Duncan was looking ahead, wide-eyed, watching Hendricks. “He believes it. And it could be. There were signs that something was seriously amiss, and it’s not like we get a lot of communication about these sort of things from—”
Lerner made a low, rattling noise in his throat. “You think an ancient—” He cut himself off, because it sounded so fucking ridiculous. He stopped himself from repeating the ‘You can’t be fucking serious’ thing again.
“It’s … possible,” Duncan said with another light nod. “Things are moving fast up here. Faster than anyone back at home office could have predicted.”
“Yeah,” Lerner said. “Okay.” He knew he wore a sour expression now, like he’d taken a sip of lemonade. And he hated that shit. No way would he believe it, though. The ancients didn’t get out; not from where they were held.
No chance.
* * *
Arch pulled into the sheriff’s station parking lot and killed the engine. He had that pit of dread in his belly, and it only seemed to grow as he opened the door and started toward the entrance. The night was heading toward dawn pretty quick, and he wondered—just a little—about what the morning would bring.
He grasped the cold, fixed steel handle of the door and pulled. The metal frame surrounded a Plexiglass window; there was condensation forming on the inside of it. Even though it was cooler outside now, it was still humid.
The interior of the sheriff’s station was quiet, not a soul in the area behind the desk. Arch didn’t quite make it to the counter before he saw movement in the sheriff’s office and Reeve himself appeared at the door.
“Jesus Christ,” Reeve said, and his face was blooming with thunderclouds. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“I couldn’t handle it,” Arch said, listening to the prepared words spilling out of his mouth. He’d gone over his options, and knew exactly where the truth would land him—up to his neck in quicksand. “I saw those bodies, that mess this morning and …” He shook his head, keeping it low, bowed. “… I just couldn’t handle it.” He chanced a look up at Reeve.
Reeve was staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open. “You couldn’t handle it.” He repeated it back, and Arch wondered if he’d actually stopped the sheriff’s tirade before it could begin.
“Yeah,” he said. “There was so much … blood. The bodies were just …”
Reeve ran a hand over his lip, stroking it. “Uh huh.” There wasn’t enough tone for Arch to tell what he was thinking. “So … you, uh …”
“Cut out on my patrol,” Arch said. “Shut off my phone. Shut off my radio. Just went quiet for a while, went up in the woods and … sat there.”
Reeve stood at the entrance to his office and leaned a hand on the frame. When he stood like this, his protruding gut was obvious, hanging over the belt of his pants. He took a long, loud breath and sighed, then puffed his lower lip like he was thinking over something awfully hard. “We needed you today out there, Arch.” His words were laced with quiet disappointment.
“I know,” Arch said and gave as contrite a nod as he could. However upset he was with Hendricks—and he was powerfully upset—and the demons, he tried not to let any of this show in the moment. “I hate that I let the team down.” It always came back to football for him, and he’d learned long ago that a coach more readily accepted an apology. They’d still chew you out, but it usually cut it down a little. Only a truly vindictive person would continue to harp on someone after they’d accepted an apology. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, shit,” Reeve said, nodding. “I can’t say that … sight this morning … didn’t send my stomach in a few different directions. Still, we had a hell of a lot go wrong today, Arch. And yeah, you did let down the team.” Reeve straightened in his doorway. “But hell, you’ll be paying for it later today with the rest of us.” He waved at Arch, and Arch headed toward him tentatively. “Come on in. We got things to talk about.”
“Oh?” Arch asked, taking slow steps toward the sheriff.
“Yeah,” Reeve said, and then turned back into his office. “Just when you think the shit can’t hit the fan any harder, another fucking turd splatters every-goddamn-where.”
* * *
Gideon awoke just before dawn. He could see the first hints of it peeking out from behind the red curtains. He sniffed as he came to consciousness, and the smell was all burn, flesh roasted and flambéed. It wasn’t a bad smell; it, reminded him just a little of cooked meat. He rolled slightly to look at the hooker. She was still there, facedown on the bed. Other than being pallid as all hell, she looked like she was sleeping in a doggy-style position, face down in the pillow. He rolled her over just to see what kind of damage his jizz could do to the human body, and holy shit, motherfucker—
Gideon rolled off the bed. He’d seen some foul deaths in his time. It was part of who he was, after all. Car accidents that rendered people wide fucking open or decapitated them. Homicides by serial killers who knew how to make the agony last. This, though—this might be one of the more grotesque things he had seen.
The hooker was burned clean through from her pelvis all the way up to her gullet. A three-inch wide trench stretched from just below her mid-throat down, down to where her vagina had been. It was seared inside, crispy and bloodless, cauterized through and through.
He’d left her hollowed out and he could see it. Her lifeless eyes were as empty as her insides now.
Gideon hurriedly dressed, peeking at the spot on the bed where his emission had burned through her. The sheets were seared and blackened, and he leaned over to look down. There was hole straight through the mattress, the box springs. He got down on all fours to look, and saw a black scar under the bed, barely visible as the sun’s rays were starting to shed light through the curtains.
Gideon ran a hand into the scarred floor and felt concrete an inch or two down. A subfloor. In a bedroom? He wondered if it was meant to be soundproofing or just the lucky results of a renovation. Whatever the case, it had stopped his spooge from burning its way through into the first floor below. He didn’t know where that might have ended, but it probably wouldn’t have gotten him any more sleep.
When he was finished pulling on his socks and shoes, he looked around the room quickly. He hadn’t brought anything with him except the rune and his cash, and those were both safely in his pockets. He opened the door to the hallway and looked out. There was no one visible, so he crept out and closed the door behind him.
He walked toward the stairs, his feet making little noise as he took care to mind his steps. He went down the carpeted stairwell and reached the bottom, about to grab the gilded handle to the front door when a voice stopped him.
“Did you have a relaxing night, Mr. Gideon?” Melina Cherry called out to him from behind and Gideon turned to see her standing in the frame of a door under the stairs, still wearing that same silky robe that was split open.
“Oh, yeah, great—uh—night of sleep,” Gideon said. He had the handle in his hand. The door was right there.
“Was Colleen to your satisfaction?” Melina asked and arched her arms out, one hand on each side of the door frame. The gesture split her robe open wider, and Gideon stared at her breasts for just a moment. He really didn’t see any appeal in them. They were just round lumps of skin with a discoloration in the middle.
“Oh, she certainly satisfied me,” Gideon said with a nod. His hand clutched tighter on the handle. “I think I might have worn her out, though.” He tilted his head toward the stairs. “She was still sleeping when I left.”
“Of course,” Ms. Cherry gave him a smile that was all politeness. “I hope you’ll grace us with your presence again, Mr. Gideon. Colleen would certainly enjoy spending time with you in the future.”
“Sure she would,” Gideon said without any inflection.
“And if your tastes were to change, I or my other girl would love to help you fulfill all your fantasies,” Ms. Cherry said with that same smile. “Good day to you, Mr. Gideon.”
He got to the car and started it up in a hurry. He looked up at the whorehouse, the faded panels and worn siding. He hit the accelerator and knew he’d have to get a new car. Soon. Real soon. He rolled the window down and stared up at the second floor window where he had spent last night. Where he’d done something he’d never done before.
Taken a human life when he was RIGHT THERE. It was a new kind of high. He was discovering lots of those lately. It was an awakening for him.
As he was pulling away, he heard the screaming start. He steered a left at the end of the street, headed out toward the edge of town. It wouldn’t do for him to get caught now. Not yet. He had one last thing to do before he left this town for good.
And it was gonna be the biggest high yet.
He was sure of it.
Chapter 15
Erin killed the lights and sirens on the patrol car as she pulled onto Water Street. She could see Arch’s Explorer, the doors just opening. She’d gotten the call when she was a good ways out of town but hauled ass to get there. She’d heard of the whorehouse here, but knew that Reeve hadn’t ever gone after them because they’d kept their noses clean of complaints.
As she let the car drift to a stop, she suspected his days of letting it slide were pretty well over.
Reeve and Arch were getting out of the Explorer, which was an interesting pairing. She wondered how far up the sheriff’s shit list Arch was sitting at this point.
She opened the door and felt the warmth of the semi-cloudy day shine down on her. The air reeked of weed. She looked down the street and saw a guy standing out on his porch with a joint in his hand. She gave him a hard stare and he put the joint behind him. Dumbass.
“I’m gonna go talk that possession charge waiting to be booked,” Reeve said as he stepped up to the curb. “See if he saw anything.”
“Be gentle,” Erin said, “he looks dumb.”
“He’s smoking reefer on the street in broad daylight with two police cruisers in plain sight,” Reeve said, giving her a look that expressed his annoyance and called her a dumbass all in one. “That don’t exactly scream out ‘brain trust.’” Reeve turned and started making his way up the grey concrete sidewalk.
Erin turned to look at Arch, who was waiting by the curb, staring up at the whorehouse like it was gonna reach down and bite him. “You make your peace with Reeve?” she asked.
“We came to an understanding, yeah,” Arch said.
“Uh huh,” Erin said, watching him. He looked a little shifty to her, and that was odd because shifty was not in Arch’s character.
“Let’s get this done,” Arch said, and started up the walk.
The house was a rambling, old-style Southern home. Looked like it could have been a haunted house, even, just based on the outside appearance. It wasn’t quite Addams-family style, but close. The gables were peeling even worse than the paneling on the rest of the house, but once upon a time it might have been white. A long time ago.
Arch reached the front door before her, his long legs allowing him to outpace her without any trouble. She thought about hurrying to catch up but she didn’t want to seem too overeager. This was basically day two for her, after all, and she wanted to get it right.
The door was already cracked open, but Arch knocked lightly. She almost shoved him out of the way but thought the better of it. “You’re too damned polite,” she said and pushed it open.
There was a woman waiting in the front hall, a white silk robe laid open and her chest and belly exposed in a strip right down the middle to her crotch. Erin could see a well-groomed pubic mound, waxed like it was a spot that saw regular visits from the hedge trimmers. The woman was dark of complexion, like she was of Mediterranean extraction, and the raven hair on her head matched the minimal carpet.
“Uhh, excuse us, ma’am?” Arch sounded all tentative, a step behind her, like he was afraid to cross over the threshold without an invitation. That drew to mind the thought of vampires and demons, which she quickly dismissed once more as utter stupidity. It did set her blood to a quick boil, though.
“Come in,” the woman said, and her jaw was set like it had been sculpted into place. She had a figure like a statue, too. Erin felt a little swell of envy. If she looked that good in her early forties, she’d be surprised; she’d gained ten pounds in the year since high school graduation and was doing her best to ignore it. She knew she still looked good anyway.
Maybe not as good as this lady, though.
“My name is Melina Cherry,” the woman said, her expression near blank. Her eyes looked like they might have been a little puffy.
“Ma’am,” Arch said in acknowledgment. At least he didn’t hold out his hand to shake it. Erin checked. He was hanging just a couple steps behind her now, examining the white crown molding that ringed the walls. Doing anything but looking at the nearly naked woman in front of him. Reeve would have been gawking. Politely, jaw firmly closed and tongue reeled in, but he’d have been gawking. Ed Fries wouldn’t have bothered to even try and look polite. That fat boy was a perv.
“You called and reported a murder, ma’am?” Erin asked, trying to awaken the woman out of the trance she appeared to be in.
“Yes,” Melina said, focusing her striking green eyes on Erin. Erin wondered if they might be contacts, they were so incredibly bright and vivid. “One of the girls that lives here,” Cherry paused, presumably waiting to see if Erin would interrupt to call her a hooker or worse. Erin didn’t, just kept her lips buttoned tight and listened. “She had a gentleman caller last night.” Cherry’s eyes flashed. “She went to bed with him. After he left this morning I went to check on Colleen and found her …” Ms. Cherry’s dark complexion lightened for a moment, “… found her as she was.”
“Dead?” Arch asked.
Melina Cherry turned and gave him a scalding, you-idiot look. “Yes. She’s fucking dead, Officer. Which is why I called to report a murder and am talking to you now about her rather than the other girl that lives here that is still alive.”
Erin made a mental note to ask where the other girl was but first things were first. “Where’s the body?”
“Upstairs,” Ms. Cherry said, pointing up the banister.
“Are you sure she’s dead?” Arch asked. Erin looked back at him. He didn’t seem chastened by Ms. Cherry’s earlier berating. She figured Arch probably had thick skin for that sort of thing, having probably had his ass chewed a few times.
Ms. Cherry gave him a withering look. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, her voice below freezing.
“All right,” Arch said. “One of us should go look at the body.”
“Yeah,” Erin said with a nod then turned back to Melina Cherry. “One thing first. Where’s your other employee?”
Ms. Cherry gave her an insincere smile. “You mean the other girl that lives here? This is just a boarding house, you realize.”
“Of course,” Erin said, rolling her eyes. Ms. Cherry pretended not to notice, but her own eyes narrowed marginally. “Where is she?”
“She didn’t see anything more than I did,” Ms. Cherry said.
“Still,” Arch said, “we need to question her.”
“Lucia,” Cherry called out, tilting her head toward the open parlor just to their left, “come here.” She smiled, a little more warmly now. “Lucia is new in town, hasn’t been here for more than a few weeks. She’s already quite popular, though …” Ms. Cherry turned her head as a woman appeared at the entrance to the parlor. “Lucia, these officers want to ask you some questions.” Cherry smiled insincerely again. “And since they haven’t bothered to introduce themselves, let me just go ahead and handle this by reading you their names off the name plates on their uniforms. This is Offi
cer Harris,” she pointed to Erin, “and Officer Stan.” She turned back to the entrance to the parlor and Erin turned with her.
The woman standing in the entry to the parlor was taller than she was, with pale skin. She wore a tank top under an overshirt and tight jeans, and looked like she might have just gotten dressed. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were downcast but blatantly green, maybe even more vivid than Ms. Cherry’s, from what Erin could see.
And her head was fire red, glimmering in the glow of the morning sun peeking through the windows of the whorehouse.
“Starling,” Erin whispered.
* * *
Lerner let a long, slow exhale cause his lips to sputter against each other, making a THBBBBBBT noise. It annoyed the shit out of Duncan, he knew, but he did it anyway. Besides, Duncan was trancing against the wall, taking a listen to the things going on outside of the motel room. The cowboy looked like he was ready to pass out on the bed.
“I think I need to sleep,” Hendricks said, slurring his words.
“You shouldn’t have taken those painkillers if you wanted to stay awake,” Duncan said from his spot on the wall. His suit clashed with it horribly, the colors wrestling for dominance of Lerner’s sight.
“I didn’t see him take any painkillers,” Lerner said. He hadn’t. And he’d been watching the cowboy pretty close.
“He did,” Duncan murmured, eyes closed. “I saw it.”
“Maybe if you fuckers hadn’t aggravated my injuries, I wouldn’t have needed them,” Hendricks said. He was slurring worse now. “Do you know what it feels like to have broken ribs?”
“No,” Lerner said. “I don’t have any ribs.”
“Right,” Hendricks said, and nodded. His cowboy hat was beside him on the bed, and his eyes were fluttering.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” Duncan said from beside the door. Lerner looked over at him and Duncan went on. “He’s gotten wind of us. It’s only the reason he’d mask himself. That means he won’t come back here.”
Depths: Southern Watch #2 Page 21
