“How should I introduce ya’?” Ben asked, unlatching his door. “I doubt if they’ll go for Good Witch of the East.”
“How about, Alternative Religion Specialist,” I replied.
“Sounds good ta’ me.”
A distant streak of lightning followed by a sharp crack and low rumble of thunder alerted us to the ever-increasing violence of the storm as we stepped out into the downpour. We walked across the parking area, past the flapping yellow tape that cordoned off the crime scene. I was concerned that important evidence might be washed away, but my fears were soon allayed when I noticed the core of the activity involved the cinder block building that housed a set of the park’s restrooms.
“Ben Storm,” my friend told another detective, displaying his badge as we approached him. “City Homicide Unit. I’m assigned to the MCS.”
“Carl. Carl Deckert. County Police.” The thickset, greying detective reached out and shook Ben’s hand. “You the one investigating that Tanner homicide?”
“That’s me,” Ben answered.
“This your partner?” he queried, reaching out to shake my hand.
“Rowan Gant,” I told him, returning the gesture.
“He’s a specialist on alternative religions,” Ben explained. “He’s consulting for us on the symbols left at the Tanner crime scene.”
Detective Deckert motioned to another officer who produced a partially sodden clipboard. Ben scrawled a signature on the damp paperwork and then indicated a spot for me to sign and record the time.
“Well,” our stocky escort said as the three of us began walking toward the entrance to the restroom. “You’ve got plenty to consult about. Looks like a freakin’ Satanic graffiti party in there.”
“Have you ID’d the victim?” Ben questioned.
“Found a purse,” Deckert continued. “Driver’s license matches up to a Karen Barnes. Twenty-eight years old…”
A bright flash exploded in my eyes, momentarily blinding me. At first I thought a streak of lightning had hit nearby, but the telltale clap of thunder was never forthcoming. Instead I heard shouting, expletives, and what sounded to be a scuffle.
“What the…” Ben exclaimed.
“Shit!” Detective Deckert shouted. “How the hell did he get in here?!”
My vision began returning to normal, and what had sounded like a scuffle was revealed to be just that. Two uniformed officers were on either side of a struggling young man holding a camera affixed with a powerful flash unit.
“Get him outta here!” Deckert ordered the two officers. “And tighten up the perimeter!” he shouted after them as they dragged the photographer away. “Sorry about that. Freakin’ media. Every damn one of ‘em’s got a police scanner. Sometimes they get to the scene before we do.”
“You were sayin’?” Ben prodded.
“Oh, yeah,” he continued. “Karen Barnes, twenty-eight years old. Lives about three blocks from here. Looks like she was out walking her dog. The son-of-a-bitch killed it too.”
“Family been notified?” Ben asked.
“Got a car waiting for the husband. Neighbor said he was out of town on business. She was expecting him back tonight.”
“Any kids?”
“No. Just her and the spouse.”
“Well at least there’s that.”
We had paused at the entrance of the women’s restroom on the side of the cinder block structure. Evidence technicians were exiting, carrying bulky cases containing the tools of their trade.
“Being a public restroom, there are prints everywhere,” Deckert pointed out. “We didn’t find anything real fresh except for some smudges. Looks like he was wearing gloves.” He pulled a pair of packets from the pocket of his trench coat and handed one to each of us. “Speaking of which, you better put these on just to be safe.”
I took the offered surgical gloves and with some work, managed to pull them over my damp hands as we entered the building.
I caught my breath and nearly stumbled as waves of ethereal pain washed over me. I quickly fought to disconnect myself from the supernatural plane associated with the scene and ground myself here in this reality. A sharp pain, followed by a frigid, tingling sensation consumed my body, then slowly subsided as I mentally slammed on the brakes, preventing my otherworldly senses from continuing down the path that beckoned them.
“You okay?” Ben whispered in my ear, grabbing my arm to steady me. “You aren’t getting ready to flip out or do that channeling thing are you?”
“I’ll be all right,” I answered in a hushed tone. “I caught it before it happened.”
“Good. Just try not to go all Twilight Zone on me with the rest of these guys around here.”
A white sheet was arranged in the center of the room covering a section of the smooth, grey concrete floor. Beneath the shroud laid the lifeless body of another young woman. Patches of deep crimson diffused slowly through the sheet at various points where it contacted portions of the torso. A cloying odor, both sweet and musty, intermingled with the stench of the restroom, tingling my nostrils. The pungent scent was all too familiar.
“Sage and rose oil,” I stated aloud.
“Come again?” Detective Deckert asked.
“That smell,” I told him as he started taking notes. “It’s sage and rose oil. Probably a little charcoal mixed in to help it burn. Did you find a pile of ash anywhere?”
“In the sink over there.” He pointed. “That mean something?”
“He burned it to cleanse the room,” I replied. “Sage is often used in incense for purification. You’ll probably find salt in the North, South, East, and West positions of the room as well.”
I stepped past him and peered in the sink at the pile of grey cinders. The floor in the area was littered with broken glass, silvered on the back. The mirror above the washbasin had been shattered.
“Evidence unit took the larger pieces of the mirror with them,” he offered. “We don’t know if the killer broke it or if vandals did it earlier.”
“My guess would be that he did it,” I told them, turning and finding Ben taking notes. “Probably before he performed the ritual.”
“Why do ya’ think that is?” Ben asked.
“If he was trying to invoke something…” I caught myself, remembering that Detective Deckert was in the room. “You know, if he thought he was attempting to conjure up a spirit,” I explained. “Some legends have it that if a spirit witnesses its own reflection in a mirror, it will become mesmerized and therefore, trapped. I would guess he probably subscribes to that belief.”
“So the wacko busted the mirror,” Deckert’s gruff voice interjected. “So his little ghost buddy wouldn’t see himself?”
“It’s one possibility,” I replied carefully.
The wall opposite me was inscribed with a familiar-looking Pentacle. The symbol was drawn on the painted, cinder block wall, once again in blood and shaded with pastels. At the base of the wall, slags of hardened black and white wax were obvious remnants of extinguished candles. Nestled next to the solidified remains stood a simple wine glass, partially filled with coagulating red liquid. Between the symbol and the floor was once again lettered, All Is Forgiven.
“So,” Deckert was asking Ben. “You think it’s the same guy?”
“Oh yeah,” I said as Ben turned to me. “It’s the same guy all right. Only this time, he might not have been practicing.”
“Whaddaya mean ‘practicing’?” Deckert looked from Ben’s face to mine and back with a puzzled expression.
Ben explained. “We’ve got reason to believe that the ritual this guy is performin’ was never actually completed at the first scene. He was doin’ like a dress rehearsal or somethin’.”
“Holy shit!” the detective exclaimed. “This prick committed murder to rehearse a murder? Holy shit!”
“Tell me about it,” Ben chimed.
“Well, if he did what he set out to do, then he probably won’t kill any more, right?”
“I don’t know
for sure,” I answered as I squatted next to the covered corpse and examined the floor. “He might not be finished yet.”
“Finished doing what exactly?” Deckert questioned.
“Invoking whatever spirit he’s after. He’ll continue to perform the ritual until he has succeeded,” I explained. “Or, at least, perceives that he has.” I paused thoughtfully for a moment before speculating aloud, “He might kill again because maybe he wants to get caught.”
“What makes ya’ think that?” Ben asked.
“The Expiation spell.” I motioned at the wall behind them. “I originally thought that it was an aberration at the first scene. Possibly because whoever killed Ariel Tanner might have known her. But this…it might have been the real thing for him. The actual ritual played to its conclusion, yet, he’s still seeking atonement from himself. It doesn’t make sense to perform an atonement ritual at the site of a sacrificial ritual.
“You see an Expiation spell is a private thing, very much like going to confession. By performing it at the scene, essentially he exposes himself. He may be seeking atonement from society as well. In short, kind of a sick cry for help. So it leads me to believe that either he wants to get caught, or he’s not finished yet. Maybe even both.”
“Jesus,” Deckert said. “Where did you get all that from?”
“Trust me,” I heard Ben say. “You don’t wanna know.”
“Let’s just say I did a lot of research this afternoon,” I told him as I stood and walked over to the rune-covered wall. “Anyway, it’s just a theory.”
I pulled out the camera and fired up the flash unit. The thyristor began charging with a low hum and then grew quickly to a quiet whine. Status lights began glowing on the unit’s back, indicating its readiness.
“Crime Scene Unit already took pictures,” Deckert told me as I placed the PZ-1 to my eye and began tightly focusing on the Pentacle.
“I know,” I replied absently. “But I’d like to take some of my own if it’s okay.”
“Hey,” he answered. “Whatever makes you happy.”
“Who found the body?” Ben inquired.
“Local kid,” Deckert responded. “He was out walking his dog. Says when he walked it by here, it just went nuts. Broke away from him and ran in. Apparently, the door had been propped open.”
“Animals can sense death,” I stated aloud, still taking pictures of the scene before me. “He did the same thing with Ariel Tanner. The door was propped open. Could be he wanted the body found as soon as possible.”
“You sure you ain’t some kinda psychiatrist or something?” Deckert asked the back of my head.
“I’ve got a semester of college psych,” I told him as I turned. “But that doesn’t qualify me to practice the science, no.”
“Well,” he continued. “You sure sound like some kinda FBI shrink. It’s like you’re getting inside this asshole’s head or something.”
“Like I said, I’m just speculating,” I replied.
Detective Deckert didn’t realize how close to the truth he was with his last comment. My experiences channeling Ariel’s death and the blatant evidence left at both scenes were all acting as catalysts to pull me in. The more I saw, and the more I sensed, the more I feared what would be waiting around the next corner.
“What time do ya’ think the murder occurred?” Ben inquired.
“Based on the time the neighbor says she left for her walk,” Deckert started, “and the time the kid found her, we’re estimating somewhere between five-thirty and eight P.M.”
“Between five-thirty and eight,” Ben repeated, looking at me from the corner of his eye.
I knew what the glance implied. He had been suspicious of R.J. from the beginning, and I had to admit, his actions this evening coupled with his late arrival at the meeting hadn’t helped. Salinger and Dickens voicing their feline distaste had even compelled me to wonder about what the young man was hiding.
“We might be able to pin it down a bit closer,” Deckert intoned, “once your M.E. gets here.”
“She’s here.”
A voice came from the doorway, and the three of us turned to face a bleary-eyed woman clad in faded denim. Dr. Christine Sanders pushed back the hood of her rain-soaked jacket and hefted a thick aluminum case from one hand to the other.
“Detectives.” She nodded to them as she entered the room. “I thought I told you to get some rest, Mister Gant.”
“And I thought this was your day off,” I replied with a slight smile.
“Me too,” she returned. “But that was before the captain of the Major Case Squad called me at the request of Detective Storm.”
“You’re familiar with the Tanner case,” Ben stated matter-of-factly.
“Officially, I’m only here as a consultant,” she informed him. “This is out of the city jurisdiction. You’re just lucky the county coroner and I have an understanding.”
“I know, Doc. I just want the best on this.”
“Save the flattery for your wife, Storm,” she told him with a weak grin. “You’re still going to owe me big.”
By now, Dr. Sanders was kneeling next to the body of the young woman and had thrown back the sheet that had been covering it. The injuries appeared very similar to those of Ariel Tanner. The skin had been peeled away from what I could see of the woman’s chest, leaving behind raw, exposed muscle. Her eyes stared off blankly, and her face wore a grimace of excruciating pain and horror. Her arms were twisted behind her body, and though I couldn’t see them, I was sure they were bound.
A departure from the similarity with Ariel’s torture was the fact that Karen Barnes’ mouth was covered with a wide strip of duct tape. It had been wrapped tightly around her head to keep it from coming loose. Her ankles were also secured in the same fashion, and the tape wrapped around the post of a stall to keep her legs in place.
“I’ll have to do a swab,” Dr. Sanders was telling us. “But if he’s establishing a pattern, I doubt if she was raped. The Tanner woman wasn’t.”
“He didn’t rape her,” I said. “That would have soiled her. He wouldn’t defile his sacrifice.”
I moved around to get a better view of the body and was about to expand upon my statement when the angle that had been blocked by the doctor’s kneeling form came into my line of sight. Directly beneath Karen Barnes’ rib cage, a deep, ragged incision stretched horizontally across her flayed torso. The uneven gash puckered open like a bloody, toothless smile, exposing lacerated internal organs. Instantly I turned away and bolted for a stall, bile rising in my throat.
A few moments later, I heard Deckert asking from behind me, “Are you gonna be all right?”
I had just finished expelling the contents of my stomach into the toilet I was kneeling before. I spat and wiped my face then stood and flushed.
“Yeah,” I answered weakly. “Sorry about that. I’m not as used to this stuff as you guys.”
“Used to it, hell,” he answered. “I came close to doing the same goddamned thing earlier.”
I walked out of the stall, and Deckert patted me on the shoulder as I passed him. Dr. Sanders was cutting the body loose from the metal post, and the County Coroner had come in and was preparing a body bag. Ben was facing away from the morbid activity looking very green.
“Her heart has been removed. Can anyone here tell me if it was found?” Dr. Sanders asked as she and her peer rolled the body and slid the open, rubberized bag beneath it, then let it gently back down.
“You won’t,” I told them, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “He took it with him.”
“What, like a souvenir or somethin’?” Ben asked.
“No,” I replied. “As part of the ritual.”
The violent bout of vomiting had shocked my system and broken my concentration, effectively weakening my defenses against otherworldly interference. Dizziness swarmed over me as the room began to spin. I was losing control. My ears filled with a rushing sound, and color melted liquidly from the images bef
ore me. I fell backwards down a dark tunnel, speeding inexorably away from an ever-diminishing point of light. When I at last jerked to an abrupt halt, I was floating above the room, looking down upon the recent past.
A hooded, cloaked figure.
A pretty, vital young woman bound nude on the floor.
A dirk. I know that dirk. It belonged to Ariel.
She wants to struggle but she can’t. I can feel her trying to scream, but he’s taped her mouth. Her head hurts. She remembers someone attacked her from behind.
What are you doing? Get away from me with that knife!
I can feel the silent scream, the searing pain as the knife bites into flesh, peeling back the skin.
“Stop it you bastard,” I say to myself, struggling to break the connection.
“ I’m sorry,” he says to her.
Why is this happening? Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come…NO!
I see him press the knife, Ariel’s athame, into her solar plexus and draw it across carefully, making the ragged cut.
The pain is unbearable, indescribable.
He slowly removes a surgical glove.
He thrusts his hand into the incision. With a twisting motion, he wrenches it back out.
Still quivering.
Dripping.
Karen Barnes heart lay in his hand.
“Rowan,” Ben’s voice echoed in my ears. “Hey, Rowan.” He was nudging me. Colors flashed back into the scene and kaleidoscoped wildly before finally settling to their proper shades and places.
“Yeah,” I half whispered. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You kinda spaced on us there,” he told me.
“Just a second.” A sudden realization hammered down upon me. “Dr. Sanders, don’t you do something with Superglue and a black light to find fingerprints on skin?”
“Cyanoacrylate fuming,” she corrected. “And it’s a bit more than just a black light. But it really depends on the circumstances. Sometimes we use Ninhydrin. Fingerprints on skin are very short lived. Perspiration and other natural secretions destroy them rather quickly. Why?”
“He took off his glove before he removed her heart.”
“How can you know that?” Detective Deckert asked me.
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