Unable to help myself, I asked, “Where’d you get the ring?”
The question halted the conversation and her massaging fingers. She shook her head. “It’s nothing, just some bad memories,” she answered, letting it slide back between her generous mounds of supple flesh.
I’ve gotta get home. Paige would kill me if she knew what was going through my mind. Hell, Jessie would, too. Paige started it though, threatening me with such enticing promises.
Jessie looked at Liz and gave me a sideways nod as if to say, “You can trust him.” The motion pulled me from my thoughts.
She let out a deep sigh and whispered, “It belonged to my previous lover. We traded rings, but before we could exchange vows and make it official with a wedding, he was killed in a car wreck.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I mumbled, feeling guilty at having brought up such a touchy subject.
Thankfully, the awkward topic was interrupted by the waitress taking our drink orders. After Jessie ordered a bottle of wine that I couldn’t pronounce and was astounded to hear come from his lips, the waitress said, “I’ll bring that right out. If you’d like to take a walk through our high-rise garden while you wait, feel free. The stars are beautiful tonight, and the flowers are in bloom.” Then she vanished into the dark room.
“High-rise garden!” Liz squealed. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
“You’ve never been here before?”
“No, never,” she whispered with a childish grin. Pulling Jessie to his feet, she said, “Let’s go walk under the stars. Jennet told me that when she came to Jardin de Nuit, the gladiolus and moonflowers were beautiful in the moonlight.”
Jessie rose with an adoring smile, his eyes taking in every inch of her. “We’ll be back in a few,” he said, turning his attention to me long enough to wink.
“Take your time, Jess. I’m not going anywhere.”
They passed through two windowed doors. Staring between the curtained glass, I watched their shapes walk hand in hand along the paved walkway. The white, pink, and purple petals of various night flowers opened wide amongst the foliage around them, soaking in the night’s rays.
Paige would love this. I sat admiring the enclosed garden from my limited vantage until the two lovebirds disappeared around a river-rock fountain. Then my thoughts returned to Paige, the morning of our wedding: her glowing skin, grinning face beneath the white veil, and bright eyes that could have lit up the church on their own. Jamie, my growing son, lay in her protruding belly under folds of decorated lace. She couldn’t have been more beautiful. The kiss was electric, and the room filled with the families’ applause.
My thoughts wandered to other boys around Jamie’s current age: fifteen. Junior Lee had been about the same age when he died. Anger at this serial killer’s insanity bubbled inside me at the thought of someone stealing the remainder of Jamie’s life, ripping it away. I bit my lip, trying to restrain the raging emotion. In an effort to control myself, I unfolded my cloth napkin from the elegant, folded silverware napkin. Laying it on my lap, I maneuvered my silverware in order on the tablecloth, nudging them apart a little at a time to perfect the spacing between each one. I focused on their polished shine and the mirror image reflecting back at me from my fork handle.
What am I doing here? My hand tightened around it, framing my narrow, oblong reflection. I should be out looking for that murderer, not sitting in this elegant restaurant. This is Jessie’s time, his moment with Liz, and I’m in the middle of it while the seconds are counting down to the next murder.
At that moment, Liz appeared leading Jessie by the hand. “Alex,” she said through a grin a mile wide, “we’re getting married.” She held up her hand, and the ring glittered under the table’s focused light.
Only then did I notice that the prongs of my fork were digging through the tablecloth and into the table. I quickly set it down.
“Seems she had one for me, too,” Jessie added. The ring that was previously on a chain around her neck now encircled his finger. He put his hand out to me, and the light seemed to bend around the twisted metal. What I thought before was design, upon closer inspection, seemed to be the result of fire. The metal itself looked as though it had hardened outside of a mold while still fluid. Before I could see more, Jessie pulled out Liz’s seat like a gentleman and then took his own.
“You won’t believe how beautiful it is out there,” Liz whispered, leaning over the table in her excitement. “I could never have imagined a more beautiful proposal.” She turned to gaze at Jessie. “I do. I do. I do,” she whispered.” Jessie laughed and smiled more broadly than I’d ever seen.
“My, my. I’m so happy for you two.”
“Who would’ve thought?” she murmured, taking Jessie’s hand in hers. The light from overhead glinted off his ring, illuminating the liquid folds on its surface.
“I have to ask. I’m sorry for the question after such wonderful news, but the band you gave Jessie is just so unique. What happened to it?”
Liz paused and sucked in a quick breath. “I-it was my fiancé’s, like I said.”
“Right, I understand. I’m sorry to even ask, but did it burn in the wreck?”
She shook her head and Jessie quirked his eyebrow. “No, no nothing like that,” she said. “He was a firefighter, and over the years he ran into too many fires to count. The heat took its toll on the metal, flexing and molding it around his finger.”
“I see,” I said, nodding. “Sorry to ask. It just looks so distinct.”
“I understand. Not a problem.”
“But on a happier note, congratulations again! I look forward to seeing you two walk down the aisle. However, I think this night should be left to the lovebirds.” Standing, I took Liz’s fingers in mine and kissed the back of her hand. “Take care of him. He’s a great guy,” I whispered.
“I will,” she mumbled with a shy smile.
“But how will you get back to the apartment?” Jessie asked, rising from his seat.
I shook his newly adorned hand and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. The subtle streams of light from our table and others flashed into darkness, preceded by a whiff of worn leather.
A LIFE OF DEATH: 11
BY
WESTON KINCADE
- BOOKS of the DEAD -
Thirteen
Memories in Need of Justice
September 16, 2011
The dim light of a campfire flared to life before my eyes. Leaves littered the ground under my knees and feet as I knelt before Anubis, staring at his dark work boots from barely a foot away. The flames leaped as though dancing, their shadows playing across the murderer’s jeans as though coming to life.
“I see you went so far as to decorate my mark… with roses no less,” the beast muttered. “That just won’t do. It needs to be fresh and visible for Anubis.”
The voice was the same lifeless female’s. The victim’s thoughts echoed through my mind. Sweet Jesus! Marla, help me. Anyone? I tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled collection of indecipherable sounds. I even felt drool course down my lip and coat my chin’s whiskers. Drugged, heavily drugged, I concluded through the mental fog.
A long, glowing stick emerged from the fire, and the Anubis clone carried it past me. Suddenly a burning sensation flared in my calf. I jolted to the side, but my bound legs and wrists allowed me only to tumble onto my side. The smell of seared flesh wafted to my nose, enhanced by the drug. My nose scrunched at the smell and the lingering pain.
“Don’t give me that. You are my golden bull, not some weakling. You chose the mark and the location, Greg.”
I chose this? What? I tried to mumble an explanation, but incoherent sounds dribbled from my lips.
Her heavy boots and legs squatted before my tilted eyes as I stared past her at the trees. The glowing length of metal appeared inches away from my face, and then the searing pain blessed my forehead. I screamed and tried to rock away, contorting my body across the ground, but the damage h
ad been done.
“There, that’s better,” she continued. “She’ll be so happy to see your sacrifice.”
My tongue felt thick and dry, and now the smell of burnt flesh permeated throughout my nostrils. I couldn’t get away from it, but soon the dancing shadows of the forest returned. I squinted at them, trying to make out the beast who had stepped away, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Are you ready, my prized flesh?” she rasped with a hint of joy in her otherwise-distant tone. “It’s almost time.”
Cool liquid streamed onto my cheek and shoulders, then down my body, soaking my white undershirt and jean shorts. A scent stronger than my burning flesh wafted to me—lighter fluid. “Oh, not again!” I screamed, but a moan so low it was almost a grumble was all that escaped as I succumbed to the inevitable, mentally broken.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death… I began chanting unbidden in opposition to those the beast began speaking.
I tried to distinguish the woman’s words, but they were in a language I couldn’t understand.
The tall, shadowy figure paced around me, disappearing from view. She circled time and again until the words finally stopped. The monster threw a bucket of fluid into the flames, and the bonfire roared. I was on my fifth repetition of prayer when the stranger’s hand jerked me upright.
“Anubis, accept my offering and see that my mother continues into the Duat,” she commanded.
Suddenly something slammed into my back, and I flew forward… into the flames. Orange, red, and searing-white colors flared as every inch of my body screamed in pain and horror.
* * *
I was left panting in the dark a moment later, relieved by the instant absence of pain. Oh man! So that’s what happened to the mayor’s son. Greg Dihler had been a suspect in the early investigation because of his involvement with the team, although his father hadn’t known. At least the police thought Greg might be involved, until his name made the list of victims. Since then, Mayor Dihler goes on a rampage every September. Another thought crossed my mind, answering a question I’d been trying to resolve for years. Her mother. That’s the she. How—who? Before I come to any further conclusions, a fourth whiff of aged leather came to me. “Oh no. No more, please,” I pleaded, but nothing stopped the assaulting vision.
* * *
“Oh my-my-my,” hissed a melodious, yet intrigued woman’s voice––the same one as before. “I must say that I love what you did. It screams ‘Child of Osiris’,” she muttered, her voice carrying to me from afar. “Celtic knotwork. Anubis will approve of your sacrifice.”
Her boot heels clopped on the asphalt and a red neon sign bloomed to life out of the darkness. My eyesight was fuzzy, and the world seemed to shift under another round of drugs, but I finally deciphered the scrawled, glowing words. Ernie’s Autobody, it read above the door. The faint glow of the words reflected off the blue, metal roof of the building. I stared up at it until the jackal head floated into view, its dark gaze staring down at my kneeling body and piercing my heart. Something was gripped in its hand, the end glowing bright orange.
“Help me, please,” I tried to scream, but I felt even more drugged than before and barely heard my own gurgle echo across the rows of abused and beaten cars parked in the lot.
“What was that?” hissed the mutant creature, a hint of curiosity in its feminine voice.
I tried to scream again, but only drooled down my chin. Even that sensation was numb. I was barely aware, but knew full well the outcome of this night. Frustration at my inability to help simmered within me, melding with muted panic. I can’t do a damn thing.
“Let’s decorate it a bit more, shall we?” she said and stepped out of sight, the branding iron finally visible in her gloved fist.
Although numbed by the drugs, the pain still registered when the scalding metal was pressed against my spine. I screamed, and this time words were unnecessary. When she pulled it away, momentary relief washed over me. Then the bar of burning metal touched my side, searing skin to ribs. I let out another howl of pain that only ended when she took the brand away.
She giggled. It was crazed, happy, and… young. “One more,” she whispered with another short giggle. “Sound good?” She didn’t wait for my answer, instead ramming the rod into my other side. “It has to be even!” she roared. I tried to jump up, but I was bound and unable to stand.
The chanting began again a moment later, the sounds filtering through the air as though distant. I shuffled around on my knees, turning to find the source of Anubis’s chanting, and found the monster standing next to a burning, metal barrel. My eyes widened at the sight. Sweet Lord, guard and protect Isabelle. I love her with all my heart. Make this quick, and don’t let her see me like this.
The beast prodded me toward the barrel once she finished her chant. “Stop!” I tried to shout. Tears streamed down my face and onto my flannel shirt as waves of flame billowed closer, singeing my hair and eyes. The pain grew as Anubis shoved my head into the raging barrel from behind. I tried to fight, to pull back as the roaring fire blistered my face and shoulders, sending the gruesome smell of burning flesh and smoke up my nostrils and clogging my mouth, but bound and drugged, a moment later I was tipped headfirst into the inferno. The last sound I heard beyond the roaring echo was my own reverberating cry.
* * *
I stumbled in the dark, but was unable to see anything beyond an absence of existence. Yet somehow I panted, free from the confined barrel, searing flames, and choking smoke. Taking a haggard breath, I closed my eyes. It was no different from the pure darkness that surrounded me. “Oh Lord, help me,” I muttered. Robin Gemanc had endured all of that, and now so had I. Taking one final breath, another vision assaulted my consciousness.
* * *
“No one can help you, Kevin,” the murderer answered, startling me.
Yellow porch lights flickered to life like fireflies attached to a ranch home.
“I’ve been watching you.”
“Wait, wh-who are you?” I stuttered, another strange male voice coming out slurred.
“A friend. Your best friend,” the feminine voice answered as though almost trying to seduce me. “You’re going to save my mother. Don’t you want that?”
I shook my head, but stammered, “Y-y-yes.” The world wobbled around me, but seemed clearer than the visions before.
“Good,” she answered, drawing out the word and cinching the leather strap tight around my wrists.
I tried to pull away from the latticework wall I was backed up against. The wooden lattice crunched and flexed, but the leather straps around my chest and waist held me to something stronger. The four-by-four beams, I thought with diluted frustration. I built the thing too damn sturdy! I glanced up to see the cheap, wooden paneling I’d attached years before when I built the large playhouse for my young daughter. She wanted a sandbox or a playhouse for Christmas; she couldn’t decide which, I remembered. So, I gave her both: a playhouse on stilts, with a ladder entrance, above a lattice-enclosed sandbox. The yellow light from my porch across the yard illuminated the white, painted wall. It was almost gray now, but rainbows spanned the playhouse’s outer wall with leprechauns prancing at each end, their black, curved smiles brightening their chubby faces with half-moon dimples. Even in the dim light, the vibrant colors Jacqueline helped me paint still brought a smile to my face. I wasn’t sure if it was real, or a mind-altering effect of the drugs that lunatic stuck in me, but the thought of her, my Jacqueline, now four years old with brunette hair and dimples to match both her mother and the leprechauns, made me grin even wider.
Scratching sounds, thumps, and the murderer’s voice echoing through the darkness around the playhouse interrupted my nostalgic memory. “I know you want me to be happy, Kevin, and this is how it can happen. You are a prize, a golden bull, my annual sacrifice of flesh. What’s more is, in addition to your personal sacrifice, you will give up exactly what brings you happiness.”
A laugh tinged with insanity echoed back. “Oh don’t worry. If I wanted her, I would’ve taken her. I branded you years ago, you and the others. I know you’ve got fancy tattoos, but the one on your forearm is mine. You are mine. Remember?”
I glanced down. A tattoo with roses wound around the bottom of an ankh, but the ankh was newly seared into my flesh and throbbed.
“You’re one of my golden bulls,” she continued, “head of the football team, celebrated by everyone, the upcoming leaders of our small hamlet. I want you and your happiness. This… thing you are so proud of is perfect. It will make a wonderful funeral pyre. Now it’s time to pay the piper.”
I shut my eyes as my thoughts swam, slowly pulling the pieces of the night together, but it was like building a house of memories in quicksand––four supports in, and three would vanish. Jacqueline and Cindy are at the movies, I finally remembered. Girl’s night, Jacqueline calls it; got it from Cindy. Remembering Jacqueline’s name for the weekly event brought her childish voice and face to mind. The memory brought tears to my eyes. I’ll never see her again, my sweet Jacqueline and lovely Cindy. At least they aren’t here. They’re safe. I breathed a sigh of relief and sniffled, but it wasn’t just the tears or the drugs tickling my nose… smoke.
Smoke wafted through the lattice wall, and the back of my jean-clad legs felt warm. After a few seconds, or eons, I felt a noticeable difference. The warmth had filtered through my clothes and was growing hotter. The pop and curl of singed, overheated branches and tinder filtered to my ears. The heat moved up my leg and began warming my hands until the skin began to blister. Every sensation was distorted by the drugs, but the pain seemed immense, especially from my ring fingers. I roared, bellowing in pain, screaming at the realization of my more vividly illuminated surroundings. I glanced up at the painted wall and watched the rainbows and leprechauns’ faces blacken and change, distorting their cheery smiles into maniacal, demonic grins filled with malice. It seemed as though their eyes glared at me until the paneling and paint became charred and flaked away, drifting on the rising waves of heat from the growing bonfire. The flames surrounded me, lighting up the latticework everywhere I looked. I struggled to free my blistering legs, arms, and neck to no avail. I pressed my back against the latticework, hoping to massage the flames out of existence.
A Life of Death: Episodes 9 - 12 Page 8
