Path of Bones

by L. T. Ryan

  Harris must’ve caught the look on her face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I trust him with my life,” Cassie said. “He would never—”

  “The media got wind of it somehow, so it doesn’t matter how much you trust him.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  Harris hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “The news says otherwise.”

  “I told him this morning, right before you called me. There’s no way he could’ve told anyone.” Cassie’s brain was frantic. “Plus, she already knew something the other day when you were on the news.”

  The silence stretched on.

  “I’m really sorry—” Cassie started.

  Harris held up a hand. She waited for a beat. “I can’t stress enough how important it is that the information I divulge to you is in strict confidence. Ms. Campbell is getting her information from somewhere else, but that is no excuse for you to go around prattling about the case to whomever you feel like discussing it with.”

  “I wasn’t prattling.” Cassie couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. “Dr. George Schafer is my boss at the museum. He’s an academic and a respected member of the community. I trust him with sensitive information.”

  “To be frank, Ms. Quinn, this sensitive information isn’t for you to share.”

  “You trusted me enough to be a part of this investigation in whatever capacity I could. I went to Dr. Schafer because I thought he might have pertinent information.”

  “And?” Harris asked. “Did he?”

  “So, you do want to hear it? Or do you want to yell at me some more?”

  Harris leaned in close. “Ms. Quinn, I have four dead bodies on my hands and a plucky reporter halfway up my ass. I don’t need your sarcasm. I need your help.”

  Cassie took a deep breath to calm her anger. “I may have come across something that could back up your theory about the occult.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I went to George asking about ritualistic sacrifice throughout history. There are a lot of reasons why someone might perform a human sacrifice. They may want to honor a god or placate a demon. They could want to heal their land or another person. The rituals involve the heart or blood and their actions have meaning. There’s symbolism to the sacrifice.”

  The detective looked at Cassie and, not for the first time, Cassie felt like she was being sized up. “What I’m about to share with you stays between us. Is that understood?”

  Cassie stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Underwood called me this morning. There’s been a discrepancy.”

  “What kind of discrepancy?”

  “Elizabeth’s medical charts say her blood type was A Positive, but she had a Red Cross donation card in her wallet at the time of death. It says she’s O negative.”

  “That’s a big mistake to make in someone’s medical records.”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t think it was a mistake.” Harris’s eyes had a fire in them. “I think her records were changed. Everything is digital these days. If you have the right equipment, time, and knowledge, it can be done.”

  “You think the murderer hacked Elizabeth’s medical records?”

  “I’m not coming to any conclusions yet.” Harris crossed her arms and lowered her voice. “But it’s the killer’s first real mistake. And our first real lead. There could be a digital trace. And given that Underwood was insistent that the killer knew what he was doing when he opened the victim’s chest, I can see this leading back to a hospital. But there’s still a lot to work through.”

  “I suppose that could make sense,” Cassie said.

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “No, I just don’t like the idea that this could be a doctor or a nurse.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Harris said. “There’s a whole category for it: Angel of Death.”

  “But those are mercy killings. This doesn’t feel like mercy to me.”

  “What about it’ll be over soon?” Harris asked. “That could fit in with the idea of a mercy killing.”

  Cassie looked around and lowered her voice. “Their hearts were ripped out of their chests. What would be the purpose of that?”

  Harris tipped her head back. “I don’t know.”

  Cassie let the silence hang in the air for thirty seconds. “What are we going to do?”

  “You’re going to go home and wait until I call you. I don’t want you investigating any more crime scenes or confiding in any more associates.”

  “Please, I can help—"

  “Ms. Quinn, do I need to remind you that you are not a detective, nor are you a police officer?”

  “No, of course not. I—”

  “Do I need to remind you that you are not an official consultant on this case?”

  “No. Please, detective—”

  “I appreciate your insight into the case, and I will take your advice about ritualistic sacrifices into consideration.” Harris walked Cassie back over to the barricade keeping the public back. “For now, I have a stronger, more promising lead to follow regarding the doctor angle. If that leads to a dead end, you will be the first person I call. Until then, please give me room to do my job.”

  “Of course.” Cassie was angry at the way her voice trembled. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience I’ve caused.”

  Harris looked down at her watch. When she spoke, her voice was still cool. “It’s been no inconvenience at all.”

  Cassie knew it was a lie.

  Twenty

  He muted the TV and slammed the remote down on the table in the middle of the living room. Part of him wanted to cringe—it was an antique, after all—and another part of him wished to throw it through the window instead.

  He did neither.

  He stood and paced the room. The police force was doing a shoddy job of keeping the murders quiet. That lead detective, Harris, cared little for the young reporter with the blonde curls revealing more information than she should.

  The reporter aggravated him, too.

  To expect that his entire operation could fly under the radar would have been naïve. He knew that he’d receive some media attention, but he had hoped it’d be another week or two before that happened. Speeding up his timeline wasn’t appealing, but something needed to change.

  He had thought about taking the correspondent as his next victim, or even the detective, but neither one of them fulfilled his needs. Plus, that would bring more attention to his operation. It would have been easier to kill the reporter, and maybe more satisfying given her smug appearance, but there was no way he could justify it.

  He wasn’t a monster.

  He had a job to do.

  But he was also a realist. He wouldn’t take the option off the table, not completely. As a last resort, one of the women would have to go. Perhaps one could be used as a red herring of sorts. It could throw the cops and media off his trail and make them second guess what they thought they knew about the case.

  The idea sparked his imagination and he chastised himself for not thinking of this sooner. Anger welled inside of him and he had to flee. He had to be outside. He had to be anywhere but here.

  Through the hall, out the door, and down the front steps. The sun was warm on his face and had an immediate calming effect. It renewed his sense of purpose. He never wanted to lose this feeling. Taking stock of the fourth marker in his yard, he noted how the empty hole seemed to pull him. Last night he had retrieved the necessary ingredients to enact the next part of the ritual, but he had needed to wait one more day to put it in its proper place.

  The sun dimmed with a passing cloud in time with his darkening mood. These were the hardest days. He had everything required, but he had to be patient. Forever patient.

  The reporter was a problem. The detective, too. These problems would have to wait. He was several steps ahead of both of them. Neither woman had a clue as to his true motive, and if they figured it out—as unlik
ely as it was—he had the perfect wrench to throw in their little machine. An unbreakable patsy to make sure he remained untouchable.

  That thought brought a smile to his face. He made his way back to his house, climbed the stairs, and returned to the living room.

  This time, when he caught sight of the news, he felt no annoyance. It was in his best interest to be patient, and that’s what he planned to do.

  Twenty-One

  Cassie didn’t bother figuring out where she wanted to go when she pulled away from the park. She picked a direction and floored it.

  Anger bubbled inside of her like a volcano, but she didn’t know why. Yes, Harris had dismissed her, but the detective hadn’t raised her voice or insulted her. She also hadn’t lied. Cassie was not working on the case in any official capacity. Besides, her theories were also just that—theories. Cassie had no evidence and no solid reason to force Harris to investigate the occult theory instead of the doctor theory.

  Cassie learned a long time ago that being a detective was not like in the movies. Detectives in the real world are lucky to have their first or second or even third lead pan out. One clue didn’t always lead to the next right away. It was a lot of leg work and a lot of dead ends. A lot of wasted time to get to the correct answer. A lot of dead bodies.

  So, why was she still fuming?

  Cassie took one deep breath and then another. She knew she wasn’t frustrated with the detective or the case. She was frustrated with herself. She was mad about getting involved again, mad about caring. She couldn’t turn that part of herself off and she didn’t want to, but empathy was sometimes exhausting.

  She wanted this, but what would it cost? She had waited so long to get a job that satisfied her. A couple months in, she was already taking a day off to do some extracurricular detective work. She had put off going out with a guy she liked because she was too busy trying to figure out how to solve Elizabeth’s case.

  And when this case is resolved, would that be the end? What about the little boy who disappeared? What about the next ghost to stroll into her life, demanding her full attention? Savannah was full of dead bodies, old and new. Every step she took in the city was on a path of bones and she was always in danger of stumbling over the next one. Was that the future she wanted for herself?

  With her anger slipping away, Cassie took stock of her surroundings. But her heart pounded harder, threatening to leap out of her chest and onto the road in front of her. She was familiar with this part of Savannah. For the rest of her life, she would never forget what happened to her here.

  Rather than driving on, Cassie quelled her shaking hands and pulled into Bonaventure Cemetery’s entrance. Sweat formed on her brow that had nothing to do with the heat, but she pushed away the fear as she acknowledged it. This place and the man who tried to end her life here no longer had a hold on her.

  Cassie parked her car and took a moment to collect herself. Once she did, she stepped out of the vehicle, picked a direction, and started walking.

  It was not the first time she had been back to this place and she doubted it would be the last. Her therapist had encouraged her to visit it once she felt ready. It’s where Cassie learned all about exposure therapy. The first time, she couldn’t get out of the car. The second time, she had passed out before taking two steps.

  But every time she tried, she got farther.

  Now, Cassie could walk the entire cemetery. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, but it was tolerable. That was a huge win in her book, though she felt she had a long way to go. It might be ten more years until this place didn’t have any effect on her. Or maybe it always would. She had come to terms with that a long time ago.

  Once Cassie got over her initial fear, she came to respect this place. She felt closer to the spirit world here. Whether because this was where it all started or because there were more spirits here, she was not sure. When the anxiety had become less intense and more controllable, she had realized the cemetery made her feel stronger.

  She could feel that electric buzz that had been missing in the museum. The one that started to take form in the city morgue.

  It was a tingling sensation that ran the length of her body, sometimes gathering in her toes, her fingertips, the top of her head. She was like a conduit and her limbs were the points of entry for her abilities. Despite her years of living with these sensations, she still didn’t know what caused them. David had plenty of theories, but Cassie didn’t take stock in those.

  They existed and that was all that mattered.

  Cassie found a stone bench along one of the paths and sat down. The warmth of the rock seeped into her body, a pleasant mix with the electricity. She couldn’t say she was happy, but there was something affirming in the sensation. The void evaporated, replaced with a power that made her strong and capable and unique.

  It surprised her to realize how much she had missed it.

  To others, she looked ordinary. Maybe she was there to visit the grave of a friend or loved one. Maybe she was meeting someone to offer them moral support. Maybe she was grieving the lost in her own way. But she was so much more.

  It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and many people were paying their respects to the dead. A few groups here and there, but mostly people in ones and twos visiting graves and laying flowers down. In between each grave, the spirits roamed. Some were fainter than others, but their glitching, almost translucent look was the biggest clue that they no longer walked the earth.

  They didn’t pay much attention to Cassie. It was a relief when she first started visiting the cemetery. Her greatest fear was being inundated with spirits seeking her help, following her home and begging her to pass on messages.

  But most of the spirits here were waiting for their loved ones to visit before moving on. A few would stand alone forever, but most wanted that final goodbye. They only had eyes for their friends, families, and lovers.

  When the ghosts did notice Cassie, not all of them were brave or strong enough to communicate with her. Not all of them needed her help. She always wondered what they could feel from her, how they learned she could help them move on. Was it something they just knew, deep in their souls?

  She thought back to Elizabeth. Something had drawn the woman to Cassie’s house, to her bedroom, in the middle of the night. Something told her where to go, where to ask for help. But asking why and how was a dangerous game. In over ten years, Cassie hadn’t learned the answers to those questions and so decided to stop asking them.

  Besides, there were other questions she could answer. Unlike most of the ghosts in the graveyard, Elizabeth had been ruthlessly murdered. Her story needed to be told, and her mystery deserved to be solved.

  Cassie felt her anger flair up once more. She got to her feet and continued her circuit around the cemetery, taking in the names and dates on the various headstones. She forced herself to let go of the events from the last few days and enjoy the warmth of the sun and the calm of the graveyard.

  A few minutes later, she found herself standing at the foot of a recent grave. It was covered in fresh flowers and wreaths. Along the top of the headstone, Cassie caught sight of piles of coins and little stones. Notes had been folded in half and placed under a few of the rocks.

  It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. This was the gravesite of one of the victims of the recent string of murders.

  Cassie looked up and down the pathway, wondering if anyone else was on their way to pay respects to the woman. She hadn’t yet decided what she was going to do, but she didn’t want anyone to see her do it.

  She doubled down on that notion as soon as she turned back around and saw a young woman crouched over the grave with her head in her hands.

  Twenty-Two

  The young woman appeared as though she had been sitting there all along. Her jet-black hair looked faded and lifeless. Her skin was translucent, but she didn’t glitch out as often as Elizabeth had. She looked more corporeal. Almost alive.

  Until she looked u
p.

  Cassie took an involuntary step back. The quiet hum of electricity circulating through her body was sharp and painful. The top of her head felt warm and the tips of her fingers went numb. The ghost’s gaze bore into her, as though searching her mind for answers. Cassie couldn’t help but break the connection, choosing instead to look down at the headstone.

  Her name was Jessica Tran.

  Cassie returned her gaze to the woman and gasped upon seeing her standing. She still looked at Cassie with intense eyes, but with less fire. Perhaps she found what she was looking for.

  She wore a plain navy dress. Her hair hung down to her waist and the ends fluttered in an otherworldly breeze. There was a ghastly mark across her neck. Her chest had been opened and her heart removed. Blood soaked into the material, leaving splotches of wet cloth to glisten in the sun.

  Cassie could feel the strength of this woman. Her anger fueled her ability to stay connected to earth’s realm. She had been dead longer than Elizabeth, so she had had more time to understand what was happening to her. She would be able to control her spirit form better than Elizabeth, too.

  When Jessica stepped closer and spoke, it was with a clear voice that didn’t struggle to escape her throat.

  “It’ll be over soon.”

  Cassie’s heart stopped. It was the same line Hannah and Elizabeth had given her.

  “I don’t understand,” Cassie said. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It’ll be over soon,” Jessica repeated. There was a flash of anger in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I—”

  Jessica took another step forward and pressed her hand against Cassie’s cheek. It felt like the memory of a touch. It was cool and light, but Cassie only had a second or two to comprehend the feeling when an image sliced its way into her brain.

  Cassie stood inside an open structure. There was a roof over her head, but she could feel the breeze blowing by her, carrying the muffled sound of cars and music and voices and laughter and the smell of the river and the restaurants. She felt dizzy and drunk, too tired to stand on her own but unsure of where to go or what to do.