My eyes have a hard time adjusting to the change in light. Pitch’s voice rings through the air. “I’ve already told you I got a text from my boss to come here, see this? It’s right here.” He holds his phone up to the cop’s face. Bad move, Pitch.
That little shit had better get that phone out of my face, the cop that came to the hospital to talk to Shay thinks to himself. Unless he hands me the Baynes girl on a silver platter, these two guys are going to jail today.
“We found them this way.” Quag speaks up, and I notice his stutter is gone.
“Well, you’re going to have to come down to the station,” the cop says.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I interject, making my presence known.
I’m not accustomed to seeing dudes my size; I can see why some people are intimidated by me. Filson reaches me with his hand extended. “Detective Filson. You are?”
“I’m Doctor Wayne. We met in the hospital.” I shake his hand.
“Doctor, huh? I didn’t realize you could get your PhD in assholery.” He doesn't look up from his notes.
Wow, he went right for the throat. I can appreciate that in an opponent. “Actually, I have my doctorate in linguistics,” I challenge, raising my eyebrows.
“Good for you.” He chews on the end of the pen. “You do realize this is an active crime scene?”
“I didn’t before, but I do now. I was just here to make sure my guys were okay.”
“’Your guys’, huh?” He continues reviewing his notes.
“Yeah.” This guy is an ass hat.
“Why were they here?” he asks.
“I’m not sure; they received a text message to come here. That’s all I know.” True story.
“A text message? From who?”
“They said it was from me, but I didn’t send it.” I just need to talk to them. “Can I talk to them?”
“Sure thing, Doctor Wayne.” He makes a wide sweeping gesture toward Pitch and Quag.
“Harry?” I see him when he rounds the corner, talking with Miranda. I don’t bother to acknowledge her. “What are you doing here?”
“Hey Carl, Filson called me.” Harry’s demeanor is heavy with sadness. This is obviously something pretty serious, not your average murder.
“What’s going on? What happened?” Hopefully he’ll level with me so I don’t have to go digging for it.
Quag looks at me with a seriousness I’ve not seen in him before. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen Carl, this is bad.” He looks a little green around the gills.
Harry takes me by the elbow and leads me back away from the lighted area where cops are collecting evidence and taking pictures. “This is serious, we have two police officers down and Shayleigh’s name is all over the walls.”
A wave of confusion rushes over me, pushing me back a step. “This is bad, now they are all going to be out to get her.”
“Yeah, well there won’t be any protecting her from this. I think maybe we need to get her out of Florida for a while.” I can’t believe Harry is suggesting she run, but I think that’s what I just heard him say.
“I’m not saying it’s good for her to be here, but is running the right thing to do?” I ask him.
“Not running, presently she’s free to go where she’d like. I don’t think that’s going to hold for long.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. He stiffens when Miranda approaches us.
“Were you with her all night?” Miranda asks point blank.
“Up until this morning at around five AM, but Eli was with her all night,” I answer.
“So the boyfriend facing disbarment is her alibi.” She makes it sound so hopeless.
“Eli isn’t going to be disbarred.” Harry gives Miranda a disgusted look.
“Harry, Shay had an incident of her own this morning.” I remember how she looked when I found her huddled in the corner, drenched in blood.
“What happened?” Harry’s refocused on me now.
“Bailey happened. We can talk about it later, everyone’s okay.” For now they are. I’m hoping that a simple talk with Bailey will be enough to get him to leave her alone.
“But she’s okay?” Harry’s brow wrinkles deeper with concern.
“Yes Harry, she’s fine. She’s on the way to see Doctor Green and then she’s having lunch with Trish.” I check the time. “I’m going to be meeting them.”
“Lucky that she’s seeing him this morning, and I think getting out will be good for her.” Harry’s expression loosens.
“So, can I take a look?” I motion toward the murder site.
“Yes, but stay outside the plastic.” He hands me a pair of gloves and booties to cover my shoes. I can’t help but think this is like closing the barn door after the horse has already run away.
There are plastic dropcloths hanging from three shelving units and strung across on a line, creating an opening. The plastic is splattered with red droplets varying in size from a small spray to wide dripping splatters. When I pull the plastic aside I have to steady myself. This really is awful. There is so much blood, so much. There’s a body-shaped spot on the floor where there isn’t much blood. I’m assuming that’s where victim one was. Another victim hangs by his ankles against one of the shelving units.
The ceiling is apparently too high to have strung him up from there, so he had to improvise. This is similar to Taffy’s crime scene, but this one feels different. There was joy in the making of this horror. I tune in with the energy of the room. I’m disturbed on a cellular level at the excitement the perpetrator felt while he was torturing these people. Even though the second body is gone I can still sense the echo of his spirit, clinging to this place in the disbelief that he has moved on so suddenly, so violently. The ethereal see-through form of a cop wanders the area, not knowing where to go.
My heart aches for him, not knowing he’s really gone. He goes to the other victim and kneels down to be level with his face. He’s trying to speak to him, but I can’t hear what’s being said. I want to go over to him, but I can’t enter the area. I have to try to contact him from here. I inhale a preparatory breath and focus on the ghost of the man left behind.
“Hello.” I try to meter the tone in my mind so as not to startle him.
He looks up from the other cop, choking back his grief. “Can you help him?”
“I’m sorry, I really can’t. He’s gone. But I can help you.” I extend my hand for him to come to me.
“I’m okay, but he needs help. Can’t you call someone? Is the ambulance on the way?” Rising panic colors his expression.
“What’s your name, son?” He’s a younger man, I’d say in his early twenties. He can’t be more than a year or so on the force.
“Simmons, Mark Simmons.” He walks toward me to shake my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Officer Simmons.” I take his hand and press a tight smile, trying to hide my grief in this moment. “I’m Carl.”
“Good to meet you, Carl.” He’s vacillating between disorientation and panic. He turns back to the body then gazes at me with a knowing look in his eye. “Carl?”
“Yes, son?”
“Why are you the only one who can see me?” His gaze falls to the floor.
“Because I was sent to help you. Are you ready for me to help you?”
“Are you an angel?”
A laugh gets trapped in my chest, because nothing could be further than the truth. “No, I’m not an angel. I’m a different kind of asshole.”
He looks at me, curious. “How do you mean?”
“I’ve known a few angels in my time. Most of them are self-important egomaniacs.” I lean in close like I’m telling him a secret. “They aren’t what you think.”
He nods knowingly. “So how are you going to help me?”
“I’m going to help you go home.”
“My girl will be worried. She listens to the scanner while I’m at work. I should call her, let her know everything’s okay.” He pats at his pants pocket, looki
ng for his phone.
“Mark, you aren’t able to call her. But if you’d like to give me a message I will be more than happy to do that for you.” I really hate this, delivering the last words of the dead.
He inhales and looks around the room then with watery eyes asks, “Am I—”
I nod and put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You are going to a peaceful place. You will never feel pain again.”
“Really? How can I not know pain? I’ll be away from everyone I love. I have a baby girl on the way.” He puts his head in his hands.
“She’ll be okay, you’ll be able to watch over her.” Jesus Christ I can’t take this.
He inhales again and presses his lips into a thin line. “Okay, well I need you to tell Felicity that I love her. That I wouldn’t have left her if I had a choice.”
“I’ll tell her. Anything else?”
He composes himself and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Tell her to please name our baby girl after my mom, Michaela. It will mean everything to me.”
“I’ll tell her.” I drape my arm across his shoulders and urge him to walk with me. I’m not sure why this technique works. I think it has something to do with humans still feeling governed by earthly rules. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah, well, I guess.” He walks with me. “One more thing, Carl.”
“What’s that?”
There’s peace coming over him. “Tell Shay that I don’t blame her.”
I’m frozen in my tracks. “Shay? Shay Baynes?”
“Yes, he told me it was for her. That I had to die for her, but I don’t blame her.” He fidgets with his fingers.
“Do you know who did this?” I ask him, hoping to find some way to pin this on the true culprit.
“All I saw was a dark shadowy man. Sometimes when he was cutting me I was able to see his flesh, a face, cuts on his fingers. But for the most part all I saw was a dark haze of smoke around him.” His form is starting to fade.
“Mark, did he tell you his name? What did he look like? Were you able to see his face? What color his hair was?” I need the answers; I have to know before he fades completely.
Mark smiles now, consoling me. “I think you already know. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Mark, wait!”
He’s fading fast. He closes his eyes as a bright white light surrounds him. “Your pocket, Carl. The answers you are looking for are in your pocket.”
With that he fades to nothing and the room falls back into the darkness only broken by the harsh floodlights hanging from the ceiling. I reach into my pocket and pull out a blood spattered business card. I read it. “Lieutenant Mark Simmons.”
The warehouse feels like it’s about to close in on me and consume me. What does this mean?
“Carl?” Pitch taps my shoulder, knocking me out of my trance.
I rattle my head to shake off the confusion. “What is it?”
“You weren’t quite with us. What have you got?” he asks.
“Helping one cross over,” I answer, looking for somewhere to sit.
“They are letting us go.” Pitch gives me a knowing look. Damn it, I know it was necessary, but we really need to keep him in check.
“Pitch,” I warn.
“I think we should get the hell out of here fast. My powers of persuasion will only get us so far.” He tugs at my blazer.
Harry approaches me. “Are you okay? We kind of lost you there.”
“I’m fine.” I look back toward the crime scene to finish taking it all in before we go. There is an incredible amount of blood and I can hear the remnants of screams from the torture that took place here. This scene is reaching deep down inside and ripping through me. There are entrails strung across the tops of the shelving like Christmas garland. Blood seems to be this killer’s favorite art medium. The other body's intestines are woven into a makeshift basket holding him from the shelving. “That’s rough, strung up with your own intestines.”
Shay’s name is written in blood four times on each wall of plastic in variations of context: “Shay’s tribute.”, “For Shay.”, “From Shay with love.” The last wall just says “Shayleigh.” I look at Harry quizzically. “There’s something missing.”
“The creepy music?” Pitch asks.
I look at him, annoyed. “No, the symbols, there are no symbols on the wall. It’s only smears and her name.”
“You’re right.” Harry takes a closer look. “What do you make of that?”
“Either in a hurry, or not the Specter,” I say simply.
“What about this strange smearing of Shayleigh’s name?” Harry calls me closer to the image.
I look to the other cops, who seem to be okay with letting us trample the crime scene. I’m not sure what the hell they are thinking, but I’m going to go with it and glean what I can from this.
“Why would they spell her name out? You’re the only one I know that calls her Shayleigh,” I ask Harry.
“I don’t think it says Shayleigh.” He looks at me and gives me a minute to get it.
When I see it I’m still not sure exactly what it means, though I’m sure of what it implies. “Shaylise?”
Harry nods. “I think that’s what it says.”
“Why would the killer combine their names?” I’m thinking out loud.
“The killer is someone that knew both of them,” Pitch offers. “Or it’s a Satanic ritual to replace Shay’s body with Elise’s soul.”
Harry snaps to Pitch, “What?”
“He’s kidding, Harry.” I turn to Pitch. “Not funny.”
Pitch shrugs and heads for the door. “I’m getting out of here.” Quag follows quickly behind.
“Shay knew these guys?” I ask in a consoling tone.
“Yes, we all knew them,” Harry answers, blowing out a breath.
“I forget sometimes that you were the commissioner.” I look at the cops still working the crime scene.
“Just so long as Harry doesn’t forget it.” Filson comes up and stands next to Harry.
“Thanks Justin, being able to take a look around has been very helpful. We’re going to get out of your hair.” Harry moves for the door.
“Any time, Harry.” He turns away from us, then turns back. “Oh, Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“I think this puts us at even again, don’t you think?” Filson raises an eyebrow.
“Not quite, Filson.” Harry’s tone is begrudging.
We get outside the warehouse and we are all emotionally drained. “I’ve got to take care of a few things, then I’m going to go and meet up with Shay at lunch. I don’t want her out in public without some backup, especially when this news hits.”
“Good thinking, Carl.” Harry’s visibly shaken. “I’m going to make some phone calls then I’ll catch up with you back at Eli’s?”
“That sounds good.”
Miranda emerges from the warehouse with a cat that ate the canary smile on her face. “Carl, leaving so soon?”
I ignore her and walk to my car.
“Oh Carl, this isn’t very becoming. You should be careful how you treat people who hold your secrets. You never know when they might just drop one.”
I get in my car, continuing to ignore her. I’m not looking forward to what I have to do next. I pull the business card out of my pocket and look at it. On the back there’s an address. I’m betting this is Mark’s home address. I have a message to deliver.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Crazy, You Say?
Shay
Eli closes the door to Doctor Green’s office with a smile on his face. I’m not sure whether he’s amused or nervous. I look at him, waiting for him to speak as we walk hurriedly down the hallway.
“Okay, don’t give me that look.” I swat his shoulder. “That guy’s a joke.”
“Shay, I don’t know that he can help you if you aren’t honest with him.” His smile fades to a disapproving scowl.
“Really? If I told him the truth he’d ha
ve me committed in a heartbeat,” I tell Eli. “Lighten up. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Eli bores his eyes into me, demanding a serious answer.
“Yes I do.” I throw my shoulders back and stand up straight. “I’m not living in the past; I’m not going to live in fear or grief. I’m taking things one minute at a time. Because I never know what the next minute will hold.”
He steps in front of me, stopping me in my tracks. Eli’s hands find my waist and he backs me into a side hallway. “I know what I’d like to hold this minute and every minute from now until always.”
My eyes soften and my insides turn to jelly with his hands on my skin under my shirt. “Eli.” I’m trying to hold down the feeling of fear rising from being pushed in the corner; I’m letting the heat take over, not letting fear destroy this moment or any other like it. I’m only thinking of how nice his breath feels on my neck as he whispers my name in my ear.
“I love you, Shay.” His eyes are closed.
His words chase away the pain, fear and uncertainty. He crashes his lips over mine. I let him in, and it makes me greedy for more. I dig my fingers into his back, pulling him closer to me, and the kiss intensifies between us. This feels good, normal.
I need to go slow; I need to make sure she knows how much I love her.
For a moment I think that he’s speaking, but he’s not. I can hear his thoughts as clearly as though he were speaking. Something about this feels wrong, but I can’t stop it. I can’t shut it off.
Eli presses hard against my body, his warmth and ability to apply just enough pressure sending a hot shockwave dancing down my spine, straight to my thighs. Oh God I want her so bad, I need her.
“I want you too,” I whisper hot in his ear. My hands travel down his back and slide into his pockets. I pull him closer to me and feel how much he wants me.
He pulls back, red faced and looking away. “Sorry, I ah, um…”
“Shhh.” I pull his neck down to where I can reach it and nibble it. “It’s okay.” My hand slides out of his pocket and moves around to the front his pants, grabbing him gently. “I mean it, I want you too.”
He expels a pleasured gasp. “You need to stop or we’re going to get arrested here for indecent exposure.”
INK: Abstraction Page 19
