Beyond The Mask (The Beyond Book 1)

by Hunter, Aubrianna

  Nothing.

  Maybe she needed to be running...

  She backed up again, this time all the way up the stairs. Running at a full tilt, she slowed only enough to grab the handle.

  She made it. She was inside the club. Glancing behind her she eyed the door in triumph, only to realize that it was still shut. The door was solid steel, it did not close that fast and if one of the springs were broken, everyone would have heard the damn thing slam. Especially since there was almost zero noise in here right now. While The Beyond was technically open for business, it didn't really start hopping until around nine.

  So, how was she inside? With an idea that hit so hard she could almost see the damn cartoon light bulb pop above her head, she realized she had simply walked through the door. Just like she had at the apartment this morning and this afternoon.

  She walked through things. But, she could sit and stand...

  Yet another mystery. Maybe she should go to the library and check out a book on paranormal... something. Was there a book called The Idiot's Guide to Being a Ghost?

  Ha... Good thing she found herself amusing since there was no one else to talk to.

  Figuring that since she could sit this was as good a place as any to land, she plopped down on a barstool, trying once again to figure out what the hell had happened to her.

  She glanced up just as a very large man walked through the door. His dark hair and even darker eyes stood out despite the dim lighting of the club.

  She studied his face: sharp angular features; not really attractive, although definitely memorable; and an olive skin tone that should have somehow softened the features but made those deep-set eyes look even darker. While he looked a little scary, she also thought he looked vaguely familiar.

  Of course he looked familiar, she had probably seen him in the club at least a dozen times. So, why did she have this weird feeling that there was more to it?

  Just as she was about to dismiss him and the strange vibe she was getting, she was suddenly flooded with the memory of last night.

  In every techni-color, glorious, arousing, betraying detail. Every. Fucking. One.

  Mr. Badass had been at the party last night. She remembered seeing him in some sort of green tunic costume.

  She remembered it all: the nerves, the dancing, Derek going off to get her a drink.

  Passion, lust, followed by betrayal. Hers. She'd had sex with a blonde stranger. Sure, she could make excuses, blame it on the circumstances, and even cite the fact that she hadn't known he wasn't Derek until her body was already aroused. But really, it didn't matter. The bottom line was she had betrayed him. Truthfully, the ultimate betrayal. She had managed to get herself killed.

  That part was still a little fuzzy. She remembered an earth shattering orgasm, remembered the pleasure that had never really ended, but had just... faded away somehow.

  Nik...

  The tall blonde with strikingly blue eyes floated into her mind again. She remembered kisses, nibbles, strength, and passion. She remembered his hard length thrusting into her. She remembered his heat, God he'd been so hot, and she remembered her orgasm ripping through her. But what happened after that?

  "Right at the peak, I'm going to kill you." His words floated into her consciousness, she heard them as clearly as if he were standing right beside her.

  Kill her.

  Holy hell! Nik had killed her.

  It took her less than a second and she was off the seat and running through the door. She was going back to that house. If she was right about this, she was going to screw him up!

  As soon as she figured out how to hold onto a gun.

  Chapter Twelve

  Derek approached the building repeating the address in his mind. It was an old brick building with a stone sign in the front on a tiny patch of inner-city grass. The sign read “Lawson Mortuary and Funeral Home.” Derek choked. Bile rose in his throat. Unable to control it, he vomited there on the tiny lawn.

  Thinking it must be a mistake or a mix-up, he forced himself to carry on. Pulling the singular glass door open upon the antiquated brick façade, he charged into the building only to come to an immediate stop. Not five feet through the door stood a counter that spanned the distance between the two foyer walls. For a moment Derek was confused, unsure what to do.

  Looking down upon the counter, he located the all-too-common “ring for service” bell and began to smash the small plunger down repeatedly. Almost immediately protests sounded from a nearby room and an elderly man who stood oddly tall rushed in to snatch the bell away.

  Words were exchanged to a small degree but Derek could not fathom what they had been just seconds later, and everything seemed to blur for the following minutes as he followed the older man. Through the building and down some stairs he followed the proprietor in a haze until finally they came to a room. It was simple in design, holding naught but a desk and a coat rack. Beyond the room, through a wall of windows, the mortuary was visible, with a row of stainless steel square doors stacked one on top of another in the opposite wall.

  The old man crossed the room saying something kind or apologetic, but Derek could not make sense of the sounds. Reaching a predetermined square of stainless steel, the man pulled on a handle and the small portal swung wide.

  Beyond, a body covered in nothing more than a simple sheet lay upon a cold tray of polished metal. The old man pulled the tray and it slid effortlessly from the cavity in the wall. The older man retreated, speaking again, his words falling on deaf ears.

  Derek stared at the sheet. It stared back, daring him to remove it. For several moments he couldn’t, too afraid it was true. Fearful she was there. She couldn’t be.

  The sheet called to him and he shuddered in response. Slowly, carefully, he reached down and, using only his fingertips, he grasped the edge of the sheet that taunted him so. He peeled it back as everything else in the world turned to darkness around him.

  It felt as if ash filled his mouth and lead his veins as her face appeared from beneath the sheet. Clenching his jaw he continued to pull. Bruises spattered her body all over. Deep sickening hues of purple and green were strewn across her skin as if she had been in a car accident. Tears filled his eyes. She looked so small there on the table. She seemed bigger when she smiled and the room lit up. Derek hated her for dying. No he didn’t.

  Her hair had been pulled and released from the up do she had worn when last Derek had been at her side. Her wrists appeared as if they had been bound. Derek felt as if the whole world was closed off around him. He was alone. No one loved him, and the only person who made him feel whole was now gone. How could she leave him like this?

  Though his soul was torn from him at the loss of her, and though he knew it was because he had failed to protect her, as the tears streamed freely from his eyes, he grinned. Though her body showed the signs of so much abuse, her face appeared a vision of serenity. At least she had managed to escape the torture of this life. He wished he had the courage to join her. He couldn’t though, not yet. The characters inside began to plot. They whispered in menacing tones. He tried to ignore them.

  Sliding his hands beneath her, he lifted her lithe body from the steel tray and pulled her firmly to his chest. Hugging her cold flesh to himself he sobbed as warm tears of pain and loss were replaced by hot tears of anger. Her hair still smelled like her.

  Someone would have to pay for this. Someone at the ball had seen something. They had to. Derek stood holding her for long moments before finally relaxing his grasp.

  “I loved you, Jade. I should have told you. What am I supposed to do now? I’m sorry I failed you. I’m sorry I let this happen to you… Us.”

  For more than an hour Derek held her apologizing for his failures. Eventually, emotionally spent, he lowered her back to the tray carefully. Lovingly. He appraised her small body once more before covering her body again with the sheet. He left her face exposed, not wanting to suffocate her. Derek turned, allowing the many characters a chance to s
peak with him. Before they could however, the proprietor opened the door to the adjoining chamber once more.

  “Sir, if you are not a relative, and there are none that you know how to contact, the city will see to her burial costs and she will be laid to rest the day after tomorrow at Elmwood Cemetery. Usually it is around three in the afternoon.”

  Derek nodded his understanding, assuming they had spoken of such details at some point. Not that it mattered. Derek finally had a purpose. He owed it to her.

  Even though it was bathed in glorious daylight, the world around him was bleak and desolate as he exited the funeral home to once again regain the street. He moved with purpose, daring the desolation to take him. His drive alone kept the fear at bay, giving him a shield with which to protect himself.

  Twenty-seven blocks he had come to reach the police station, two more to the funeral home, only seventeen to the mansion. Derek turned up the street, the buildings loomed above him as pain and uncertainty snapped at his heels.

  * * * * *

  Realizing that she couldn't be seen made things a little easier for Jade. Rather than being concerned about silly little things like open doors and bus fare, she simply walked onto the bus and took a seat.

  She was however, careful to avoid sitting too close to anyone else. The feeling when Scott had walked through even part of her had been horrendous. She couldn't imagine what would happen if someone actually sat on her.

  Exiting the bus as close to the mansion as she figured she could get, she hopped off and started running. Odd that she didn't tire or get even the tiniest bit breathless. Even more odd that she hadn't noticed that last night in her efforts to get home.

  When she reached the drive, she still found herself hiding behind the bushes as she crept toward the house. Silly? Definitely, but she couldn't just stroll in there. Could she?

  Even if she could, there was something creepy and off-putting about the house. Had she noticed that last night when they had first arrived by taxi?

  She remembered feeling anxious, but she'd attributed that to nerves about the ball itself. Had she actually been having some sense of danger? Was it possible to simply guess that someone was a murderer on some level?

  She really needed that Idiot's Guide to the Paranormal.

  When she ran out of bushes to hide behind, she decided to simply run at the front door in a mad dash. It seemed to work so far.

  As soon as she was inside, that eerie feeling increased ten fold. The house, which had seemed so much like a fairy tale palace last night, now seemed much more like a haunted mansion.

  Technically, it was a haunted mansion. At least since she had strolled in.

  Yet, she didn't think that she was creeping herself out. When she heard footsteps heading towards the foyer, she didn't even think twice before she was hiding behind the same statue she had used earlier this very day.

  She watched as Nik strolled by with the same gentleman she'd seen in the club not two hours ago.

  Seeing the two of them together she felt the anger start to rise up again, almost choking her with its intensity. This man had killed her. Murdered her. Yet here he was walking around like nothing had happened. Casually discussing business and asking the man to make sure matters were “seen to.” What the hell did that even mean, “seen to?“

  Just as she felt the anger boiling over into rage, a horrible, mind numbing, helpless rage, she saw Nik stop mid-stride and turn.

  He quickly scanned the entire room, focusing for a moment on the corner where Jade hid. She held her breath, another silly human behavior, but she couldn't seem to help it.

  When his eyes focused in on her, squinting as if he was trying to see something and it simply wasn't quite clear, she stood absolutely still.

  After a moment, he shook his head and continued walking and talking to the man at his side.

  Yet, Jade couldn't quite shake the feeling that he had somehow known she was here. Could he... see her?

  No, that wasn't possible, was it?

  Shaking off her fear, she hurried after him.

  * * * * *

  Nik strolled into his office, his second in command, Alexis, right on his heels. As soon as the door was shut behind him, he sat in his chair and began the topic he really wanted to discuss.

  "Regarding Jade, there was an anonymous call I assume, reporting her location?"

  "Yes, Sir. Her autopsy was moved to the front, has already been performed, and her body identified."

  "When will she go to ground?"

  "Wednesday at three, Sir."

  "That's cutting it a bit close, isn't it?"

  "Probably. He was unwilling to move any faster for fear of someone looking into the reasons why."

  "That makes sense. I would hate to have a real investigation into any of our dealings."

  "Speaking of..." Alexis trailed off, clearly unwilling to broach this next topic.

  "Alex, just spit it out."

  "The male has been interviewed. He of course gave up the location of where he was last night, so I would expect an officer or two any time now. Probably one we know and one we don't."

  "That's not a problem."

  "No..."

  "Damn it, just tell me what it is you don't want to tell me."

  "Nik, I think you might have underestimated this human."

  Raising his eyebrows in question, Nik asked, "Jade?"

  "No. The male, Derek."

  "Oh? And how might that be."

  "He damn near killed Detective Rodgers during his interview."

  "He did what?" Nik was furious. If this man had done something to get himself thrown in jail he would have way too much time to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. "How the fuck did that happen?"

  "Well, Rodgers isn't one of ours. His partner, yes, but not him. He went in there guns blazing, determined to push the crazy bastard over the edge into a confession of murder. It didn't work. Probably because he really didn't do it, but Rodgers didn't know that. Derek lost his temper and hit him then beat him with a chair. I think we might have misread his threat level."

  "What was his name?"

  "Derek. Derek Montoya."

  "What do we know about him?"

  "Not much. We know he's a writer, one that would be considered susceptible. Now, we know he could be a problem."

  "Tell me he isn't still in prison, being interviewed by cops. He's bound to say something that someone will listen to."

  "No, that's been taken care of. Charges were dropped because the cop instigated the fight."

  "Good. Let's look into this Montoya. It might be in our best interest to have a little more info on him."

  "Yes, Sir. I'll take care of it."

  * * * * *

  She lie in his lap, looking up into his face, her young eyes peering into his. Something there must have caught her attention, seemed out of place. For as he pulled the elastic tighter about her arm, she tilted her head at an odd angle, like a dog that had found something peculiar might. Breaking their eye contact, he looked away.

  Pressing the tiny shard of metal through her flesh, she gasped slightly, though he saw no signs of harming her vein. Down he pushed the plunger, watching the fluid vanish into her flesh where it could unlock her soul. He knew it was a long shot, though she seemed the type and had admitted that she frequented the areas where most avoided.

  Her name was Max, or Maxine rather, but her clients called her Trixie. Gunny preferred Max, it was uncomplicated. Before now, before she had lain on the ground, nestling her head in his lap, a sure sign of her mental incapacity, they had talked briefly.

  Max had a habit of saying something coherent, to be followed by a sentence or two that were less so, before losing focus and circling back to where she started. Society would call her simple. The conversation was simple to say the least. Anything she had not practiced a thousand times was difficult for her to put into words, as if a barrier existed in her brain. Gunny knew all too well the barrier and knew he had the key that somet
imes worked to unlock it, though only briefly.

  He waited for the drug to take effect, soothing her by stroking her greasy hair. Her lips, coated in deep red lip-gloss, moved absently as if she would speak, but only breath escaped them. Soon her twitching lips stilled, and her breath came slower as her pupils expanded slightly. Time was of the essence.

  “Hi, Max,” Gunny said calmly in his rough, haggard voice.

  “Hi,” she returned, with a bemused smile. “We know each other don’t we?”

  “Yes, Max, but I need your help. Can you help me?”

  He saw her face contort, she struggled between fantasy and reality, conflicted on which was real. She tried to place him, shove him into a role in her life where he fit. Then, as if nothing had occurred, her face smoothed again and a cheerful smile appeared.

  “Sure, Michael,” she responded happily, to which one of his eyebrows rose slightly.

  “I’m looking for a pretty girl with a big pretty purple dress and maybe a mask, I think something bad has happened to her.” Gunny let the words settle, time was growing very short. In seconds she would slip away. Her face strained and Gunny thought himself out of time but again it smoothed once more, she struggled to remain lucid.

  “I saw her last night. Her dress was pretty…kinda.”

  He pushed on without delay.

  “Where was she, what happened?”

  “She was pulled from a car, by them, and they kicked her. It was black. She didn’t fight back. I ran.”

  “Where?”

  Again her face contorted and this time a convulsion of her entire body came with it. A light sweat formed upon her brow as she relaxed. He smoothed her hair, making comforting sounds. Her lips moved again. Nothing came. Gunny swore silently.

  “One twenty-one… Daniel,” she whispered, barely louder than her breath. Then with a grin she relinquished reality to suffer the pleasure of the drugs.

  He held her for long moments, pondering her words. One twenty-one Daniel… Sounded like an address but he didn't know the location. Jade had been pulled from a black car and kicked but had not moved. Max had seen her. He could feel it, sense it was true. It reeked of death. One twenty-one, Daniel? Carefully, he lifted her head from his lap and slid from beneath her.