by WL Knightly
The girl blushed and gave a little shrug. “There was one time about four months ago. We both had the day off, and it was snowing. I was pissed off at my boyfriend, and we hated on men a little. One thing led to another. She did tell me she preferred men.” She shrugged, and her eyes went to her lap where her hands wrung together. “I’m not really into girls. It was just experimental. My mom would kill me.”
Darek cleared his throat. “We’re not going to tell anyone, but we thank you for being honest with us. If anything comes back to you, you be sure and call.”
Lizzy reached into her pocket and handed the girl a card. Then she straightened the photos, flipping through them as if to organize them. She made sure the girl saw every image, even the bloody carving on Alicia’s back.
When they got in the elevator, Darek gave Lizzy a nudge. “Did you have to be so insensitive with the photos? The girl was obviously distraught.”
“Too distraught if you ask me. She barely knew the girl, but she fucked her? Even ships in the night get to know one another when they pass. She didn’t see a collar? But she has a cuff? She didn’t see a fresh tattoo?”
“She seemed pretty surprised, and it’s not that far off base to think that our victim might have been leading a double life.”
“I suppose, but by exposing her to it, I’m hoping she coughs up more information later.”
When they walked out of the building, Lizzy turned to walk down the street instead of heading into the parking garage.
Darek moved to catch up. “Where are we going?”
“The tattoo parlor on the corner. I’m hoping that Alicia used it as well. It would make sense, and while we’re in the neighborhood, we can at least mark this one off the list.”
Darek tried not to stare at her or notice the sway of her hips as she walked, so he thought it best to stay beside her. They approached a large yellow sign with the word tattoo in red block letters with big round bulbs. The sign on the door read “Ink Bites,” and the logo was a red and yellow viper.
“Red and yellow, kill a fellow,” Darek said. “Or a girl, as the case may be?”
Lizzy met his stare. “I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy.”
“One can hope.”
The place smelled of cheap incense. The walls were covered with paper drawings, some original and some that looked like they’d been taken right out of the pages of a book. The buzz of needles inking skin and quiet chatter filled the air, along with the stinking smoke that burned on the front counter.
A sign read: “Please ring the bell.” So he did. Lizzy seemed more intrigued with the art.
A man covered in tattoos came out from the back room. “Can I help you?” His shirt was unbuttoned, and his pants were so tight that they showed off his pencil-thin legs.
Lizzy took out the photo of Alicia’s bloody back tattoo. It only showed half the carving, but he didn’t want the witnesses to focus too much on that. “Yeah, we’re looking for the artist that did this. Does it look familiar?”
The guy quickly turned his head away. “Jesus, man. What’s that? Some kind of cult shit?”
“We’re investigating the murder of Alicia David. Does the name ring a bell?” She shook the picture at him, and the paper made a crinkling sound as if it was begging for his attention.
“No, not at all. How awful.” The man didn’t want to look at the photo, but Lizzy put it in his hands to take a better look.
“I need you to tell me what you can about this tattoo,” she said. “Are you the only artist here today?”
“I’m Felix Strother; I own this place. My apprentice is here. He’s with a client.”
“Okay, could you ask him to come and take a look, please?”
The guy nodded and turned around. “T-boy, come out here a second.”
The guy, who looked much younger and more clean-cut, came out scrubbing his hand through his hair and stretching his back. He smiled. “Sorry, I’ve been at it for a few hours.”
“Hey, man. They want us to look at this picture. It’s fucking bad, man.” The guy seemed genuine, and Darek couldn’t blame him for warning his friend.
T-boy glanced down at the image. “Holy shit. I’ve never seen that before. Is that person dead?”
“Her name is Alicia David,” Darek said, but he could tell the name didn’t ring a bell. The guy made a face, but it was more of the same disgust for having to see her blood.
Lizzy wasn’t impressed. “You two are a bit squeamish for people who deal with blood on a daily basis.”
“We deal with ink. Blood is part of it, sure, but a little bit of leaking plasma is a hell of a lot different than you showing us some poor girl who had been stabbed to death.”
“Gonna give me fucking nightmares for a month, man. Not cool.” T-boy stood with his hand on his heart and gave his friend a glance.
“You can return to your client, and thank you, T-boy.” Lizzy gave the kid a warm smile, and he turned and walked away.
“Tell us what you can about the tattoo.” Darek tapped the photo.
Felix looked at the page and took a deep breath. “It took some time. A large piece like this takes a few sittings. It’s not that detailed. Maybe three sessions at most. But I can tell you that the outline on the wheel was done first; not only because it’s where I’d start, but because of the healing. The symbols are also in different stages of healing. I see a few have scabbed, but this one, the arrow, it’s fresh. Done most likely the same day or just hours before. You can see the plasma oozing. It’s not even scabbed over.”
“It’s Sagittarius,” Darek said. Lizzy gave him a look like it was the first impressive thing he’d said all day. “It’s my sign.” He gave a shrug but didn’t bother mentioning he had the symbol branded into his arm.
Felix nodded. “Yeah, this is the zodiac. I only recognize a few of the symbols and can put the name with them. Not too many people get these anymore. I know the one that looks like sixty-nine is Cancer. I used to tease my girlfriend about it.” He gave a little half-hearted laugh.
“Is there anything else you can tell me; anything about the artist?” Darek asked.
“They’re pretty good, clean lines, no blowouts, good saturation. He’s a pro. Probably someone who has been tattooing for years. The city is full of them. Ever since those tattoo shows started coming up all over the place, so have the artists. There are novices all around, too. People who want to learn, but don’t want to go through the legalities. The equipment is easy to get, too. They sell it online, and as long as you don’t get caught, you’re not going to get in any trouble.”
“Wow, so someone could do this kind of thing on the go, then. Like a tattoo artist making house calls?”
“It’s possible. In fact, there are some of us who do those type of appointments, but everyone that I know who does it has a legitimate shop.”
“Thanks, man. You’ve been more than helpful.” Darek put out his hand, and he noticed Lizzy give him a sideward glance as if she disapproved.
The man shook his hand. “Anytime, man. Just leave the gory photos at home. I have a daughter, so I can’t say I’ll forget that anytime soon. But you come on by if you ever need some ink. I’ll hook you up.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Darek turned around and headed out the door with Lizzy, knowing he’d never let another person mark his flesh again.
“Do you have any tattoos?” she asked as they headed back to her car.
“Nope, not a one.” It wasn’t a lie. His symbol had been burned into his skin, not inked.
5
Darek
Megan stood in the living room, sipping her coffee, when Darek passed her on his way to the kitchen. He needed his own morning brew and wondered if she’d bothered to make him some. When they’d first been together, she’d have his special blend loaded into the maker and ready to go, but those days were long over.
“I was just about to get you up,” she said. “I guess this was what the phone call was all abou
t?” Her voice carried into the kitchen, where no coffee was waiting for him.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, lifting his voice.
“This.” The volume on the TV went up so loud, he could hear it from the kitchen.
“The victim was identified as Alicia David, a twenty-three-year-old escort and city local. The police now have the difficult job of figuring out just who is sending a message.”
He’d missed most of the report, but it was obvious the reporter had been well-informed. “Son of a bitch.” He was so pissed off, he didn’t want the coffee anymore.
“Is that what you’re working on? That’s horrible! You’re going to be working overtime now, right? Just when I thought things would settle down.” Megan groaned; her eyes still filled with horror from the report.
“I told you from the start, baby, this is a homicide detective’s life.”
“You should have told me it would be this bad. This could be a serial killer. Not only do I have to worry about something happening to you on the job, but something could happen to me! I’ve watched TV and movies. The detective’s wife ends up with her head in a box, or raped, or worse—kidnappings, torture.”
“And this is why none of this shit is supposed to be leaked to the press,” he said. “I’m not even supposed to tell you about it. And I’m not discussing it with you now. Stop watching the news.” He knew telling her that was like talking to a wall. She was way too nosey for her own good.
“I have a right to know what you’re doing all day. I’m your wife. And I hate to break it to you, detective, but I’m not about to keep trying for a baby with all of this going on. I will not have our child be some revenge sacrifice to some Zodiac monster. They said this is like that murder a long time ago, but modern day.”
He went back to the coffee pot and got it started on his cup. “This is nothing like the Zodiac Killer case. You don’t even know what you’re talking about, which is why you don’t need to be watching that shit. As for a baby, you just decided this on your own, without talking to me about it?”
She stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “It’s ultimately my decision, and I said no. I’ve thought about it a lot since you didn’t come home, and this is further proof it’s a terrible idea.”
Darek realized he needed to give up on the idea of having a baby with Megan, and to his surprise, he was actually fine with it. “Good to know. Anything else you’ve been thinking about?” He looked up and crossed his arms.
“A divorce, maybe.” She crossed her own arms and shrugged, giving him a teasing grin.
“That’s nothing to joke about, Megan.” He wondered if she was seeing someone else and was surprised that it still stung when he thought of her with another man. His jaw set. He grabbed his coffee cup and left it black. Bitter mood; bitter coffee.
He took it to the bathroom with him where he dropped his pants and tossed them into the hamper before turning on the water. Peeling off his plain white tee, he caught a glimpse of the small, arrow-shaped brand on the front of his left shoulder. The marred flesh was rigid and puckered. He didn’t like to look at it, and he didn’t want others to see it, either. He’d learned to keep it covered and hidden like a dirty secret.
Run! Faster! Keep going. Gotta keep going. The girl was heavy. She’d endured far worse than he had when he’d been branded, and he tried to push down the thoughts that he’d had anything to do with it. She was so heavy in his arms, even though her arms were thinner than his and her frame was much smaller. He was just a boy, not quite seventeen, not quite ready for consequences, and not sure what had happened. One minute, he hated on his father, and the next, he was responsible for another human being’s life. It hung in the balance, and all he could do was run. Run! Gotta keep going.
His eyes left the brand, and he met his stare in the mirror. More times than many, he hated what he saw. He turned and stepped into the shower, knowing the water was only going to remind him that it was raining that day. The earth squished and slurped beneath his feet as his heavy footfalls made deep tracks in the mud. Deep enough to be hunted. Deep enough to leave clues. He’d thought of everything as he’d watched the news. The days after, when they’d found her, he kept expecting them to come for him. But they never had.
That was when he learned just how strong he was; and how weak. Pussy. That guilt could devour you if you wanted it to. It could put you on the edge of your seat, setting your nerves on fire, or it could numb you to the core until you felt nothing. Nothing but a big black hole; a pit inside your soul like a black hollow that never ended. The eternal abyss of hell.
“Are you going to stay in there forever?” Megan’s fist banged hard against the door. “Darek! Why’d you lock the door? I need to pee, and my makeup is in there!”
He wasn’t sure what one had to do with the other, but he turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist. As he stepped out of the shower, the door shook with her fist. The noise echoed in his head like someone hitting it with a hammer.
He threw the door open. “Stop it! Can’t I get a fucking moment’s peace!”
Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. He turned to glance in the mirror and what he saw gave him chills. His mouth was peeled back like a wild dog baring his fangs, and his eyes were tinged red. He looked like a madman.
“You’ve been in there an hour.” She was exaggerating. She had to be. He looked across the room behind her to the alarm clock. She was right. “You’re late for work. What are you doing in there?”
“Jerking my fucking dick!” He’d rather she think that than know the truth. He pushed past her and headed to the closet with water still beaded on his back. He’d admit to nothing, much less give her more ammunition to nag him with.
But she’d seen it all before. “You had another episode, didn’t you? It’s this fucking case. You never snap at me until—”
He spun around and grabbed her arm. “I didn’t have anything. I’ve got a wife who won’t put out and the most stressful fucking job on the planet. So do me a favor, and stop playing head shrink.” He had never laid a finger on her, but when he was irritable, he’d lash out verbally. Being a victim of verbal abuse, he fought hard not to become his father. He took a few calming breaths, and she jerked her arm away.
“If you’re this bad and it’s just beginning, then how fucking batshit are you going to be by the time it’s solved? If it’s ever solved!”
She had a point, but he wished she’d just support him for a change, instead of making shit worse with accusations. Why couldn’t she be warm and hold him, or try to soothe him and ease his thoughts? Instead, she’d flip the fuck out and blame his job; the very same job she needed him to have to support her.
He needed her to fuck his brains out when he came home from a hard day to ease his stress, or have a cup of hot coffee waiting for him in the morning to kick him into gear. He needed a wife. Someone to encourage him and support him, not treat him like a burden or something she was sick of dealing with; a hobby that had become boring.
He scrubbed his face and looked at her. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to be so aggressive. It’s stressful, and you talking about divorce doesn’t help. I love you.” He needed a little warmth and compassion.
She brushed his hair from his face, and he closed his eyes at the feel of her cool fingers against his flesh. “I was just thinking out loud. Are you taking your medicine?”
“I said, I love you.”
She rolled her eyes and gave him a sidelong glance. “I love you, too. Are you taking your medicine?”
“Yeah. I am.” He searched her eyes for the warmth of love that he used to find burning there, but instead, he came up empty.
6
Bay
A loud buzz filled the air. “Mr. Collins, your sister-in-law is here to see you.”
Bay cursed and turned his attention back to his phone as he stared at the city skyline. “I told you, it’s nothing. You’re overreacting. Now do us both a favor, and don�
��t call me here again.”
He hung up the phone just before the door to his office opened. Mia Randall sauntered into the room, looking much older than her barely-legal body actually was.
He had his suspicions about her visit. “What brings you in?”
Over the weekend, he’d caught her and her boyfriend in the guesthouse together. The young man’s pants had been around his knees, and her mouth had been stuffed full of his cock. Bay’s own hardened in his pants as she walked over and stood close to his desk. She was a dark beauty, with silky black hair that hung down her back in waves, the slimmest little figure, perky breasts, a tiny waist, and a perfect tan from weeks in the Bahamas. His eyes drank her in, but then, through her tight skirt, he spotted something that simply wouldn’t do.
“I just wanted to talk to you about what happened this weekend,” Mia said. “You said we’d handle it later, Bay, and you promised not to tell Lila.” Mia was shaking in her tall pumps, and the fear emanating off the young girl was like an aphrodisiac to him.
“You disappointed me, Kitten. I thought I was your special man.” He held out his hand, and as she took it, he pulled her down across his lap and kissed her bare shoulder.
“You’re, silly. I thought you’d like it if I were seasoned in the ways to pleasure you. My birthday is in a month, and I thought I’d surprise you.”
“If you keep encouraging those young men, how will you give me your virginity?” he asked.
She giggled. “It’s already yours, Bay.” Her hand slipped up his thigh and rested on his bulge. He’d let her touch him through his pants or grind against it in his lap, but nothing more. “Are you jealous?”
“No, I’ve already taught you that lesson. You’re a bad girl, and I’ll protect your darkest secrets so they won’t hurt you, but you have to keep me happy. You on your knees with some guy’s dirty cock in your throat? That’s not acceptable. And neither are those panty lines.” He snapped his fingers.
