by Jon F. Merz
“My friend. Father Jim. This is where he lives.” She pointed through the window. “See? The house is attached to his church.” She looked back at Steve and saw he was smiling.
“Oh.”
She smiled at him. “Good night, Steve.”
Chapter Fifteen
Outside the bedroom window, Lauren could hear the rain and wind making the night their own. Trees closest to the window scratched at the glass like skeletal fingers trying to claw their way out of the ground.
She shivered once under the heavy weight of the down comforter and moved her hands south, finding warmth by her abdomen. She let them rest there, feeling the heat radiate out of her skin.
Rain spattered against the roof overhead and she wanted so badly to let the unsteady rhythm of it lull her into a deep sleep.
But sleep would not come.
In her mind, she could still see the image of the man standing in the rain.
Waiting for her.
Coming for her.
Was it the Soul Eater? Was he really after her as well? Would he kill her like he had the others?
She shivered again and shifted, trying to warm herself more.
Thank God, Steve had shown up when he had. She hated to think what would have happened if he’d been even just a few minutes later. The Soul Eater would have wrapped his hands around her neck and then lifted her essence right out of her. She would have died on the lonely cold stone step – another casualty in the battle between good and evil. A battle so few even knew existed.
But Steve…
She smiled, recalling how upset he’d seemed at the thought of her having a boyfriend of some type. And then the flood of relief that seemed to wash over him when he realized he’d been mistaken. Lauren found it altogether charming and innocent. He’d seemed as crestfallen as a ten-year old with his first crush.
There was a lot to admire about Steve Curran, she decided. At once a hardcore and devoted detective, he had an inner softness that he desperately tried to keep hidden. She kept seeing it in flashes, never for more than a second or so. But she knew it existed.
He could be absolutely stone, though. She’d seen enough evidence of that tonight when he’d come out of the car. She’d never seen him look so…primed. There was no doubt in her mind that he could kill if he needed to.
That he would kill.
She couldn’t blame him. After all, tracking the Soul Eater for as long as he had without even really knowing what it was, or why it did what it did would have driven most other men insane by now. But Steve just kept on coming at it like another case that needed solving. His determination and naiveté over the entire affair made him even more appealing.
When was the last time you felt this way about a man, she asked herself.
The answer came fast and without blinking.
Never.
Oh sure she’d had boyfriends before. But they’d never lasted beyond a week or two. She’d had enough sex to know her way around a bedroom. But there were parts of her that had never really succumbed to the fullness of making love.
How could she? After what her brother had done to her?
That was the real reason why no man ever stuck around long enough. It was like they could sense there was something there. Some kind of emotional baggage that would inhibit her. And so far, no one had shown any signs they’d be willing to tackle the job of removing it.
Until Steve.
He knew about her past. He knew about the hell she’d endured.
And he seemed quite willing to try despite it. If only he would let himself make the move. And if he thought I’d let him, she thought with a small smile.
She could tell he had a hang-up about her wanting to become a nun. It probably seemed weird to him, to be romantically attracted to a woman about to enter the Church.
I wonder….
In truth, Lauren wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with the notion of falling for a man like him.
Images of the two of them danced in her head. Intertwined bodies, undulating, frothing, and cresting on the shores of desire.
She wasn’t a nun yet, was she? Couldn’t she indulge? Just once?
But as quickly as she tried to reason out any tryst she might enjoy, she knew instinctively there might be a lot more to a guy like Curran. What might start out as some delightful romp could well turn into something…serious.
Serious.
Steve.
She sighed again as more rain beat against the window and roof. Lauren clutched the covers to her chin and opened her eyes. She could almost convince herself that Curran was standing at the foot of her bed, naked from the waist up.
She could imagine the etched details of his strong chest, the tightness of his abdominals, the rounding of his shoulders and biceps, and the tough sinews that lined his forearms.
She could imagine him bending over her, pressing his lips against hers. Feeling his warm breath tickling her neck as he nuzzled her. And then the moistness of his tongue as he traced his way all over her body.
Everywhere.
Oh my…
Sweat broke out along her hairline as the images danced faster.
Lauren sighed again and rolled over on her stomach, squeezing her legs together, hoping to ward off the fuzzy sensations sweeping through her lower body.
Steve.
She swung her legs out of bed and sat up, wiping her hand across her forehead. It came away damp. She stared at the line of moisture on the back of her hand and watched it dry there.
She shivered – unprotected in the darkness.
This is what she got for trying to figure out her problems when she should have been sleeping. She frowned. I should just get a glass of water, drink it down, and go back to bed.
But would that help her?
She got out of bed and paced her room. She looked at the wall, at the crucifix hanging there. She walked toward it, running her hands over the cool wood.
She knelt and bowed her head.
Dear God, help me find the strength to carry on. Help me do what is right. Help me decide what I can do to help, what I can do to stop this evil. Keep me safe. And keep Steve safe, too. Please…
Please help me.
***
Across town, Curran lay in bed.
Wide-awake.
Tonight had been close. If we hadn’t gotten there just then…his thoughts trailed off and images filled his head of another crime scene. This one with a chalk outline that looked like the shape of Lauren.
If we’d been any later, he would have gotten her.
The Soul Eater.
The hundred year-old oak tree in his backyard groaned under the forces of the wind and Curran heard it creak. One of these days, it was going to crash down and probably split his roof in half. But Curran had never been able to bring himself to have it cut down. Something about its strength and resilience after all these years impressed him.
Hell, it inspired him.
Was that how he saw himself, he wondered. Like an old oak standing in the wind?
He didn’t feel very resilient just then. After all, the notions of the supernatural still made him wince. He was a facts and figures guy, not someone who got turned on by the latest new age mumbo-jumbo hype.
But Kwon had been right. When science couldn’t explain what was happening, where else could you turn? And at what point did the supernatural stop being so far-fetched?
Now seemed as good a time as any.
And there’d been very real danger tonight.
To Lauren.
He sighed.
She was beautiful. And Curran really wanted her.
He thought about how she looked in the white blouses she seemed to wear everywhere. The way they buttoned up so high and yet still managed to show off the roundness of her bosom.
He sighed again. His groin swelled vaguely.
He looked down.
Maybe just –
No.
But Curran didn’t want to do that.
Tempting as it was.
He lay in bed with his hands behind his head, feeling the press of his palms against the back of his skull. So what could he do to win her over? What could he do to make peace with his own doubts?
Maybe I should just believe everything, he thought. Maybe I should just have some faith.
Maybe Kwon’s right.
Curran hopped out of bed and felt the thin carpeting greet the undersides of his socks as he padded down the hall to the bathroom. A cold breeze danced along the hallway with him.
He paused.
Cold breezes seemed to be all around him lately.
And damned if he knew why.
He walked into the bathroom.
The breeze came with him.
He pulled down his boxer shorts and tried to urinate.
The breeze cloyed at him.
He frowned. Hadn’t he heard something, sometime way back in his past about the cold being the herald of the dead?
In the darkness, he squinted. Was that a shadow moving outside in the hallway?
He sighed and tried to press his bladder. A thin trickle came out of the tip of his penis, dribbling into the bowl. The air grew even colder.
Curran grew more frustrated.
He cleared his throat.
- caught himself.
What the hell are you gonna say, sport? He thought. You gonna talk to the dead here in the cold confines of your bathroom? That’s a great way to start, ain’t it?
He sighed, plopped his member back on the inside of his shorts and padded back to the bedroom.
The cold followed him.
He shivered under the covers.
“What do you want?” he whispered. “What?”
It got colder.
“Jesus,” he said without thinking.
His curtains shifted. Almost fluttering in the darkness.
But the window’s closed, he thought. How the hell is that happening if the window’s closed?
Images floated into his mind. He saw Lauren. He saw himself. Curran tried to direct the flow of images to include a passionate love scene.
But it wouldn’t work.
Something else seemed to be in control. Curran saw images of Lauren scared. He saw himself scared as well. And then he saw the shadow looming over them both. Darkness and cold seeped everywhere in his consciousness.
Under the covers, Curran shivered violently.
And kept his eyes shut.
The images changed, split almost in two as if he were seeing double. He could see Lauren lying on the floor, in some kind of carved sarcophagus. Beside her, he could see Lauren smiling at him. But it was an evil wicked smile, full of hatred for him – but not just for him. For all humans.
The images changed again and Curran saw a big jar with strange writing on it. It was filled with some kind of bubbling frothy liquid. And in his mind, Curran could smell it now, the fermenting vile substance that it contained.
In his mind, he moved closer to the jar. He could see his hands reach out toward it. He came closer. He leaned toward the gunk inside. He peered closer. Was it boiling? A bubble rose to the surface and popped, coating Curran’s face.
A little dribbled toward his lips and Curran’s tongue flicked instinctively.
And tasted it.
He sat bolt upright, eyes flying open.
A dream.
His stomach rolled and churned.
Not a dream-
My God!
Curran threw off the sheets.
Ran down the hallway – hadn’t he just been here?
In the bathroom he clawed for the sink. Felt his insides buck and vault skyward the contents of his stomach. It came out of him in a rush of seething acid – chunks of undigested dinner mixed with the orange juice he’d had before bed. His throat burned.
He turned the spigot and cold water rushed out into the sink, swirling the bloated mixture around before washing it down the drain. Curran scooped some into his mouth, washing it around and spitting it back into the porcelain sink. He sucked down some more, tilted his head back and gargled it, trying to quell the burning.
He scooped more onto his suddenly hot face. It ran over his eyes and cheeks. He felt so hot, like the water would almost boil off his skin and evaporate into the night.
He drank a few mouthfuls and then finished washing the sink out. He could still smell his own puke. But thankfully his stomach seemed calm once again.
His hands found the small towel he kept beside the sink and pressed it to his face. The material sucked in the water and dried him. He dabbed it across his skin and then let it fall back to the sink edge.
In the mirror above the sink, he looked at himself.
And sighed.
What the hell was happening to him?”
Chapter Sixteen
“You look like crap, Steve.”
Curran flipped the bird to his co-worker as he walked through the doors to the homicide unit. “Last thing I need right now, pal.”
The truth was he felt like crap, too. Of course, heaving up dinner into the bathroom sink didn’t normally leave him feeling too spiffy. Coupled with the weird dream he’d had and the subsequent lack of sleep, it was no wonder the other guys in the department all gave him strange looks.
The last thing he wanted to do today was come to work.
No rest for the wicked, he thought with a wry grin.
He slid into the seat at his desk and turned on the computer. The machine beeped twice, warmed up and prompted him for his passwords. Curran typed them in. His phone rang.
“Curran.”
Kwon’s voice sounded hoarse. “It’s me.”
“You go out drinking last night after I dropped you off? You sound like you gargled sandpaper.”
“Sick, I think. Anyway, I just got the carbon-dating results on that button you found last night.”
“Already?”
“I got a lot of people in this town who owe me favors besides the likes of you, pal. I collected on one of them.”
Curran shifted some of the papers on his desk so he could take notes on what Kwon told him. “Guy know his stuff?”
“The lady actually, is a professor over at MIT, so yeah, offhand I’d say she’s pretty skilled at working the instrument.”
“And?” Curran glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. He wanted a cigarette.
“You’re going to love this: the button dates to between 32,000 and 28,000 years ago.”
Curran leaned forward. “How old?”
“You heard right. I couldn’t believe it, either. She ran the test three times to be sure.”
Curran sighed, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “I wasn’t even aware human bone could last that long.”
“Well, it does. And in this case, it’s been treated with something to help preserve it.”
“Did they have buttons back then?”
“That’s the other thing. This wasn’t meant to be a button per se.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it started out as a human bone. Then later, probably much later, someone decided to turn it into a button. The holes in it are much more recent.”
“Is there some type of law against this?”
“You’re asking me?” Kwon paused. “You’re the cop.”
“I’m thinking out loud is all,” said Curran.
“I can’t imagine it’d be okay if the bones were recent. But they’re not. You could make the argument that this is simply another fossil of sorts and the owner simply chose to make an adornment out of it.”
“But you don’t think
that’s the case.”
Kwon paused. “To me, it seems more like some kind of trophy. I know it sounds weird, but just holding this thing kinda freaks me out.”
“I don’t have it here and I’m already freaked.”
“You want me to drop it by?”
“You coming this way?”
“Sure. I got to drop a report over there anyway. See you in twenty.”
***
“It’s probably an antique of some sort.”
Curran fingered the bone button again as Kwon looked on. In the office light, it looked even stranger than it had last night when he’d picked it off the sidewalk. He turned it over. It had been worn smooth and dulled to a yellowish cream color. Still, there was a faint sheen. Almost as if someone had treated it. Just like Kwon had mentioned. Curran eyed him. “You think?”
“That old, it’s got to be. I can’t imagine too many people running around with something like that locked in a curio cabinet.”
“A curio – Kwon you amaze me sometimes with what comes out of your mouth.”
“What? I keep abreast of a lot of stuff.”
Especially if there were beautiful women involved, thought Curran. He looked at the button again. “Weird to think of this as having come from someone’s body.”
“Yeah.”
“Which bone was it, do you know?”
“I could take a guess, but it’d be just that. Offhand, I’d think it came from the pelvis, given the fact it’s almost an inch and a half across.”
“Great, now I feel like I’m fondling someone’s privates.”
Kwon grinned. “You think this is a clue to the identity of the Soul Eater?”
Curran glanced around. No one had heard kwon. Good. “Keep your voice down, pal. I don’t people in here thinking I’m off on some weird witch hunt.”
“Sorry.”
Curran looked at the four holes in the bone where there’d been thread presumably holding it to fabric. A coat? Maybe. “I’ve got nothing else to go on. I could plant myself on Lauren for twenty-four hours a day and see if that guy shows up, but I don’t think he would with me watching her.”
“Where is she now?”
“Stashed away at a friend’s house.” Curran grinned remembering the previous night and how he’d felt hearing her phone a guy only to find out he was a priest. “I doubt her stalker will find her.”
