Badlands

by Morgan Brice

  “Quinn Radnor doesn’t work here anymore,” the big man at the mini-golf clubhouse told Simon the following evening. “He just up and quit, said he needed to get out of town for a while.” The man shrugged. “He didn’t say where, and I didn’t ask.”

  Simon nodded, feeling the worry ratchet up. “All right. Thanks, man.”

  “Do you know if he’s in trouble?”

  Simon hadn’t expected concern from the mini-golf manager. Plenty of people came and went in Myrtle Beach, and jobs like this, handing out clubs and balls at a golf course, turned over quickly. “I don’t think Quinn did anything wrong,” Simon said carefully. “But I think he might have been afraid, with all the stuff that’s been happening.”

  “You mean that Slitter guy,” the large man said. “Hell, who ain’t afraid of him? But I thought he just killed women?”

  Simon sighed. “I don’t know why Quinn ran. He isn’t answering his phone.”

  The manager looked as if he were debating something, and then met Simon’s gaze. “If you talk to him, tell him to come back, and I’ll find shifts for him. I liked that kid, and he always did a good job.”

  “Thank you,” Simon replied, now more sure than ever Quinn had fled because of the killer. “If I find him, I’ll let him know.”

  Simon had given Quinn a ride back to his apartment once and remembered where he lived. That was his next stop, and when he saw the light on inside, his heart rose. But an unfamiliar young man came to the door.

  “Quinn? He grabbed his stuff and bugged out of here like his ass was on fire two days ago,” the man said. “Paid us the rent for the rest of the month, and said he’d let us know if he decided to come back.” He shook his head. “You looking for a place to stay? We’ve got an open bunk.”

  “No, thanks,” Simon said. “I’m a friend of Quinn’s, and I’m just worried about him. Did he say where he was going?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a cop?”

  “No. Like I said, a friend.”

  “He didn’t stay to talk,” the roommate said. “He looked freaked out, but he wouldn’t answer any questions except to say that he didn’t know if he was going to come back.”

  “And he took everything?”

  “Yeah, which makes me think we can rent out his half of the room,” the man replied. “Tell your friends. It’s a nice place.”

  The small apartment had at least four men living in a space meant for two. “I’ll keep it in mind,” Simon replied as he turned away.

  “Hey, are you Simon?” a new voice called to him before he had gotten down the sidewalk.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Quinn said to tell you ‘black and red, like lava.’ Does that make any sense to you?”

  “Sort of,” Simon replied. But the important thing was, to someone like Quinn who saw auras, it would have made perfect sense. Quinn had glimpsed the Slitter by his aura and run for his life. “Thanks.”

  Simon headed home, deciding against trying to touch base with his crew tonight. He had seen the news account about Cindy’s death, and now With Quinn’s disappearance, he feared that he might draw attention to the very people he was trying to protect. Simon had another purpose in mind. It had been a few days since he had attempted to contact the ghosts, and instinct told him he needed to do so soon.

  He grumbled under his breath as he wove through Myrtle Beach traffic. Simon appreciated Vic’s concern and knew that he was right to drive instead of walk, but he hated the stop and go crawl. Still, it gave him time to think, since he had nothing to do but stare at the tail lights ahead of him.

  Vic had texted him today, but he had seemed distracted and deflected Simon’s questions about the incident that had called him out the previous night, which Simon guessed had been finding Cindy’s body. Simon tried not to let it raise his fears about whether Vic had second thoughts about getting more serious. Vic had been caring and protective, thoughtful and attentive, and while Simon knew Vic wasn’t completely on board yet with the psychic stuff, he knew the other man was making a real effort to understand. And as much as Simon cursed the phone call that interrupted their lovemaking, he knew that he’d need to learn to accept that kind of thing if he intended to be a cop’s partner.

  He pulled into the carport and took a good look around to assure the way was clear before sprinting to the front door. Simon let out a long breath once he was inside and the door was locked. Even so, he switched on all the lights and made a quick inspection before he felt truly safe.

  Simon appreciated being invited over to Vic’s apartment, but he much preferred the vibe of the bungalow. Vic’s place was upscale and modern, but impersonal. It made Simon wonder how much of himself Vic was used to sharing with someone else, and how accustomed the cop had become to keeping his personal life out of view in the course of his job. Simon had lived through hiding parts of who he was, and he remembered how dislocated it made him feel, as if he’d lopped off part of himself. Did Vic feel incomplete keeping so much of himself hidden, or was he so used to it by now that he no longer noticed?

  Simon didn’t question whether Vic cared. He’d seen that clearly in his lover’s touch, in his eyes, in his kisses. He wasn’t certain that Vic was as far gone on him as he was on Vic, but that would resolve itself in time. Simon had already admitted to himself that he was in love with Vic…whether or not the cop was ready to hear that, or accept it. And that made the whole Slitter mess even worse because Simon felt sure that at some point, his sleuthing was going to run afoul of Vic’s by-the-book approach, and that was a recipe for trouble.

  But not tonight. Tonight, Simon intended to eat dinner and then see if the spirits would heed his call.

  You home? Vic’s text made Simon’s phone buzz.

  Eating dinner. You?

  Still at work. Door locked?

  Yep. Even drove the car today. Parking’s a bitch.

  Yeah, well. You in for the evening?

  Planning to be. You want to come over?

  Wish I could. Gonna be here late. Just…be careful.

  You too.

  Simon waited for further conversation, and when none came, he set the phone aside, feeling an odd pang of loneliness. His relationship with Vic had already progressed farther and faster than he had dared hope at the beginning, but past experience warned him not to expect a smooth ride. Still, he’d caught himself daydreaming about being with Vic this summer, or at the holidays…the kind of future plans he’d rarely made, not even with Jacen. Thinking about the future with Vic came easy, and Simon fervently hoped that the possibility wasn’t just in his imagination.

  A quick meal of leftover pizza later, Simon put his dish in the sink and went into the living room. He didn’t need much to open himself to the spirits, just a quiet space, a point of focus, and his willingness to open the door to the other side. Simon lit a candle and a bundle of sage and sweetgrass and set them in glass holders on the coffee table, then settled on the couch and got comfortable.

  He took several long, deep breaths, centering himself and running what he thought of as a “self diagnostic” to make sure he was properly attuned for spirit work. That meant letting go of any anger, worry, negative thoughts, or doubts that would cloud his vision. Simon tried to clear his mind as he breathed, and gradually he felt his shoulders loosen, and then little by little, the rest of his body.

  The smell of the sage and sweetgrass grounded Simon, making him feel safe. He reinforced his mental wardings, the psychic barriers that helped him remain in control of the conversation and protected him from spirits that might be angry or aggressive. Finally, when he was relaxed enough to go into a trance, he closed his eyes and sent out his energy, calling out to the ghosts, asking for their help.

  His breath caught when Quinn Radnor appeared.

  “Damn, Quinn. What happened?” Simon felt a stab of grief at the young man’s death. It was unusual for such a fresh kill to manifest as a ghost, but Quinn had always been a stubborn man, determined to make his way
. Simon had the distinct impression Quinn was fighting to make himself seen and get his message heard.

  Red and black. Simon’s gift didn’t lie in seeing auras, the energy vibrations given off by all living things, but Quinn had a talent for it. The image Quinn’s ghost conveyed showed a man with a baseball cap and sunglasses, face still in shadows, but limned with gray and crimson that pulsed like a lava flow. The picture vanished, replaced by a close-up of a man’s hands. A lattice of pink scars covered the pale skin, branching like lightning. The scars flowed across the backs of both hands, veining over the fingers and twining up the wrists.

  “Blood and souls,” Simon heard himself say as Quinn’s spirit wavered. “Beyond the limit.” With that, Quinn’s ghost vanished, and Simon found himself alone.

  Before the vision could fade completely from Simon’s mind, he grabbed a piece of paper, traced one hand and then the other, and recreated the pattern of the branching scars as best he could. Then he sat back and looked at the drawing. The Slitter could hide his face, but it would be very hard to hide his hands, here in a place where the weather never required gloves. Someone must have seen a man with hands like this and remembered such unusual markings.

  Simon felt a surge of excitement at the lead, followed by a crashing wave of guilt. Quinn was dead. Simon closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to deal with his grief. Quinn wasn’t a close friend, hardly more than an acquaintance, but Simon had felt responsible for him, at least when it came to magic. He had tried to be a mentor to Quinn and the rest of his Skeleton Crew, insofar as they would let him, and instead of helping them be better able to use their magic, Simon wondered if he had somehow drawn a killer right to them.

  The cops couldn’t do anything with Quinn’s tip about the Slitter’s aura. The words “blood and souls” were the same as what Iryena’s ghost had shared days ago, confirming to Simon that the Slitter had some occult purpose behind his killing. Did he hate people with “magic”—psychic gifts? Or was he trying to steal their power, to prepare for some bigger attack? Either way, the cops wouldn’t be able to make sense of the verbal tip. But the scars, that might be a solid lead.

  Simon debated calling Vic, and decided against it. Vic had said he was working late, and he might even be dealing with Quinn’s murder. He didn’t need to confront Simon’s “woo-woo” on top of everything else. But Simon could still report the lead…just not to Vic.

  He got in his car—Vic would be happy he drove, if he ever found out—and went to Jackalope’s, a local dive bar about half a mile away. It wasn’t one of Simon’s favorite hang-outs, but he did recall seeing an old fashioned pay phone in the back by the men’s room and hoped it was still in service. He looked up the number for the police anonymous tip line on his cell and then juggled enough change to use the old wall phone. To his relief, a recorded line answered, and asked him to leave his tip at the beep.

  “Quinn Radnor has gone missing, after reporting a stranger creeping him out,” Simon said, muffling his voice. “Look for a man with branching pink scars over both hands. He’s the Slitter.”

  With that, he hung up, glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and just for good measure, wiped off the handle and mouthpiece of the pay phone before sauntering back out to his car. The whole adventure probably took fifteen minutes, but Simon’s heart pounded the entire time, certain he would either be accosted by the police or ambushed by the Slitter.

  When he was back inside his house, doors locked and lights on, Simon collapsed onto the couch. “I’ll find him, Quinn,” he said to the empty room, hoping Quinn could hear him. “And I passed along your message. You did good.”

  The next morning, before the shop opened, Simon had just made a fresh pot of coffee when his phone buzzed.

  You at the shop? Vic asked.

  Yeah, why?

  I’m outside. Can I come in?

  Simon headed to the front, knowing that it was at least an hour before he was due to open, which might mean Vic had already gone by the house. He had a feeling this wasn’t just about Vic missing him.

  “You’re out early,” Simon said as he let Vic in. He leaned in for a quick kiss, which Vic returned. Then he locked the door behind him and gestured for Vic to follow him to the kitchenette. “Coffee?”

  “Sure,” Vic replied, leaning against the counter. He accepted the cup from Simon with a tired smile. “Sorry I haven’t been around.”

  “You’ve got a big job,” Simon replied. “It goes with the deal.”

  Vic took a sip of his coffee, and the met Simon’s eyes. “I might be able to keep you out of trouble if I were home more.”

  Simon’s smile faltered. “What kind of trouble do you mean?”

  Vic set the cup aside with a sigh. “You called in that tip last night, about Quinn Radnor and the scars, didn’t you?”

  Simon was certain Vic wasn’t pleased, but he didn’t want to lie and make it worse. “Yeah. I went by his work to ask him a question, and the boss said he’d quit without warning. His roommates told me he took everything and ran.” He debated mentioning the aura and decided to tell the whole truth. Even if Vic didn’t believe him, he wouldn’t be able to say that Simon hid evidence.

  “Quinn had left them a message for me. About the man’s aura being ‘black and red.’ That means anger and violence,” Simon explained. “He must have seen the Slitter, glimpsed his aura, and it freaked him, so he ran. When I came home, I tried to contact the spirits. I’ve been attempting to keep an open channel in case any of the victims have something they want to tell me. Instead, I got Quinn.”

  “Quinn’s ghost?” Vic clarified, eyes narrowing and going into cop mode.

  Simon nodded. “He must be newly dead, because his spirit was having a lot of trouble making the connection. But he told me ‘blood and souls’ like the other ghost said, and he gave me an image of a man’s hands, criss-crossed with scars.” He pulled a copy of the drawing from his pocket and handed it to Vic.

  Vic studied the paper and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “The tip got handed to me because Ross and I are on the Slitter case. I didn’t have to recognize your voice to know it was you. Payphone?”

  “I drove,” Simon mumbled, not looking up.

  “Thanks for that,” Vic replied sarcastically. “At least you’re listening to half of what I tell you.”

  Simon looked up, searching Vic’s face to figure out just how angry he was. Vic’s expression was worried, not furious, and Simon took cold comfort in that. “I do listen. I’ve been driving everywhere, even though it’s a pain in the ass. I didn’t expect anything bad to have happened to Quinn, and I certainly didn’t know he was going to be murdered.”

  “I know,” Vic said, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Just…try to see how this looks from the other side. You know things that you shouldn’t. You were right about Cindy—”

  Simon looked up sharply. “When?” he asked, although he was certain he already knew the answer.

  “That was the call I got when you were at my place,” Vic replied tiredly. “I’m sorry.”

  Simon slammed his fist into the small table. “I wanted to protect her—”

  “You had a connection to Katya—”

  “I met her once, for ten minutes.”

  “You knew Cindy, and now Quinn.”

  Simon met Vic’s eyes. “Am I a suspect?” He saw pain and uncertainty in Vic’s gaze.

  “No. But if you keep showing up in the wrong places with the right information, I’m going to have to report it. I’m pushing ‘confidential informant’ boundaries to the limit,” Vic said.

  Simon felt his chest tighten. All he’d wanted to do was help find a killer and protect the people around him, and now he’d jeopardized Vic’s trust, and possibly destroyed their budding relationship. “Vic, I—”

  “They found Quinn’s body this morning, behind a bar called ‘The Limit,’” Vic said and frowned as Simon flinched. “What?”

  “Quinn told me ‘blood a
nd souls,’” Simon said quietly. “But he also said ‘beyond the limit.’” I didn’t know what that meant, I never thought about it being a place instead of a boundary.”

  “Fuck! Simon, you’ve got to stop playing detective!” Vic growled. “Don’t you get it? If the Slitter wanted a perfect fall guy, he couldn’t do better than you.”

  Simon shivered, cold with the realization that Vic was right, at least for how it could look to the cops. “I don’t think he wants to set me up,” Simon said quietly. “I think he wants me dead.”

  Anger and protectiveness sparked in Vic’s eyes. “All the more reason to stay out of it,” Vic argued. “Please, Simon. Listen to me. I…care about you. I want to see where this thing between us goes, I really do. But it doesn’t do anyone any good if I get kicked off the force because I’m shielding you. And if it were any other cop, you’d probably be down at headquarters for questioning.”

  “You believe me?” Simon asked, fearing the answer.

  “God help me, but yes, I do. Against all common sense,” Vic admitted. “I just want you to stay safe, and stay out of trouble. Leave the job to the police.”

  “The cops don’t usually pay attention to people like Quinn and Cindy and Katya,” Simon said quietly. “Not until they’re dead. And they won’t listen to anything that comes from their gifts.”

  Vic pinched the bridge of his nose as if fending off a headache. “I don’t want to fight with you,” he said quietly, and moved over into Simon’s space, taking the cup from his hands and setting it aside, then settling his hands on Simon’s hips. “I want to protect you, find the killer, and keep my job. Two of those you can help me with.”

  Simon managed a faint smile. “Best two out of three?”

  “Not funny.”

  “What about the ghosts?” Simon asked. “They can’t talk to the police. Who speaks for them, if I don’t? And the workers down here on the boardwalk—they won’t talk to the cops. If they’re not J-ones and scared about being deported, they’ve got reasons they don’t want the police looking at them too closely.” Simon and Vic both might have come to Myrtle Beach to outrun their pasts, but for many people without the luck of an education or a profession, they merely drifted or ran until they hit the ocean, and waited for their old mistakes to catch up with them.