Dear Tragedy: A Dark Supernatural Thriller (House of Sand Book 2)

by Michael J Sanford

  “Oh well,” Aza said to herself as she walked back down the stairs, thankful that the basement hadn’t been searched yet. “There’s more than one way to skin a man.”

  After a bit of wandering in the bowels of the apartment complex, Aza found a different set of stairs that led out the back of the building and into a tight alley.

  The air smelled of bad cheese, but it was cool and a light rain was developing. Aza breathed deeply and looked skyward. It was nice not to smell blood or bleach for a moment. The sound of the police presence at the front of the building was far enough away that Aza could ignore it. Could but wouldn’t. Stuffing her hands into her pockets to hide the bloodstains, Aza walked toward the echoes of astonishment and horror. Keeping close to the wall, Aza stepped barefoot toward the flashing lights, feeling every step.

  At the corner, Aza stuck her head around the edge. Then she jerked back and slammed herself against the wall. DS Anderson was walking right for her. Aza held her breath and turned her ear to her approaching nemesis. He hadn’t seen her. He was with a younger man and they were arguing. Aza crouched, preparing to run—or fight—if need be. She should have known where he was, just as she knew where Dani was, but whatever eerie intuition she possessed had failed her.

  “Well, I don’t believe in coincidences,” the younger man said. “Especially not like this. You look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think this is related to the Miller case and to those pages you stole out of a dead girl’s diary. An act you have yet to explain, by the way.”

  Aza shivered, not from the increasing rain, but from the excitement of the man’s words. Aza knew her letter would find an appropriate party eventually. She was all too tickled to hear DS Anderson had been the very one, and then to abscond with it? Aza was practically jumping out of her skin. She knew the man to be obsessed with her—after all, he’d watched over her during her entire hospital stay—but she was very pleased to hear his desire ran even deeper.

  “What do you want from me?” DS Anderson asked.

  “The truth, dammit.”

  “It’s not that simple, Peter. You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?!” Peter shouted. “Are you out of your fucking mind? You stole evidence from an active murder investigation.”

  “Fine! Fine. Look, I’ll get you the pages back.”

  Aza almost laughed aloud. He was either lying or didn’t know what Aza had done yet.

  “Not good enough,” Peter said. They were nearly at the corner now. Aza tensed her muscles. “What is going on? The more you tell me now, the more I can help you.”

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m some two-bit junkie you picked up on a possession charge. I’m pursuing my own line of inquiry. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “So, you’re with me on the two cases being linked?”

  DS Anderson sighed. “Yes.”

  “Tragedy,” Peter said at almost a whisper.

  Aza’s muscles quit and she crumpled onto the wet concrete like a discarded rag. She feebly pushed at the ground, but Peter said her name again and it wrung the strength from her. It felt so fucking good.

  “I didn’t say I agreed with you on the who,” DS Anderson said. “Just that the cases are connected. You pass this on to Bekah yet?”

  “DS Grimly, you mean,” Peter said with a laugh.

  Aza rolled back against the wall, skin tingling. She didn’t see what was so funny.

  “Whatever,” DS Anderson said. They must have stopped walking, just around the corner from where Aza hid. She could smell cologne. It must have belonged to Peter. It wasn’t DS Anderson’s scent. She flexed her limbs, but didn’t stand. It was nice to lie down after such an exertion earlier with the fat man.

  “I gave her the short version.”

  DS Anderson scoffed. “She won’t accept your theory without hard evidence, right? And mounds of it.”

  “Something like that. She didn’t even want me helping out here, but I told her I’d work next weekend, sorting through old cases files and helping the tech get them digitized.”

  One of the men’s phones rang. “I want to circle back to you not having a spine,” DS Anderson said. “Hello? Yeah, she’s ready… Yeah, I know… No, just pull around the back. It’s… Right… No, I get it… Look, what do you want me to say? I didn’t know any of that would happen. Jesus Christ, Amelia, that’s insane… She is my daughter… Fuck, okay, okay… Yeah… Sure…”

  “You were saying something about a spine?” Peter asked.

  “Whatever. Amelia is coming to pick Dani up, so I got to go make sure she’s ready.”

  “And then what?” Peter asked.

  “What else? I’m going to figure out what the hell is going on here. First, a young girl and her babysitter, now a doorman? And less than forty-eight hours apart? Someone has to put an end to this before it goes any further. What? I’m freelance now, remember? I don’t need your permission, not DS Grimly’s either. I’m still quite close with Port Dimmock’s Chief, so there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it. You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

  Aza heard footsteps quickly moving away, back the way they’d come. If she held her breath she could hear the remaining man breathing. It was heavy and fast.

  “What a prick,” Peter said.

  Aza laughed. She hadn’t meant to, but something about hearing DS Anderson being called a name behind his back struck her as humorous. She also hadn’t slept much in the past two days, so it could have been that as well.

  “Hello?” Peter asked.

  Face on the ground, Aza watched as a pair of black boots stepped around the corner. They were close enough that Aza could smell the polish on them. She could almost see her reflection.

  “Oh!” Peter said. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  He crouched before her and Aza sat up with a grimace. She shook her head and avoided making eye contact.

  “Do you have a name?” Peter asked.

  Aza nodded and bit her tongue to keep from smiling.

  “My name is Peter. I’m a detective. With the police.”

  Aza kept her gaze centered between her sprawled-out legs. Peter smelled like licorice and cologne. She hated licorice. “I saw,” she said.

  “What did you see?” Peter asked.

  “I saw the nice man get… Is he dead?”

  “Oh, you’re all wet. And you’ve not got any shoes. Let’s get you up and inside where it’s warm and dry. Then we can talk about the man and what you saw. Okay?”

  Sweet shit, Aza thought. Right to business with this one.

  Peter offered his hand, but Aza didn’t take it. Careful to keep her hands obscured, she climbed to her feet and squinted. “I don’t like all the flashing lights,” she said. “I don’t want to go there.”

  Peter smiled. “You don’t have to. We can find some place away from them to chat. Let’s get inside and see what we can do. Okay?”

  Aza nodded. Peter led her to the door to the basement and walked inside. Energy coursed through Aza’s body and she wondered if Peter could feel it too, bouncing between them. She wasn’t sure if it was merely anticipation or if she were somehow sucking the life from the man as they walked. It wouldn’t be the first time she had underestimated her abilities. After all, she never thought she’d have gotten through Daphne’s thick neck with a simple knife.

  “Here,” Aza said, nudging Peter toward a utility room.

  “Oh. Well, all right,” Peter said. He was beginning to speak in that annoying way adults did with children. Aza ground her teeth to stop from yelling. To stop from biting.

  The utility room wasn’t much more than a large closet. The walls were lined with shelves and piled high with all manner of supplies. It was dank and dark, the air thick with mildew and remnants of a dozen different chemicals. A single exposed bulb swung from the center of the room, creating more shadows than light. A solitary window occupied the far wall, high against the ceiling.

  Aza left Peter’s side and turned over a five-gal
lon pail to sit on. Peter leaned against an overladen counter.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go someplace warmer? We don’t have to hide in a closet,” Peter said.

  Aza nodded.

  “Well, all right. So…you never told me your name. That’s usually the best place to start.”

  Aza shook her head and bit her lip.

  “Okay…well, how old are you? Do you live in the building?” Peter asked.

  Aza pretended to think for a moment. “Nine,” she said, knowing it was a safe call. She didn’t think she could pass for any younger. “I live in apartment 13c.”

  Peter’s hand slipped off the counter, but he caught himself and cleared his throat. With shaking fingers, he produced a small notepad and scribbled in it. “I’d be happy to escort you back home, if you’d like.”

  Aza shook her head and scowled. She kept her shoulders hunched, her hands slack in her lap, hidden between her legs. But for all her efforts at appearing like a meek, traumatized child, her eyes constantly scanned her surroundings, studying every item, every corner, every escape. She even flicked a quick glance at Peter as he wrote in his stupid, fucking notepad. The dark thing was there, at his side, as if it were another man, studying Peter’s actions. The thing imparted no words or meaning, but Aza took its appearance as a favorable sign. For her.

  Peter looked up and studied Aza, though she quickly looked away. “The doorman…can you tell me what you saw?”

  Aza nodded and cleared her throat. “I saw him get cut into pieces.”

  “You saw him being attacked by someone?”

  Aza shook her head violently. “Not a someone. A something.”

  “Okay, okay. What did this something look like?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Aza said.

  “I promise, I will,” Peter said. “I can tell you have something you want to get off your chest. I know it’s hard and even scary, but it would be really helpful if you could tell me what you saw, no matter how unbelievable you think it is.”

  “You wouldn’t like it,” Aza said.

  “What wouldn’t I like?”

  Aza looked up and locked eyes with Peter. He twitched, but stared back. “You wouldn’t like the truth. Like most adults, you say you want the truth. It’s almost like a catchphrase. But no one likes the truth when it is unveiled for them.” Aza was tired of playing games. Peter bored her.

  “I…I really wish you would tell me your name,” Peter said. He half-smiled, but Aza stepped into his mind and forced it away.

  Aza tunneled into Peter’s mind as they stared at one another, but she wasn’t finding what she wanted. Peter wasn’t afraid. Nervous or confused, maybe, but not afraid. It was both surprising and unfortunate. In fact, it made Aza a little nervous herself, and she broke off eye contact and took to looking for a more direct solution to her quandary.

  Peter cleared his throat. “You were saying?”

  There were numerous cans of flammable liquids nearby. There was even a metal gas can in the far corner, rusted and red. It made Aza salivate. If only she had a lighter.

  “Is something funny?” Peter asked.

  Aza snapped her gaze back to Peter. He was standing now, inching closer to her. “There is no mirth in destiny, Peter,” Aza said, slowly climbing to her feet as well. “It is merely a matter of fact. It is or it isn’t. No middle ground. No gray area.”

  “You’re not nine, are you?” Peter asked. “And you don’t live in apartment 13c.”

  Aza stepped to the side, positioning herself between Peter and the door. She would need the head start if it came to a chase. She shouldn’t have been so cavalier. Peter was clearly no imbecile. Even as young as he looked, he had a hard edge to his eyes. He reminded her of…

  “You’re Peter Anderson,” Aza said. How the fuck hadn’t she noticed before? Even hearing his first name hadn’t struck a chord until now. She knew almost everything there was to know about DS Anderson’s daughter, but nothing about his son.

  “And you’re—”

  “Peter!” a voice said sharply from the doorway.

  Aza pivoted enough to see Danielle Anderson standing there, hair disheveled, wearing the same clothes she’d had on at the Barkers’. She didn’t even look at Aza.

  “Dani,” Peter said, quickly moving for her. Aza spun out of the way and danced over to one of the shelves. “You shouldn’t be here. Aren’t you supposed to be on your way home?”

  Dani smiled. “I am, but I wanted to say goodbye to you first. Hard to say when Mom will let me come back here. Probably never.”

  Aza carefully twisted the top off a can of acetone and quietly took it off the shelf.

  “Oh, okay, well, I’m very busy right now. You can’t be here right now,” Peter said.

  Aza repeated the process with a can of turpentine.

  “I know you’re working, but can’t I just have a hug? I’m afraid I’ll never see you again,” Dani said.

  Aza kept an eye on Peter and Dani as she lined up another can on the ground in front of her. The thing of endless dark was in the hallway now, hanging from the ceiling directly over Dani.

  “Oh, we’ll see each other again. Your mom might be mad right now, but she’ll get over it after a while and things will go back to normal,” Peter said.

  Aza finished preparing a fourth can.

  “I hope you’re right,” Dani said. “All right. Quick hug and I’ll go?”

  Peter extended his arms and stepped into Dani. She brought her arms up into the embrace, opening her right fist as she wrapped it around Peter. A small red item spun out from it and hit Aza in the chest. Reeling, Aza managed to catch the item. It was a lighter.

  Aza looked up to find Dani staring back at her. Aza didn’t know how to react, and Dani’s face remained unreadable. Dani pushed off Peter and stood on her own.

  “Bye, Dani,” Peter said. “You really should be going.”

  Dani cocked her head to the side in an exaggerated manner. “Bye, Peter,” she said as she lunged for him. The thing swung down from the ceiling at the same moment and both it and Dani struck Peter in the chest, bowling him over, back into the utility closet. Peter hit the ground with a grunt. His head cracked audibly off the bare concrete.

  Dani slammed the door shut and Aza kicked over all four cans.

  Peter floundered, trying to right himself as a mix of cleaners pooled beneath him.

  Aza crouched, readied her lighter, and waited for Peter to climb onto his hands and knees and face her. Aza locked eyes with him and was met with a rush of dread and despair from the man. No chocolate chip pancake could compare with the taste she was siphoning from Peter.

  “You thought before to know me, and how could you not? I am in everything and everyone. I am generous. I am unending. My name…is Tragedy,” Aza said.

  Peter’s hand moved for his belt, but Aza was quicker.

  Click.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Saturday 11:42pm

  Jake couldn’t stop pacing in the cramped waiting room of the burn unit at Seaside City General Hospital. He’d received little information on Peter’s condition throughout the day. It was surgery this, we’ll let you know that.

  “I know it was her,” Jake said for the hundredth time.

  Jaina got up from her corner chair and stepped in front of Jake. He almost didn’t stop, but she grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. There was something grounding about staring into someone else’s eyes. Gateway to the soul and all that bullshit, Jake figured. Maybe it was who he was looking at that calmed him so much.

  “He’s going to be all right,” Jaina said.

  “You don’t know that.” He checked his watch. He turned away from Jaina for a moment to shout at the rest of the hospital. “If I don’t hear something useful in the next fifteen minutes, I’m going in there and God have mercy on any who try and stop me!”

  No one answered him except for Jaina, who slid an arm around his waist and roughly gu
ided him to a chair. He sat, but only because he’d grown too tired to remain standing. Jaina kept a hand on Jake’s arm and sat next to him.

  He hadn’t wanted to believe it when he’d heard it was Peter that had been set alight in the basement of Jaina’s apartment complex. He didn’t think it was possible. Even with all the madness since Aza escaped, Jake couldn’t stomach the idea that another of his children had been targeted. But it had been Peter. He’d been found trying to make his way down the hallway, his clothes and body still burning.

  Jake slammed a fist on the chair arm. “Fuck! I should have been there.”

  Jaina squeezed his arm. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

  “We both know who did this,” Jake said. “First, Aza targets Dani, now Peter. Don’t think I don’t know the connection. Did you ever tell Aza that I visited the hospital? Did she know? Maybe it was my involvement in her father’s case.”

  “Christ, Jake. You think I would have told a psychotic patient that the obsessive cop from her father’s murder case was keeping tabs on her?”

  “What about Gerry?” Jake asked. His stomach clenched as he said the name. As far as Jake knew, no one had discovered Gerry Switzer’s body yet.

  “I doubt it, but could be he knew.”

  “Fuck,” Jake said again, but quieter, just for himself to hear.

  “Besides, we don’t know it was Aza.”

  Jake looked pointedly at Jaina. “Don’t try and bullshit me, Jae. You always used to give it to me straight. Tell me what you think.”

  Jaina sighed and pulled her hand back. She crossed one leg over the other as if to appear relaxed, but it wasn’t fooling Jake. He could see the crease in her brow. It only appeared when something was gnawing at her.

  “I think… Shit, Jake. Whatever she is, Aza has some sort of vendetta against you. Whether from her stay at SCPC or from earlier, with her father’s case. Either way, we have some psychotic child-demon after us.”

  It was Jake’s turn to rest his hand on her arm. “We? Us?”