Dead On Arrival (A Malia Fern Mystery)

by Kym Roberts

“Breathe,” he said in my ear. That time, I knew he spoke out loud.

  I filled my lungs with air and then exhaled slowly. Pai groaned and unwrapped me. I didn’t want to think or feel what that meant. I stood on my own two feet while he created distance between us. The silence stretched. We each paced off the excess energy threatening to implode our minds. He was purposely blanking his mind of any thoughts. I knew it, without knowing it. Yet I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to continue to keep me out of his head.

  “How many women have you…?” What was I going to say? Fucked because of addiction? He stopped in mid-stride, turned with both eyebrows lifted, waiting for me to complete my sentence. My thoughts. “…felt this with?”

  His hand rose to the back of his neck, like the muscles were suddenly so tight he could no longer move before he massaged out the kinks.

  “I’ve had glimpses of it my entire life. The part about hearing someone else’s thoughts. I didn’t feel their emotions or any… any of the other stuff until about a year and a half ago. The first woman I felt this with…I was blown away. I thought she was my soul mate. How else could I have such a powerful connection?”

  I knew what he meant. I thought of the image I’d had of us having kids. His rueful smile tore at my heart. He knew what I was thinking. I knew he was watching the vision slide down the drain. Suddenly, I didn’t know if it was my disappointment or his I was feeling. Maybe it was both.

  He cleared his throat. The smile was gone. “She was my fiancée.” He paused before dropping the bomb, “The woman Maiko slept with.”

  It was my turn to react, “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah.” He crossed his arms across his chest, restraining himself from touching me. “We didn’t separate because of my business. I left her because the feelings became so intense, I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in her emotions and desires. Coupled with my own, it was overwhelming. I was so desperate I couldn’t function. Finally, I sought help. I turned to the only person I knew who could help me. My grandmother.”

  I waited for him to explain, hopeful there was a cure, but there wasn’t.

  “She sees things you wouldn’t believe. Things that would scare the ever-living shit out of you. It did me. Her power is beyond the human realm. Luckily for me, she was able to teach me how to control the influx of emotions and the thoughts I got… from women like you.”

  Did he honestly say ‘women like me’? I wasn’t alone. I was in a category of women. A group of freaky, fucked-up women.

  “You’re not a freak, Malia, nor are you fucked up. You’re a very special woman in a group of women I can communicate with telepathically. You’re a Guardian of the Menehune.”

  I stopped breathing. “Wait…what?”

  “We’ve been chosen to protect the Menehune—”

  I held up my hand, stopping him from going a direction I wasn’t even ready to consider. “How many women?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how many women he had mind sex with either, but it was somehow the lesser of two ridiculous scenarios. And I purposely blocked out any of his thoughts. I didn’t want the truth. If he chose to lie, I’d accept it whole heartily.

  He didn’t lie.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to remember all the girls throughout my childhood, throughout school. I just don’t know. At the time, it was random thoughts. You’re the second since my ex-fiancée and like her, it’s no longer random thoughts I hear and feel. It’s more. Much more.”

  I didn’t really want the answer to the next question, but I had to ask. “How much do you experience…with these women?”

  “Thoughts. Emotions. ...sexual desires.”

  Panic welled up inside me. “With all of them?”

  Every one of them.

  Whoa, no way. He did not just tell me I was part of a fucking harem.

  Once again, I felt my stomach grasp his emotions and hold on tight. This time it laughed, uncontrollably. He was amused.

  I was not. I cleared my mind. At least I think I did. He was not going to translate my next thought. I sensed Pai pulling in the reins, toning down his own response, because of me. For me. He didn’t laugh out loud. The dimple I found so incredibly sexy, hid.

  My hands went to my hips. “How exactly does you having mind sex with a bunch of women relate to protecting the Menehune?”

  His eyes twinkled with humor, but he kept the topic serious. “I don’t know how it all works. The Menehune have not needed protection for over a century, but for some reason our Guardian powers are awakening inside of us.”

  “How come I don’t feel anything with Peter? Isn’t it the same thing?”

  His head cocked to the side. “I would suspect it’s because he’s communicating through worlds, or because he’s in love with his wife. I don’t really know.”

  “So it’s only sexual if you’re not in love with someone else?” It made sense to me. Like an unwritten rule of monogamy governed by the gods.

  “I hadn’t really thought about it that way, but if you’re wondering if I’ve been with all of them, I haven’t. After my kapuna wahine taught me about the endowment, I have refrained from the indulgence. Until you.”

  I disregarded the flare of his nostrils, the scent of his arousal, the pulsing of his blood in his nether region. (Did I really smell his arousal and just think ‘nether regions’?)

  “What about guys? Did you ever experience this with a man?”

  “I don’t swing that way.” He was laughing at me, again. His face didn’t show it. His soul did. Over the obvious signs of his sexual prowess. I was starting to experience all of his feelings, and I didn’t find it the least bit funny. More like…exhaustingly stimulating.

  All of a sudden, it was gone. All of it. He turned it all off. I don’t know how, but it was gone, like it never existed. Never awakened in me. Leaving behind fatigue. Exhilaration. Swaying on my feet with clarity of vision. Drained of every last ounce of energy, I was ecstatic. I felt alone. Free. A dichotomy of sensations flowed through my body.

  “We should go. This isn’t really a conversation to have here. Let me put your scooter in the back of the jeep and we’ll go back to your place.” “NO!” Okay, that was probably a bit of overkill. I wasn’t sure if my reaction was from him wanting to put my scooter in the back of his jeep, or from his earlier intentions of running his tongue down my body. I needed to ride. I needed to feel the wind in my hair. I needed freedom.

  He didn’t stop me.

  I turned and straddled the scooter without meeting his gaze. He may have turned off his thoughts for me, but I was sure he was still reading my body. He handed me my helmet without saying a word, and I didn’t want one. I put it on, started my bike and rode off. No more two-way communication between us. It was the road…and me.

  With Pai in my side mirror. Watching me drive away.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I rode the orange beast until my arms and legs were numb from the vibration of the tires bouncing on the road. My thoughts frozen. My heart deadened. I returned home not wanting to see anyone, or think about mind sex, or the implications of being a Guardian or anything else. The pillow on my bed was my only goal. I tripped as I pulled my leg over the side of the scooter and tweaked my cankle once more. Too tired to care, I righted myself and dragged my battered body up the wooden stairs to my apartment. I unlocked the door to my apartment already half asleep.

  “Malia! Wait!”

  I turned to find the man I’d been looking for had somehow found me. Mutt scampered up the steps radiating the stench of his namesake despite the oversized, long sleeve button-down covering his t-shirt. As much as I wanted to talk to him, I didn’t want it to happen in my home. Given no choice, I stepped inside and allowed him entry.

  “How did you find where I lived?” I asked with more than a little bit of suspicion in my voice.

  “I didn’t. I heard you were looking for me and I came by Private Kaua‘EYES’, but it was closed. I started to leave, and then I saw you getting off your s
cooter. What happened to your car?” Mutt made his way inside and plopped down on my sofa bed.

  (Ewww, I’d probably have to fumigate it.)

  Apparently, he hadn’t been trained to wait for an invitation to sit on someone’s furniture.

  “It’s a long story. How’d you get here?” There hadn’t been any cars in front of the business, nor were there any in the rear parking lot.

  “I’m parked down the street at Joe Brah’s. I figured if you weren’t here I’d go in and get a beer. You got any beer?”

  I left the door to my apartment unlocked, making sure Mutt knew he wasn’t staying too long, and plopped my purse on the counter.

  “What’s that on your board?” Mutt asked.

  I glanced at the board. That sinking feeling of a secret disclosed to the very person I didn’t want to know, hollowed my gut, and allowed fear to creep in where I didn’t want it to be. In my best act of casual cleaning, I swiped the board twice with the dry eraser, praying I was still one step ahead.

  “Oh, that’s just our family tree, we were trying to work out the other day.” It sounded lame to my own ears and the only way I could think to cover it was to push through and pretend fear wasn’t filling every inch of my body. I did what every safety class tells you not to do, I turned my back on him, opened the fridge to get a couple beers, and hoped my act of complete comfort would disguise his checkmate. Then prayed for some magical, mystical Guardian super-power to get me the hell out of this situation.

  My body tensed. My failure imminent, Peter yelled in my head, “Look out!”

  But I was too slow. Pain radiated through my core from the base of my skull down to my toes. I wobbled with two beer bottles in my hands. One crashed to the floor as I staggered sideways, trying to catch myself.

  Darkness hazed the edges of my vision and confusion latched onto my mind. An arm raised high above my head, and then began to descend upon me. With the reflexes of a turtle, I attempted to block the blow unsuccessfully, and dropped to my knees, the second bottle crashed to the floor and echoed far away in my brain. This time, the pain took away my vision, but cleared my uncertainty.

  A sneaky, dirty junkyard dog was attacking me. My only chance of survival was to play possum. I slumped to the floor, my chest and stomach pressing against the broken beer bottles I’d been about to offer my attacker. I knew I was bleeding, but I forced myself to lie still, waiting for the mangy mutt to make his next move. I was ready, a shard of glass tucked in one hand, the other ready to grab whatever weapon he had.

  My pulse pounded at the two wounds on my head. Warm blood trickled into my hair. Instinct made me want to raise my hand to the injuries, but I refocused on my attack.

  My hair became his handle as my head snapped back. Pain shot through my scalp and I caught a glimpse of a blade coming toward my neck. Fear dumped strength and adrenaline behind my defense.

  I slashed out at his wrist with the broken glass. The knife fell from his hand and blood splattered the front of me, but that didn’t stop my onslaught. I followed through with my right elbow in a backward motion towards his face. (I hoped.) Through the fog in my head, I heard Mutt howl as I made contact with his mouth. Teeth sliced at my elbow and he staggered backward, tripping over my coffee table. Mutt crashed to the floor, and I scrambled for his knife.

  Trying to get up while holding his hand over the wound on his wrist, Mutt rolled to his side for leverage. Like a cat ready to take on a vicious mongrel, I attached myself to his back and shoved him, face first into the floor. Returning the favor, I grabbed a fistful of his matted hair, raised his head and smashed his face into the wooden floor planks. I didn’t feel his nose break. Didn’t feel the pop of the cartilage and bone. Didn’t feel remorse when blood pooled on the floor below him.

  I pushed up off of his back, my blood and his mixing all over the place and left him there, moaning. Stepping away, I held the blade of his large k-bar knife in his direction, the point ready to stab the ever-living shit out of him if he even tried to attack me again. My breathing labored, I leaned against the wall for support and noticed some of my hair sticking out of the handle of his knife. If he had chosen to stab me first, instead of hitting, I’d be dead. As it was, my head pounded so hard it felt like it might fall off with each quake.

  Mutt finally rolled over, holding his mangled wrist, blood seeping through his fingers. He sat up with his eyes closed and leaned back on my sofa bed. Blood flowed from his nose and mouth. It covered my floor, my smashed coffee table, the glass glistening in the red sticky substance. I needed a new place to sleep.

  “I nee…an…ambooance,” Mutt said weakly.

  “You tried to kill me, you son of a bitch! You don’t need anything!” I couldn’t let go of my anger. If it was gone, I might collapse from exhaustion and pain. My hands, already shaking with fatigue, begged to drop to my sides. My legs would be next.

  “Pwease…” his voice was weak but I still wasn’t buying it. It could be a trick. I staggered back to the kitchen, and grabbed two towels from the drawer, one for my head and one for his wrist. Throwing the towel in his direction, it hit him in the face. Mutt winced with the contact, but took the towel and wrapped it around his wrist.

  “If you want to live, you might want to wrap that tightly. Why were you trying to kill me?” I demanded more than asked.

  Mutt started to pull himself up on my sofa, then saw the slow, deadly shake of my head. No way was he getting comfortable in my house. My couch was ruined, but I didn’t care. He’d die before he got cozy.

  Mutt’s response would have been unintelligible to the average person. For someone who’d been communicating with the dead, it was somewhat understandable and I couldn’t help the involuntary lift of my upper lip. The taste of scum never went over well with me. I was pretty sure he’d just told me his boss told him to kill me.

  “Who’s your boss?” It wasn’t a question. A question was posed when you didn’t know the answer. I knew the answer. I just needed him to confirm it.

  “Raineth.”

  There it was. The slimeball I’d never met had sent Mutt to kill me, but how did he know about me?

  The shadow in the garden outside Misty’s condo flashed through my mind. It hadn’t been my imagination.

  It had been Mutt. He had been watching the Johnsons. He’d seen me approach. Knew I did errands for Private Kaua‘EYES’ and had reported me to a killer.

  “What were you doing outside Misty Johnson’s apartment?” I accused.

  “Nuthin,” he lied.

  “Did you kill Peter Johnson?”

  For the first time, Mutt looked shocked, innocent. His head snapped up at attention. His denial spurted from his lips, “No, I thidn’t thew it!” Juicy and garbled, his voice was laced with a nasal hum it suddenly adopted when I broke his nose and blood flowed down his throat. “I thwear I thithn’t keel anyone! M-thee keeled ‘im.”

  He didn’t have to swear, I knew he didn’t. I understood his denial, but I didn’t understand who he said killed Peter Johnson.

  “Who?”

  “M-thee. M-thee keeled ‘im.”

  “Who’s M-thee?”

  My patience with his inability to communicate was wearing thin. I didn’t care that I was the source of his dysfunctional voice. All I cared about was getting answers. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to say the name any better a fourth time, Mutt made a hand gesture for a pen. I grabbed a pad of paper and pen from my counter and tossed it in his lap.

  Mutt took pen to paper, and with the skill of a three year old, wrote on the pad with his left hand. Turning the pad on his lap, he held it up for me to read.

  In between drops of blood, “MD” was written on the page.

  “A doctor killed him?”

  He shook his head, almost as emphatically as he had when I asked if he killed Mr. Johnson.

  “No. That’th what Winthy thalled im.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Mutt’s speech was becoming more and more difficult to u
nderstand, but I knew he was telling me the name of the woman behind the man. I understood her name. Very well, in fact. Windy.

  What role did she play in all of this? That was something I’d have to figure out later. For now, I needed to call the police.

  Without saying a word to Mutt, I crossed over to my purse and pulled out my phone. Makaio answered on the third ring.

  “Aloha, I was afraid I’d never hear from you again.” His deep sexy voice unwound my tightly controlled emotions.

  Ignoring the pull, I blurted out, “I’ve been assaulted and the suspect is in my apartment.”

  “What?! Malia, hang up and call 911.”

  At the same time, Makaio was instructing me to call the police, Mutt was begging me not to.

  “Pleath thon’t call the Poleeth.”

  I ignored both their pleas with a roll of my eyes, relieved to be in the driver’s seat again.

  “The suspect is Mutt, and he witnessed Peter Johnson’s murder.”

  Makaio’s voice turned away from the phone. “Pearl, call 911. Tell the police to go to Private Kaua‘EYE’s Investigations in Koloa Town. There’s a burglar in…”

  “Don’t tell her where I live!” It was too late.

  “…Malia’s apartment above the office.”

  “Dammit Makaio! That woman is more of a threat to me than Mutt is any day.”

  “I think I rethenth thath.”

  “I don’t care what you resent, Mutt. Sit there and shut up.” I guess I sounded like I was in control. I didn’t feel like I was in control, but Makaio and Mutt both shut up, so I guess I was.

  “Makaio, Mutt and I will wait patiently for you to get here.”

  Mutt glanced at the door and muttered something about not messing with me or I’d break Makaio’s nose as well.

  “You’re damn right I’ll break his nose, and I’ll break your nose a second time if you don’t keep your mouth shut.” I ran my hand through my gooey hair in frustration and winced.

  Damn that hurt.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Grab your baseball bat just in case.”

  The line went dead. How did he know about my baseball bat? Then I remembered the rather unforgettable orgasm I’d had while lying on top of Makaio’s chest. On my uncomfortable sofa bed, where my baseball bat protruded into the room from underneath.