The Dead (The Thaumaturge Series Book 1)

by Cal Matthews

  Chapter Eleven

  I dropped to my knees beside Marcus and reached out a tentative hand. His fine wool coat lay spread open, half crusted to the cold ground. Between the black folds of the coat, his gutted stomach gaped open, ruined and horrible. Somehow, his organs had remained mostly inside his body. Or they had been put there, like cuts of meat stacked in a cooler. Dried, sticky, blood covered his torso and legs and I remembered what Leo had said about the abdominal aorta. Steeling myself, I glanced up at Marcus's waxy face; he looked surprised, his eyes blank and wide and staring.

  I blanched, and lowered my head, taking a few deep breaths before resuming my assessment. His arms lay at his side. His pale palms seemed terribly fragile, terribly real. His legs stretched out before him, all very posey, like he'd been carefully set there. There was no point in feeling for a pulse, though I instinctively wanted to. He was very dead. From the look and feel of him, he had probably been dead since late last night.

  “You fucking asshole,” I said out loud, tears at the back of my throat. I had expected Leo to maybe question him or something. Or at least let me talk to him before fucking gutting him like a fish.

  There was a strange chuffing noise behind me, and I glanced back at Cody. He was green. No, white. His eyes bulged and he stood absolutely still, his hands held oddly at his side.

  “Ebron . . . ” he moaned and then abruptly turned away, took a few jerky steps to the tree line and started puking.

  “Fuck,” I said, watching him for a second before turning back.

  I frowned, looking over Marcus's body with as much impartiality as possible. It wasn't Leo's style, I had to admit that. There were no marks on his neck and I found it extremely unlikely that Leo would kill someone without drinking from them first; he would consider it a waste. Unless he didn't want to because of Marcus being a witch, but in that case, why slit him open? Mimicking the dead girl from the other night was even less of a Leo move. Despite all our differences, and his general flippancy towards humans, I knew for certain that Leo would never do something to deliberately hurt me or put me in danger. Not willingly anyway.

  No, it couldn't have been Leo. Something had gotten to Marcus first. And that meant that within two days, two people had been killed by disembowelment.

  “Is he dead?”

  Cody crept up behind me again, and braced himself against his knees.

  “Yes,” I said tightly, trying to keep the well-duh tone from my voice.

  “My phone . . . ” Cody patted at the pockets of his coat, swaying alarmingly.

  “No,” I said firmly. “Don't call the police.”

  “But-”

  “No.”

  He went still, looking at me warily. I focused on Marcus's face, the dark stubble on his jaw, the smooth line of his throat.

  “You're gonna-you can - you know - do something.”

  Startled, I looked at Cody more closely. His eyes were huge, glassy. He knew I was gay; it had never occurred to me that he knew all my secrets.

  “Yes,” I said, making my decision quickly. “Help me.”

  I moved back to my truck, pulling out one of the tarps I had used to cover the deer. Cody followed mechanically, helping me to spread the tarp out flat beside Marcus. I sucked in a few more shaky breaths, and then positioned myself at his side, leaning over to hook my hands under him. Cody moaned again, but settled down, shoulder to shoulder with me.

  “On three, okay?” I said to him, and he made a weird, gagging noise, sticking his tongue out and panting a little.

  “Cody, please?” I said, more sharply than I meant, and he nodded jerkily.

  “I can see his organs, Ebron,” he said flatly.

  “I know, I know, I'll fix it. Just help me.”

  I pulled up, feeling his dead flesh move sickly under my hands. After a second, Cody pushed too, and together we rolled him into the tarp. Marcus’s clothes stuck to the ground, and we had to push hard, making the bloody coat rip like Velcro. Cody kept moaning, and I finally just planted my feet and put my weight into it, making Marcus flop over with his face smashed to the ground. The utter lifelessness horrified me. I hated how familiar it all was.

  Cody whipped his head to the side and gagged again, wiping his gloved hands on his pants.

  “Fuck,” he said in a low groan. “Oh, fuck.”

  Carefully, I turned Marcus's head to the side, and tucked his hands against him. I folded up the edges of the tarp, making sure that his feet were covered.

  “Okay,” I said to Cody. He lay panting and moaning at my feet, and I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Hey,” I said, giving him a shake. “I'll take care of it, okay? Just help me get him into the truck.”

  Cody nodded again, and stumbled to his feet. He spat on the ground a few times, and then looked at me. He waited for instructions.

  “Okay,” I said again. “Grab his feet.”

  We hauled him up and swayed under the weight of him. The truck was only a few steps away, and we managed it all right, Cody moving awkwardly backwards in a shuffle. There was no way to gently set Marcus down, so I mentally sent apologies as we heaved him into the bed of the truck. His head made a dull thump as it hit the metal.

  I took the other tarp and draped it over the two bodies in the back of my truck. Carefully arranged, one could imagine that I had just shot a rather large, lumpy deer. To be thorough, I checked over the spot, peering into the dark grass for anything that may have been lost in the grass. There was so much blood but I thought of the way his limbs had been arranged, so careful. Someone had put him here.

  My mind raced. I got back in my truck and we started down the mountain.

  “Drop me off at home,” Cody said, into the heavy silence.

  “'Kay.”

  He stared straight ahead, his hands held stiffly in his lap.

  “Cody?”

  “Hmm.”

  “How did you know?”

  He still wouldn't look at me. “People talk, Ebron.”

  Silence, so uncomfortable and thick that I longed to turn the radio back on or something, anything to fill that emptiness.

  “So it's true?” Cody said, just as I was turning up the dirt drive to his house.

  I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to see how he would look at me now.

  “It's true.”

  “Hmm,” he said again, and when we pulled up to his house, he got out without a word. Then, a few paces away, and stopped and came back, waiting at my window until I rolled it down.

  “Be careful,” he said, his eyes meeting mine.

  I swallowed heavy. “Thanks. Sorry, Cody.”

  He waved it away, and was gone.

  I put the truck in reverse and sped home as fast as I could. I hit a pothole and winced at the muffled thump from the bed of the truck.

  I backed the truck into my driveway, getting as close to the stairs as I could. Moving Marcus's bloody, mangled body into the trailer was going to be hard enough. I didn't need neighbors calling the cops before I could get him back on his feet.

  Thankfully, it was as dark a night as I had seen, with little moon, and few of the lights were on at my neighbor's. I managed to get Marcus – his dead body, God - in a shaky fireman's hold, and staggered my way to the trailer. I nearly went down on the stairs, but threw my shoulder against the wooden rail, bracing myself there until I could re-settle him over my shoulder. My back and knees screamed in protest. My face pounded in time with my pulse.

  I propped open the door with a shoe, and manhandled Marcus inside, stumbling a little but making it to the living room before I dropped to my knees and dumped him unceremoniously onto the carpet.

  “Leo!” I called out, but there was no answer. Johnny came hesitantly forward, sniffed at the tarp and then skittered away to sit in the kitchen. He watched me with mournful dark eyes.

  “I'm doing my best,” I said to him, and he gave a small swish of his tail, but didn't move.

  I kneeled next to Marcus, gently peeling bac
k the tarp. I hated seeing him so mangled and vulnerable, so undone, so in contrast to the confident and sure man I'd met yesterday. Without thinking about it, I reached forward with shaky, bloody fingers and traced them over the curve of his lip. The coldness of his skin shocked me, and I drew back, my stomach rolling. I had to get to work.

  Settling beside him, I held my hands over his stewed midsection, but without touching. I felt the mental elevation already, so close it took no effort at all to rise a little higher, to float up there into the spheres.

  My mental touch drifted over his body, probing and evaluating. Cold rage flooded through me as I saw the full scope of the damage done to him. Whoever had butchered him like chopped liver would pay, I decided, and I would get revenge for Aubrey, too. I wished now that I had asked what had happened to her, had let the old man tell me. I didn't wanted to be involved, and now I had another dead guy, in my living room no less.

  Like Aubrey, there was a deep slash across his belly, from hipbone to hipbone. His organs looked like cold dog food. The layers of yellow fat under the split skin reminded me of the chickens I helped my mom butcher every fall. The cold had removed all the smell, thankfully, but the visual was gag-inducing enough. He was absolutely soaked in blood, his pants stiff with it. He must have bled to death, I reasoned. It wouldn't take long, with a gaping hole for a stomach. I wondered - did he fight? Cry out? How long did he suffer, in terror and pain?

  At least it was fixable, if Aubrey was any standard to go by. I set to work, bringing the twitching and vibrating light together and then spread it over his body. He had been dead a little longer than I usually preferred, but I could see it working. Under my hands, I felt warmth and life returning, felt his cells expanding, felt the blood flowing backwards into his abdominal cavity, like a movie set in rewind.

  I was very high up, and from that vantage point I saw the soul approaching, or rather, felt that it - he - was nearing. That had never happened to me before, and it took me down a bit, out of an instinctual wariness. It wasn't uncommon for the soul to be hovering nearby, but never had a soul approached, as though looking for a way back in.

  There was little that I could do but allow it, withdrawing a bit as the soul settled down, and for a split second I worried that perhaps it was possible for the wrong soul to return to a body - maybe that wasn't just something I made up to be theatrical. Was it possible that a random soul was just floating by? Something about this whole thing smelled off to me, but I hardly had to time to think it through because at that moment I was struck with an overwhelming wave of nausea.

  In the same instance, Marcus gave a tremendous gasp and sat up, his eyes wide and terrified. They darted around the room, taking in the TV and the couch and the mostly bare walls, and then Johnny, who gave a few warning barks. Finally his eyes landed on me, and I gritted my teeth and gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile

  “Hi,” I said. “Welcome back.”

  His mouth closed and opened, working like a fish. His lips began to regain their color. He drew in a ragged breath, and his face crumbled.

  “It's okay.” I said quickly, moving a little closer and putting a hand on his arm. He recoiled from the touch, drawing back into himself.

  “Marcus,” I said, and at his name he froze, cocking his head a little.

  “Marcus,” I said again, more slowly. “Do you know who you are?”

  For a moment there was no reaction from him, and a sinking feeling began to open in my rolling stomach. What if I had gotten it wrong? What if this was an entirely different soul in his body?

  But then he nodded his head, just a tiny up and down. I exhaled with relief and fought past the nausea. My head began to throb. “Okay. Okay, Marcus. I'm Ebron. Do you remember me?”

  Again, a pause and then a tiny nod. Then he said, in a small and broken voice “The herb shop.”

  “Yes!” I said. “Yeah, you came in yesterday.”

  “Right,” he said faintly, looking utterly lost and bewildered. “I thought you were cute.”

  I smiled, but he didn't notice, blinking as he peered around the room.

  “What happened?” he whispered. “Where am I?”

  “At my house. I found you. In the woods.”

  “What?” he said softly, the word more of a startled gasp.

  “I found you in the woods,” I said. “You were . . . hurt.”

  He looked down at himself, pressing one hand to his stomach. “I feel weird,” he said. “Where's Shaina? And Jim? Are they all right?”

  “I don't know. Um, I think you should take a shower. And I'll get you some clean clothes, and then we can talk.”

  He paused again, his eyes searching mine and then he gave another hesitant nod. “Okay. But Ebron?”

  “Hmm? What is it?”

  “I don't know if I can walk.”

  “Oh, sure, here,” I hauled myself up on unsteady feet, breathing deep to ward off the dizziness, and then reached for him. I slide my arm carefully around his back. Leaning heavily on me, he got to his knees, and then his feet. It was a slow process and by the time he was standing he was sweating and pale.

  “Thanks,” he whispered, shaky as a newborn colt as I helped him across the living room and into the spare bathroom. Leo was the only who used it, since it sat next to the bedroom where he holed up. I self-consciously glanced at the dingy tile, made grubbier by the dim lighting and the mildew smell. What could I do? I was poor; I lived in a shitty singlewide trailer.

  Marcus hardly seemed to notice, dropping down onto the toilet lid as though his legs simply wouldn't hold him anymore. The bathroom felt too small with both of us in it. My shoulder banged against the towel rack when I turned to flip on the vanity mirror light. That helped a little, making the room a little brighter.

  “I'll get some clean clothes for you,” I said, turning to go. He didn't move, sitting there with his hands between his knees and an expression so like a lost child on his face that it twisted my heart.

  “Do you . . . can I help?” I asked, not at all sure what to do.

  The look on his face didn't change, but he gave another tiny nod, and with some reservation, I crouched down next to him, pulling off his filthy shoes and setting them aside. He stretched his leg out a bit to help me, and braced one hand on my shoulder. The touch was purely utilitarian, but I was acutely aware of it as I tugged off his socks, revealing slim feet crusted with dried blood. He made a noise at the gore, and I looked up at him.

  “I remember . . . running?” his eyebrows came together in concentration. His eyes met mine, the same gorgeous green I had been thinking about. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Let's get you cleaned up, okay?” I replied quietly. “Then we'll talk.”

  The frown deepened on his face, his eyes searching mine. “I trust you, Ebron,” he said finally, in such a neutral manner that I couldn't tell if it was a question.

  “I don't know,” I replied anyway. “I just want to help.”

  That seemed to surprise him, and his expression eased a bit. He nodded.

  Biting the inside of my lip, I reached for the collar of his coat, and he didn't resist as I peeled it off. It was unsalvageable, and I wished I had had the forethought to bring a garbage bag in with me.

  “I want to go through the pockets before you throw that out,” he said, nodded to the coat.

  “Okay. Can you get the rest?”

  He nodded, and grasped my arm to pull himself up. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, and I saw just a peek of smooth, tight belly. His skin was intact. Unmarred.

  I turned to the shower, giving him as much privacy as I could. The water came out freezing cold at first, and I fiddled with the knobs, adjusting the temperature as he stripped behind me. I heard the clank of his belt buckle hitting the ground. The steam from the shower wafted across my face and I closed my eyes, breathing deep of the moist air, a confusing whirl of pain and arousal coursing through me

  Christ, what was wrong with me? The poor man was cover
ed in blood and had, until very recently, been lying dead in a ditch, and here I was sporting a semi just from being in the room with him? Fucking pervert, that's what I was.

  I stared at the plastic tub surround, willing my disobedient body to desist, willing my eyes to focus and breath back into my lungs.

  “I'll go grab some soap and towels,” I said without turning. “Be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  The pile of clothes at his feet had grown; I almost tripped over them when I turned. “Sorry,” he mumbled, using one foot to drag them closer.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I said, noting both that he was wearing plain tighty whities, and that they were no longer white at all but a deep crimson. He had noticed, too, his hands frozen at his hips and his eyes fixed on the blood.

  “I'll get underwear, too,” I said lamely, and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind me. Fucking hell.

  I fled across the trailer, down the opposite end and went straight through my bedroom to the attached bath. I dropped to my knees and without even a pause started puking into the toilet. The bile burned coming up and I was left sputtering, my throat raw. Stomach acid seeped down my nose and I snorted violently, a mess of puke and snot. The coolness of the porcelain eased my pounding head and I pressed my cheek against the toilet seat. Finally, when my head stopped spinning, I got shakily to my feet and turned on the tap, drinking water from my cupped palms. I leaned against the sink and stared at myself in the mirror, seeing my own wild-eyed face but barely recognizing myself.

  “Get it together,” I told my reflection.

  I splashed some cold water on my face, removing the grittiness and calming me somewhat. I grabbed an unopened box of soap and some shampoo and tucked them under my arm. Returning to my bedroom, I gathered clean clothes from the hamper without really looking at them. Marcus looked to be almost exactly my size, and I grabbed shirt, jeans and socks before contemplating my underwear drawer.

  Loaning someone underwear was not an issue I had ever faced. I sifted through the drawer, pulling out an old pair of boxers that were plain black. Would that do? It felt extremely weird to be overthinking it so much. Finally I just bunched up the black boxers into the jeans and headed back to the guest bathroom.