The Rising: A Badlands Novel

by Morgan Brice

  Simon turned, soaping Vic up into a massage beneath the hot water, and despite the rough day at work, Vic felt boneless by the time Simon took him from behind, pumping in and out in a leisurely rhythm that made Vic torn between wanting to speed things up and wanting them to last forever. By the time they finished and cleaned up again, the hot water was nearly spent, and so were they.

  Vic and Simon made quick work of closing down for the night and checking the locks before they tumbled into bed. “That was…awesome,” he said as Simon snuggled close to him, resting his head on Vic’s chest, still lazily tracing his tats with a finger.

  “Uh huh,” Simon agreed. “I like this. Us, together. You, living here. This is…good.” His voice faded as he drifted off, and Vic knew by the rhythm of his breathing that Simon was asleep.

  He lay there, sated and warm, listening to Simon breathe, torn between contentment and terror. Everything about his relationship with Simon felt oh-so-right, not just for now, but if he was honest with himself, forever. That thought didn’t frighten Vic the way it might have, once. They weren’t quite ready for that step, but Vic felt certain they’d get there. It wasn’t the claiming that scared him; it was the possibility of losing someone who meant more to him than his own life. He’d never been this head-over-heels all-in before, and it was wonderful and overwhelming.

  Vic stroked Simon’s hair, taking in his scent, tightening his hold just a bit as his mind strayed to the murders. Like it or not, Simon was in the thick of things, tied up with the case regardless of his role as a consultant. That meant Vic needed to figure out everything from the police side as quickly as possible, to stop the killings and minimize the danger to Simon.

  Vic pressed a kiss to the crown of Simon’s head with a silent promise that he would keep him safe. But as sleep took him, Vic was damned if he knew quite how to do that.

  “You want to explain why you asked for the files on all the suicides in the last six months?” Captain Hargrove crossed his arms and gave Vic a look that said he didn’t plan to budge until Vic confessed. Hargrove was a former Marine, six feet tall and built like a tank. His blond hair was just slightly longer than regulation, and he didn’t look like he’d lost an ounce of muscle since he’d mustered out.

  Ross just gave a traitorous smile and stayed quiet, letting Vic dangle. Vic glared at his partner, who managed a look of complete innocence.

  “We think that at least some of the suicides are actually murders, due to supernatural possession,” Vic said. The answer sounded bizarre, even to him.

  “You’ve been binge watching American Horror Story again?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Vic shook his head. “It’s the perfect ‘locked room’ mystery. Simon’s been contacted by two of the ghosts so far. They couldn’t tell him much, but they did get across the point that something forced them to hang themselves.”

  “Shit.” Hargrove shook his head. “Do you have any hard evidence? Because no matter how much I believe Simon, I can’t take that up the chain without proof.”

  “We’re working on it, Cap,” Ross said. He gestured to the files spread across the conference room table in the room they’d commandeered.

  “Do you have a working theory?”

  Vic let out a long breath. “Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I think the hurricane in September woke something up, or let it get out of wherever it was holed up—or locked up. The locked room suicides both had dried brine on their clothing, even though they were indoors. It’s not much, but we’re looking for connections.”

  “Since one of the families is pushing hard to get the death reclassified, I can let you run with it—up to a point. If you get the families of other victims stirred up, and they complain, I’m going to have to shut you down.”

  “We’re not insensitive assholes,” Ross muttered. He looked sideways at Vic. “At least, I’m not.”

  Vic raised his hands in appeasement. “I’m not planning to stir up shit. But if Simon’s theory is right, then we also don’t know whether the deaths are random or targeted, and what the killer wants.”

  Hargrove nodded. “All right. Don’t make me regret this. See what you can find out, and keep me in the loop.”

  By late afternoon, Vic’s vision was starting to blur, and the coffee in his stomach felt like acid. He tossed his most recent file onto the table. “Nothing in that one.”

  Ross consulted his notes. “Not surprising. That was the last of the pre-hurricane suicides.”

  Vic gestured toward two piles of folders, one larger and one smaller. “Yeah, but there’ve been a hell of a lot more suicides than I ever knew we got here in Myrtle Beach, and most of them are straight forward, open and shut.”

  “The first locked room suicide was just three weeks ago. There’s been more since then, and they seem to be happening more closely together,” Ross pointed out. “So…what happened three weeks ago that changed everything?”

  “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Despite his sour stomach, Vic swigged down the rest of his now-cold coffee. “Let’s look at just the locked-room deaths. We’ve got four now. They’ve got to have something in common.”

  “You don’t think it’s random?”

  Vic frowned. “No. Do you?” When Ross shook his head, Vic went on. “We don’t know if it’s someone they knew who sent the…entity…after them, or whether they all passed through a location where the thing hunts for food and were unlucky enough to attract attention.”

  “Or if it picked them for a reason,” Ross supplied. “I guess it could be a crime of opportunity, but it seems awfully intentional to me. If something just wanted to kill them, there are a lot of other, easier, ways to do it.”

  “I’m not the one we’ve got to convince,” Vic said, staring at the folders.

  Hargrove stuck his head in the room. “Hey, I need you to give it a rest and go out on a call. There’s been a murder out at Socastee Manor, and the Murrell’s Inlet cops called us in on it.”

  Vic’s stomach flipped. “Socastee Manor?” he echoed, as his heart rate picked up. “Did they tell you anything else?”

  Hargrove gave him an appraising look. “Just that there was a man dead. Why?”

  Vic took a deep breath to steady himself. “Because Simon’s been asked to help with a nasty haunting, and he intended to be out there today.”

  Hargrove shook his head. “Sorry. That’s all I know. Go on, get out there. I’ll lock this room up so no one messes with your mess.”

  Vic grabbed his gun and jacket, moving on autopilot, worried about Simon. By the time he and Ross were in an unmarked car heading for the old house, Vic had already tried to call Simon twice, but the calls went right to voicemail.

  “Damn.” Vic stared at the screen as if his scowl would put the call through.

  “I’m sure Simon’s fine,” Ross said, not taking his eyes off the road. “Didn’t you say that there was a ghost causing trouble for the workmen? Maybe it finally went too far.”

  “That’s what Simon and the general contractor were worried about,” Vic replied. “I just wish I could reach him.”

  “You know what the signal’s like the closer you get to the water,” Ross said, and Vic knew his partner was trying to be reassuring. “Don’t borrow trouble.”

  Vic’s fingers drummed on the armrest for the entire drive to Socastee Manor. When they arrived, he saw Simon’s Toyota in the parking lot. Hold it together, he told himself.

  A worried man wearing a dress shirt, slacks, and loafers paced at the edge of the gravel parking lot, puffing on a cigarette. When he saw them pull up, he dropped the cig, ground it out with his heel, and strode to meet them.

  “You’re the cops?” he asked.

  Vic sized the man up. Mid-forties, dark hair with a receding hairline, expensive shirt, pricy slacks, designer leather shoes, and a Tag Heuer watch. Vic guessed that the BMW with the dive flag license plate belonged to him.r />
  “Lieutenant Ross Hamilton and this is my partner, Lieutenant Vic D’Amato. Homicide,” Ross responded. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m Jonah Camden, the representative for the development company remodeling the manor.” He spoke quickly, in clipped tones, like he really needed another smoke. “We can’t afford bad publicity.”

  “With all due respect, we need to see the body.” Ross cut through the bullshit, keeping his tone crisp and professional and completely sidestepping the douchebro’s mangled priorities.

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Camden said. “Follow me.”

  While Ross handled the niceties, Vic scanned the surroundings. He didn’t see Simon, which made his chest tighten. The manor was actually in better shape than he had thought, given what Simon had said about it, and with enough money it might shape up into quite a beauty. The location was remote for the area, on a spit of land that likely became an island in bad weather. Then again, Vic thought Simon had said something about smugglers and pirates being part of the house’s history. The site was perfect for that, isolated from any other beachfront development.

  “Do you know who the victim is?” Ross asked, and Vic’s attention returned to the here-and-now.

  “Jacob Platz, the man we hired to do the landscaping,” Camden replied. Ross jostled Vic’s shoulder, making sure he heard the news. Vic let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. “My GC found him and called me. Of course, I came at once.”

  “Who all is on the property?” Ross asked. Vic appreciated his partner taking the lead to let him get his shit together.

  “My GC, Trevor Nichols, and a historical consultant whose name I didn’t catch. Trevor could tell you which of the workmen were scheduled to be here today. He’d also know if Jacob had anyone working with him.”

  Camden led Vic and Ross away from the house, across a windswept piece of land that hardly looked like a lawn. Vic didn’t know much about landscaping, but he did know that Myrtle Beach’s sandy soil made gardening a challenge. Still, someone had cleaned up the weeds and to replace them with plants that thrived in the humid, hot weather—oleander, bougainvillea, and palmettos.

  The dead man lay face-down, one arm splayed to the side, with a knife hilt-deep in his back.

  “Has anyone else been near the body?” Vic asked, able to breathe again now that he knew Simon wasn’t in immediate danger.

  “Trevor, of course—he said he came out to ask Jacob a question and found him like this,” Camden said. He bit his lip—a nervous tic—and his gaze seemed to go everywhere except toward the body. Not surprising, Vic thought. Real death wasn’t like in the movies.

  “Was Trevor alone when he found the body?” Ross asked. Vic hated that Simon might be dragged into this as a suspect, but the questions had to be asked. And he would repeat this and other questions to Trevor later.

  “Yes, I believe that’s what he said. He and his consultant are waiting up at the house.”

  “Hey, Vic. Take a look at this.” Ross squatted beside the body and gave a nod toward the knife.

  One look told Vic it was likely one of the three historic blades reported stolen from the Horry Area Museum. He met Ross’s gaze, a silent message passing between them.

  “Have you seen this knife before?” Ross questioned.

  Camden recoiled, and Vic wondered if the man was afraid he’d somehow stain his expensive clothing. “The knife? No. Is it important? It looks old.”

  “That’s why I ask,” Ross replied, giving nothing away.

  It seems like an odd choice for a random attack. Vic thought. He looked around at their remote location. It’s difficult to think this was a mugging. “Do you know of anyone who might have disliked Platz?”

  Camden shrugged, regaining some of his composure. “How would I know? He’s the landscaper. We didn’t swap life stories over a beer at the pub.”

  “Sometimes details show up during the hiring process,” Ross answered.

  “I put the job out to bid, and his was the best price. References checked out. You’d have to ask my assistant for details—I didn’t do the paperwork myself.”

  No, of course not, Vic thought. Simon had told him that Camden didn’t believe in ghosts and wanted to hush up the incidents with the haunting, even though Trevor worried about his workers getting hurt. Camden looked annoyed to have been called out of his office for something so trivial as the murder of someone he obviously didn’t consider to be important. Asshole.

  “It this going to take long?” Camden asked, practically twitching for another smoke. He finally gave in and shook a cigarette out of a pack in his shirt pocket, and lit up. His fingers trembled as he held up the lighter, but after he’d taken a few drags, he seemed to relax.

  “It’ll take as long as it takes,” Ross said, straightening. He called back to the precinct, requesting the rest of the team. “We need to get forensics out here, and the coroner. Then my partner and I need to take statements from everyone who was here when it happened.”

  Camden winced. “Can we keep it out of the news? My company is putting a significant amount of money into this project, and bad publicity can kill the real estate values.”

  “This is private property. You can keep reporters from entering,” Ross said, and his tone had grown cold. “But homicide is a matter of public record. The more helpful you and your people can be in telling us everything you know, the sooner we can wrap this up—and the quicker the news cycle moves on to something else.” Left unsaid was the fact that Jacob Platz would stay dead, and his friends and family would grieve his loss. Vic didn’t have the feeling Camden cared much.

  “All right,” Camden replied, sounding annoyed. “I can pull some security guards from one of our other projects and put them on the front entrance.”

  “Just make sure they stay at the front,” Ross warned. “We don’t need more people tramping around, contaminating the crime scene.”

  “We always cooperate with the authorities.” Camden’s voice held a touch of sarcasm.

  He turned away, walking back toward the parking lot, with his phone glued to his ear as he barked orders to an underling. Vic and Ross watched him go, and Ross shook his head.

  “Well, he’s a peach.”

  “Not exactly the word I had in mind,” Vic muttered. Camden might be an asshole, but at least Simon was safe. Vic felt a flicker of guilt at his relief when another man’s family would grieve their loss, but only a flicker. He’d never wish misfortune on someone else, but he wasn’t above being grateful when the Angel of Death spared him and his.

  “Thoughts?” Ross asked, now that Camden was out of earshot.

  “I think it’s a hell of a coincidence that there’s an antique knife sticking out of the guy’s back, on the grounds of a house with ghost problems,” Vic said. He and Ross stayed well back from the corpse, but both studied the dead man intently, looking for clues.

  “Maybe he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see—or someone,” Ross suggested.

  Vic nodded. “Yeah. Or went somewhere he wasn’t supposed to go. But there’s no indication he was killed elsewhere and moved here.”

  It took a while for the rest of the team to show up. Ross stayed with the techs and the coroner, while Vic headed up to the house. He found Simon and a man he assumed must be Trevor Nichols sitting on the floor in the front room.

  Even though Vic knew Simon was safe, seeing him set his heart at ease. Simon gave him a warning glance, and Vic read it as a clue to play it cool, although everything in him wanted to pull his boyfriend close. Vic decided that could wait for later, in private.

  “I’m Lieutenant Vic D’Amato, Homicide” he introduced himself. “I need to take your statements about what happened here.” He glanced to Trevor. “I’m told you found the body?”

  Trevor swallowed hard and nodded. “I’d gone looking for Jacob to talk over his plans to protect the landscaping he’d already done in case the big storm hit. He didn’t answer his phone, and he wasn’t in
the supply shed. I called out, and then I went to find him. And I did.” He looked shaken, and Simon put a hand on the man’s shoulder to calm him.

  “Did you touch the body?” Vic cut in.

  “No.”

  “Were you with him?” Vic asked Simon.

  Simon shook his head. “I got here just as Trevor called the police. Since I was already here, I figured I should stay.”

  “Is there anyone else on the property?”

  Trevor answered. “The crew that was supposed to be here today got delayed because materials shipped late. I’d been trying to get another crew in to work on something else when I found Jacob and figured it was better not to have any extra people around.”

  “Good thinking.” Vic spent the next two hours taking their statements, finishing up shortly before Ross came to get him.

  “The team is finished,” Ross said, and Vic saw the ambulance drive away with Platz’s body. “You ready to head back?”

  Vic nodded. “We’re done.” He looked from Simon to Trevor. “I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” He and Simon shared a look, and Vic couldn’t help a slight smile. He knew that Simon would work his end of the case, and if there were any ghostly witnesses, he felt certain Simon would find out everything they knew.

  That night, Vic managed to beat Simon home. He brought take-out from Simon’s favorite Thai restaurant and managed to have the table set by the time his man came in the door.

  “What’s all this?” Simon asked, surprised.

  Vic pulled him close and kissed him hard. “You scared me today. We got that call about a death at the old house, and I couldn’t reach you on your cell—”

  Simon kissed him back, then slipped his arms around Vic’s waist and rested his head against Vic’s shoulder. “Sorry—the reception out there sucks. Trevor used a landline to call in the report.”

  Vic breathed in Simon’s scent, holding him tight. “I was worried about you being in danger from the ghosts, and it turns out we’ve got a real, live murderer wandering around.”

  Simon kissed him on the cheek and disentangled himself, moving to hang up his coat and set down his messenger bag. “About that. Trevor and I have no freaking idea why Jacob was killed. And while the ghost possession victims might be manipulated into hanging themselves, I don’t think Jacob stabbed himself in the back.”