbling under his breath. Antonia pried his hand off and applied a quick bandage to the wound. She sent a quick message to dispatch to let them know about a gunshot victim at the mall, but everything was secure.
Antonia eased the bracelets off. They didn’t look like anything special, just beads.
“You’ve seen what this weapon can do,” Einar said.
“I have. If what you’re saying is true, then it’s a good guess these bracelets would let anyone use it. He said something about getting everything he wished for. Who gave it to him and why? Did the sword make him do this?”
“I don’t believe so. It exerts no influence beyond the desire to pick it up. He’s a teenage boy, given the power of the gods. That cannot end well.”
Antonia nodded and looked down at the jewelry in her hand. “But if these bracelets let anyone use that weapon, there is one thing I’m sure about.”
Grabbing two beads in her hands, she pulled, straining until the strings snapped and the beads tumbled across the floor. After a moment, they stopped and reversed direction, rolling back together and leaping into her hand to reform the bracelet.
Einar hissed. “Strong magic.”
He held out his robotic hand and Antonia obliged, placing the bracelets in his palm. The gears in his a
rm groaned as he closed his fist, pulverizing a few of the beads into small fragments. The pieces moved back together, including the dust, until Einar held bracelets that looked brand new and unmarked.
Antonia took the bracelet from him. “These need to be kept separate from the sword. If they can’t be destroyed, that’s the least we can do.”
Einar looked down at her and cocked his head to the side. “We?”
“Until we figure out what’s going on, I don’t see that we have any other choice. You can hold the sword. I…” She took a deep breath and shuddered. “I can take the bracelets.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“You need to leave. I’ll figure out a way to explain this. Just go. Call me at the precinct, or I will find you.”
Einar didn’t argue. He held out his wrists and Antonia set him free. She didn’t like it, but it seemed the best possible choice. He grabbed the bundle and fled, using the extra strings to sling it over his back. Antonia shoved the bracelets into her pocket and waited for the paramedics and backup to arrive.
Antonia groaned as she picked up another stack of papers on her latest case. The boy had been treated for his physical injuries, but his mind was scarred and so far he only babbled to himself. That left Antonia to say what had happened.
According to the official report, the teenager had gained access to an experimental weapon and decided to go on an angst-filled terror spree. Mixing that much power with that much uncontrolled emotion resulted in violent chaos. The unstable weapon destroyed itself in the showdown at the mall, letting Antonia arrest the boy.
She wondered who had given the teenager the bracelets. For now, that secret was lost.
“Detective, the sergeant told me to give you this.”
One of the new recruits handed her a card and pointed to the sergeant in the elevator. He gave her an uncharacteristic grin and saluted her just as the doors closed. Holding the envelope in her hand, she turned around. Sergeant Turner sat at his desk, with his head forward and propped up on the tips of his fingers as he read something on his desk.
Jumping up, Antonia sprinted through the office to the stairwell. She jumped down the steps half a flight at a time, using the handrails to swing out and drop to the next landing. When she hit the ground floor, she burst into the lobby and grabbed the doorframe to swing around and take up position in front of the elevators. The elevator with the other Sergeant Turner stopped at the roof.
“Don’t let Sergeant Turner leave!” she barked at the officer behind the front desk as she mashed the button for the elevator.
When she got to the roof, she ran outside and looked around, but it was empty. A large raven looked at her from the corner and cawed at her before taking off, but otherwise she had the rooftop to herself. Catching her breath, she went back down to the lobby and approached the front desk.
“Did Sergeant Turner come down here?”
The officer shook her head. Antonia walked back to her office, opening the envelope still in her hand.
The card had gold filigree along the edges, in twisting knots and runes that looked similar to the ones on the sword. The text in the center was pure black, and whoever had written it had studied calligraphy. Each letter twisted and curved with an elegance reserved for dancers.
“Miss Antonia Caito, I must thank you for the most wonderful diversion. This served as a welcome distraction and I hope you enjoy my gift to you. After all, what is life without a little chaos? L.”
As she finished reading the words, they faded into the paper along with the runes, until Antonia found herself holding a blank piece of card stock. Her hand reached up and she drummed her fingers against her pocket, making the beads on the bracelet rattle.
Back to TOC
Doomed to Repeat
Ronald T. Garner
“There’s a kidney missing. Uterus too, I think.” Henrietta Deveraux gestured toward a bloody pile next to the victim.
Detective John Macnaghten rubbed his head, trying to bring himself into focus. It’d been another rough night. What he could remember of it, anyway. And now this. Again.
Being a cop in New Orleans was kinda like working the front desk at a pay-by-the-hour motel. The first year or so, you were surprised by the people you saw, the things they did, and the people they did them with. After a while, every weird kink started to look just like the last one.
This, though, this was something different.
When you spent your days and nights digging into the darkness of the human soul trying to figure out why some guy got up from watching the game, grabbed a bat, and bashed his old lady’s head in, or why some middle-classed kid grabbed a gun and killed a pizza guy for what amounted to the cost of a holo-flick, you started to understand there really wasn’t much of a reason for most of it. Maybe the air was busted, and the heat got the guy’s head buzzin’ and spinnin’ faster and faster until every time his old lady said somethin’ it pushed him closer to that bat. Maybe the kid got picked on at school and just wanted to see if he had the stones. Or, maybe they did it just because.
But this…this wasn’t a bat or a gun, a kid or some guy working the nine-to-five. In fifteen years on the force, John hadn’t seen anything like this. This was truly disturbing…and, he had to admit, interesting.
“Everything else looks to be here, though. I mean, none of it’s where it belongs, but it’s all here. Looks like he used the same old-style knife. No vibra-blade, or anything like that. No tech. Plain old steel.”
There was no mistaking the excitement in Henrietta’s voice. Her blue eyes shined behind her goggles, one strand of graying brown hair escaped from the hood of her hazmat suit. Guess medical examiners didn’t see this sort of thing very often either.
He looked back at the victim and had to choke down the bile rising in his throat; he felt the same vertigo that hit him the first time he saw her. Her. It, really. Almost impossible to think of that pile of meat as human. Too horrible to think that just a few hours ago it had been a living, breathing person with hopes and dreams, and fears and disappointments.
“This one’s more elaborate than the other two.” Henrietta gestured toward the body and the tableau surrounding it.
John nodded. “Yeah, he’s growing, figuring it out. H, was she alive when any of this happened to her?” He asked the question, but he already knew the answer.
“I’ll need to verify back at the lab, but, yeah.” Henrietta’s voice lost its enthusiasm, becoming almost mechanical as her humanity overrode her scientific interest. “I’m pretty sure she was there at least for the initial cuts into the abdomen and the disembowelment. After that…hard to say.”
“She was. For a while after that. He wanted her to hurt.” John felt the words falling out of his mouth, certain he was right as soon as he said them, but unsure why. It was just one of those hunches he got. Henrietta looked at him sideways.
“You can’t possibly know that, John. He didn’t do that with the others.”
“Yeah, I know. But still, I do. He wanted her to hurt. Not because it excited him, but because it was part of the process. He’s figured it out now. The ritual. Same reason he piled all of the viscera next to her head. I bet he did it in pretty much the same order, right?”
Henrietta pursed her lips and nodded. John caught killers. It was what he did. And he was the best on the force. But…
“You know, John, I love you, man, but sometimes you creep me the hell out.”
John nodded in return. “Me too, H. Me too. Anything else?”
The medical examiner hesitated, then nodded. “She was restrained when I got here. I bagged the restraints when I cut her loose. You’re gonna want to see.” She walked over to her kit and pulled out an evidence bag, handing it to the detective.
John held up the clear plastic bag, examining the contents. “Ah, shit, H.”
John slid behind his desk and touched his palm to the surface.
“Hello, John, how may I help you?” The holo-image of his assista
nt, Penny, appeared, hovering over his desk. John reached to the other side of his desk and opened a bottle of pills, pulled one out, popped it into his mouth, and swallowed.
“Jeez, John, how many of those are you takin’?” His partner, Betsy, flopped into the chair beside him, legs splayed out in front of her, brown arm landing on his desk, all loose joints and brash lack of concern for personal space.
She leaned in and looked into his bloodshot eyes. “You really look like crap, man. Have you been sleeping?”
John coughed out something that might have been a laugh. “I wish I knew, Bets.” In response to her quizzical look, John waved his hand, pushing the conversation away. “You had a chance to look over the new case?”
Betsy nodded, her face turning grim. “Yeah, pretty tough stuff, that.”
John nodded, and turned to the holo-image. “Penny, pull up the file on the Port Street killin’. Crime scene photos, please.”
An array of photos replaced Penny’s image above John’s desk.
“You can see he pretty much cut her abdomen to pieces. Pulled out all of the viscera, and piled it up next to her head. We’re still waitin’ for Henrietta’s report, but I’m pretty sure she was alive for most of that. Then he broke open the chest and pulled out her heart. Placed it on the other side of her head, here.” He pointed to one of the images. “It’s similar to the others, but a lot more methodical, a lot more intricate. And he took the uterus again. And a kidney.”
“Why the hell does he do that to their faces? This one looks even worse than the last couple. It’s not even there anymore.” Betsy gestured toward the image. “The rest of it looks almost purposeful, like he had some sort of plan, but the face…it’s just a mess.”
John reached toward the images hovering over his desk, pulled the picture in question forward, then made an outward sweeping motion with his hands, causing the image to zoom in.
“You’re right, the rest was ritual. This was…personal. Emotion. Need. I think he knew that if he left the face, he’d see her starin’ at him. Forever.”
Mystery! Page 11
