by Unknown
As she stared back at Shane’s face, a glimmer of recognition flashed in her eyes.
“I know you,” she said. “You’re that lawyer.”
Shane nodded.
“Yes. It is you,” the woman said. Her blue eyes studied him.
“Yes, it is me,” Shane answered.
“I’m a fan,” she said, smiling. “What are you doing here in Manhattan?”
“Who are you?” Shane asked.
“Sorry,” she said. The woman reached into her purse and pulled out a police badge.
Great. Another cop.
“You’re a policewoman?” Shane asked. He pulled back into the shadow. The darkness consumed his lower half.
“Don’t cover yourself on my account, Mr. Lasher,” she said. “I’m not a policewoman. I’m a homicide detective. I transferred from vice just a few days ago.”
“What can I do for you, detective?”
“My name is Sandy Parks.”
Shane nodded.
“We’re short staffed today. So I’m here helping out the uniforms. We’re going door to door in this building, asking questions about a homicide in the park,” she said.
Homicide? Now my interests piqued. My mouth salivated. A new murderer was in my midst.
“A murder in the park? Really?” Shane said. He felt my interest. My blood flowed through his. But now it gushed.
“Yes,” Sandy Parks said. “So were you here all night?”
“Yes, I was,” Shane replied.
“And is your girlfriend here?”
“I’m alone,” Shane said. He smiled at her. I grinned behind his eyes at the thought of a new playmate.
“Did you see or hear anything unusual?”
“Sorry. I went to bed early and slept most of the night. I’m afraid I have nothing to tell you. Have you had any luck with my neighbors?”
“I’m not allowed to give out any more information than I already have shared with you, Mr. Lasher,” she said, sounding official.
“No problem. I understand the hard work of a homicide detective. In fact, I know one personally back home in D.C.”
Sandy nodded. “That’s all the questions for now.”
She turned away from the door. Shane stepped back out into the light and said, “Sandy.”
She turned and said, “Yes?”
“Shane. Just call me Shane.”
Sandy Parks smiled.
A murder had taken place in Central Park and right under our nose. My senses had become weakened from my hibernation. The time to act fell upon us. Time for Shane to unleash his demon, his killer instinct, me.
|||||
Outside the apartment building, Shane stood on the sidewalk, warmly dressed, which was good because it was in the low forties. And that was nothing for December in New York.
A black sedan pulled up slowly. The driver got out and opened the rear door. This part made Shane feel like royalty.
Shane left his Mercedes parked in the building’s garage. Except for occasionally when Shane walked out to it and turned over the engine, the car remained unused.
He hadn’t needed it. The firm sent a black town car to pick him up every day.
Shane entered the vehicle and sat back in the comfortable leather seat. Every day the firm spoiled us.
The car drove past the police barricade. I turned Shane’s head and stared at the crime scene. I tried desperately to get a gander at any of the details, but I saw nothing.
“What went on in there?” the driver asked.
“I’m not sure,” Shane responded.
“A murder?”
Shane nodded.
“Looks bad,” the driver said.
Shane agreed, but said nothing
They spent the next twenty minutes in light traffic. The driver remained quiet. He knew that Shane wasn’t much for chitchat.
The driver pulled up to the front of a tall building and let Shane out.
In the lobby of the building, security immediately recognized Shane. The guards on duty acknowledged him with a friendly hello and passed him through the checkpoint.
Ever since the StoneCutter killed Terrance Graves, the partners saw that it was necessary to heighten security protocols around the building. Now anyone from the general public could pass security only with a scheduled appointment. And all appointments had to pass through Range’s office.
Range found a way to cash in on the heightened security. He claimed that the security measures were in place to protect our clients.
This little white lie helped the firm to secure some of the more wealthy and famous clients. These days the firm made its bread and butter from Wall Street firms.
Range absorbed Tina, Terrance’s old assistant, for his own office. She still sat outside of Shane’s office, but did little to assist him. Primarily she had been annexed by Dylan Range’s office.
Shane maintained his work by coordinating with his assistant, Ally Embers by email, phone, and text message. Occasionally, she posted something on Shane’s Facebook wall.
She was a good assistant. She was a Brazilian and young law student. Shane had recruited her a few years ago. He liked her. She never questioned any assignment that he gave her. She also knew when to keep her mouth shut.
In a strange way, I missed Ally as much as Shane had. Because I lived in Shane, I didn’t allow him any friends. Ally Embers was one of the only people that Shane spoke with on a regular basis. She was one of his only friends.
On our way past the security station, we walked up a flight of wide stairs and into the main lobby. Thick marble pillars surrounded the room. They stood tall, reaching all the way to the top of a vaulted ceiling. They looked like trees made from marble.
In the center of the lobby, just before the elevators, was an enormous statue of justice. He stood twelve feet tall. He wore floor-length robes. The details of his face were masked beneath the shadow of a hood. He held a long broadsword. He leaned against the sword, which pointed toward the ground.
The statue was quite old. It had been moved decades ago from a courthouse in Athens, Greece. It was quite barbaric looking.
Shane walked toward the elevators and pressed the button. Two lawyers walked up behind him. They discussed a case that he was unaware of.
The doors opened and Shane stepped onto the elevator. He pressed the button to his floor.
He rode the elevator. The two other lawyers got off and he pressed the button again behind them. He tried to speed up the doors’ closing time.
Finally the doors closed and the lift resumed its upward course.
The elevator dinged and Shane got off on his floor.
He passed Tina’s desk. She looked up and said, “Good morning, Mr. Lasher. Mr. Range wants to see you. I’ll call him and let him know that you’re in.”
“Thank you,” Shane said.
Tina’s belly had grown over the last few months. She was pregnant. Shane wondered if she was married. He’d never thought to ask before. All of their conversations had been brief.
I think this side of Shane, the side that makes him wonder about the personal lives of others, is just another example of his good side growing powerful. The price of doing business, I’m afraid.
I knew that Shane missed Ally. He missed his life in D.C. I missed our killing.
D.C. was much easier for us to maneuver in than New York City. We were better prepared there.
In D.C. we had an industrial kiln for melting away bones and evidence. Here, we had no way of disposing of a body.
New York City was full of cops and witnesses. D.C. had plenty of cops, but it was mostly federal agents. Most of them were concerned with federal crimes. Crimes that took place somewhere else. They barely looked at the city they operated in.
A con was that D.C. had politicians everywhere. Politicians were busy, busy bees. Of course, this was also a pro because busy bees never paid attention to murder. They only paid attention to money, scandals, and elections.
I thought about mu
rder in Central Park again.
Shane thought of the beautiful Sandy Parks. She’d given him her card.
He just needed a reason to contact her. Then he could extract information from her.
First, he needed an angle.
“Mr. Lasher,” Tina said, buzzing in over the intercom. Her Hungarian accent seemed thicker than it used to. Not sure how that was possible since she hadn’t returned home in years.
“Yes,” Shane responded, holding down the button on the intercom.
“Dylan Range is coming to see you in your office,” she said.
“Okay.”
Shane plopped down in the chair behind the desk.
His cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. It read:
Ally Embers
He pressed the button. It ignored her and sent her straight to voicemail.
The door to the office swung open and a short bald man entered. He had a full beard, speckled with a few stray gray hairs.
It was Dylan Range. He had been with the firm long enough to remember Shane’s father. He was one of two of the original partners.
“Shane,” Range said. He walked into the center of the room, expecting that Shane would meet him there.
Shane remained seated and Range continued on and then stopped in front of his desk.
“Dylan, what can I help you with?”
“I know that you’ve been bored here with us since I took most of Terrance’s duties. But we needed someone to step in and appear to be in charge until we can find a new president for the firm,” Dylan said.
Every time he spoke, I saw his new porcelain teeth. I wanted to reach my claws out of Shane’s body and pull out those shiny new teeth. I could watch as blood sprayed from Dylan’s mouth and listen intently to the harmonic sounds of the bloodcurdling scream that he would make.
“To be honest, I can’t wait until I can return to D.C. and take cases again. I feel like I’m on standby. Not that I don’t appreciate the perks that come with this job.
“I like staying in Terrance’s apartment and this office is incredible, but I’m ready to go back to work,” Shane said.
“I figured that,” Dylan Range said. “I bet it has been hard being around all of the things that he left behind.”
I sensed that he looked into us for some sense of remorse, some sense of humanity. Shane stalled out for a moment. I kicked his brain and he reacted.
“It has been hard sleeping in Terrance’s old bed and working in his office, but it has also helped me,” Shane said.
“Helped you?”
“Yeah. If I wasn’t here, I probably would’ve never learned as much about him as I have. He liked to paint. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“See? Being here really has helped me more than anything,” Shane said.
Dylan sat down in the chair across from Shane. He nodded his head in agreement.
“We are taking on a new client. He isn’t in legal trouble, but he may be facing a large civil suit in the future related to one of his designs,” Dylan said.
“Designs?” Shane asked.
“He’s an architect, a very powerful architect,” Dylan answered. “He often works here in New York, but he lives near your office in D.C. That is why I want you to meet with him. We may be representing him in court either here or there.”
“I see. What is his name?”
“Townsend Dry,” Dylan answered. “He’s a partner in Dry and Pierce. Their architecture firm is a little famous. They have grown over the last few years.”
“So why am I meeting with him?” Shane asked.
“His firm is important to us. We feel that the surge of business that we have received out of sympathy for the passing of Terrance Graves is about to be over, and the board thinks that we need to try to hold onto as much of our new profits as we can. Our fees are higher than other well-established law firms out there. We need this client. Our civil suit department is suffering,” Dylan said. He took his glasses off and wiped the lenses with the tail of his shirt.
“Okay. I was only asking. I will meet with him,” Shane said. This new client would be good for us. Good for Shane. Good for me.
I grew silent and complacent. I felt quiet and unused. I would accept any work that came our way. In the depths of Shane’s head I twisted my tail and contorted my body. My tail moved slowly. My muscles grew frigid from lack of use.
On the outside, Shane worked hard to be more toned than ever. Day in and day out, he sculpted his abs, chiseled his chest, and strengthened his legs.
On the inside, his heart pumped at a healthy beat as it should. The chambers and blood vessels were free and clear. Blood flooded like a mighty river through his body. Shane was in the best shape of his life.
My bloodlust was the only thing that grew inside of me. My belly was empty. I was empty. I needed a new target, a new prey, a new adversary.
I wanted to call Sandy Parks and find out about the murder in the park. Maybe there was a predator there for me to hunt and kill. For now, I would have to settle for meeting Townsend Dry.
“Good to hear,” Range said. He rose to his feet. He started to leave the room.
“Dylan?” Shane said, rising from the desk. He slid his hands into his pockets and smiled at Dylan.
Range turned back to Shane and said, “Yes?”
“How much longer am I going to be here?” Shane asked.
“We are looking at a few candidates now to replace Terrance as the director of the firm. We will expunge the title of president. You still hold more shares in our firm than anyone else, so your voice will be heard when it comes time to choose someone,” Dylan Range said.
“As long as it’s not me. I know that this was my family’s firm, but I would rather let someone else run it. I miss my life back in D.C.,” Shane said.
I looked at my claws. The nails were dulled by months of neglect. They needed to be sharpened. I reached them out and sharpened them over bones in Shane’s skull. Sparks ignited and flew into his brain.
Shane felt the surge of life from me. He knew that I was not dead, only quiet.
“We appreciate your being here for the firm, Shane. Don’t worry; we’ll have someone for the job soon and you can go back to your old life, your old ways,” Dylan said.
He chuckled under his breath. He shared the same untrue impressions of Shane that the rest of the world possessed. He believed that Shane was a talented lawyer, but also a heartless playboy and womanizer. Everyone believed that Shane doted over the women of Capitol Hill until he was through with them.
Our mask worked well.
|||||
Shane sat on an expensive suede sofa in Terrance’s penthouse. He propped his feet on the coffee table. A small fire from the fireplace behind him warmed the room. The television beamed images across the shadows, but the sound was turned down.
We stared at the souvenir in our hands. Shane’s fingers rubbed over the polished steel of a nickel-plated Colt 1911. It was the gun used by the StoneCutter.
Shane studied the gun. We relished it as our greatest trophy. It served as the only reminder of the greatest, most deadly prey that we had ever hunted, our creator.
The StoneCutter had long since been buried but the FBI left the case open. Somewhere in the bureau was an agent still hounding to find the real StoneCutter. He stressed over the old clues and searched through the decade-old files. He never realized that the StoneCutter was already dead.
Through Shane’s eyes, I peered up and noticed that the local news had begun covering the murder in Central Park.
Shane set the gun down, turned up the television with the remote, and sipped on some top-shelf Hennessy.
The anchor announced, “In Central Park in the early hours of the morning police discovered a young woman’s body. The details of her condition are speculative, but reports are trickling in that she was skinned alive and mutilated.”
Skinned alive? Mutilated? Smelled like a sadistic, deranged kille
r to me.
“Action News 5 is also cautious of connecting this murder to the grisly murder last month, where the victims, a lesbian couple from Long Island, were skinned alive and mutilated.
“Afterward the killer placed the victims in a statue-like pose. If the killer is the same man, we might be seeing the first serial killer to hit New York City in years.
