The End Of Desire argi-8

by M. R. Sellars

  “Hey,” I said with a quick nod toward Ben. “We were just talking about coming in to pack some bags.”

  “Yeah, good idea,” he returned, a stoic expression on his face.

  “I suppose you need a statement from me?” Felicity asked.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “But, why don’t ya’ get started packin’. We can do that in a bit.”

  “Aye, are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded again.

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  We both started from the room, but Ben tapped my arm as I passed. When I looked up at him, he jerked his head toward the back of the kitchen.

  “You go ahead, honey,” I told Felicity. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just need to talk to Ben.”

  She looked at us both then turned and continued through the doorway without a word. When he decided she was out of earshot, Ben raised an eyebrow.

  “Not doin’ too good, is she?” he asked.

  “She’s okay,” I told him. “Rattled, but that’s understandable.”

  “Want me ta’ call Helen and invite her over for dinner so they can talk?”

  “I doubt she’d want to come over for dinner only to have to work, Ben. Besides, I’d rather not put any pressure on Felicity. I think she might just need some time to get over the shock.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. For now anyway.”

  “Okay,” he said, looking to the side then smoothing back his hair. “So, you were right about the bones. Didn’t take long ta’ find a coupl’a fragments. The tech is taping off the front yard right now, and she just called in some support ta’ do a full sweep.”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “So, when we pick ‘em up, will that make the curse go away?”

  “Not really. For one thing it will be impossible for you to get all of them.”

  “It somethin’ that could kill ya’?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Prob’ly?”

  “It’s magick, Ben,” I explained. “It isn’t good, but it’s also something I can protect myself against.”

  “Well, then I guess ya’ better do some of your hocus-pocus then.”

  “Trust me, I will. And, Felicity already has hocus-pocus planned for your house.”

  “Friggin’ lovely. So, how’s your head? You’re sure you ain’t gonna kick off all of a sudden or somethin’, right?”

  “It hurts, and I seriously doubt it.”

  “Okay, just checkin’. So, anyway, listen… Do cloves mean anything?”

  “Why? Did you find cloves out there too?”

  “No. Got a call from Martin. Apparently, Devereaux didn’t do any of the regular Voodoo shit we’ve found in the past. Nothin’ obvious anyway. But, there was a big ass container of cloves spilled all over the kitchen counter.”

  “Hmmm… Clove oil is used in love and lust spells. Are you sure it just wasn’t some sort of accident in the kitchen?”

  “Well, there’s a pile of wax too. Looks like what’s left of a red candle accordin’ ta’ Martin. They also found a dish with what appears ta’ be blood in it. He figured I should run it past ya’ since I was here.”

  “Okay, if you throw in the candle and the blood, I’d have to say it sounds like some kind of magick, or at least an attempt at it,” I replied. “But I’m not sure exactly what.”

  “Okay. Just thought I’d check…” He sighed then shook his head. “So, if ya’ saw it ya’ think ya’ might be able ta’ tell?”

  “Maybe. It’s hard to say.”

  “What if you were in the same room with it?”

  “The odds would be better,” I replied. “Ben, are you asking me what I think you are?”

  “Look, I know ya’ quit and all, but yeah, I’m askin’. You wanna come with me to the scene?”

  “Why?”

  “Ta’ see if all that is somethin’ ya’ need ta’ worry about.”

  “I’m not really comfortable with leaving Felicity right now. I think it would be…”

  “I’ll go,” Felicity’s voice cut me off from the doorway.

  Ben and I both turned to look in her direction. I had no idea how long she had been standing there, but it was obviously long enough to know what I was objecting to.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I told her.

  “Why?”

  “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

  “I gotta agree with Row on this one,” Ben added. “Besides, given your history with this guy, your name on the scene log ain’t gonna fly.”

  “One of us needs to go,” she replied. “You can’t effectively counter a spell without knowing what it is to begin with.”

  “You can just ward against magick, Felicity. You know that.”

  “Aye, well maybe I’m tired of hiding,” she shot back. “It hasn’t done me any good so far.”

  Ben looked at me and said with a shrug, “Your call, White Man.”

  I glanced back to my wife. Her expression hadn’t changed and neither had the look of determination in her eyes.

  “If I can’t go, then you have to,” she said.

  “What about the whole thing with me being banned from the investigation?” I said, looking over to Ben.

  “Fuck it.”

  “You could get into trouble taking me into a scene.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “I’m not good with that.”

  “You don’t hafta be.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Listen, this ain’t about the investigation. This is personal. If this bitch is throwin’ somethin’ down on you, then ya’ need ta’ know what it is.”

  “It might not have anything to do with us at all.”

  “You really believe that?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Uh-huh,” he grunted, adding a slow nod as well. “Thought as much.”

  “You actually sound like you’re starting to believe in magick.”

  “Right now I believe in makin’ sure you two are safe. If this weird ass shit poses a threat, then ya’ need to know about it.”

  “So what could happen to you if I go?”

  “That ain’t for you to worry about.”

  “I’m going to anyway.”

  “Yeah, so now ya’ know how I feel.”

  “Well, like I was saying earlier, I’m not comfortable with leaving Felicity here by herself. Not after this morning.”

  “Not an issue anyway,” Ben offered. “I already called for a unit from the locals to come over an watch the house. They’ll be here before the crime scene unit even thinks about clearin’ out.”

  “Aye, I’ll be fine,” she interjected. “I’ll lock the door and finish packing while you’re gone.”

  All of my objections had been met head on, and I really couldn’t think of any more. Of course, even if I did I suspected Ben would have an answer for them as well.

  Reluctantly, I gave in. “Okay, I guess I’ll go.”

  CHAPTER 30:

  News crews were already on site, their vans positioned across the street while reporters performed for the cameras using the activity surrounding the apartment complex as a lurid backdrop. As usual, Ben muttered an expletive or two about them as he hooked his van into the parking lot then nosed it into an empty space. Before climbing out of the vehicle, he slipped his badge onto a cord then hung it around his neck.

  When we arrived at the fluttering line of yellow tape, my friend flashed the shield to the officer standing watch at the building entrance then signed in on the crime scene log. He stood by patiently waiting while I added my name to the list.

  “Can I see your ID, sir?” the officer asked as I handed the pen back to him.

  “He’s with me,” Ben answered before I could reply.

  The officer glanced at my name on the clipboard, back at Ben, then to me. “Which department are you with?”

  “He’s
an independent consultant,” Ben replied, once again not giving me a chance to speak. “Like I said, he’s with me.”

  The man cocked an eyebrow and stared at him for a moment then pointed toward the building. “One-oh-three. Down the stairs, second door on the right. Can’t miss it.”

  Inside the door, we both donned latex gloves and paper shoe covers before continuing down the short flight of stairs then along the hallway toward the entrance to the apartment. My mind was already starting to race before we had ever entered the building, and upon reaching 103, it was setting new speed records. Ben started through the door, but I visibly hesitated before stepping across the threshold.

  The scent of cloves wafted out of the apartment carried along on the unmistakable metallic funk of blood and fresh death. The bizarre melange of smells made the ache in my head automatically shift into a higher gear.

  The last time I had entered a crime scene where Annalise and Miranda had played their deadly games, I had walked into far more than I was prepared to handle. Granted, I had been alone and too exhausted to properly shield myself from the onslaught, but the memory of that incident was still fresh. Too fresh, in fact, for something that was now over two weeks old.

  “You okay?” Ben asked as he stepped back out into the hallway. “I turned around and you were gone. You ain’t goin’ la-la are ya’?”

  “No…” I replied. “I’m just a bit… anxious… I guess.”

  “I told ya’ not ta’ worry about that,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s more like bad memories.”

  “You wanna take a pass?” he asked. “You can wait in the van if ya’ want.”

  “No. I’m already here. I might as well have a look.”

  “Long as you’re sure. I mean, I want ya’ ta’ take a look at this whole candle thing, that’s the whole point. But, I also don’t wanna push ya’ over the edge either.”

  My head was pounding at this point, but I couldn’t be sure if it was a product of what waited on the other side of the doorway, or if it was entirely due to this attack of anxiety. I closed my eyes for a moment then drew in a deep breath.

  “It’s okay,” I finally said. “Let’s go on in.”

  Ben watched me carefully for a moment then offered a guarded “okay.”

  I followed him into the apartment, fully expecting to be set upon by latent feelings of arousal mixed with fear, just as I had been before. Instead, I was slapped full in the face by the psychic residue of blind anger. I felt my face flush as the emotion corkscrewed its way into my head, coursing out through my body and making my skin prickle with a sudden wave of gooseflesh.

  This was new, and definitely not what I had foreseen.

  I stopped a few steps through the doorway and looked around the room. True to what Ben had been told, the beige carpet was stained with bloody footprints, the shape of which was obviously made by a pair of women’s high-heeled shoes. While they radiated out in various directions, the majority of them were clustered around a far more solid stain, upon which the victim’s body was currently resting.

  Someone had placed an open body bag over the top of the remains. I assumed that party to have been someone from the coroner’s office since one of their official vehicles was in the parking lot. Why they had simply covered him and not transported him from the scene, I wasn’t certain. In any case, he was still here, and I couldn’t help but stare.

  The rubberized bag covered his face and torso, but his arms and legs were still exposed. The one wrist I could plainly see was shackled into a wide leather cuff, which appeared to be snugged so tightly as to be biting into his flesh. If that weren’t enough, it was attached to what looked to be a metal bar that ran beneath his back. I assumed it ended in a like manner at the unseen hand. A similar apparatus had been used on his ankles, rendering him more or less immobile. She definitely hadn’t wanted him to get loose.

  Two of the fingers on his exposed hand were bent up at an odd angle, visibly broken. A number of ragged holes were torn in the back of the hand as well as his forearm. His legs hadn’t faired any better as they were covered in long gashes that were now crusting over. His knees appeared to be buckled backwards, hyperextended to the point of shattering the joints.

  As I stared, the rage continued spreading through me, punctuated by twinges of satisfaction. I knew in that moment, there had been nothing at all sexual about this kill for Annalise. There was no arousal or gratification on the physical level. It was purely emotional.

  This had been all about revenge.

  I heard a new voice and looked up from the horrific tableau. A man around Ben’s age was entering the room from a doorway near the back. “Yeah, bag that but get pictures of the whole thing first.”

  He turned toward us after completing the statement, and a look of mild surprise flitted across his features. Continuing into the room, he looked over at Ben and said, “Hey, Storm.”

  “Martin,” my friend replied.

  The detective glanced over at me with an odd look on his face then said, “Hey, Rowan. How are you doing?”

  “Hello, Mike,” I replied. “Getting by. And you?”

  “Better than the stiff I guess,” he grunted then looked back over to Ben. “Storm… Can I see you back here for a minute?”

  “Yeah,” Ben returned then looked over at me as he followed him deeper into the apartment. “Wait here, Row.”

  I answered with a quick nod.

  Detective Martin was one of a handful of cops on the Major Case Squad who actually took me seriously, so I hadn’t actually expected to be getting the “what’s he doing here?” treatment. However, that was exactly the look he had on his face, and I knew it probably had quite a bit to do with the fact that I had been banned from the investigation by the powers that be. My reception told me that Ben was going further out on this figurative limb than I wanted, but there was nothing I could do. I was already here, so the damage had been done.

  After a handful of minutes, the two of them came back into the main room, Detective Martin trailing along behind my friend. He didn’t look particularly excited, but at least he didn’t look angry either. I didn’t know what was actually discussed while they were out of earshot, but it wasn’t hard to guess.

  Ben asked, “So, you got anything new?”

  “Not much,” Martin began, gesturing toward the covered corpse. “We’re pretty sure the victim is Lewis, but we don’t have a positive ID just yet and probably won’t until the M.E. gets done.”

  “That bad?” Ben asked.

  “Not much of his face left,” he offered. “Not to mention the missing part you already know about. Rest of ‘im isn’t much better. If you think what you can see is bad… Well, trust me, you don’t really want to look under the bag. I don’t think she stopped working him over for a while, even after he was dead.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Ben grunted. “They gonna transport the body soon?”

  Martin nodded. “Yeah. The restraints he’s wearing are attached with padlocks, so they went to get some bolt cutters. Until they get those off ‘im, he won’t fit in the bag.”

  “Lovely,” Ben replied. “So, what about the rest of the apartment? Anything helpful?”

  “Well, not really.” Martin pointed toward the floor, indicating several points in succession. “As you can see, we have a fairly clear trail to follow. It pretty much gives us an idea everywhere the killer went inside the apartment. Residue in the tub indicates she might have showered or bathed after she killed him. Hell, it looks like she might have even had herself a late night snack.”

  “Why do ya’ think that?” my friend asked.

  “There was a gallon jug of milk sitting on the back of the toilet. What little was left of it anyway.”

  “She didn’t drink it,” I offered. “She added it to her bath water.”

  “What makes you say that?” Martin asked, looking over at me.

  “Voodoo. Given her relig
ious leanings, bastardized as they are, it’s something she would do for purification,” I explained.

  Ben grunted, “Ain’t nothin’ pure about this bitch except that she’s evil.”

  “True, but she would have wanted to cleanse herself after this murder.”

  “I don’t remember there being anything like that at any of the other crime scenes,” Martin added. “Why this one?”

  “There was no need in those cases,” I said. “This is different. She didn’t kill him for the sexual high like she has with her past victims. She was exacting vengeance, and the ritual bath would be her way of ridding herself of any leftover emotions.”

  He nodded. “Okay. So, what was she getting revenge for?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “She sent his tongue to your wife, or at least we think it’s his. Do you think it has something to do with her?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Why his tongue, though?”

  “That’s hard to say. My best guess would be that since the tongue is associated with speech, the obvious answer is retribution for something he said or she feared he was going to say.”

  “Okay, but why send it to your wife?”

  I shrugged. “To frighten her maybe. Again, I’m not really sure. I’m just telling you what I’m seeing and feeling.”

  “So this is coming from one of your gut instincts?” he asked.

  “Some of it. The rest is pretty much just a hypothetical application of what I’ve studied about Voodoo and hoodoo.”

  “Okay, well since we’re on that particular subject, Storm said the real reason you came here is to have a look at what we found in there,” Martin said, as he nodded toward the half wall that divided the main room of the apartment.

  We followed him as he stepped around the tented evidence markers that were lined across the floor and headed in the direction of the small kitchen. It was no big surprise that a fading trail of bloody shoe prints marked the path we followed.

  Detective Martin guided us through the doorway then pointed toward the counter near the sink. “Don’t touch anything,” he instructed. “The techs haven’t gotten to this yet.”