The Body Hunters
By
Raven Newcastle
Von’sAcknowledgements
Thanks go to Elizabeth Spix, for all the encouragement. Regina Alvarado for her love of editing and taking on this challenge. Abir Naja for putting up with all the laughing and foolishness, we can't promise we're going to stop it! My hubby Raymond, the light of my life. And definitely not least, JoielleSherman no words can express my gratitude for taking this on with me. I can't wait for many more.
Joi’sAcknowledgments
First I want to thank God for blessing me with this talent and sending me the perfect writing buddy. I appreciate you Von! We’re Thelma and Louise just riding off the cliff! Thanks to Mom for all the support and words of encouragement and if you happen to read something you don’t like: Just remember Raven did it! Thanks Abir for putting up with our girlish giggles and nonsense. And thank you so much Reggie for your skillful editing and enthusiasm. We both appreciate you!
Chapter One
The hunger for crystal meth was all she knew or cared about. Sherry scratched absently at the crank bugs creeping under her skin until her ragged fingernails drew blood. Her formerly flawless facial complexion, once the envy of all the girls in her tenth grade class, was now a mass of scabbed over red blotches. Her skin hung loosely off her sinewy frame, her addiction overriding her appetite for food. The smile her parents had spent a fortune on correcting with braces and teeth whitening treatments was now full of corroded yellow splinters. Scantily clad in a dingy tank top, dirty denim cutoffs, and flip flops, the teenager walked the ghettos of Dallas, Texas. The rundown neighborhood was the exact opposite of the luxurious gated community of her pampered upbringing.
Seventeen-year-old Sherry Cavender had grown up an overly privileged only child. Her parents raised her in the best neighborhoods of Dallas. She had gone to the most prestigious private schools, and her parents assured that her every whim was granted. She was the stereotypical teenage girl; into boys, clothes, and hanging out with her clique. Soccer, volleyball, and the debate club were the after-school activities of which she partook. The precocious teen was a role model amongst her peers who strove to mimic her. Her parents had prophesied that she was destined for greatness, perhaps a doctor or the next great American novelist. However, life would take her down another road entirely.
What was supposed to be studying with her best friend turned into a wild party that led her down the dark highway of drug addiction. Ecstasy, marijuana, and meth were all sampled to the tune of extremely loud techno music that thumped in her ears. Not wanting to be characterized as the buzz kill in the group, Sherry took her BFF up on her dare and indulged in the meth. The drug transported her to a paradise she never thought possible. Her reality was altered, and she was opened up to another plane of existence. Soon after, nothing else mattered except the next high. Dumbfounded, her parents wondered why their usually studious daughter's grades were in free fall and why increasingly small items of value were disappearing from their home.
Horror dawned on Senator and Mrs. Cavender when they came to the painful realization that their beloved daughter was a junkie. Their prescription for her recovery included tough love and routine therapy sessions. Their efforts were fruitless as Sherry continued on her downward spiral. They eventually admitted her to a lavish rehab facility for drug abuse. If the facility had successfully cured Hollywood starlets, surely it could cure their daughter. After six months the teen was in remission and on the straight and narrow, but three months later she was back in the grips of the powerful drug that now completely consumed her.
As her former classmates looked forward to their senior year of high school and applying to college, the Cavender's were again placing their daughter in rehab. Through the kicking, screaming and shouting that she hated them, her parents were adamant and remained steadfast about the rehab facility. Her recovery was the only thing on their mind. Two months later the girl had escaped the treatment center without a trace. Dipping into their fortune, the Cavender's hired a couple of private detectives to locate their runaway daughter.
Two months after her escape from the facility, Sherry walked the inner city, her young body the only thing of value left to barter. Often with drug addiction, the first things to vanish are pride and shame. She had given up the comforts of her parents' lavish home, her nights and days spent in crack houses, alleyways, or homeless shelters. She aimlessly wandered the streets searching for her next high.
Tonight, along with several other prostitutes, Sherry advertised her wares outside the neon lights of an all-night party store. Rap music pounded from nearby car speakers, narcotics openly being sold in the nearby parking lot. Passersby strolled past her, either shaking their heads or giving her and the other hookers’ frigid stares.
"Hey, beautiful!"A bland, nondescript dark sedan pulled to the curb, its driver addressing Sherry. "You wanna take a ride with me?"
The teen approached the vehicle, her addiction overriding her fear of danger and disgust of prostituting. Sherry slid across the torn, duct taped seats of the car prepared to do whatever he wanted so she could secure her next dose of the dark demon.
"So how do you like to party?" she asked, batting her lashes and suggestively putting her hand on his thigh. "You ain't a cop, are ya?" she asked as was her routine.
"Nah, I ain't a cop, and you and I are going to party all right and get to know each other real well." he returned, shifting the sedan into gear. Instead of the motel with hourly rates around the corner that prostitutes and johns in the area tended to frequent, the man swiftly drove out of the immediate area. In a few moments he was on the highway headed east.
"Um, hey man, where are we going? You got your own place?" The girl finally spoke up, trying not to let the panic that was rising in her voice be noticed as her dulled senses were resurfacing, with the realization that she may be in trouble. The signs of urban blight had given way to trees and wooded areas.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head sweetheart. I just want to be alone with you that’sall."
Sherry finally noticed the man's facial features. His reddish hair was too shaggy beneath a battered New York Yankees cap. An unattractive goatee and mustache surrounded his mouth, and eyeglasses that were in fashion twenty-five years ago covered his face. His eyes were devoid of warmth.
Drug addict or not Sherry now knew she was in serious trouble. "This isn't cool dude. You can drop me off here. Let me out NOW!" Her demands were met with the man grabbing her hair and yelling.
"Shut up bitch!"
Sherry let out a yelp as he pulled her head back and then slammed it into the dashboard leaving a growing welt on her forehead. She fumbled with the door lock, but the knob had been removed. Her efforts to push the passenger door open were also fruitless. The damn thing wouldn't budge. The man had let go of her hair. "You can stop fighting with the door. I made sure you wouldn't be getting out of here."
Sherry fell into hysterics, clawing at the man with her fingers, doing anything to get him to stop the car. She shrieked at him, fighting for control of the steering wheel. The car swerved momentarily on the barren highway, but he quickly regained control. He retaliated with a fierce backhand across her face. Shocked, she held the stinging welt under her eye, salty tears starting to rain down.
"You can stop struggling. You're not getting away from me." His tone was icy. "You keep fighting and you're just gonna make things worse for yourself."
"Why are you doing this?" she managed, her voice cracking. "Please, don't do this! I'll get you money. My dad's rich." She pleaded for her life.
He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled into a wooded clearing. It was the type of place that was perfect for discarding dead bodies. The car's headl
ights fell on a human-sized hole that had been dug.
"Oh my God!Please!" She was praying as she sobbed; now feeling her imminent doom. "I'll be good God! Please God, please! I'll give up the drugs I swear!
Crying uncontrollably, she now begged the man, "Just let me go please! Oh God! Oh God please!" Her voice was breaking through the tears
The man got out and rounded the vehicle to the passenger side. Like a cornered animal she slid to the driver's side, kicking her legs and screaming at the top of her lungs. Grabbing her by the ankles, he yanked her out of the car as she thrashed wildly. Her backside hit the ground, and she scrambled to right herself and try to flee to safety.
His hand shot out and snatched a handful of greasy, dirty blonde hair. She tried to kick, her flip flops no longer on her feet now, the soft landing of the kicks barely putting a misstep in the man's stride. She tried punching, to no avail, as he kept dragging her by her hair. Her limbs flew wildly as she scrambled for her life. Her attacker, now pulling her flailing body up to a standing position, pointed her to face the hole he had dug just for her. Standing behind her the man yanked back violently on her hair one more time exposing her pasty white neck.
A glint of silver struck by the moonlight caught Sherry's eye. Before she could react the blade slid into the soft flesh of her neck. She tried to scream, but the gurgle of blood flowing from her throat drowned the noise. Immediately she stopped fighting, the bitter cold making her limbs heavy. Like a leaden mass, her body hit the bottom of the grave. She lay there in the dirt, her blood soaking into the soil. Slumber overcame her as dirt was being tossed onto her motionless body. For the first time in a long time, Sherry felt at peace. "I'm sorry Mom. I'm sorry Dad." Were her final thoughts before her life dimmed permanently.
Chapter Two
Danielle navigated her way through the human traffic jam in New York's lower east side. It was mid-March, and with the warmer temperatures came the discarding of New Yorkers' winter coats, hats, and scarves. After the treacherous ice storms and Nor'easters, New York was grateful for a reprieve from Old Man winter's clutches, though some Yankees got a little too enthusiastic about stripping off the winter wear. Cellulite, tattoos, and too much skin were all on display.
At the moment, even with the sun smiling bright in the sky, Manhattan was experiencing a sun shower, or what Danielle's Creole grandmother, or grand mere as she called her, used to say was "Le Diable bat safemme" or "the Devil is beating his wife".
A smile crawled to her face at the thought of the petite, fire-willed woman, Marie Labouleaux. She had the same flawless caramel complexion as Danielle and the same fiery temper. She remembered grand mere’s mane of silver curls and eyes that glowed like fire-polished amber. She had taken a young Danielle under her wing and taught her more about herself and life than she had ever known. Danielle, like her grandmother before her, was psychic.
Grand’Mere hailed from N'awlins, or New Orleans as the tourists called it. Their lineage could be traced all the way from the small island of Haiti to the voodoo priestesses of old. Some possessed the power to speak to those that have passed on. Some were gifted with premonitions and precognitive sight. The gifts were as unique as a person's fingerprints. The abilities that they shared were rare, and in Danielle's family it was passed through the generations.
A modern forensic psychic, twenty-eight year old Danny as she liked to refer to herself, was able to use her psychic abilities to help those in need which resulted in a career in law enforcement and a brief stint as an FBI consultant. She had been free of the bureau's influence for nearly two years and in New York for three months working a desk job with the NYPD. She was renting a studio apartment that wasn't fit for the roaches when she met her best friend, Stephania.
“My necklace! She has stolen it! All my stuff!"The Sicilian woman at the night sergeant's desk exclaimed.
"Ma'am calm down I'll write a report for you." The portly sergeant didn't even look up from his paperwork. "Just have a seat over there." He pointed with his pen to a row of chairs.
The chestnut-haired Sicilian walked over to the chairs and sat down, crying softly. Danny was sitting at her desk typing up another report when she heard the woman's crying. She felt compelled to walk over and comfort her, especially since she heard her say that her necklace was missing. Danny talked to the desk sergeant, and seeing that he wasn't terribly empathetic she grabbed a clipboard and sat down next to the girl.
“I'm Officer Labouleaux. I'm going to take your report, OK? Can you follow me to my desk?" The woman nodded yes and walked behind her. Danny offered her the seat next to her desk.
"OK, let's start with your name." Danny readied herself at her computer.
"Stephania Amanato." she said with a very heavy Italian accent.
"That's a very pretty name, but, um, could you spell your last name for me?"
"A m a n a t o. You say like ah man ah toe. My accent, I'm sorry, I'm learning better speaking."
"Don't worry. I understand hard to pronounce last names, see?" Danny placed her name plate in front of Stephania.
"Ah! La boolow!" Stephania pronounced it correctly much to Danny's surprise.
She couldn't help laughing. "How did you know how to say it? No one does!"
"I am a flight attendant I go all over Europe. It's you Americans that butcher the foreign names!" Stephania said, smiling for the first time.
Danny was happy to see she had stopped crying. She continued with the report documenting all the items that were stolen, especially a 14-karat gold cross and diamond necklace that Stephania's mother had given to her before she left to work in the U.S.
"Mama gave it to me knowing I would be gone for a long time. She didn't tell me she was dying. She knew I would never leave to come to New York. I am studying fashion too, here at NYU. The rest of the stuff, I don't care. Let that thieving Maria take it. But my necklace means so much.
"Maria?" Danny asked.
"My roommate see she is younger, you know, I start college late so I don't graduate till next year. I'm practically old lady in my village."
"I doubt you're that old! You're from Italy you said?"
"Oh, Mio Dio no! I'm from Sicily, not the boot as you Americans say!"
"My apologies!I didn't know there was a difference."
"It's like, how can I put it, um ... American south and American north, much different." Stephania explained.
"I gotcha girl! I'm from the south so I understand now."
"See you understand now! OK. How do we get my necklace back? Maria she took off now, I don't know where."
"Don't worry about it; we'll do the best we can, OK?" Danny knew the odds of Stephania seeing any of her items again was minimal to nil. She felt a real strong connection to her. The cross necklace she herself wore was given to her by her grand mere, and she would have been just devastated if it went missing.
Danny finished the report and seeing it was at the end of her shift asked if the classically beautiful Sicilian woman with the long model legs would like to get a bite to eat. Danny really didn't have any friends in New York, and the friendly Sicilian flight attendant seemed nice enough. A little later the two women found themselves in a little Italian restaurant around the corner from Stephania's apartment. The hole-in-the-wall restaurant was, as Stephania put it, the best and most authentic Sicilian food in New York. She went into more detail about the story of the missing necklace and then showed Danny a picture of her mother wearing it. The young woman's mother knew that her illness would keep her from emigrating to the U.S., and she gave her daughter the necklace the night before she departed Sicily. A heartbroken Stephania received the news that her mother had died three weeks later. Danny and her newfound friend talked for three hours about everything: men, their jobs, and Stephania's roommate from hell like they'd known each other their entire lives.
It was late and Stephania who actually owned a little red Fiat, a rarity in New York, offered to drive Danny home. The parking garage was only a block away
, and Danny did not want to take the subway home at this late hour so she gratefully accepted the offer. When they pulled up to Danny's apartment building, Stephania's reaction said it all. The dramatic Sicilian let out an audible gasp at the sight of the rundown building in this very sketchy neighborhood. She didn't even have to see the apartment to know it was not where anyone should live, let alone a single woman. She asked Danny to meet her the next day and gave her the address to her apartment so she could give her another picture the police could have of her stolen items. She agreed, not knowing Stephania had other motives.
The next day Danny arrived at Stephania's lower east side apartment. As it turned out, the apartment had two bedrooms and was rather large for a New York apartment. What's more, it was rent controlled. Stephania gave Danny the pictures as promised but then confessed and told her she did need a new roommate and really wanted Danny to be it. Danny was taken by surprise. She told her new friend that she needed her privacy and that she did have some money but she chose to live in the rundown apartment because she had plenty of solitude. Stephania, on the other hand, was not going to take no for an answer.
She told Danny that she was hardly ever home, since that is the life of a flight attendant, and that it would probably be a rarity that the two were ever together. Two days later Danny was officially her new roommate.
The two women got along as if they had known each other all their lives. On the nights that she was home Stephania, in her broken English, chatted away into the night regaling Danny with her travel tales and stories of horrible passengers she dealt with.
Danny had wanted to find a way to thank her new friend for all she had done for her. Not long after moving in, while Stephania was hundreds of miles away in the air, she went to see the thieving ex-roommate in Brooklyn. She arrived at the ex-roommate's new apartment armed with nothing but her NYPD badge. She confronted Maria and threatened to call Immigration and have her illegal ass deported if she didn't give up the necklace. Before the girl could slam the door in her face, the police officer jammed her foot inside the doorway and pushed it open. The girl was blatantly wearing the necklace like it belonged to her. Outraged, Danny snatched it from her neck and dared her to try and get it back.
The Body Hunters Page 1
