Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 1

by OneWithThe Hunger(lit)

  "Mariah-"

  "Do it and I'll see you tomorrow night."

  She slumped as the receiver was dropped on the other end and the dial tone filled her ears. Tears stung her eyes as she, too, dropped the receiver into the cradle. She wasn't obsessed with the murders, she wasn't. She had a professional curiosity that had nothing to do with her mother being killed in a similar manner many years before. It had nothing to do with this.

  Nothing.

  As she stumbled to her feet, the phone rang again. Thinking it was Mariah, she snatched it up and headed toward the dining room with the cordless in hand.

  "I really don't need..." Shai began.

  "I know who killed them," a low, masculine voice purred in her ear.

  Ripples of shock filtered through her body. She blindly pulled out a chair and sank into it. "W-w-what?" she stammered. On the floor next to the chair, she found a scrap of lace, lace from the panties she'd worn to bed last night. Perplexed, she ran a finger over her shirt-covered hip. She blanched. Panties she wasn't wearing now. Her hand clenched in a fist around the material as her mind scrabbled for a reasonable explanation for them being on the floor.

  "You know who I am," he spoke again.

  "Yes." Her throat felt suddenly dry and she concentrated on drawing deep, even breaths. It was him.

  "I know the identity of the killer of these soiled doves. Meet me this evening at ten P.M. at Lindy's on Broadway and please come alone."

  Alone? Is he nuts...

  "I..."

  His voice turned coaxing. "I have information you need to solve these crimes. Think of the lives that you alone can save... so unlike the last time."

  Her blood turned to ice in her veins and she strove to remain calm. Did he know about her mother? Who was this man? She opened her palm to see the lace lying there as if to mock her. Was this man her dark lover, Val? She had to know.

  "I'll be there," she murmured.

  He chuckled. "I knew you would be."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Shai dug through the bottom drawer of her desk at the newspaper office. Where in the devil was her spare tape recorder? She pulled out a crumpled bag of a once-popular snack. Heavens-how long had that been there? Didn't they quit making those about five years ago? It hit the trash with a dull thud.

  She located the errant recorder under a stack of yellowed newspapers and a brittle package of chewing gum. She retrieved the recorder and replaced the batteries as she told herself for the hundredth time that she was a complete fool to meet this man alone, but a multitude of questions ran through her brain. The first one was how had he gotten into her apartment last night? Secondly, what, if anything, did he know about the murder of her mother?

  She didn't talk about her mother, not even to her best friends. In her mind, her mother was sacred emotional territory and her rocky childhood was a stone better left unturned.

  "Shai." Leonard, one of the senior reporters, popped his head into her office and broke her train of thought. He tossed a manila envelope onto her desk. "This came for you this afternoon. It's the preliminary report from the coroner on the autopsy of one Regina Williams, the woman found outside the theatre last night."

  "Did you read it?" She snatched up the envelope and opened it.

  "Of course." He moved into the office, his near-skeletal body swamped by jeans and a button-down oxford shirt. He'd been the original reporter when the first body was found several weeks before and had lots of good insider information. He took a huge bite from a shiny red apple and continued speaking around it, spewing tiny bits of apple and spit. "Cause of death is massive blood loss, not to mention the fact that most of her throat was missing. She was literally drained dry. Of course, now, the question of the hour is where did all that blood go?"

  Shai frowned and flipped through the papers. "That's a good question," she said, not looking up from the report. She'd noticed the lack of blood last night and still no one seemed to have any answers. All of the victims had been literally drained of blood yet none of the coroner's reports could shed any light on why. The bodies had shown no evidence of being moved. Many reports indicated the victims had been killed where they'd been found, yet the blood had been missing from the scene.

  "According to that, it certainly wasn't at the scene." Leonard chomped noisily on the near-decimated fruit. "There were spots, but none of them were big enough to equal the amount drained. It'll take days until the results from the lab come back which will determine if the blood found all belonged to the victim."

  Shai met his gaze, dropping the pages on her desk. "So, no one has any clue? No scuttlebutt, no nothing?"

  He shook his head. "Nothing. The police are stumped, the detectives are stumped and there are rumors of calling in the Feds."

  She bit her lip. Now that was news. No one hated calling the Feds more than New York's finest. If they were contemplating such a step, it had to be because they were out of leads. In all of the murders combined, little forensic evidence had been left at the scene.

  From what she could gather, the authorities had only one leather glove and a single spot of blood from the second murder. That one spot had had some peculiar characteristics and they were still trying to determine if it was human or animal. So far, the theory was that it was human and very old, possibly from another unreported crime in the alley from years before. All in all, it was a perplexing series of crimes.

  "The police mentioned something about the possibility of a satanic cult or some such silliness." Leonard took another huge bite, spewing almost as much as he swallowed as he spoke.

  "What?"

  "The killings are almost ritualistic in nature." He tossed the decimated core into the trashcan. "We definitely have a new breed of serial killer on the prowl in lovely New York. Quicker, more efficient and fastidious, this person is the cream of the crop. Not that most serial killers aren't tidy because they are. However, it's nearly impossible to commit the perfect crime, yet, after several killings, this one is coming as close to the perfect crime as I've ever seen. They're leaving nothing of themselves behind. That doesn't happen every day."

  She gave a slow nod, her mind whirling with possibilities. "Who or what do you think is doing this, Leonard?"

  "If you ask me, I think it was vampires." He left her office, his laughter echoing in the hall.

  The small scratch on the side of Shai's neck began to tingle and she rubbed it absently. Despite his laughter, Leonard was probably serious about the vampire nonsense.

  Lindy's was a trendy restaurant in Manhattan, right off Broadway. When she arrived a few minutes early, it was packed from wall to wall with people. After telling the waiter she was expecting someone, he led her to a tiny table in the back of the long, narrow room and sat her facing the wall, away from the other patrons.

  Uneasy, she glanced around the room. Large crowds made her uncomfortable even though her job required a lot of social interaction in all sorts of situations. This was an especially well-dressed crowd, which made it worse.

  She tugged self-consciously at her worn blazer then patted her pocket reassuringly. Her tape recorder was in place and ready to go. Now, if she could just survive the confrontation.

  Please, please don't let it be him.

  She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and dropped them onto the table. She didn't smoke much, but now seemed like a good time to renew her acquaintance with Mr. Marlboro.

  Strong hands clamped her shoulders as a voice whispered into her ear. "Missing me?"

  Shai almost jumped out of her chair as cool lips brushed her ear, sending chills rocketing down neck. He released her then moved quickly around to the empty chair on the opposite side of the table.

  Her eyes widened as the newcomer relaxed into an elegant sprawl. The man last night didn't have blond hair nor were his eyes so icy. This definitely wasn't Val. Who the devil was this stranger?

  Whoever he was, he was quite handsome. Thick blond hair brushed his shoulders and he wore a blac
k turtleneck teamed with immaculate cream-colored trousers with knife-sharp pleats. His features were fine, almost feminine, and his eyes were a hypnotic, icy blue. A smile curved his finely sculpted mouth, but it wasn't a friendly smile.

  "Who are you?" she blurted.

  He shook his head, his expression turned mocking. "If I told you that, it would spoil the game, wouldn't it?"

  His gaze was disconcerting in its directness, leaving Shai feeling naked, vulnerable. She forced her gaze from his and pulled a cigarette from the pack. Reaching into her pocket, she turned on the tape recorder.

  "Who are you and what did you want to talk to me about?" She withdrew a slim silver lighter and prayed the stranger didn't notice the trembling of her fingers.

  His smile grew. "I wish to talk to you about a great many things and I can't decide where to be begin. Let's keep things simple, shall we? We're going to play a game. A very special game called 'Catch Me If You Can'."

  Nutcase.

  "And why would I want to play this game? I don't know who you are or what you know. How do I know you aren't some fruitcake who got my name from the newspaper?"

  A dangerous glint entered his eye to let her know that her words weren't pleasing him. His smile faded.

  "Many years ago, I had a pet like you. A she-wolf who'd been hunted for killing livestock." His voice almost crooned. "She needed to be... broken. After many weeks, she learned to take food from my hand only. Subservient and beautiful, and that was exactly how I wanted her to behave."

  A trickle of fear eased along Shai's spine at the menace lacing his words. "Lovely story, but what does that have to do with the murders?" She fought for a note of disdain in her voice.

  He visibly shook himself, and the smile returned. "There are certain aspects that haven't been released to the press."

  "Such as?"

  "The lack of blood from the victim and the scarcity of forensic evidence left behind." He leaned back, his expression self-satisfied.

  It was true that this information hadn't been released to the press. Only the killer or someone who'd been to the crime scene would have known any of what he'd just given her. Her eyes narrowed. It wouldn't be wise to let him know what she was thinking. She had a feeling he knew too much already.

  "Are you trying to tell me that you're the killer?"

  He held out his hands in a placating gesture, and she noticed that they seemed exceptionally pale. "But, of course, why else would I be here?"

  "For coffee?" She struggled to control her fear. If he really was the murderer, she could be in serious danger. Even after the call, she'd been skeptical. But it only took one look into his eyes to see the truth. She was sitting across from a madman.

  He snorted and waved a hand at the elegant patrons and masterpieces of food spread before them. "I can assure you there's nothing here that I want." He impaled her with his cold gaze. "Except you, of course."

  "Why me?"

  His expression turned dreamy. "You have the look of your mother about you."

  Panic lanced her heart as his eyes moved about her face as if to memorize every feature. "What do you know about my mother?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

  He blinked and the faraway look left his eyes. "Tell me what you know about serial killers," he commanded, ignoring her question.

  She sat back, surprised. Two could play this game and she wasn't intimidated yet. Frightened, yes. Unnerved, yes. Intimidated, no. As long as she was in a crowd, she should be safe enough. "You keep hinting that you're the killer. You tell me."

  He slammed his hand on the table and it wobbled precariously. "That isn't how the game is played!" he snarled.

  The hum of activity died as some of the patrons glanced at them curiously before resuming their conversations. Great-only in New York could a madman threaten her in a crowd and have no one pay the slightest bit of attention.

  Shai leaned forward. "Maybe you should let me know the rules," she hissed.

  "I ask the questions and you answer them," he snapped.

  She leaned back in her chair, grateful for the small table between them. Inadequate it might be, but she was grateful nonetheless. "Well, they usually kill within their own ethnic groups," she began.

  "No, no, no! I want to know why they kill." His eyes glittered feverishly and a trickle of fear ran down her spine.

  She glanced around the room. Even though the room was crowded, no one seemed to be aware they were even there. New Yorkers were notorious for not wanting to "get involved." Maybe she wasn't as safe as she'd thought?

  "They usually kill because they covet or..." she began.

  He shook his head. "Wrong again." He leaned forward and caught her hand. Icy fingers dug into her wrist, pulling her closer until they were nose to nose. The table dug into her stomach and she grunted in surprise. He was quick.

  "It's the hunger." His breath licked her mouth and she recoiled at the damp, almost coppery scent. "If you find another way to appease the hunger," his lips brushed hers, "the killing will stop."

  She recoiled from the feel of his cool lips. She wanted to cry out, but she was afraid once she started she wouldn't be able to stop. Instead, she concentrated on breathing evenly to control the rising panic. Without warning, he let go of her hand and she fell back against her chair. She rubbed her abused wrist.

  His smile was cruel as he licked his lips. Revulsion curled in her stomach. "The hunger drives us and there's no end to it. You, too, will soon know the hunger. It will consume your entire life and you'll spend all your time finding ways to appease it. Until you become one with the hunger..."

  She stared at him, her mind scrambling for a point of reference in this obscure conversation. She could find nothing.

  "You know exactly what I'm referring to." He reached across the table and captured her face with one cool hand before she could evade him. He held her captive as he drew a strong finger along her full lower lip, his gaze fixed on it.

  "To feel the burning, the eternal burning. The rush of desire that threatens to devour you. It, too, will possess you, body and soul, and you'll kill to feel it again and again."

  His chilling gaze flicked up to meet hers. Shai recognized the look that burned in the depths of his eyes. Lust. Her insides turned to ice.

  "The question is, who will be the winner and will you choose that winner wisely?' He chuckled. "'Tis a merry game we play."

  He released her and she jerked back in her chair. She closed her eyes, thankful for the tape recorder whirring in her pocket because no one was going to believe this conversation. She wasn't even sure that she did and she was a participant.

  "I'm afraid you..." She faltered when she opened her eyes and the chair before her was empty.

  The sudden silence in the restaurant caused her to look around. Nearby patrons were staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. A creeping feeling of unreality washed over her. What had just happened?

  Her cheeks flushed as she snatched up her cigarettes and rose from her seat. Turning, she walked to the door, the pinprick of dozens of gazes impaling her back. Her heart pounded as she dodged spectators, tables and serving people. She had the killer on tape and she'd seen him up close. It was time to go to the police.

  "Shai," Detective Henry placed his hands on the scarred wooden conference table and leaned across it to where she huddled in the chair. "I'm telling you, the only thing on that tape is your own voice. It sounded like you were having a one- sided conversation with yourself."

  "And I'm telling you I spoke to him." She gripped the chipped gray coffee mug and wondered if she was going insane.

  "And I'm telling you, there's nothing on that tape, and no one at the restaurant saw anyone with you. However, they do tell an interesting story of a young redhead talking to herself."

  How can this be?

  She bit her lip and stared sullenly at the tape recorder sitting on the table, her mind whirling madly in an attempt to find an answer. She jumped when Henry laid a hand on her shoulder. She h
adn't heard him walk around the table.

  "Shai-"

  She knew what he was going to say and cut him off by pulling away and getting to her feet.

  "I'm not surprised you're having trouble with the murders. Your mother..." he began again.

  "She has nothing to do with this." Shai grabbed the offending recorder and shoved it into her bag. "I knew it was a mistake to tell you about her. This is a different matter altogether, and it's become personal. It's between him and me now. If you won't listen to me and use the information I have to stop him, then, by heaven, I will!"

  "Don't do anything rash," he cautioned.

  "'Rash'?" She glanced back over her shoulder as she wrenched open the door to the interview room. "You haven't seen anything yet." Detectives in the office fell silent, watching her surreptitiously over their paperwork. Mindless of the people staring at her, she stomped through the room, heading for the hall that led to the outside and freedom.

  "Don't make me lock you up, Shai," Henry bellowed after her.

  She gave a short bark of laughter. "Catch me if you can."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Shai swirled the scotch in her ancient Flintstones jelly glass, the golden liquid catching the light from a single candle, turning it to amber fire. A Christmas gift from several years before, the small bottle of scotch had rarely seen the light of day. She tugged at the dusty red ribbon around its neck.

  "Some of the Highlands' finest." She giggled, her voice sounded slurred. Raising the glass, she downed the liquid. The afterburn brought tears to her eyes and she blinked them away.

  She'd drunk enough in the last hour that she shouldn't be feeling anything. But she was. She was feeling too much. And remembering even more.

  She had few memories of her father, but one was crystal clear. A vision of him sitting at a lopsided kitchen table in the middle of the night after a fight with her mother. He was wearing a tee shirt and grimy jeans, swilling the cheapest whiskey he could afford that week. She'd seen him do this many times in the few short years he'd remained with them. It was shortly after one of their horrendous fights that he'd abandoned them, and her mother had turned to prostitution to support her drug habit and the daughter she'd never wanted.