The Blood Gardener (The Dark River Book 2)

by Michael Richan

  “That’s fucking horrible!” Franklin said.

  “So we have a half-dozen or so mutilations like this in the last ten nights, ending with Hauer. Brass decided Brooksby was in over his head last Thursday, stuck me and Johnson on it to help him out.” He paused.

  “I feel for Hauer,” Derick moaned. “I really do. But I’m retired.”

  “We’re stuck. At first I assumed it was too much for Brooksby to handle. You know he sometimes sat on things. But, the more I looked at it the more I realized there was nothing to go on. Nothing. Brooksby had done everything right, there just wasn’t anything to work with. No witnesses, no evidence, just the stories of each of the victims. And here’s the kicker: at each attack, no sign of entry. Man who lost his tongue had a security system; it wasn’t triggered.”

  “Self-mutilation,” Derick replied. “They knew each other somehow. Or it’s a copycat kind of thing.”

  “Not that we’ve been able to determine. Hauer? He’s no 1096. No way.”

  “OK, so you got a weird case,” Derick said. “So?”

  “So,” Henderson said, looking down uncomfortably then over to Franklin. “Thought you might be able to help.”

  “Help? How?”

  Henderson looked at Franklin again. “Frank says you might be able to crack something about it.”

  “How would I do that?”

  It was clearly making Henderson uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t go for the whacko stuff, but we’ve got nothing but dead ends here, and…”

  Derick slid out of the seat and stood. “This breakfast’s on you,” he said, looking at Franklin, and walked away.

  “I just want you to talk to Hauer,” Henderson called after him, rising from the booth and following Derick. “See if you get something out of his story that we’re not picking up. You do owe me, you know.”

  Derick stopped and turned to Henderson, furious. “I’ll talk to Hauer because he’s a friend,” he said. “Not for the reasons you’re asking.” Then he turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter Two

  Derick pulled up at his house and parked. He was still moving some of his belongings from the house to the trailer, and he tried to take a couple of boxes of things every day, slowly whittling down the items he needed to get by. He preferred to do it during the day so he could keep an eye out for trouble. Before exiting the car, he pulled his gun from the glove compartment and tucked it under his shirt.

  I should sell this house soon, he thought as he walked to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside. He carefully cleared the house, checking each room to be sure no one had broken in. It made him think of Henderson’s story about the home invasions. He felt his testicles pull up a little inside his pants.

  He resolved to give Franklin a verbal lashing the next time they were alone. He knew the cop mentality and how it didn’t comport with the sorts of things he’d discovered via the Achernar Group and the Dark River. He knew if he assisted Henderson and was successful in some manner, there was a good chance he’d be labeled a crackpot by the guys on the force for the rest of his life.

  Still, he wondered. Hauer might not be so judgmental, given his situation. And if he limited his involvement to just Hauer, maybe…

  He grabbed a box and looked through it. It contained a few more clothes; mainly underwear.

  Could definitely use more underwear at the trailer, he thought, but that’s not the box I need. He surveyed the remaining ones, and calculated that if he wanted to move them all, at the rate he was going he’d be done in about three months. He’d managed to pack up almost all of his things when he thought Belize had come through and was his destination. Now that the trailer was in the picture, he didn’t have the heart to unpack them all, and didn’t really need to.

  Most of it can stay here, he thought, or go into a storage unit. Don’t need this stuff to get by. If I sell the house, I should get rid of it all.

  It reminded him of an argument he’d had with his last wife. He’d always bemoaned her constant shopping and collection of things. Now, as he was staring at a collection of stuff that didn’t include any of her belongings, he realized he had as much crap as she ever did. Maybe more.

  As I suspected, you’re a hypocrite, he thought.

  He searched until he found the box he really wanted — filled with books from Achernar Press. He examined a few of the spines, and decided it was enough.

  He hauled the box to the door, stopping to set the alarm and lock the house. After scanning the walkway and street, he walked the box to his car and tossed it into the back seat.

  He wanted to see A, to drop into the flow and travel to the Dark River. It had been several days since he’d been there, and he was becoming fearful that A might be running out of time.

  His car wasn’t headed to his trailer, though. He was headed in the opposite direction. He was heading to Hauer’s house.

  I can at least see how the guy is doing, he thought, see if I can help. He’s been a decent friend over the years. Doesn’t mean I have to poke into Henderson’s case.

  - - -

  He didn’t recognize the woman who opened the door.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “My name’s Derick Hall,” he answered. “I’m here to see Lance.”

  “He’s not able to see people,” she replied, preparing to close the door.

  “I’m with the force,” Derick replied. “Lieutenant Henderson asked me to stop by.”

  “Oh,” she replied, looking back up at him. She seemed to consider ways she might deny him entrance once again, but quickly gave up. “I guess you’d better come in then. I’m Denise. Hired nurse. I check up on him three times a day.” She closed the door behind him.

  “How is he?”

  “He’s awake, but not for long,” she replied, nodding to a hallway from which the soft sounds of a television emanated. “I was just about to leave. You’ll take care to lock the door when you go? Mr. Hauer can’t move out of bed at the moment.”

  “Yes, I’ll make sure it’s locked.”

  She grabbed a bag from the floor and lifted its strap over her shoulder. “Back in four hours,” she said, opening the door. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” he replied, and turned to walk down the hallway. “Hauer?” he called.

  “Who’s that?” he heard from the last room on the right. He walked to the bedroom and found Hauer inside, covered to the waist by a sheet. The room was warm and his torso was bare. He had his upper back propped up against pillows so he could see a TV screen sitting on a dresser. “Hall?” he said with a slight look of surprise as Derick walked into the room. Derick noticed him release his grip on something under the bedsheets. A gun, Derick thought.

  “Howdy,” Derick said. “Denise let me in.”

  Hauer reached for a remote near his legs and turned off the television. “Come in,” he replied, motioning to a chair near the bed.

  Derick walked to the chair and sat. “Henderson told me about what happened, through Frank. How ya feeling?”

  “The doctor gave me Oxy,” he said, glancing at a pill bottle on his nightstand. “I’m trying to avoid them. Don’t wanna get hooked. But when it gets really painful I take ’em. Took some a little while ago, I’m waiting for it to kick in.” He winced.

  Derick could tell his friend seemed a little embarrassed. He decided to avoid asking about the wound.

  “Henderson said there was no sign of entry,” Derick said.

  “Yeah, damnedest thing,” Hauer said. “I thought I had the house better secured. Check your locks when you go home tonight.”

  “What happened?”

  “They must have held me down,” Hauer replied. “The only way I can figure, it was a group of guys, pulling on my arms and legs to keep me from moving. Then one of them carves into me. So, five at least. Didn’t see them though. It was too dark.”

  “Sounds like the guy Brooksby has been looking for,” Derick said.

  “Yeah, some sick fuck breaking into pe
ople’s homes. Didn’t take anything, except what he cut out of me.” Hauer began to fidget a little, repositioning himself in bed. He winced in pain once again.

  “Anything else?” Derick asked. “Anything unusual?”

  Hauer turned to him. He saw the confirmation on Hauer’s face immediately. Yes, he thought. Something strange did happen. Hauer seemed ready to explain, then his face changed and a mask of defensiveness slowly took over the man’s countenance. “Unusual?” he asked with manufactured derision. “What do you mean?”

  I have to be careful, Derick thought. He’s constructed a rational explanation of what happened in his head. Don’t want to threaten that too much. I also don’t want to come off as a kook. If I’m lucky he’ll open up and tell me what he was just thinking.

  “I heard they’re struggling for leads,” Derick answered. “Not much to go on.”

  “It’s a gang of five, maybe six people,” Hauer replied, his face set.

  “Did you notice any unusual smells?” Derick asked. “Maybe something really odd, or unexplainable?”

  Hauer gave him a suspicious, defiant stare. “What do you mean?”

  He’s not going for it, Derick thought. That little glimpse was all I’m going to get.

  “Just trying to jog your memory a little,” he said. “See if there’s some detail that might shake loose.”

  “No offense, Hall,” Hauer said. “But aren’t you retired?”

  That’s it, Derick thought. He’s done.

  “Well, sorry to see you in this state,” Derick said. “Glad it wasn’t something worse.”

  He could see a haziness washing over Hauer’s eyes as the painkillers kicked in. His eyelids began to droop a little.

  “I’ll be going,” Derick said. “Just wanted to see how you were. Anything you need?”

  “Nah, Denise brings me anything I ask for,” Hauer mumbled as the Oxy began to numb his brain. “Thanks for stopping by though. Sorry, but I’m gonna be loopy in a second.”

  Derick turned to leave, walking back through the house, hearing the TV click on behind him. He locked the front door and pulled it shut as he left. Didn’t learn much, he thought.

  On the drive to his trailer he called Frankin.

  “Hello?” Franklin answered. “Hall?”

  “Met with Hauer,” Derick replied.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Something strange happened that he didn’t report. Saw it on his face. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t talk about it. Most cops won’t. He thinks five or six people held down his limbs while he was cut into.”

  “None of the other victims reported a group of people in their house,” Franklin replied.

  “That’s what he’s constructed in his head as an explanation so he doesn’t come off sounding like a crazy. He’s not going to tell me any more than that.”

  “What if Henderson could arrange for you to see one of the other victims?”

  Derick sighed. Whatever Hauer was hiding intrigued him, though he knew he couldn’t pursue it any further with Hauer and not come off looking like a kook. If he could talk to someone a little more open, someone not invested in a cop’s rational expectations, he might learn whatever aspect of the attack Hauer was unwilling to share.

  “OK,” he told Franklin. “I’ll meet with one more. Tell Henderson it needs to be whoever had the strangest story.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  “Make sure he understands I’m only going to meet with one more person. I’m not working this case with him. This is a one-shot deal, so pick the right person. I’m only doing this out of respect for Hauer.”

  “Got it.”

  “And Franklin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t volunteer me for this kind of thing ever again, will you? Especially not with the force? I’m not going to be some whack psychic they can use whenever they want, got it?”

  “No,” Franklin replied sheepishly. “I won’t.”

  - - -

  He hauled the box from his car to the trailer door, setting it down briefly while he unlocked three deadbolts. He could feel the mosquitoes landing on his arms and neck as he quickly worked to get the trailer open. It reminded him of how he’d be stung once inside the Dark River, and the importance of remembering to come back out before the eggs could hatch. Every time he scratched a mosquito bite he thought of it as a kind of wristband to remind him.

  The beeping of the alarms began as soon as the door cracked. He quickly closed the door after bringing in the box, hoping he’d kept as many mosquitoes from getting in as possible. He turned to the alarm pads and deactivated them both.

  The trailer wasn’t big. It was only meant as a place to lay his head while traveling to the Dark River, not as any kind of permanent pad. Things were a little chilly, so he turned on the heater and decided to make some coffee on the small propane stove.

  While the water warmed, he checked his perimeter systems, all set up in the back room. In the most prominent position was the legend shelf, which appeared to be humming right along, its lines demarcating areas around the trailer. The closest perimeter was the most expensive; a complete barrier that would stop any altered or River entity from entry twenty feet out, in any direction. The outer ring extended another two hundred feet, and was an alarm; it connected to a device he would wear around his wrist when he dropped into the flow and entered the Dark River. It would let him know if there was trouble around the trailer, giving him time to return. The man who sold him the legend shelf assured him the inner ring would completely protect him.

  Of course, it wouldn’t protect him from a random burglar or some hick exploring down at the river. Most people didn’t go anywhere near the spot because of the mosquitoes, but he wasn’t going to rely on just that. He had two security systems installed, with long-range motion detectors on the exterior. It was all professional grade equipment, and it had cost a good deal of money.

  Not as much as the legend shelf had cost, though. The shelf, along with its customization, had eaten away a good chunk of the Achernar money. As he saw it, he didn’t have a choice. He had to have a safe environment, even if he wasn’t going to be spending time in the Dark River. He had enemies now. He’d destroyed Yann, and forces within the Dark River would react to that. He was a wanted man, and he knew they were capable of coming after him in the real world, too.

  The kettle was whistling. He returned to the stove and poured the hot water into a French press. Waiting on the coffee, he cleaned off a padded bench so there was enough room to lay on it. He was anxious to see A and spend more time with the kid before the inevitable arrived. It had been weeks now, and according to Monkey, the kid’s time was up.

  It didn’t take long for the heater to bring up the temperature in the trailer, and he heard the thermostat click off as he took a long sip of the coffee. It felt good going down. He shucked off his coat and began to relax, anticipating his journey down the well and into the place most gifteds considered off-limits.

  Chapter Three

  Derick closed his eyes, grasping at the figurine in his pocket, feeling its threads escape the stone surface and enter the flesh of his hand. At the same time, he felt his physical body falling away, leaving only his mind, controlling a version of himself that rose out of the trailer and into the air above it. It took a few seconds before he could gain control of it and head downward, flying rapidly over the ground until he came upon the nearby abandoned house.

  Behind the house, down an old, boarded-over well, he soon plunged into water, and after a few moments more he passed through to a rocky chamber where several wooden barrels held small glowing glass tubes. He picked one up and pinned it to his chest, then chose from the seven roughly-hewn passages at the other end of the chamber. He entered the second one from the left, and felt himself tugged forward until his eyes closed and he passed through to the place of eternal night: the Dark River. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the sign by the side of the road, while at the same time pinching his nose close
d to avoid the stench he knew would soon assault his nostrils.

  “Hello, Roarke,” he mumbled up at the signpost, enjoying the sensation of having arrived at the place he was becoming more and more familiar with; a place no one from his normal life could ever visit. The only people here were those with the gift, the ability to enter the River. He didn’t possess the gift, but he did possess the figurine, which was good enough.

  He looked up and down the dark road. There was no movement, no bobbing glasslights indicating other travelers on the paths. He turned around, surveying in all directions, and saw no firestorms in the distance. Everything was eerily quiet and he appeared to be completely alone, with the glasslight on his chest casting a dim radiance no more than three feet from his body in any one direction. He removed his hand from his nose, and let himself become accustomed to the rotten air. It wasn’t as bad after the first few breaths.

  Might as well, he thought as he started the rush, the orgasmic addiction that brought so many gifteds to the Dark River. It began in his groin and radiated out, soon wiping out his thoughts for a couple of seconds with the most ecstatic wave of pleasure he’d ever experienced outside of sex. He enjoyed the rush as much as anyone, and usually indulged the minute he arrived, though he preferred to experience the intense mind-orgasm alone, away from the crowds at Portsmouth. The idea of other people watching him rush didn’t excite him the way it did others. Like a real-world orgasm, it felt too personal to be put on display.

  As the calming glow of the post-rush settled into him, he began his walk to Monkey’s. His glasslight didn’t illuminate much more than the path ahead of him — no light seemed to do more than that in the Dark River, unless you combined hundreds of glasslights together, something he wouldn’t be able to carry — but he’d walked this particular path enough times that he knew to persevere on when he heard the strange moans and growls coming from the sides of the road. Although it sounded as though he might be attacked at any moment, he knew the creatures in Roarke wouldn’t approach the road unless something drove them out of the wilds, like Eaters.