Poison

by Jordyn Redwood

  Her mother clamped her quivering lips together.

  “I told you to be quiet!”

  Keelyn jumped, her gaze bounced back to John who wasn’t looking at her, but off to the side where no one stood.

  “You know I don’t want to. You shouldn’t have made me do that. She’s just a little girl.”

  Keelyn stepped into John’s line of sight and waved her hands at his blank gaze. “John!”

  He focused in on her. “He made me.”

  “Who?”

  “Lucent.” At that name, Keelyn’s knees weakened. John caressed his belly at the scar line of Lucent’s last insistence that he take his own life.

  “John, Lucent’s not real. Remember? Are you taking your medication?”

  He turned away from her, pumping his arms down on either side of his face. “I told you to shut up! I don’t want to do it. They’re my babies.”

  Keelyn backed up to where her mother sat on the couch and pulled her sweaty hand away from Carissa’s neck. There, a laceration down the side of her neck. “How did this happen?”

  Her mother moaned and cried more. Keelyn grabbed the child from her lap and cuddled her against her chest. Exhaling heavily, Carissa closed her eyes, her chest rose and fell against her and faint relief warmed Keelyn’s chilled skin.

  She began to back toward the stairs, glancing back every so often to make sure she didn’t trip over something. To her mother, “You need to get him to surrender.”

  Her mother shook her head against her words. “He won’t listen. Only to Lucent.”

  Voices penetrated the thin walls, but Keelyn couldn’t make out the words. John covered his ears with clenched fists, the knife still tight in one palm.

  Then he laid his head back like a werewolf howling at moonrise and the scream wrest from his soul rattled Keelyn’s skull. Carissa startled in her arms and began to cry. Keelyn had one heel on the stairs when he lunged at her, grabbing her arms, sending Carissa to the floor where she landed flat on her back, her eyes desperate to draw breath but nothing came from her gaped mouth.

  Keelyn tried to pull her arms free but John yanked her close, the stench from his fear-fueled delusion suffocated her. The child on the floor behind her began to wheeze as her lungs risked drawing air again. John now had Keelyn in an embrace, her arms trapped between them, and he drew his blade across her back.

  Warm fluid slid down. Then, slowly, as her surge of adrenaline began to wane, her nerves began to Morse code pain signals to her mind. He hummed a childlike lullaby in her ear. Carissa grabbed at Keelyn’s pajama bottoms and began to work her way up her leg to a standing position.

  “I always wanted to do that.”

  Above her, the floorboards creaked as the children wandered between rooms—trying to be quiet but failing miserably. There was the soft opening and closing of wood against wood. What were they doing? Why didn’t they stay where Keelyn told them to?

  John’s eyes drifted upstairs. Not his eyes, vacuoles of matted black evil that had snuffed out what little soul he had left. She clenched her eyes closed and held her breath. He pulled her in tighter.

  “Keelyn,” he sang. Easing her back, he grabbed her wrist and drew the blade down the length of her arm. It stunned her, how little it hurt—at first—and then how painful it became when the blood flowed over cut skin and dripped off her arm.

  She yanked back again. His hand tightened around her forearm. “Death or life. Which do you choose?” He settled the knife against her throat.

  Carissa was outright screaming behind her.

  Keelyn inhaled to sooth her rapid heartbeat. “John, let me take Carissa upstairs. I’ll watch the children. Keep them out of your way.”

  He slithered his fingers up the bloody trail of her arm until his hand clasped behind her neck and he pulled her face close to his, the knife slicing into her skin. With everything in her, she tried to pull back, the muscles of her neck taut against his fingers.

  His lips mere inches from hers, he seethed. “I want them all down here.”

  “Mr. Samuals. John Samuals! My name is Nathan Long, and I work for the FBI.”

  A sudden tap at the window caused her heart to leap. At first glance, Lucent peered through the glass. She blinked rapidly, and Lee’s dimpled smile replaced the malicious leer.

  How odd she would see a resemblance between the two.

  Lee eased her door open and drew her out of the car then pulled her close to his chest. She collapsed into him, desperately willing her head to stop spinning. “Take a deep breath, babe.” His whisper soothed and settled her. Taking a stuttering breath, Keelyn slid her arms around his neck. She closed her eyes and was reassured by the sound of his steady heartbeat.

  Ariana was twelve the day John murdered their mother, Cheyenne, and Micah. The scar at Ariana’s neck a thick white line of remembrance. When Ariana was in the hospital healing from her injuries, Detective Long had been a frequent visitor and had shared the story of why he nicknamed her Raven—for her black hair and deep brown eyes noticeable from a distance. Ariana adopted the name Raven because Nathan assumed the picture of fatherly love she’d never experienced. Long visited her regularly, made sure she was doing well in school, and brought her gifts for her birthday.

  But assuming the name also marked a transition in Raven’s life, and despite Nathan’s efforts, she slowly enveloped herself in darkness like the blackness of the bird’s feathers.

  Chapter 6

  Tuesday

  THE WEATHER WAS BARELY improved from the day before. The air was heavy, and the wind bit as it pulled brown, dead leaves from the deciduous trees that lined the street. Long gone were the shaded hues of gold and red. Winter teased at autumn’s last grasp.

  Lee drove in silence, trying to read Nathan’s reaction through his peripheral vision. Never did he imagine he and Nathan would work on the same force but Aurora Police had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse and sometimes geographical distance from a memory served the psyche well.

  They’d just come from Chief Anson’s office. Lee had asked and been granted permission to step down as SWAT commander for a period of two weeks in order to assist Nathan. Nathan had argued against the idea, stating Lee’s close connection to the victim could hinder the investigation.

  Unfortunately, the chief threw the argument back in Nathan’s face. After all, it was Nathan’s feelings for Lilly that spurned his undying commitment to solve her peculiar rape case—risking his job to prove the DNA test from the perpetrator was incorrect. He married the victim. Besides which, Nathan’s partner was on leave.

  Nathan still looked out the passenger window like a scolded child. Lee could see the man’s clenched jaw and stormy blue eyes reflected in the glass. The look could crack stone.

  “Are you going to be brooding over this the entire time we’re working together?” Lee asked.

  Nathan clicked his tongue a few times. “At least for the rest of today.”

  “Want to explain your beef? I thought you’d be happy for the help.”

  “That day on the Samuals property was the worst of my life.” Nathan turned in his seat toward Lee. “I try every day not to think about it for just one second. Just as I’m starting to find my way around it, with Lilly, you drag me back into this mud pit of hell by requesting that I be the lead on Lucy Freeman’s murder. Why do you want me on this case if you think I’m incompetent enough to need a babysitter?”

  Lee stopped at a light. “Maybe we just need to get all our cards on the table. I do blame you.”

  Nathan was silent.

  “You were this young FBI hotshot. Your record was spotless. I was new to a position I wasn’t quite ready for. Only had a few calls under my belt. Other teams were already committed, and I was called in.” Lee thumbed the steering wheel. “I should have deferred less to you and let my SWAT training have a say. I blame you for deciding to wait. I blame myself for not telling you what I thought.”

  Nathan remained stock-still. Lee turned into the park
ing lot. He looked over at Nathan, wondering if he’d gone too far.

  “I know I’m just as responsible.” Lee glanced at Nathan and waited a beat. “Anything you want to say?” he added as he brought the vehicle to a stop and slammed the gear shift into Park.

  Nathan opened his door and the wind whipped through the vehicle. “I hope any mistake you make today or tomorrow won’t be as vehemently evil as Lucent when it pops back up. Let me point to the speck in your eye yet not notice the log in my own.” He exited the truck and slammed the door behind him with a force that rocked the vehicle.

  Nathan’s mention of the well-known Scripture threw Lee. Why was it that the intellectual parts of ancient Scripture resonated at his core but the practical applications—like forgiveness—were so hard to apply in real life?

  Lee exited and walked a few paces behind Nathan. His life’s work was built around resolving conflict—albeit with a gun, shield, and several other armed men on hand. How could he turn this situation with Nathan around? Before he could reconsider, Lee grabbed Nathan’s shoulder.

  Nathan stopped and turned on his heel; his eyes flashed a warning worthy of a dust-filled Western standoff.

  “Look. I wouldn’t have asked for you if I didn’t think you could get this case figured out before anyone else. Let’s just agree to not let the past ruin our chances of finding this sociopath. I’m here because I need to see this through. Protect Keelyn. Certainly you can understand.”

  Nathan grunted, yanked free, and made his way through the door, down the hallway, and into the examination room.

  The concrete room lined with steel tables made Lee clench his teeth to the point of pain. He hoped the autopsies from the two victims recovered from the Highlander yesterday were completed and he could get out of the room quickly. One of the reasons he loved SWAT was less time spent here viewing bodies. The medical examiner, Dr. Stratford, was standing beside the woman’s open chest cavity, the victim’s heart in her hand. She plopped it on the scale for measurement and turned as Nathan’s footsteps slapped against the floor. Lee leaned against the opposite table, which supported the male victim found in the cargo space.

  “Detective Long, just in time.”

  “Find anything interesting?” Nathan asked, prepared to take notes.

  “The woman is pretty straightforward—gunshot trauma. She was hit in the chest and abdomen with three bullets. One bullet passed through, not hitting any vital structures. The chest shot nicked her right lung.”

  “Those should be survivable.”

  “True, but not the third. It transected her descending aorta. Fatal exsanguination.”

  “How long would it have taken her to bleed out?”

  “Not more than two minutes.”

  Lee stepped forward. “Would that explain the body being warm but having no pulse? We found her not long after she was shot?”

  “Likely. The resuscitative efforts will hamper determining time of the shooting, but my guess is she was found shortly after she sustained these injuries. The man is more interesting. There were no signs of external trauma.” Dr. Stratford pulled off her gloves and tossed them into a metal kick-bucket and pulled on another pair. “But he did have this unusual cluster of red lesions to the right side of his neck.

  Lee leaned in and almost knocked heads with Nathan. “What are they?”

  “I’m not sure right now. They resemble hives, but it’s rare to have such a confined response. Hives tend to be more of a systemic reaction, but this rash is localized.”

  Nathan pointed a finger. “There’re eight of them. Do they look arranged to you?”

  The ME leaned in. “How so?”

  “Circular. It doesn’t look random to me.”

  She shrugged. “We have photos. I don’t discern a pattern.”

  “What else could they be?” Lee asked.

  “Some sort of simple rash. Molluscum can present as grouped smaller welts like this. It’s more common in children, though. It could be anything from rash to bug bites. Some of them appear to be target-like lesions. Could be tick bites, but ticks don’t usually group like this, either. Right now, it’s curious and unknown. We’ll have to look at tissue samples.”

  “What killed him?” Nathan asked with pen poised over his pad.

  Something glistened under Nathan’s nose. Lee scratched his upper lip. “Something on your face?”

  Nathan ridged one eyebrow up. “Vicks VapoRub. I’d rather smell it than him.” He pointed to the corpse on the table.

  The doctor laughed. “You know that just opens up the nasal passages, right? You’re likely smelling more than if you’d just left it off.”

  Nathan’s jaw clenched. “It’s always worked fine for me.”

  “As to what killed him, I don’t know. I’m going to send toxicology reports and tissue samples. There is nothing ominous on gross examination of the body.”

  Lee stretched his neck until he heard the satisfying pop. “So we have a murder victim in the passenger seat of her own car, shot to death, with a man tucked into the cargo space with no signs of trauma and cause of death unknown. Not to mention the little girl left alive in the backseat with these two, and we have no idea how the three of them are connected.”

  Nathan grabbed a tissue from a nearby dispenser. “Any ID on the male?”

  “Actually, yes. I should have mentioned that before. A deputy matching our victim’s description was reported missing by Teller County Sherriff’s office after he missed two consecutive shifts. A check of his residence didn’t show any foul play, but they report it’s highly unusual for him not to call in if he’s ill. They said he’s diligent to a fault. Will report himself late if he doesn’t show up five minutes early.”

  Lee smirked as Nathan swiped the tissue under his nose to clear the sticky ointment.

  Nathan stuffed the crumpled wad into his pocket. “A cop? From the county where John Samuals took his family hostage?”

  The ME flipped through the chart, scanning with her index finger through the information. “Yes, here. Clay Timmons.”

  Lee’s first thought was of the note Keelyn had found on Raven’s table. The second thought was from that day. He could see the car pull up. The deputy step out of his car, so eager to help complete any task that he’d stumbled through the grass to hand off the food they’d asked for.

  Food for the family held hostage.

  Lee closed his eyes, waited for the officer’s badge to tip out of the sun so he could read his name. Yes, there it was.

  Timmons.

  Lee opened his eyes. “He was there.”

  Nathan was busy putting away his notepad and paper. “What?”

  Lee walked closer to the body, bent at the waist to look closer at the face. “Officer Timmons was at the Samuals house. He brought the food from the mini-mart.”

  Nathan cursed under his breath. “Great. Just great.”

  Lee could see it in Nathan’s eyes. The recognition of how tight this spiderweb Raven had found herself in might be. “The note at her house was signed Clay.”

  “We need to go back and get that for evidence.”

  Chapter 7

  THE WALKWAY TO THE POLICE station was a narrow, cemented path sandwiched between large greened areas. A public library sat on the left. As Keelyn neared the entrance, she passed a memorial to fallen officers. Turning, she paused and lifted up a prayer for those on duty. She checked her watch, tilting the face away from the glare of the sun.

  An unusual request had brought her here today. One Keelyn hoped would bring her new business for her consulting work. Interpreting body language was a relatively new art even though scientifically based over the last couple of decades. Thus far, most of her business had been corporate in nature.

  Often companies hired her to sit in on contract negotiations—her insights helped head off later disputes and kept her clients out of court.

  When she’d first started out she’d been referred by a college acquaintance whose father owned the company
. The man was a stalwart in the industry and couldn’t fathom bringing a woman in to observe the legal discussion of a contract whose terms she couldn’t understand. She didn’t have a background to support any expertise.

  Keelyn argued she didn’t need to know anything about manufacturing. She dared to say they could be speaking a foreign language and she could still be useful. After all, facial expressions were universal, but gestures tended to be culturally biased. The limbic brain spoke a universal language. One she was well versed in.

  He begrudgingly agreed . . . after she offered her services for free. During discussion of one clause of the contract, Keelyn noted one person tightly purse his lips. This signified to Keelyn he was uneasy with the matter at hand. She’d tapped her toe on the company president’s shoe, signaling him this area of the contract was problematic.

  It had saved the company fifty million dollars.

  He’d cut Keelyn a check for one percent of the amount saved, which, even after taxes, turned out to be a huge sum to further her business.

  That meeting seemed to be a starting point. She was now beginning to have difficulty keeping up with the calls plus her volunteer work at the shelter. Her consulting work was starting to show up on the radar of both defense and prosecuting attorneys. One of them had passed her name along to this police district when a particular suspect was arrested. Thus the call to observe the Walter Sidlow interrogation.

  A rash of bank robberies had developed west of the Denver Metro area. At the most recent crime, a man had been shot and killed as he tried to wrestle one of the gunmen’s weapon away. He’d been wounded from behind by the criminal’s partner. Due to the death of the Good Samaritan, this particular crime had saturated the local news coverage and police were under added pressure from the victim’s family to bring the band of vigilantes to justice.

  A guard from the last bank stood as the lead suspect because video footage inside the bank showed him away from his assigned post. It was theorized he left his position to give the robbers unimpeded entrance from the side of the building rather than the busy street front with four lanes of congested traffic. Public outcry for this man to be convicted added fuel to the flames. The police wanted someone in custody sooner rather than later.