Dark Vessel: An Urban Fantasy Series (Meredith Bale Book 3)

by DC Malone

  “Sure, you do that. But we definitely won’t need a Necromancer to figure out your cause of death.”

  Inside the apartment, two young men in plastic aprons and long yellow gloves were busy bagging up what looked like piles of garbage that were stacked nearly to the ceiling. There were already eight or ten large trash bags lined up near one wall, but the apartment was still so full it was hard to move around. Much of the trash seemed to consist of newspapers and magazines, seemingly stacked into towers at random.

  “Our victim was a bit of a hoarder,” Carter said as he squeezed between a row of the stacked items. “The team is going to have to work through all of this stuff to make sure there isn’t anything of importance.”

  “I don’t envy them.” I cautiously pushed through the stacks and followed Carter as he worked his way further in. “How did anyone even find this guy so fast? This looks like the perfect setup for one of those stories where they don’t find the dead guy until years later.”

  “Yeah, I imagine that’s how it probably would have worked out.” Carter wormed through several more stacks of papers and boxes, then pointed out a nearly hidden doorway halfway down what might have been a hall. “Except, this time we got an anonymous tip. There’s a dead guy in apartment 421 of Hemmingway Horizons—that’s what the caller said. No luck in tracking the caller down as of yet, but we need to find her. No way she’s not connected to all of this.”

  “Yeah, that’s a pretty safe bet. Hold up a minute. This place is called Hemmingway Horizons?”

  “Not a very good fit, is it?”

  “No,” I said, “but I guess Bleakmoor Bilge-pit was probably taken.”

  The victim was laid out on a bed that had miraculously not been crushed by any of the many surrounding towers of trash. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, had bright red hair and a matching beard, and was wearing an oversized t-shirt that seemed to double as his nightgown.

  “Ready to work your magic?”

  “Always.”

  I pressed my fingers lightly to one of the man’s cool hands. The increasingly familiar cold electricity shot up through my arm.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  I swiveled toward the bedroom doorway and the loud sounds of several people shouting all at the same time. My redheaded victim stood halfway in the hall and was screaming at someone I couldn’t see.

  “I told you I never want to see you again! She never wants to see you again! How thick are you?”

  The man turned back to a waif-thin woman in medical scrubs. She looked worried and tired, and she kept trying to pull the red-haired man back out of the doorway.

  “Charlie, listen to me. We’ve discussed this. You’ve built this whole thing up in your head. Caleb cares about you, just like I do. You just need to calm—”

  “You don’t get it,” Charlie shook his head slowly. “That’s not Caleb out there. Not the Caleb we know.”

  “Charlie…”

  “I’ll prove it to you.” The wild-eyed man yanked open a drawer in the dresser by the doorway. He rifled for a moment, then pulled out a medium-length boot knife.

  “Charlie!” The woman took a step forward, but Charlie waved her away.

  “I’m not going to hurt him. Not really. Just watch.” He turned back to the door just as a new figure stepped into view.

  The man in the doorway—Caleb, I presumed—was also in hospital scrubs. He was on the short side, probably no more than a few inches over five feet, and had a buzz cut. He had round, boyish cheeks that made him look young, but I figured he was probably in his mid to late thirties. His hands were up and palms out, and he wore a cautious smile as he moved into the room.

  “Charlie,” Caleb said in a low, soothing voice, “I know you’re upset, but I promise no one is going to harm you.”

  “Can’t say the same.” Charlie lunged forward and punched the boot knife into Caleb’s shoulder.

  A shriek cut through the bedroom, but it died off in an instant when the woman noticed Caleb was still sporting the same calm smile as before. He didn’t show the slightest indication that he even noticed the blade protruding from his shoulder.

  “Caleb?” The woman’s voice was barely a whisper.”

  “See!?” Charlie turned to the woman and pumped his fist in victory. “See!? It’s not him. I don’t want the—”

  Neither the woman nor Charlie saw Caleb move. Still ignoring the knife in his shoulder, he lunged forward and locked his hands around Charlie’s neck, squeezing until his knuckles went as white as ivory.

  “Caleb!” The woman leaped forward and began batting at Caleb’s arms and hands, to no effect. “Caleb, let go of him. He didn’t know what he was doing. You know how he can be. This isn’t his fault.”

  Caleb continued to ignore her. He continued to ignore everything. His grip seemed to tighten further, even as his eyes became increasingly vacant. I had seen people with murder in their eyes before, and this wasn’t it. If anything, Caleb looked bored.

  The woman gave up her futile attempts at prying Caleb’s hands from Charlie’s throat, opting instead to circle around to his backside and lock her arm around his neck in a chokehold.

  Caleb responded by pitching forward and throwing the three of them onto the bed. Charlie was already beyond the point of fighting back, and the only sounds came from the increasingly desperate woman’s attempts at breaking Caleb’s grip.

  A minute went by. Then another. Finally, Caleb released Charlie, rolled out from under the woman, and stood up at the foot of the bed. He looked at the knife in his shoulder for a moment, then tugged it free and tossed it into a corner.

  “You—you killed him! Have you lost your mind?” The woman’s eyes were wide and shining with tears, but her expression wasn’t nearly as startling as the bemused expression that was still plastered on Caleb’s face.

  “Alright, Denice, you about ready? I think we still have time to check in with Mr. Watts before lunch. Sound good?” Caleb gave Denice a friendly wink, then walked back out through the bedroom door.

  I had just enough time to hear the man begin humming some tuneless song before my vision faded to black. When the real world resolved back into focus, I had to steady myself on one of the stacks of magazines to keep from keeling over.

  “Rough one?” Carter asked, placing a hand on my shoulder.

  “Well, none of them are fun,” I said. “But that one was definitely a bit more active than the usual.”

  “Were you able to learn anything?”

  “A few things, yeah.” I walked over and peered between the dresser and a nearby stack of newspapers. The boot knife, still caked in blood, was right where Caleb tossed it. I couldn’t fault the officers for not finding it yet, the place was a maze. “There’s a knife back here with the killer’s blood on it. His name is Caleb, and I think he works in the medical field. Maybe some kind of social services program.”

  “Okay, excellent, I’ll get someone to bag it. Anything else?”

  “There was a woman here too—also a medical worker of some kind—pretty sure she’s the one who called in the tip. These people were on the books, Carter. Find out who was scheduled to pay Charlie here a visit last night, and you’ll have the guy who strangled him.”

  “Great work. Looks like a slam dunk in my book.”

  I hesitated.

  “What? There’s more?”

  I nodded. “And it’s not going to make this any easier.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s only one killer.”

  Chapter 6

  “I still don’t get it,” Carter said. It was the third time he’d said those exact words in the last ten minutes.

  We were back in his car and headed toward Francie’s, and I was really starting to wish I had held my tongue until I understood more about what was going on. All of this stuff—the realm of the supernatural, as it were—was still a bit foreign to me. So, I didn’t know precisely what was and wasn’t possible. But, at least,
I knew what my gut was telling me.

  “Like I said, I don’t know the why and I don’t know the who, but I’m all but certain these people are being commanded in some way to carry out these murders. Someone with the ability to manipulate the minds of regular people is forcing them to kill.”

  “Mind control?”

  “That’s what it looked like to me. The guy didn’t flinch when Charlie shoved a knife into his arm.”

  “You ever see a guy on bath salts?” Carter asked. “Some of those guys wouldn’t notice if a helicopter fell on them.”

  “That guy wasn’t on bath salts, Carter. Neither was Mr. Compton, for that matter, and I’m sure you guys did a drug test on him.”

  Carter grunted. “Yeah, clean on all counts. But he wasn’t stabbed. Maybe just this medical guy was on them. Maybe he was on something else.”

  “It’s not bath salts or any other drug.”

  “But mind control? Come on.”

  “You’re okay with me being able to look into the deaths of these people, but you draw the line at someone having the ability to poke around in other people’s heads? Is that because one of those things works in your favor and the other one doesn’t?”

  Carter let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, a little. And it’s not even just the mind control aspect of it all. Although, the thought of that does give me the willies. It’s the randomness of it all. I mean, none of these victims have anything in common. And who could stand to gain from any of it? That last poor sap was this close to being in a sanitarium as it was. You really think someone who can control people’s minds saw that guy as a high priority?”

  “Maybe he’s a mind-controlling serial killer,” I suggested.

  “I don’t buy it. Serial killers have a type, and they like to be hands-on for this kind of thing. This removes the killer’s involvement entirely. Where would the thrill be for them?”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but he had a point. Where was the logic behind it? A person powerful enough to coerce others into murder, only to use that gift to pick off a bunch of nobodies? Someone with that kind of power and bent on murder would be out assassinating world leaders and business moguls, not hoarders and middle managers.

  But I was sure I was on to something. I had felt it. Maybe the mind control angle wasn’t exactly right, but there was definitely more going on than it seemed.

  All I knew for certain was that the whole thing was starting to give me a headache.

  “You know, it was only a few months ago I was thinking about how different and how frustrating this gig was getting to be. The world’s filling up, this city certainly is, and everything’s starting to overlap. Most of the crime scenes I see are contaminated six ways from Sunday, and it’s got nothing to do with someone trying to cover it up. There are just too many people stomping, touching, sneezing. Whatever, you name it, and the forensic guys are usually trying to pick through it just to catch a glimpse of the actual evidence.”

  “You’re saying you wish you were tracking down killers a century ago?” I asked. “Fewer people but also fewer tools at your disposal.”

  “I’m saying I wish I could go back a few months. To when I thought that stuff was the worst of my troubles. Now I’m getting help from psychics—”

  “Necromancers.”

  “—Necromancers and worrying about mind-controlling serial killers running amok in my city. Give me the old, normal pains in the keister any day of the week. I’m starting to miss the simple pleasures of inconclusive DNA evidence and illegible fingerprints.”

  Carter halted his speech long enough to glance at me as I rubbed at a spot in the middle of my forehead. “What’s that?”

  “Just a headache.” I smiled. “And completely unrelated to your rant. Maybe it’s a side effect of using my powers this frequently. Or, who knows, maybe it’s down to the fact that I drink too much most nights and don’t get nearly enough sleep.”

  “No, I mean the thing on the back of your hand,” Carter said.

  I turned over my left hand, and my heart started to race. There was a coin-sized blemish just below my middle knuckle. Only, it wasn’t just a blemish; it looked like a crude tattoo of an asterisk with the two crossing middle lines longer than the diagonal ones, and it was in red ink.

  I brushed at the symbol. It was a little sore, but not enough to make me think someone had managed to tattoo it on me while I was unaware.

  “I—I don’t know what this is.” I wiped at it furiously, but the lines didn’t fade or smear. “Did you see it on me earlier? Before I looked into that guy’s death, I mean.”

  “I didn’t notice it, but it’s pretty easy to overlook. I thought maybe it was a tattoo I missed.”

  “If it is, it’s one I missed too. I don’t like this.”

  “Can’t say I blame you. You think it’s connected to whatever’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.” But I had a sinking feeling I did know. It had to be connected. I suddenly felt like ice water was flowing into my veins. What if this was the way it started? Maybe you were marked and then the mind-controlling maniac could force you to do his bidding.

  We pulled up in front of Francie’s a few moments later, and not a moment too soon. I was about to squirm out of my seat. I had been marked, and I felt like I was a timebomb just waiting to go off. I needed to get some distance between me and every other living person on the planet.

  Carter cut the engine and turned to look at me. “You’re not looking good, Meredith.”

  “Thanks. I’ll add that to my list of concerns.”

  “You’re worrying it might happen to you? This mind control stuff?”

  “I’m more worried about what I might do to the people around me. Speaking of which.” I pulled open the door and started to get out, but Carter stopped me with a touch.

  “Listen, I don’t know what this is.” He gestured toward my hand. “But let me ask you something. When you’re in these death visions of yours, how detailed are the things that you see?”

  “As vivid and real as what’s happening right now,” I replied, not sure what he was getting at. “I’m not sure this is the time—"

  “Just hear me out. From everything I’ve seen from you so far, you appear to be a skilled detective, even without taking into consideration your extra skillset.”

  “Okay, thanks for the compliment.”

  “I’m just saying, you were staring right at the murderers’ hands both times. Did you notice some weird tattoo on either of those guys? We sure didn’t see anything like that when we brought Compton in.”

  “Oh.” It finally clicked. I had been staring at their hands—could even picture vividly how Caleb’s knuckles had gone white as he gripped poor Charlie’s neck.

  Neither of those men had been marked.

  I let out a small sigh of relief. I still didn’t know what the thing on my hand meant, but at least there was a chance it didn’t mean I was about to go on a strangling spree.

  “See,” Carter said with a slight smile. “Maybe it’s not quite as bad as it seems. Maybe you even had it on you before you looked into Charlie’s death. You didn’t happen to go on a drunken bender last night, did you? That’s a surefire way to end up with an unexpected tattoo.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t say something like that would be beyond the realms of possibility, but I don’t think that’s what this is.” I held my hand out, letting the sunlight shine on the marred section of skin. It only seemed to make the red lines look darker. “This means something, and I guess I’m just going to have to add it to the list of things I need to figure out.”

  “If it does, then it’s tied to all the rest of this. God, I don’t even have a word for what this is.” Carter laughed, but there was something strained in the sound. “What am I even supposed to do with half of this stuff? I’ll tell you now, it’s not going into any report. You know how fast they’d have me out on psych leave?”

  “I know this is overwhelming,” I started.

  “Definite
ly not something they include in training.”

  I met Carter’s eyes and slowly came to understand something about him. The look I saw there wasn’t just exhaustion or a kind of burnout, it was the look that came from the effort it took him to hold things together. He was watching everything he thought he knew about the world baby-step its way over a cliff, and he was completely powerless to stop it. He didn’t even know where to begin.

  “Do you think thirty-six is too young to be seriously thinking about retirement?” His mouth tilted in a lop-sided smile that almost touched his eyes.

  “Listen,” I said gently. “There’s enough here to drive anyone a little crazy, so how about this? We’ll divvy up the pieces we have and put them together when they make sense. You focus on the murders like you normally would—track down the guy in the scrubs, figure out if there’s anything that connects him to the others.”

  “That woman, too,” Carter said. “She’s an accomplice at this point. And she might be more help than the murderer if your mind control theory tracks.”

  “Right. So, business as usual for you. And I’ll see what I can turn up with the other stuff” I got out of the car but leaned back in before closing the door. “Let me know when there are any developments. Anything at all. You never know what might end up being important.”

  “You do the same, Meredith.” Carter pointed to my hand. “Call me if anything changes with that too. If nothing else, I can be someone to talk to.”

  I smiled and nodded my agreement before I closed the car door. It was a sweet offer, but I wasn’t going to put anything else on Carter’s plate. He was barely coping as it was.

  Besides, that weird symbol on my hand had already started to burn like a wasp’s sting, and it seemed a little inconsiderate to add that to his worries already.

  Chapter 7

  I decided to skip Francie’s and walk back to my apartment instead. Something about my latest death vision had left me badly in need of a shower. Still, it had been a difficult decision to skip the bar, not because I needed a drink—which I did—but because, as I stood on the sidewalk out front, I had watched a priest in full frock walk through the bar’s door, followed by one of the construction workers who had been jackhammering what felt like half the block for the last week or so.