Path of Bones

by L. T. Ryan

  “But why?” She knew this was the question entire groups of scholars spent lifetimes trying to answer. She decided to narrow it down. “What did their hearts symbolize?”

  “The Aztecs considered the heart to be the seat of an individual, an important part of their personhood. Liberating this part and giving it to the gods was a great honor.”

  “So, the sacrifices were voluntary?”

  “Not always. It depended on the objective. Was a person offering themselves in sacrifice to a deity, or was someone sacrificing another person to their deity? It sounds like splitting hairs, but you can imagine the difference is extreme when you’re sitting at the sharp end of the knife.”

  Cassie couldn’t argue with that. She was sure the three women killed over the last few weeks would agree. But Cassie couldn’t say for certain they had been ritualistically sacrificed. The detectives hadn’t found the hearts which was more significant than not.

  “So,” Cassie wondered how long it would take George to catch on. “How has this ritualistic sacrifice transformed over the years?”

  George leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Different cultures have used human sacrifice for different reasons all throughout history. As you can imagine, modern society frowns upon such practices.”

  “But it does still happen.”

  “There are cults around the world that still believe in the power of human sacrifice.” George gave Cassie a significant look. “Many serial killers also conduct such a practice.”

  “I’m not being as clever as I think, am I?”

  “No, you’re not.” He tapped the side of his nose. “But, to your credit, I wouldn’t have connected the dots if it hadn’t been for your visitor the other day.”

  Cassie hung her head. “Detective Harris. I’m sorry about that—”

  He held up a hand. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

  “No. She wanted to know if I had any insight into the killings given my prior, ah, experience.” George did not know about Cassie’s ability to see spirits, but he was aware of her connection to Novak. “I told her I didn’t know of anything that could help, but I haven’t been able to get the case out of my head since.”

  George nodded sagely. “It is not always clear why serial killers act the way they do. I am by no means an expert here, although I don’t think it takes a genius to see that each person, each killer, has their own motive and ways of coping with trauma.”

  “So, if a person were to, say, cut out someone’s heart and drain all their blood, what do you think their motive and trauma would be?”

  George laughed. “I think that’s a question better suited for the police. But, if we’re considering this an act of ritualistic sacrifice, it could have several different meanings. A lot of cultures place great emphasis on certain organs as well as a person’s blood. The heart, for instance, is what keeps us alive, but it also represents love. People can die from a broken heart. The Aztecs also knew of its power, which is why they offered it to their gods. Its removal, I would imagine, could either represent a freeing of the victim’s personhood or love, or a punishment for those same two principles.”

  “And the blood?” Cassie asked.

  George looked at her for a few seconds. “The papers haven’t mentioned anything about the way the victims have been killed.”

  Cassie looked around to make sure they were alone. “That may be insider information.”

  “In that case, I will keep it to myself.” George leaned forward. “Blood also gives us life by carrying oxygen to our cells. Some consider it to have healing properties. Bloodletting was the act of withdrawing blood from a patient to prevent or cure an illness. We know diseases don’t work that way. On the other hand, there’s a reason why blood sacrifices are often made to gods and demons. We still believe there’s a lot of power in our blood.”

  Cassie shook her head. “It’s weird to think people still believe in that.”

  George shrugged. “People who take communion are consuming the body and blood of Christ, are they not?”

  “Yeah,” Cassie said, “but that’s metaphorical.”

  “Is it that much of a stretch? I don’t condone such practices, but ritualistic sacrifice, to me, would seem less crazy if I were truly desperate. Imagine that all your crops are dying, and a shaman tells you that if you cut off the head of your neighbor and bury it in your field, your crops will begin to grow. Most people wouldn’t jump straight to murder but imagine that your family is starving to death. Can’t you imagine you’d try anything if you thought you could get away with it?”

  “Yeah, but that stuff doesn’t work,” Cassie said.

  “Maybe not. But that’s not the point, is it? It provides hope and sometimes that can be more promising than anything reality provides.”

  It still seemed like a strange idea, especially here in Savannah, but then again, she could talk to ghosts. Who was she to say what was real and what was not?

  “Are the police considering ritualistic sacrifice?” George asked.

  “I’m not sure. In all honesty, I don’t think they know what to do with the information they have. They’re looking into anything that might explain why someone would do this to those women.”

  George nodded solemnly. “What happened to those women was a terrible crime.” He eyed Cassie and measured his words with caution. “But it’s not your responsibility to solve this case.”

  Cassie's mouth tightened. What could she say to that? In a way, he was right. But knowing what those women went through made her heart ache. Survivor’s guilt, they call it. She felt bad for being alive while the three women wound up dead. Cassie knew she couldn’t have stopped their deaths and yet, her brain was yelling at her to do something, anything, so it didn’t happen to another person.

  Plus, there was Elizabeth. Somewhere along life’s path, Cassie decided that if she had the ability to fix a terrible injustice, it was her responsibility to do that. She wasn’t some girl who considered herself an amateur detective. She could communicate with the dead and that gave her a leg up on most people, including the police department.

  “I know.” Cassie tried to put some weight behind her words. “But helping feels better than doing nothing.”

  George looked proud. “You’re a good person, Ms. Quinn. We need more people like you in this world.”

  “I don’t know about that.” She wouldn’t wish her abilities on anyone. “But that means a lot coming from you.”

  Eighteen

  Cassie emerged from the Bull Street Library to four missed calls from Harris. She stopped dead in her tracks with a heart so heavy it sunk to her toes. When Cassie called the detective back, her worst fears were realized. Harris did not mince her words.

  “Another woman has been killed.”

  Cassie stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you serious?”

  “Just like the others.” Detective Harris took a deep breath. “I know I have no right to ask—”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Cassie got the address from Harris and hopped in her car without thought. Halfway there, Cassie understood what she was feeling.

  Guilt.

  She should’ve been able to do more. She should’ve listened to Elizabeth sooner. She should’ve tried harder. If she had, maybe this latest victim wouldn’t have fallen prey to this killer. Maybe he would already be in prison and Cassie would be moving on with her life.

  When Cassie arrived at the crime scene, a few vehicles were parked nearby. A couple of people stood off to one side and several police cars were blocking the park’s entrance.

  Cassie pulled up and gave them her name. She was waved right through.

  By the time she parked and got out of her vehicle, Harris was there to meet her. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept much last night. Her ponytail wasn’t as sleek and smooth as normal, and dark circles had formed under her eyes.

  “Are you ready for this?” Harris asked
.

  “No,” Cassie said. “But let’s go.”

  “Her name is Sage Washington. Black female. Twenty-six. Throat slit and heart removed. She was found about an hour ago by some park goers who were foraging and came across her body. I got here about half an hour ago.”

  “You sound rushed.”

  Harris looked around. “We’re trying to keep the media away. That’s why we’ve set the perimeter back so far. We don’t want anyone to know how the women were killed in case we can use it against any suspects.”

  “Makes sense.” Cassie felt a knot form in her stomach. “And what are you expecting of me here?”

  Harris took a moment to answer. They stepped off the path and made their way deeper into the woods. It wasn’t hard to figure out where they had to go. There was a circle of cops standing amidst the trees, and inside that, a circle of yellow caution tape. As they passed by, every one of the cops nodded in acknowledgement to Harris. No one wanted her job that morning. Or most mornings, Cassie imagined.

  “Detective Klein said fresh crime scenes can leave a bigger imprint for you to pick up.” Harris formed the words like she was repeating what David told her without knowing what he meant. “I don’t like to bring civilians to a crime scene like this but you’re not the typical civilian.”

  “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

  Harris halted outside the crime scene tape and looked back at Cassie. “I know you already saw Elizabeth’s body, but it’s always worse outside of a medical facility. If you think you’re going to get sick—”

  “I’ll walk away,” Cassie said. “I know the drill.”

  Harris nodded her head once and lifted the tape so both of them could pass under it. Cassie could see the body up ahead, but she searched the woods around the area first.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Like Hannah’s dumping site, this one seemed to have been chosen arbitrarily. It didn’t look anything like the other one. The trees weren’t the same, nothing had been erected as a warning or a tribute and, all things considered, nothing seemed out of place.

  Cassie could see the body out of the corner of her eye and her stomach turned. She wasn’t prone to queasiness these days, given all she had already seen, but there was something terrible and unnatural about being able to peer inside someone’s rib cage. She could’ve gone her entire life without experiencing that.

  But as Harris led her closer to the body, Cassie felt drawn to it, and when they were close enough to see the entire picture, she couldn’t look away.

  Sage’s face was pale and lifeless. Her eyes were still open, staring unceasingly at the sky above. Her throat had been sliced in the same way Elizabeth’s had, at least according to Cassie’s untrained eyes. The front of her navy dress was covered in blood, but not as much as Cassie would’ve expected. If the killer was collecting the blood as it drained, though, that made sense.

  What Cassie couldn’t get past was the woman’s open chest. It was a bloody mess, far worse than what she had seen with Elizabeth. The rib cage had been cut and spread open in the same way, but blood and leaves blown around by the wind made it look more congested.

  “How long do you think she’s been here?” Cassie asked.

  “A couple hours. We know he kills in the middle of the night and leaves the body to be found the next morning. It’s, what, almost eleven? I’d say between eight and ten hours.”

  “Do we know anything about her yet?” Cassie asked. “Anything significant?”

  “We’re still running a background check. Trying to find her family or next of kin.” Harris blew out a breath. “God, I hate this part.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Cassie wondered if she was trying to convince Harris or herself of that truth. “There’s not enough evidence to find the killer yet. There’s nothing you could’ve done to stop this.”

  “Yeah, well…” Harris broke off and shook her head.

  Cassie could feel the punch coming. “You can say what you need to.”

  “It’s nothing. I’m just frustrated. And I never thought I’d be the type of cop to put stock in a psychic.”

  “Especially one that’s not getting results?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s not like I’m not aware I’ve been less than helpful.”

  Harris didn’t respond and Cassie returned her gaze to the body. It was better than standing in whatever angry silence was emanating off the detective.

  Cassie backed up a few feet and started doing a wide circle around the crime scene. Harris followed behind, presumably to make sure she didn’t trample on any potential evidence. Cassie was grateful for the reprieve from the conversation, though she could still feel Harris’s frustration in the air.

  Cassie noticed the air around her was already warm and humid, and the breeze didn’t do much to quell the heat. She felt comfortable as she always did in the summer but noticed many of the cops sweating underneath their uniforms.

  What Cassie couldn’t feel was that same hint of electric buzz that she had felt at the city morgue where she had anticipated Elizabeth’s presence and almost felt like her old self. The one who had been able to tap into her abilities and offer guidance on a case.

  What did she do in the past? Close her eyes and feel for the other world? No. The other world came to her, uninvited and unrelenting. She spent a decade trying to control it, trying to lead a normal life, and here she was unable to tap back into it. What was holding her back?

  It couldn’t be because Novak was gone. The little boy’s spirit and Elizabeth’s initial visit disproved that. Her powers had faded, but they hadn’t gone away.

  And as she embroiled herself further into this case, she could feel her gift wanting to come back. The buzzing of electricity was under the surface. She could feel it wanting to reach out and grab onto her.

  But then she thought of work. And that made her think of Jason. And her family.

  Could she live a normal life with these abilities? She had spent a long time alone because of them. Would she be able to hide them if she had a social life, a love life? Would she want to? And if she didn’t, what would the people around her think? Would they think she was crazy, or would they embrace her abilities? Would they try to take advantage of them?

  “Are you getting anything?” Harris hissed.

  Cassie was yanked from her thoughts. The questions filling her mind were not ideal for keeping a clear head. She turned to Harris. “No, I’m sorry.”

  Harris was saved from offering empty reassurances when a pudgy, balding officer walked up to them. He looked between Cassie and Harris but must’ve dismissed any questions he had.

  “The media’s here,” he told Harris. “She’s here.”

  “Shit.”

  Nineteen

  As soon as Harris and Cassie made their way back to the trail, Cassie didn’t have to wonder who “she” was. Cassie spotted the blonde reporter she had seen on the news channel the other day. Her curls were as bright and bouncy as ever, and the look on her face was one of triumph. The reporter knew Harris didn’t want her there, and she didn’t care.

  Harris turned back to the pudgy man. “I don’t want anyone near that crime scene who doesn’t belong. The media gets nothing. Not even a grainy image of her body, got it?”

  But Cassie wasn’t paying attention to their exchange. She watched as one of the guards left his post and walked right up to the reporter. He tossed a look over his shoulder before leaning in close to her and whispering something. Cassie couldn’t hear what they were saying, but by the look on the woman’s face, she was trying to turn on her charm. It wasn’t working, and the man pointed a finger at her and walked away. He returned to his post and looked back at Harris, catching Cassie’s eye in the process.

  “What are you going to say to her?” the pudgy man asked as Cassie tuned back into their conversation.

  “Whatever I need to,” Harris said.

  Cassie didn’t know wh
at to do. She didn’t want to leave in case Harris still needed her, but she also didn’t want to be caught on camera. Chances are she already was, but she could be mistaken for another detective.

  Still, Cassie inched her way to the barrier where a few more stragglers looked on. Most of them had the decency to keep their phones away, but for the ones who didn’t, Cassie offered her back.

  Harris’s voice wasn’t difficult to hear. “Ms. Campbell. Always a pleasure.”

  “Is it, Detective?” The reporter’s southern twang was in full effect this morning. “I get the distinct impression you don’t want to talk to me.”

  “It’s not personal.” Harris kept her tone professional. “I’m trying to do a job, Ms. Campbell, and when I’m distracted by the media, I have trouble doing that job.”

  “The people have a right to know whether or not there’s a serial killer on the loose in Savannah.”

  “As I explained the other day, I cannot release details of an open investigation. We must uphold the integrity of the case to ensure there is no misinformation.”

  “Do you think there’s a significance that all the women who’ve been killed have had their hearts ripped out of their chest? What do you think that means?”

  Harris looked like the reporter had sucker punched her. She recovered but had revealed that Ms. Campbell had perhaps hit too close to home. “Like I said, I can’t comment on an open investigation. Once I’m able to release any details, I’ll be sure to contact one of the other news channels.”

  Cassie had the distinct pleasure of seeing a flash of anger cross the reporter’s face. Harris turned around and stalked toward Cassie. The detective grabbed Cassie’s elbow and steered her further away from the growing crowd.

  “Have you told anyone the details I shared with you about the investigation?”

  Cassie opened her mouth to say no. She hadn’t, but she remembered the conversation she had had with George earlier that morning.