Lucky let out his breath on a gust and sat down on the cot, his gun still in his hand. “I guess not. After all, Nathan didn’t know this guy was here.” Lucky glared at Quinn.
“You didn’t tell him?” Max asked.
“Dad’s been pretty high-strung since Detective Quinn’s last visit,” said John. “We figured he didn’t need more stress in the middle of Joe Ning’s wake, so we agreed not to tell him Quinn was here again.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Quinn asked. “And what is ‘this,’ anyhow?”
“You don’t know?” I asked, squinting up at him.
Instead of answering, he asked me, “Does Lopez know what you’re doing?”
“Even I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“No wonder he doesn’t want to talk about you.”
“Can we leave him out of this?”
My phone rang shrilly, startling us all. I jumped and gave a little shriek. Then I fumbled in my coat pocket and found the cell. My hands were shaking so hard I dropped the thing before managing to answer it.
My caller was Nolan. “What do you want?” I asked, having no desire to talk to him.
“You wanted to know where Quinn was, right?”
I watched Max examine Quinn’s hands, which were bleeding where he had cut himself.
“Oh.” I said, “I found him.”
It appeared that the shock of Grace Chu’s reanimation had made Quinn forget that we had been holding him hostage before the corpse walked. But I had a feeling he’d remember any moment now.
After a long pause, Nolan said, “Aren’t you even going to ask how things panned out with Danny Teng?”
“Who?” I realized I was sitting within two feet of the body, and this bothered me. But not enough to work up the energy to move.
“The guy you warned me is a killer too dangerous for me to follow,” Nolan prodded. “Remember now, Esther?”
“Oh. Right.” I couldn’t work up any interest in Danny now. I sat staring at the corpse of the tiny, elderly lady—and remembered the way this same petite body had thrown Nelli aside as easily if she were an apple core.
Man, that thing was strong.
How were we going to defeat something that strong?
John asked Lucky to help him take Grace back across the hall. Max was suggesting to Quinn that he should sit down and listen for a few minutes. Quinn continued hotly demanding explanations.
“I think this guy’s all hot air,” said Nolan.
Still petting Nelli’s head, I watched Lucky slip his gun into his ankle holster, then help John lift the corpse. She looked so fragile now.
I shivered.
Nolan continued, “He didn’t go looking for a murderer or meet any sources.”
“No?” As if I cared.
“Nah, he just went to a bar, had a few drinks by himself, then picked up a hooker—well, she looked like a hooker, anyhow—and went home.”
So Danny Teng was full of hot air and making empty boasts at the funeral. Big surprise.
“Still, I got a strong whiff of underbelly by following him around for a while,” Nolan said, looking on the bright side. “So are you still at the funeral home? Anything interesting happening there?”
“I’m still here,” I said, watching a Gambello hitter come back into this little room to confer with a 350-year-old mage about the reanimated corpse we had just confronted. “But it’s very quiet here. If I were you, I’d just go home and, uh, mentally process today’s research.”
“Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do,” he said. “Proper rest is as important as proper diet and exercise. Gotta maintain the balance.”
“Uh-huh.” I said goodnight and ended the call.
John came back into the room, too. “Is everyone okay?”
“No,” said Quinn.
“Esther?” John stretched out a hand to help me up.
“I don’t want to get up.” My legs didn’t feel ready to cope with walking yet. I just kept petting Nelli, who whined a little.
“Are you all right?” he asked me with concern.
“That was fast thinking,” I said to him. “The way you got rid of those people.”
“Naked,” Lucky grumbled. “He told them I was naked—alone back here where we keep dead bodies. What are those people gonna think?”
“Let it go,” I advised Lucky.
“I had a feeling about what I’d find back here,” said John. “I heard the barking and the shots—but when I tried to come back here, the door was . . . well, barricaded. It felt like someone had blocked it with a lead-lined safe or something, it was so hard to budge. A bunch of us were trying to push it open when it finally gave way—all of a sudden moving as easily as normal.”
Max nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“What do you mean, ‘of course’?” Shaking his head in exasperation, Quinn strode out of the room, brushing past John. “Out of my way. I want to see that body.”
We all remained where we were. Lucky and John had just handled the body, so they certainly didn’t need to look at it again. And I didn’t want to look at it.
“The entity blocked that door because it didn’t want an audience,” Max said.
“What did it want?” I felt cold all the way through when I recalled the way its arms had reached out for me a moment before Lucky shot it.
“I rather suspect it told us what it wanted,” Max replied. “When it spoke.”
“Life?” I said, hoping I was wrong. This was too eerie. “To live?”
“Precisely.”
“Not many things give me goose bumps,” said Lucky. “But that just did.”
“If it wants to live,” I said, scooting closer to Nelli in search of some body heat, “you’d think it would realize that the day-old corpse of a departed great-granny isn’t its best possible option.”
“Yes, it’s interesting, isn’t it?” Max said pensively.
“Interesting?” John repeated “I don’t think that’s the word I’d choose.”
But I saw where Max was going with this. “If it wants life, why has it twice reanimated dead bodies?”
“Twice that we know about,” said Lucky. “Might have been other times, too.”
“Indeed,” said Max. “Though based on Detective Quinn’s reaction this evening, he is unaware of other incidents.”
“Yeah,” Lucky agreed. “He don’t get it.”
“But why doesn’t it just possess Quinn?” I wondered. “He’s alive, after all, if that’s what it wants.”
“Why doesn’t what just possess me?” Quinn asked coldly from the doorway.
I looked up, not having realized he’d returned. “Oops.”
He looked at Max. “That body in there is dead.”
“Yes.”
“It’s been dead about a day.”
I said, “No wonder they made you a detective.”
“Shut up,” he said.
John bristled. “Don’t talk to Esther like that.”
“So how did you do it?” Quinn demanded. “And why?”
“We didn’t do it,” Lucky said tersely. “You did.”
“You assaulted a police officer today.” Quinn gave him a hard stare. “Held me hostage.”
“You assaulted him?” John groaned.
“Yeah, because I didn’t want him doing this.” Lucky’s gesture encompassed the scene we’d just been through.
“And look how well that worked out,” I said.
“You sound like you feel better now,” Lucky noted.
“Binding and gagging a cop.” I shook my head.
Quinn added, “All so you could stage this weird . . . thing for my benefit. I want to know why.”
“They really breed cops dumb, don’t they?” said Lucky.
Quinn shot
back, “Not as dumb as they breed wiseguys who think they can get away with—”
“Everyone, please!” Max held up his hands for a moment, urging silence.
John and I exchanged a glance. Lucky scowled and folded his arms across his chest. Quinn glared at all of us.
Max folded his hands and looked at the cop with a very serious expression. “Detective Quinn, I believe . . . no, I am quite convinced that you are being oppressed.”
“Oppressed?” Quinn looked puzzled. “As in, being denied my human rights?”
“No, oppressed by a demonic entity.”
“Oh, come on. You can do better than th—”
“Oppression precedes possession, though possession does not always follow,” said Max. “Oppression is the stage when the demon interferes with your daily life, isolating you, actively stimulating your negative emotions, and wearing you down.”
“And then what?” Quinn’s tone was dismissive. “I’ll be possessed?”
“In this case, I don’t think so. I believe that you are the entity’s tool rather than its prize.”
“Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.”
Max did not let Quinn’s flippant attitude distract him. “Am I correct in assuming that you have never been involved in any so-called occult practices?”
“Correct, and I’m not interested. So let’s just—”
“Have you ever participated in a séance? Used a Ouija board? Attempted to conjure a spirit?”
“No, I live in the adult world,” Quinn said impatiently.
“You have never invited a dark power into your life?”
“Not if we don’t count my first wife.”
Max ignored that. “Then it is as I thought. The Law of Invitation does not apply here, but rather the Law of Attraction.” He explained to the rest of us, “Those are the two typical paths a demon follows to invade someone’s life as this one has invaded Detective Quinn’s.”
“Oh, for the—”
“He didn’t invite this entity into his life,” I said, catching on, “which goes a long way toward explaining why he’s unaware of its presence.”
“Correct. The entity was drawn to him, but not because he sought or summoned it.” Max spoke directly to Quinn again as he continued, “I believe the infestation is relatively recent. It may have been a factor in the demise of your second marriage, but I think it more likely that it attached to you soon thereafter, attracted by your despair, disappointment, and sense of failure.”
“How do you know about my marr . . .” Quinn drew in a sharp breath and looked at me. “You scheming bitch.”
“That’s enough,” John said sharply to him. “You’ve got no business talking to Esther that way.”
“You planted that actor with us to spy on me,” Quinn said in appalled amazement. “And here I thought you were trying to keep tabs on Lopez.”
“This entity has an affinity with dead bodies,” Max said, soldiering on. “Particularly with the recently deceased. That is probably how it first encountered you.”
“No, I’ve never been recently deceased,” Quinn assured him.
“I assume it followed you home from the scene of a homicide or similar deadly incident.”
“Followed me home? Is this thing a demonic puppy or something?”
“I gather you have investigated many homicides?”
“My fair share.”
“Within the past year, many things have gone wrong in your life,” said Max. “Haven’t they?”
Quinn glared at me again.
“You’ve struggled with depression and anxiety. Your health has declined, yet no diagnosis explains it. You experience sharp, random pains, nausea, and severe headaches. You’ve been suffering for some time from disturbing nightmares, which has in turn led to bouts of insomnia.”
Now Quinn looked sharply at Max. I sensed he had not told anyone about the nightmares.
I wondered how Max knew—then realized he must be reciting a list of classic symptoms. He had previously noted more than once, after all, that Quinn’s situation exhibited various typical features.
Max continued, “Mechanical devices keep malfunctioning and electronic equipment keeps failing. You may be receiving phone calls regularly in which you can hear only static—particularly in the middle of the night. Things in your apartment keep disappearing and then reappearing, turning up in places you know you did not leave them. Your personal belongings are being inexplicably damaged or destroyed, particularly things to which you have an emotional attachment.”
By now, Quinn was looking at Max as if he has just risen from the dead.
“On numerous occasions when you’re alone, you feel you’re being watched. You may hear sounds inside your apartment that you can’t account for—footsteps, breathing, doors opening and closing.”
Quinn’s mouth was hanging open. “How do you know all this? I haven’t told anyone about . . . about . . .”
“You’ve had problems at work, too,” Max surmised. “Given the nature of your job, I imagine you’re increasingly worried you’ll make a mistake that will lead to harm.”
After a long, tense moment, Quinn started to speak, appeared to change his mind, and then finally said, “You’re very intuitive. Maybe you’re one of those people who can read facial expressions and accurately interpret the movements of the three hundred different muscles around the mouth—like a great criminal profiler.” He snorted a little and added, “Or a rich psychic.”
Beside me, I felt Nelli’s body go tense.
“Max is trying to help you, Quinn.” I stretched my hand up to John, who took it and helped me rise to my feet.
Nelli started growling.
“This hideous thing that jumped into a little old lady’s body and attacked us a little while ago?” I said. “It came here with you.”
“Oh, yeah?” he replied. “Well, it’s damn sure not leaving with me.”
A foul odor crept into the room. I wanted to gag. John noticed it, too—he put a hand over his nose and mouth.
The entity had regrouped and was returning. Without a body, this time.
Nelli rose to her feet, legs stiff, eyes darting, as her growling got louder.
“Actually,” said Max, looking around the room, aware of what was happening, “it does intend to leave with you. And without your cooperation, Detective Quinn, I cannot prevent that.”
“Speaking of leaving, it looks like your mad dog is about to go off her rocker again.” Quinn eyed Nelli. “So I think I’ll be—Agh!”
He suddenly staggered backward as if he’d been hit. Then he doubled over in obvious pain, one hand on his belly, the other on his head.
“Ow. Ow. Ow.” His face was contorted in a terrible grimace, and he was breathing hard. “God.”
I inhaled. The odor was gone.
Nelli was staring intently at Quinn, and her growling was turning into a snarl.
I picked up her leash and said in alarm, “Lucky! I need help!”
Lucky stepped forward and seized hold of the dog’s collar.
Quinn was taking deep, shaky breaths. After a moment, he said in a strangled voice, “I think I’m going to vomit.”
“I’ll get a bucket,” said John, leaving the room in search of one.
Nelli made a little lunge toward Quinn, but Lucky held her back. Her eyes were fierce and glaring now, and her teeth were exposed in a snarl.
“The entity has attached to you again,” Max said to Quinn. “That is what you’re feeling. It’s what Nelli is sensing.”
“What a stupid name,” Quinn grumbled, obviously struggling to overcome physical pain for which there was no physiological cause. “I don’t want to be killed by a dog named Nelli.”
“She doesn’t intend to kill you,” Max said. “She’s challenging the entity that has attached to you. She wants
to confront and battle it. That is her mission. Just as you have your mission, to serve and protect.”
Quinn lifted his head a little and squinted at Nelli. “No, I gotta disagree with you. She looks like she intends to kill me.”
John returned with a bucket. “Found it!”
Quinn took a few more deep breaths, then straightened up. “Thanks, but, uh . . . I’m not going to puke, after all. At least, I don’t think so.”
“I can help you, detective,” said Max. “If you’ll let me.”
“How? You got some good painkillers on you?”
“Exorcism,” said Max.
“What?” I blurted.
“What?” said Quinn.
I hadn’t realized that’s where this conversation was going, or that that would be the solution to this problem.
“I know where we can get a priest on short notice,” said Lucky.
“Oh, there’s a confidence-inspiring offer,” I said.
“What?” said Lucky.
“Exorcism?” I said in alarm. “Oh, Max, I saw the movie, and I really don’t think . . .”
“I really don’t think so, either,” said Quinn.
“You need help,” Max said to him. “You need to be free of this evil thing. So do those who come into contact with you.”
“All right, look, guys . . . Enough,” said Quinn. “You seem nice enough . . . Well, apart from Lucky, who’s a hitter for the mob, though we can’t make any charges stick.”
“I am just a businessman,” Lucky insisted, “pursuing my perfectly legitimate—”
“Not now,” I said to him.
“You seem sincere,” Quinn said to Max. “Very weird, but sincere. I think you probably believe what you’re saying. But, I don’t. And this is all getting way too strange and heavy for me. On top of which, you’ve got a badly named dog the size of a New England state who wants to rip out my throat so much, she’s drooling.”
“No, she drools all the time,” I assured him.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Quinn said suddenly.
Abracadaver (Esther Diamond Novel) Page 16
