The Cursed by Blood Saga

by Marianne Morea

  “I do. Believe me, you’re preaching to the choir. I’ve been queen of the freaks for more years than I care to count, not that I think you’re a freak or anything.”

  He gave her half a smile. “No harm, no foul. But let’s take this step-by-step, okay? We still need to get through your initial investigation at the morgue. How about we make that our jumping off point into the world of weird, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  His police radio chirped, and dispatch interrupted in what sounded like a rush of crackling static. Ryan squeezed the side button on his radio. “Ten-four,” he answered.

  “What was that?”

  He shrugged. “Central just confirmed with the deputy M.E.”

  “Confirmed what?”

  “Our meeting with him at the morgue.”

  She leaned back in her seat, and turned to face him. “Now? But we’re almost there. What if he wasn’t around to confirm our meeting? Don’t they care about wasting taxpayer money, not to mention our time?”

  He grinned. “And how long did you say you’ve been away?”

  She exhaled, shaking her head. “Too long.”

  Chapter Four

  They parked on the street outside Bellevue Hospital and got out of the car. The morgue was located in a separate building, adjacent to the main hospital. Martinez flashed his badge at the entrance, and reception buzzed them in immediately. He knew the way like the back of his own hand, and led Lily through a set of double doors and down the back corridor toward a set of elevators marked ‘employees only’.

  The facility was situated on the lower level, and the elevator doors opened onto a stark white hallway. “This is still a police matter, so let me do the talking, okay?” he asked, stepping aside to let Lily pass. “Once we’re in, you can take over from there.”

  The fluorescent lights added to the already sterile, empty feel of the place, and as they walked, the sound of their footsteps echoed in the corridor. Martinez stopped just outside another set of double doors.

  “Just so you know, the bodies were tagged and bagged at the scene, but the deputy M.E. should have pulled some from cold storage for us to start with,” Martinez said with his hand on one of the doors. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Lily said, trying to squash the creepy feeling edging its way up her spine.

  Martinez knocked before pushing the doors open. The two entered and stood, waiting just inside. The facility was a large rectangular shaped configuration, opening directly into an area housing row after row of mortuary-style refrigerated units. Forensic examination tables lined one side of the room, each compartmentalized into individual operating suites, complete with surgical lights and attached to stainless steel counters, together with sinks and hoses.

  Microscopes and medieval looking instruments, skull saws and rib crackers, gleamed in the overhead lights next to what looked to be deli slicing machines and grocery scales.

  Lily swallowed hard against the sick, Sweeney Todd-like feeling that lurched in her stomach.

  A man in a bloodstained lab coat looked up from behind one of the stainless steel examination tables. “May I help you?” he asked, his hand resting on top of a body half covered with a blue sheet.

  “Dr. Weaver?”

  The man nodded. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Detective Martinez. Homicide,” he answered, flashing the man his badge. “This is Lily Saburi. Special Services. I believe Detective Sergeant Shaw called to let you know we were coming.”

  “Yes. Right this way.” He led them to the far end of the refrigerated units. Lily shot Martinez a questioning look, but he ignored it.

  The deputy M.E. swept his hand toward the stacked squares at the end of the row. “The drawers pertaining to your case have been marked with post-its. Please take your time, but I ask that you don’t disturb the bodies or remove them from the cadaver trays. I have to head to pathology, but I’ll be back shortly. ”

  Martinez nodded. “No problem.”

  The doctor headed back toward the double doors where they had first come in, and Martinez looked at Lily. “Ladies choice,” he said with a sideways nod toward storage units.

  Lily took a cleansing breath to ground herself and center her focus. The underlying smell of disinfectant stung the inside of her nose, and her stomach flip-flopped as memories from the morgue in Portland where they prepared Terry’s body to ship back to New York, rushed back.

  Holding her breath, she swallowed, forcing herself to focus. “That one,” Lily said, pointing toward the first drawer on the bottom left.

  Martinez pushed the lever down and slowly pulled open the square, stainless steel door. Cold air drifted out from the opening, along with a deep sense of foreboding. The cadaver tray slid out from the refrigerated unit without a sound, a narrow gurney on drawer glides. Lily shivered. The body was covered with the same blue sheet they’d seen on the one prepared for autopsy across the room.

  He pulled the sheet back, exposing the victim. The body was that of a young man, no more than eighteen or twenty years old. Even with the medical examiner’s handiwork, it was easy to see his throat and his chest had been ripped open prior to death. The typical “Y” incision used in autopsies had navigated through the ravaged and missing flesh. Martinez whistled low. “Wow. This one is definitely 3D,” Martinez said, wiping his hands on his pants. “Definitely Done Dancing.”

  “Oh, God.” Lily’s hand went to her mouth, her stomach turning again. Her vision swam as a wave of lightheadedness gripped her, and she clutched onto Martinez’s arm for support.

  “Some NYPD Profiler you are if you can’t stand the sight of a stiff,” he joked, steadying her on her feet.

  Lily swallowed hard. “It’s not that,” she said shooting him a dirty look between gulps. “Can’t you sense it? It’s absolute terror. Christ in heaven, it’s practically radiating from the body!”

  She dragged in a deep breath and placed her hand on the victim’s forehead. Immediately, images flooded Lily’s mind. He’d been out for a good time with friends. Rich boys slumming it, out trolling for drugs and illicit fun.

  “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry…”

  Lily jerked her hand back, her eyes losing focus. “What?” She blinked, turning her perplexed gaze toward Martinez. “Did you say something?”

  He shook his head. “No, why?”

  She frowned, peering at him from across her shoulder. Maybe her brain was on overload and it was nothing more than a leftover auditory impression. Or not…

  Lily froze. “Oh, God,” she muttered and turned slowly back around toward the body.

  “What? What is it?” Martinez asked, but Lily didn’t answer. She kept her eyes trained dead ahead.

  “Remember when I said I wasn’t sure if my talents ran toward channeling?”

  “Yeah…” he answered cautiously.

  “Ding. Ding. Ding.”

  Martinez took a step forward and stood next to Lily. “Here? Now?”

  “Yup.”

  Lily slid her eyes to the side expecting to see the detective’s face blanch. Instead, he looked quizzical.

  “Are you all right? Do you hear something too?” she whispered.

  His shook his head, again. “Not a thing.”

  “Hey! I’m over here, there’s no need to whisper…”

  Lily slid her gaze back to the front. The ghost stood next to the cadaver tray, a young man, his face pale and translucent white. He was so young, it broke her heart. Way too young to have been involved in all this. “Um… Who are you?”

  “Patrick Quinn Kelly.”

  Lily sucked in a breath. “It’s the Kelly kid,” she whispered to Martinez, and felt him stiffen beside her.

  She took a step forward, keeping her movements slow and non-threatening. Outside of Terry, she didn’t have much experience with talking to the dead, but the kid looked scared and as ludicrous as it sounded, she didn’t want to frighten the ghost further.

  “Patrick, can you
tell us what happened in the bar? Can you remember?” Lily’s heart clenched at the regret that shadowed his pale, translucent face. His wounds were raw and puckered, even in his ethereal form, but the terror that had hit Lily in the gut earlier was gone. There was no trace of physical pain, either, only a pervasive sadness and regret.

  “Tell my mother I didn’t mean it,” he said, flickering in and out. “I never meant to hurt anyone…it…it got out of control.”

  “Didn’t mean what? Patrick, wait,” Lily said, reaching out as if she could touch him, help him.

  “What? What’s he saying?” Martinez’s eyes flicked back and forth between Lily and the blank space on the other side of the gurney.

  “Please…” The ghost said, placing a hand on Lily’s forearm, making the hair on her arm stand on end. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do where I’m supposed to be…” he trailed off, his face a mask of fear and uncertainty.

  “Tell my mother I’m sorry. I should have listened to her…I never did. Tell her I love her…” He dropped his head. A glistening tear dripped from his cheek, disappearing into nothing as it fell toward the gurney.

  The fluorescent lights above them flickered and popped, and the air crackled subtly with electricity. The ghost turned abruptly, and Lily’s gaze followed his toward the back of the room. “Something’s coming…” His voice cracked with panic. He took a step and then turned back. “Don’t forget,” he said, and then vanished.

  “No!” Lily yelled, banging her hand down on the stainless tray. “God, I hate when they do that! One magnanimous, all-encompassing statement and then poof, they disappear.”

  “He’s gone? For good? Did he say anything about the attack?”

  Lily shook her head, raising her hand in frustration. “I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean? You said ‘an all-encompassing statement’. Does that mean he told you who did this?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Then would you mind telling me exactly what he did say?” Martinez asked, his voice rising.

  Lily’s shoulders slumped. She turned to face him, knowing full well he expected more than what she was about to tell him. “He wanted me to tell his mother he loves her.”

  Martinez blinked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Detective. He was just a kid. He’s disoriented. I’m not even sure he knows he’s dead, let alone where he is, and I’d bet dollars to donuts he doesn’t remember what happened—at least, not in any kind of cohesive way.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Ryan nonplussed, and Lily not knowing what else to say.

  “Doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said, shoving her hand through her hair. “Ghosts are historically unreliable. Their perception is skewed by their own personal unfinished business, and you can never tell if the clues they give you pertain to the questions you ask, or to some random memory.” Exhaling, her breath fogged out into the cold from the open refrigerated unit. “It’s better if we do this the old fashioned way.”

  Lily rested her hand on the body’s “Y” incision, just above the heart. Immediately, her shoulders hunched and she gagged, her senses overwhelmed by the smell of booze and blood. Disjointed images flash through her mind: Patrick sliding a c-note across to a bartender, a private room, drugs, sex and…

  Lily’s eyes flew open and she jerked her head around toward the detective’s waiting gaze.

  “Jesus Christ, what now?”

  Lily’s gut matched the apprehension she read on Martinez’s face. If what she sensed was true, they were in for a shit load of trouble. Her eyes met his. “We need to go to the crime scene. Now.”

  ***

  Lily looked at Ryan’s profile as he wound his way through midday traffic. The man had high cheekbones and a strong jaw, with a tiny cleft in the center of his chin. Two dimples graced his cheeks whenever he smiled, crinkling the area around his green eyes. He was dark haired, and olive skinned, a model for the cliché of tall, dark and handsome. He was the complete opposite of Sean in every way, except for an unwitting sex appeal they both wielded with ease. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something familiar about the young detective, and it nagged at her every time he looked at her.

  He clicked the directional and glanced her way as he switched lanes. “You gonna tell me what spooked you so bad back in the freezer section?”

  Lily blew out a breath. “Not until I get a better handle on it. It’s too vague, but I’m hoping the crime scene will give me more precise residual impressions. Right now, I can’t be sure of anything. Images are often muddied. Besides whatever impressions I’m specifically looking for, I sometimes get snippets of entirely unrelated thought.”

  He shot her a look, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. “Are you saying there are variables that can skew the images you get from a victim’s corpse?”

  Impressed, Lily cocked her head to one side. “Very good, Detective, succinct and professional. But not to put too fine a point on it, yes. I once caught flashes from a movie a victim had seen with his girlfriend only hours before he was murdered. It made my job very difficult, to say the least, trying to sift through what memories were his and what belonged to the film.”

  “Jeez.”

  Lily exhaled softly, and rested her head back against the seat. “Exactly.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Lily looked out the window, watching the lunchtime throng fill the sidewalks despite the cold. They were just people going about their daily business, unaware of the darkness lurking in the shadows, waiting for nightfall. Two months ago, she had been just as innocent. Unfortunately, if she was correct in her assumptions, the detective was in for just as rude an awakening.

  Horns blared as traffic merged past roadwork further choking the already congested streets. Lily ignored the noise. If her gut was right about what she sensed, then they were all in deep shit. She chewed on her bottom lip, weighing the options. How was she going to tell the cops she believed a vampire was at the root of all this mayhem? She knew vampires existed—but the average person? Not outside books and movies.

  According to Ryan, his boss wanted to make sure she wasn’t some kind of a kook. If this went badly, Shaw would have a field day, and she’d lose all her hard-earned credibility. This had the potential to be a lose-lose situation all the way around, but she’d be damned if she would allow that to happen without a fight.

  Blood bath. Phillips didn’t know how close to the truth he might be, and she prayed her gut was wrong. If what she suspected was even remotely true, then she needed to keep things quiet—at least until she called Sean.

  Ryan pulled his car to the side of the street and double-parked. Though CSI had finished its initial investigation, the length of sidewalk outside the crime scene was still marked with yellow police tape, including the small section of asphalt covered in debris from the blown out bar. Uniformed officers were still on traffic patrol, directing cars away from the scene and keeping pedestrians moving along on the opposite side of the street.

  Lily opened the passenger door and squeezed out between the parked cars. Without so much as a nod, Ryan took her by the elbow, steering her across the street.

  “I don’t think I need to remind you how bad it would be for you to spout off about ghosts or other weird shit at this point. For the time being, we keep this just between us.” Raising both eyebrows, he dropped his chin slightly. “Got it?”

  Lily blinked, tactfully disengaging her arm from his grip. “Detective, I’m a professional. In my line of work, discretion is not only good business, it’s a necessity.” Her answer was soft, but to the point.

  Outside the bar, officers manned the perimeter, but from what she discerned, there were no other detectives on site. Ryan flashed his badge, and the two crossed the police barricade.

  Lily’s breath puffed out in front of her as she took in the exploded frontage and scattered debris.

  “Where do you want to start?” Ryan asked.
<
br />   Lily was silent for a moment, and then slowly shook her head. “The answers aren’t out here, that’s for sure.”

  She took a step toward the darkened bar, peering through the shattered doorway. A wall of stench hit her as soon as she stepped through the threshold, sending her body’s alarm systems into overdrive and her trace amount of Were blood racing through her veins, intrinsically registering the stench as dangerous.

  Ryan came in behind her. “CSI has been through here already, but they’ve asked that you not touch anything or disturb the scene. I suppose they’ll have to sift through all this again at some point if we come up empty.”

  She regarded him, her expression deadpan.

  “What?” When she raised one eyebrow at the essentially rhetorical question, he blew out his breath. “Okay—I get it. Just try not to touch too much. There’s a box of latex-free gloves in the squad car, if you want,” he said, raising one hand toward the door and letting it drop.

  Ignoring him, she walked further into the room, fragmented glass crunching under her boots with each step. She moved slowly, her attention pulling her across the room toward a pile of broken chairs. She squatted down, her reflection fragmented and distorted in the shattered pieces of the bar mirror lying amid the rubble.

  The silvered glass was jagged-edged, and clearly, razor sharp, but Lily picked up one of the larger shards, resting it gingerly against the flat of her palm. She curled her fingers over the edge and closed her eyes. The image of a young girl, her face, sharp planed and her body thin to the point of being gaunt, flashed through Lily’s mind. She was heavily made-up, and despite her youth, the girl’s eyes held a desperation so profound it made Lily’s heart clench. Pain, sharp and quick, raced up Lily’s arm, and she knew. This sad teenager was a heroine whore.

  She dropped the shard from her hand, letting it clatter to the floor, taking the image of the girl with it. But it was too late. She had opened the channel. Violence had left an imprint on the room so deep, that images bombarded Lily’s mind one after the other, hitting her like uppercuts to the stomach. She wrapped her arm around her middle, biting back on the feeling of vertigo.