Path of Bones

by L. T. Ryan

  Path of Bones

  A Cassie Quinn Mystery

  L.T. Ryan

  with

  K.M. Rought

  Liquid Mind Media, LLC

  PATH OF BONES

  A Cassie Quinn Mystery: Book One

  L.T. Ryan with K.M. Rought

  Copyright © 2020 by L.T. Ryan, K.M. Rought, and Liquid Mind Media, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  UNTITLED

  Book 2: Chapter 1

  Book 2: Chapter 2

  Book 2: Chapter 3

  About the Author

  One

  The sun’s rays pierced Elizabeth’s eyelids like serrated knives. She blinked against the pain until the blurriness faded and the world came into sharp focus. She laid on the ground, staring straight into the sun which hung bright and golden in the sky above her. She could see the treetops in her peripheral vision. They swayed in a breeze she couldn’t feel.

  Why wasn’t it cooling her flushed skin?

  Between one second and the next, her confusion faded, replaced by an immense pain radiating throughout her entire body. It ravaged her nerves, from the tip of her toes to the top of her skull. Its strength gathered in her chest. No amount of deep breathing eased the agony.

  Panicking, Elizabeth sat up too quickly. Her head spun and her stomach lurched. Although the pain didn’t fade, a new sensation arose. Sound came rushing back to her ears and she listened to the cacophony of the world for the first time in what felt like eons.

  She scrambled to her feet despite the dizziness and walked backward until she hit a tree. She realized she couldn’t feel the roughness of the bark, but the thought was driven away by the torment in her body. At the very least, leaning against the tree gave her shaky knees a break. She put her hands over her ears. She was so overwhelmed with awareness that all she wanted to do was scream.

  Her mouth twisted open in wretched agony.

  But no sound came out.

  She grasped at her neck, squeezing as if to make sure it was still there. She took another deep breath, and the pain in her chest flared. She tried to cry out again, but her voice had been taken from her.

  The sound around her started to even out, and the murmuring of voices reached her ears. Amidst her panic, Elizabeth grasped onto the sound, and for the first time since opening her eyes against the sun, she took in her surroundings.

  It was a madhouse. There were at least a dozen people scrambling this way and that, taking pictures, searching the ground, or whispering over steaming cups of coffee. How could she not have noticed? They all seemed to be revolving around one singular object in the center of a small clearing in the woods.

  No, not an object.

  A body.

  Elizabeth’s first instinct was to run away from the horrid sight, but her limbs would not cooperate. Instead, she felt her feet moving forward against her volition, her curiosity outweighing her terror. When she was close enough to see the body through the haziness of her vision, realization dawned on her. All the air in her lungs fled her chest, and the dizziness returned.

  Through her tunnel vision, Elizabeth could make out the small black heels strapped to the lady’s feet. The denim shorts with artistic holes that cut the front. A bright pink shirt that had been stained a deep red. Elizabeth’s eyes skipped over the bloody mess in the center of the torso and traveled to the pale face that she could—in some distant part of her mind—recognize as her own. Her eyes traveled back to the body’s chest, her own chest. She couldn’t look away if she wanted to. A gaping hole gave way to a ruby-tinted blackness and, only a few inches above that, an angry gash circled her throat like a gruesome necklace.

  The sight of her wounds caused flashes of memory to erupt inside her mind, compelling her to stumble backwards.

  She saw a man and a knife. She remembered what it felt like to beg for her life, only for it to fall on deaf ears. She could still feel the pain of the blade against her throat as it ripped into her flesh.

  Pinpricks of tears formed in her eyes but didn’t fall. She looked down, first at her own hands, then at her chest, not knowing what to expect. She wasn’t translucent like the ghosts she had seen in movies. But she also wasn’t corporeal. She glitched in and out as though she was nothing more than the personification of poor reception. The embodiment of static. Sometimes she was whole. Other times, she faded away. As though she were nothing but a memory.

  More than ever, Elizabeth wished she could cry. She wished she could scream. She felt the emotion building in her chest, amplifying the non-subsiding pain. It was more than a constant dull ache. It was like walking around covered in acid. Every nerve in her body was on fire and there was no way to put out the flames.

  The sounds of the world around her ebbed and flowed in time with her glitching. Her mind was in chaos, still wrapped in confusion over the scene of her own body. When she concentrated every fiber of her being on the people examining her corpse, she could hear what they were saying.

  “Just like the others?”

  “Exactly the same.”

  “God, I hope we can get some evidence this time.”

  “We’re still looking, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

  “You need to work on your optimism.”

  “Hard when your first appointment of the day is with a serial killer’s handiwork.”

  The words “serial killer” broke Elizabeth’s concentration. Those flashes of memory returned. The man. The knife. The pain. She shook her head and the memories faded, but the conversation was still muffled. She took a step closer, forcing her mind to block out everything else.

  “Any leads?”

  Elizabeth stared at the person speaking. He was a middle-aged man with a bad combover. He may have been handsome in his youth, but he had let himself go. Pudgy around his middle and more than a five o’clock shadow. This was the one who had been pessimistic. The one who had uttered the words Elizabeth was desperately trying to keep out of her thoughts.

  “One. It’s a long shot, but I’m desperate enough to try anything.”

  “You gonna let me in on it?”

  “Yeah, if it leads somewhere.”

  The second person was a woman. She was young, about five years older than Elizabeth. She was fit compared to the man. She had pulled her dark hair back in a tight ponytai
l and wore a dark, nondescript baseball cap. Elizabeth could tell by looking at her that she took her work seriously. Would this be the woman who would solve her murder?

  Murder?

  Murder.

  The thought entered Elizabeth’s mind unbidden and her concentration broke for a second time. It surprised her she could feel anything beyond the pain in her body; a sense of exhaustion made her want to let go and fade out of existence.

  But she refused. She couldn’t disappear while her killer was still out there, living his life like he mattered more than her. Anger swept across her body, almost enough to drown out the pain. She tried to cry out again to no avail.

  She paced the crime scene, looking at each person’s face, catching snippets of conversation here and there. She didn’t understand most of it when she could hear them, but it didn’t matter. They knew where she was, and that was the important part. They knew she had been killed. They wouldn’t rest until they found her killer.

  And neither would she.

  Her determination to stick around until they solved her case lit another fire in her. This one cooled her anger, though it didn’t dull her pain. Instead, she felt a strange sensation within her chest. It went deeper than her heart, deeper than her spine. It was like a rope had been lassoed around her soul and cinched tight. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t something she could ignore. It began tugging her away from the crime scene.

  Elizabeth’s thoughts were still frantic. It took an immense amount of effort to think. She was dead. It wasn’t easy to accept, but she had no other choice. And something was dulling the attachment to the flashes of memories that struck like lightning every few seconds. The evidence was right in front of her. Literally. Was the lasso trying to lead her to the next life? She didn’t see a light other than the sun. No angels came down to escort her to the beyond. She didn’t feel a sense of peace washing over her.

  Were all those stories a lie? Was she going somewhere else? She pondered the questions while her feet dragged her forward. She resisted at first, anxious not to leave her body behind. What would they do with her? Would she ever see herself again? Did she want to?

  Maybe the lasso was pulling her home, to her empty apartment. Or maybe it was pulling her to her mother and father and sister. Maybe it wanted her to say goodbye to her family. She dug her heels in. She didn’t want that. Not yet at least. She didn’t want to see them crying over her. She didn’t want to see them begging for answers. She wanted to have those answers before she let go.

  The lasso gave her a light tug, enough to get her moving again. She stumbled forward, through the trees and out onto a road. Cars zipped by, unaware that a few hundred feet in the woods was a dead woman staring up at the sky with sightless eyes, her heart having been cut right out of her chest.

  Elizabeth looked at the sign in front of her. It faded in and out of view, but a few seconds later, she figured out what it said. She had driven along this road countless times. And when the lasso gave her another tug, she didn’t hesitate. She still didn’t know what she was supposed to do, but she knew where she would find her answers.

  It was taking her back to the city.

  Back to Savannah.

  Two

  Once again, Cassie caught herself smiling when no one was around. She found it strange to be aware of her own happiness, to have its mere existence surprise her. She had experienced darkness for so long that the slightest of light caught her off guard.

  She allowed herself to live in the moment, something she had struggled with most of her life. She would not take that feeling for granted again. It filled her with a warmth that brought a flush to her cheeks.

  It had been over ten years since that fateful night in the graveyard, the one that had almost taken her life. In fact, according to the doctors, it had killed her. But by some miracle, or maybe her own strength of will, she clawed her way back to the land of the living. And everything changed.

  The thought of her would-be killer, Novak, was almost enough to snuff out her happiness.

  Almost.

  It started with Novak escaping jail and going on a killing spree. That was not a great start. He had seen her picture in the newspaper and decided to finish what he had started years ago. It would’ve been a gruesome ending for Cassie if Mitch Tanner, a detective and friend from Philadelphia, hadn’t saved her life. It was a miracle he was there.

  The rest of the year had been a whirlwind of cops and trials and statements and media. The officers assigned to her case had kept her name as low profile as possible, but it was hard to go completely undetected. Still, she managed to keep her face out of the news. After all, this was Savannah. A few weeks went by and some other tragedy caught everyone’s attention. She was old news.

  And as crazy as her life had been, it was all worth it. Novak had been given the death penalty. The evidence against him was overwhelming, and his recent escape proved he could not be reformed. If given the chance, he would kill time and time again.

  Four months ago, they had taken his life. It was a small consolation for the number of lives he had taken himself.

  Cassie hadn’t known peace until that day. She worried she would see him in her dreams, or while she was awake. But as the days slipped away, so did her worries. He didn’t come to her, and she knew he had received the sentence he deserved.

  Her face started to ache from smiling so much, but she relished the pain. It had been a long time since she had felt this light and carefree. And she would do anything to hold onto the feeling forever.

  “Today’s going to be the day.”

  Cassie was shaken from her reverie by Magdalena’s voice, but she was so deep in thought she couldn’t comprehend the words. The world came back into focus and she remembered she was supposed to be looking for shipping papers at the museum’s front desk. Tonya ran to the break room to get some coffee. She yelled something about her kid keeping her up half the night.

  “Huh?” Cassie asked, as she didn’t hear what Magdalena had said.

  Magdalena placed a newspaper on the counter between them and leaned closer. “Today’s going to be the day. Jason’s going to ask you out.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “You say that every day.”

  “Yeah, but I have a good feeling about today.”

  “You say that every day, too.”

  Still, Cassie couldn’t help but glance at him. He was standing in the middle of the atrium with an elderly gentleman, explaining the best way to navigate the Savannah College of Art and Design’s Museum of Art’s many halls. His broad shoulders and six-foot tall frame made him look imposing, as did his security uniform. But his chocolate eyes and warm smile had a calming effect on everyone. Maybe that was what made him so good at his job.

  “I see you staring,” Magdalena said.

  Cassie waved her off. “How’s the hubby?”

  Magdalena tossed a handful of braids over her shoulder and leveled Cassie with an intense stare; Magdalena knew Cassie was trying to change the subject. Luckily for Cassie, Magdalena didn’t press her. “He’s okay. The chemo is taking its toll, but I think we’re getting through the worst of it.” Her eyes glazed over but brightened again a second later. “He loved those lemon bars you made him. You keep baking like that, and he’s going to divorce me.”

  “And risk never having your macaroni pie again? I doubt it.”

  Magdalena was another bright spot at the museum. She was a few decades older than Cassie, but always had at least ten times the energy. Cassie swore Magdalena never wore the same outfit twice, and there wasn’t a drab article of clothing in that woman’s wardrobe. No one could ever guess what she would wear on any given day. Today, it was a patchwork skirt of orange, purple, and white, topped with a yellow blazer and a simple white blouse underneath. She wore a chunky necklace, huge hoop earrings, and rings on almost every finger. And yet, she didn’t look outlandish or gaudy. She could pull off anything.

  If Jason had a calming effect on everyone, Magdalena was al
ways ready to get them pumped up for the day. That was why she was the coordinator of museum visitation. She knew how to handle people.

  She had a way of looking into someone’s soul, just as she was doing to Cassie. “And how are you doing?” Magdalena asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You know that doesn’t cut it with me.” Magdalena snapped her fingers. “Spill.”

  Cassie took a deep breath. It had been four months to the day since Novak had been put to death. Magdalena was one of the only people in Cassie’s life who knew the entire story. Or almost the whole story, at least. She knew Cassie had almost died—twice—and that her attempted killer had finally paid the ultimate price for his crimes.

  Magdalena didn’t know about the ghosts, or that they all vanished the moment Novak took his last breath. But Magdalena was intuitive—maybe not like Cassie, but she did have a knack for reading people. Which was why she was always bugging Cassie about Jason.

  “I’m good,” Cassie said. She formed the words slowly to make it seem like she thought about the answer. It was close to the truth. “Things are getting easier. I’m starting to trust that it’s over. My life today is a lot easier than it was a month ago.”