Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  “What’s up?”

  “A package was delivered downstairs,” she said, “without my full address.”

  “Have you looked at it?”

  “Hell no,” she said. “I don’t even want it up here.”

  “Good decision,” he said. “I’ll swing around in about thirty minutes.”

  She smiled, and hung up.

  When her doorbell rang close to thirty minutes later, it startled her because she’d been sitting in a daze in front of the fire, trying to remember the beautiful model Liana had been. And it was sad that she could barely even remember her features. She had pictures of her from the art installation, but not of this young woman who she was at her core.

  She walked to the door, opened it, and there was Richard. He looked at her and said, “You get a houseguest tonight.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Why the hell would I need that?”

  “Because that parcel wasn’t anywhere near innocent. I can’t stay though. I’m heading back to the station.”

  “Who’s coming to stay with me?” she asked in confusion.

  “I have a security guard coming.”

  “And that won’t make any bit of difference,” she said. “You saw that Graham kept that package from getting to me.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. He turned to motion behind him.

  She saw a big man in a police uniform. “Who is he?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Your guard,” he said, “until I get back.”

  She glared at him. “Will you tell me what was in that parcel?”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  But something in his gaze made her wince. “I gather I don’t want to know.”

  “Let’s just say, it’s a piece of the last victim.”

  The breath washed out of her all at once. “Oh, God,” she said.

  He leaned forward, kissed her hard, and said, “Stay put.”

  As he walked away, she could hear him giving instructions to the guard. When he was gone, she stepped out, looked at him, and said, “I’m so sorry. This is not a good way to spend your evening.”

  The guard looked down at her, grinned, and said, “Standing at your door is a lovely way to spend the evening. It’s what I do. Now please go back inside and stay there.”

  She frowned up at him. “Fine,” she said, “but tell me if you want tea, coffee, water, bathroom, et cetera.”

  He gave a clipped nod of his head and said, “Not to worry. I’ll be just fine, ma’am.”

  She had to be satisfied with that. She didn’t like it, and there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it. She walked back inside, sat down again, her mind tumbling, yet avoiding the one topic that she knew she needed to consider, which was, What was in that damn box? The thought that somebody had sent her a gift, or was it another payback? Or was it something else? She just didn’t know. It was seriously difficult to understand anything at this point.

  Knowing that she was struggling, she headed upstairs and had a long hot bath. As she got out, she checked her phone, but she still had no messages from anybody, so that suited her. She got dressed in her nightie, and, with her wine, sat down on her bed and picked up the book she’d most recently been reading.

  Just as she finally got into the story, even though it took her several minutes to reread the same page over and over again, her phone buzzed. Instantly she snatched it up. Sure enough, it was Richard.

  “On my way,” he said.

  She shook her head. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? She glanced at the massive bed that she took up only a small portion of. She didn’t think he was planning on sleeping with her. But that thought sent her out of her bedroom and over to the spare room, wondering just what shape it was in.

  As soon as she opened the door, she realized it was neat and perfect as it always was. She turned back the bedding and walked over to check that towels were in the small bathroom. She didn’t know how long it would take him to get here, but she put on a robe and wandered back downstairs anyway. The stars were out tonight, and the city lights burned bright in the darkness. She stayed downstairs, until the doorbell rang. Finally.

  She raced to the door and, when it opened up to reveal Richard, she threw herself into his arms. He hugged her close and whispered, “It’s okay.”

  “It can’t be okay,” she said, tears blocking her sight of him. “Three people are dead.”

  “And all connected to you, yes,” he said. He quickly ushered her in and closed the door.

  She looked at the door, then at him. “Is the security guard still there?”

  “No, he’ll go home now.”

  “Meaning, you’re staying?” She could barely get past the relief in her voice.

  “Yes,” he said, “I’m staying.” He opened his arms; then she stepped right into them. “I know it’s tough. I know this is really a difficult time,” he said, “but I promise. We will get through it.”

  “I don’t know how,” she whispered. “How is that even possible?”

  “Because, unfortunately—”

  She shook her head wordlessly and just pressed tighter against him.

  He held her close. “You were in bed?”

  She nodded.

  “Any chance I can have a shower?”

  She nodded again, turned, shut off all the lights downstairs, and led the way upstairs. She motioned to the spare room. “This is your room,” she said. “There’s the bathroom, and towels are in there.”

  He nodded.

  That was the first she noticed that he had a small overnight bag. He dropped it on the bed, turned, and said, “Can you sleep?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “In all of this, I’ve never been worried for my own safety. It’s all been about my poor models.”

  “Any thoughts about putting a halt on everything until the investigation is closed?”

  “As soon as you tell me that’s what I need to do, then I’ll do it,” she said instantly. “In the meantime, an awful lot of money is hanging on some of these installations, and I don’t know what would happen if I’m not on time.”

  “A criminal investigation is usually a good excuse,” he said.

  “The ice show is next week,” she said. “Saturday.”

  He nodded. “Let’s hope we can get it done by then. Did you pick out your model for that one?”

  She nodded. “You were there with me. I also want to see Frankie’s girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend? Or friend?”

  “Girlfriend,” she said. “He told me that they were lovers.”

  “Interesting. I picked him as gay.”

  “I think he’s whatever. The young people have a new term for it. He does both.”

  Richard just nodded and pulled his shirt from his pants.

  She stepped back, her eyes going wide.

  He grinned. “Not to worry, sweetie. I won’t jump you.”

  She flushed. “That’s hardly what I was thinking.”

  “Well, I might strip,” he said, “at least as long as you’re here. But I will have that hot shower. Nothing quite like death to leave a smell in your nose and on your clothes.”

  At that, she immediately backed up several more steps. “I’ll leave you to it then,” she said in a rush.

  “I’ll take a shower, then come and speak to you. Go get back into bed.”

  “Hell no,” she said with spirit. “That’s just way too dangerous.”

  “In what way?” His gaze was steady.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “We are not lovers.”

  “We’re not lovers yet,” he said cheerfully. “That’s okay. Go run away. There will be another day.”

  “I’m hardly running away,” she huffed.

  He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “You better though. Otherwise you’ll get more than you’re looking for.” His hands went to his pants, where he quickly undid the zipper.

  She gasped, turned, and raced from the room. B
ack in her own room, with the door shut firmly between them, she put her hands to her hot cheeks, wondering why the hell she was shocked, when he’d been making moves the whole time. She was just out of practice, not sure she wanted to do this, and then she called herself a liar flat-out.

  “Hell, yes, you do,” she said. The trouble was, she didn’t want any of this other stuff around them. She didn’t want their personal relationship to be confused with the case, and she wanted to find out who had killed her friends.

  She clambered into her large bed, determined to put him out of her mind, where he truly belonged. She pulled the pillow up, punched it once or twice, and closed her eyes. She’d be damned if she’d let him know that she wasn’t sleeping.

  *

  Richard had taken a couple steps in the right direction today. He didn’t want to lose the advantage that he had slowly gained. He wasn’t so sure about the slow part, but she was as touchy as a doe. After his shower he stepped out in just his boxers, wandered through the downstairs, checking security, making sure that everything was okay, then went upstairs, doing the same. When he got to her door, he hesitated.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Checking your security,” he said. He reached for the doorknob and pushed it open and said, “Do you have alarms on your windows?”

  “I’m on what, the eighth floor?” she said in exasperation. “Nobody will get at me from here.”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “I need to check,” he said in a firm voice. “Otherwise I won’t sleep tonight either.”

  “Fine,” she said, “but leave the lights off.”

  “As you wish,” he said. He walked through the room, checked the bathroom first, relieved to see it had a good locking mechanism, and then headed out to the bedroom.

  As he walked to each of the windows, checking that they were locked, she said, “You’re really serious about that, aren’t you?”

  “About what?”

  “About somebody getting in.”

  He turned, looked at her, and he leaned forward as he answered her. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said gently. “He’s after my models, not me.”

  “He’s after possessing a piece of you,” he said with brutal clarity. “So, what’s to stop him from wanting the whole cake?”

  She stared at him.

  He could see the whites of her eyes in the dark. She was sitting up, her covers to her chest, but it was the look on her face that broke his heart. He went to her side, wrapped her up in his arms, and whispered, “Sweetheart, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in here to you.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t promise that,” she said. “He’s already gotten three people.”

  “Which is also why we’re rather desperate to find whoever else may have worked for you in all these years.”

  “Didn’t Anita give you that list?”

  “Just now,” he said, “and we’re working on it, honest. But it’ll take some time. In the meantime, I want you safe.”

  She stared up at him. “When will this be over?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Soon,” he whispered. “I promise. It’ll be soon.”

  Her eyes were so big and revealed her exhaustion. He walked around to the other side of the bed, threw the covers back, and, hearing the silent gasp of her breath, he climbed in. He slid over to the middle of the bed and said, “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

  She glared at him.

  He shook his head firmly. “No,” he said. “Just go to sleep.”

  When she didn’t do anything, he tucked her in gently, her body unresponsive, yet fighting him underneath the covers. He wrapped an arm around her, tucked her up close, and whispered, “Just sleep now. I promise I won’t do anything in the night.” A note of humor was in his voice. He could feel her starting to relax little by little, and then she chuckled. He smiled, having gotten the reaction he hoped for. “I don’t think that’s very funny,” he said in mock humor.

  “Well, it depends,” she said. “Are you referring to the fact that you won’t do anything during the night, or that you could do it and I might sleep through it?” And she giggled again.

  He chuckled and, with an exaggerated macho voice, said, “Honey, no way you’d sleep through that.”

  “Good,” she said, “because I want to enjoy it too.” She yawned, curled up against him, and sank deeper into the huge soft mattress.

  He smiled as he listened to her steady breathing as she slumbered away. He loved her response because they both knew where they were going with this relationship.

  Andy had taken him aside earlier today and again told him, “God, man, please wait until this case is closed.”

  “She has nothing to do with the murders,” he told his friend and partner confidently.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You know it won’t go well if you have a relationship with a suspect.”

  “We’re friends,” he said. “That’s all it is.”

  Andy looked at him distrustfully. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I know your reputation.”

  “And that’s all it is, a reputation,” he said. “And she is not a woman to be trifled with.”

  Andy thought about it, then nodded. “No, she’s a keeper,” he said, “so you need to be prepared for that.”

  “I struggled at the beginning,” he admitted. “And then I just gave up. I guess it’s a case of finally meeting somebody worth keeping.”

  “I can see that. But you really, really need to make sure that you don’t let this develop any further until after the case.”

  “I know,” he said. “I know.”

  And it didn’t take very long before her breathing became slow, deep, and rhythmic. He knew that she had dropped right out. He lay here—calm, quiet, and peaceful—in a place he hadn’t expected to be so fast but delighted that he was.

  This woman never took care of herself, and that was something she needed to do, particularly now.

  As he drifted off, he sensed something different, something unusual. He didn’t open his eyes quickly. He laid here quiet, his eyes closed, figuring out what was bothering him. And then he opened his eyes just a hair, wondering if there was an intruder, but how could that be?

  And that’s when he saw the black tendril wrapping him around the base of the bed. He stared at it in shock. What the fuck is that?

  Exactly what I told you to look for, Stefan said.

  He froze, as Stefan’s words slammed into his mind.

  It’s all right, Stefan said, the fatigue in his voice evident. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m looking for this actual energy, I wouldn’t have heard you in the first place.

  And you’re talking to me in my head?

  Yeah. It’s much easier sometimes, he said. Although, if you keep fighting me, it won’t be easy at all.

  Right, he said. He was dealing with the fact that this other voice rumbled through his head, and he couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

  My voice is real, Stefan said. So take a look at that energy, and try to move slowly so you can see it full-on. See if anything is distinctive about it.

  Distinctive about energy?

  Yes. Don’t mock it, Stefan snapped. Just do it.

  Richard took a look at the tendrils. It’s hooked on her ankle. It’s black, fading to a light gray on the outside. It’s pointed at the ends.

  How long is it?

  I don’t know. Maybe a foot, a foot and a half. If you can talk to me in my head, can you see it too?

  No, he said in frustration. I can’t see through your eyes. Sometimes I can, but, in your case, I can’t.

  Well, I won’t be too upset about that, Richard said.

  Can you see any other energy there?

  You said there was a lot.

  I also said a lot of them weren’t a problem.

  Okay, so I see the black one. Something really light, a pulsat
ing gold energy is up around midchest, he said. She’s not sleeping deeply. And these are just like hazes.

  Yes, that’s exactly what it is, he said. She’s not sleeping well because she’s probably got too much going on in her head. If you reach out mentally, think to pull out the black energy. And I’m not talking about the black energy at her ankle, but something up into her head. Pull it out, and she should start to ease down and sleep better.

  Even as Richard reached a hand up to her head, following Stefan’s instructions and pulling out these invisible black threads, he could see that her restlessness was calming, and she slipped into a deeper, more intense sleep. Well, that’s quite nice, he said. I don’t know what we’re doing here, but it seems to be working.

  Now is the gold haze over her chest raspy or soft and smooth?

  Sandy looking, he said instantly. He couldn’t believe he was seeing any of this anyway.

  And you may never see it again, Stefan said. I’m trying to help you to see it, so that would be one of the reasons why it’s as clear as it is, but, if you wanted to, you could see this all the time.

  Following Stefan’s instructions again, Richard drew his gaze ever-so-slowly down past the gold, finding some redness at her belly, and a little bit below, a grayer energy. Some of the colors are intermingled, he murmured.

  Think about her, how you feel for her, and place a hand over the gold energy, Stefan said, and just smooth it gently.

  Feeling like a fool, his hand six inches above her body, he gently soothed and stroked the golden energy that looked more tarnished and sandier than anything. For how long?

  Is it making a difference?

  He studied it and then realized it was. It’s becoming softer, smoother.

  So, do it a little bit longer, until you can’t see any more improvement. That’s probably all you’ll get done today. And then we’ll take a look at the other energies.

  What is that gold one?

  All the people who she’s lost and is holding dear to herself.

  Not currently alive people?

  No, he said. She had a very close connection to Elena, and I’m sure you’ll find that’s one of the main elements of that gold.

  Also a little bit of an orange is in there.