"You see those jackasses staring at me; they have made sure that I haven't completed a meal in a week. I 'm running on fumes at this point, and if I fall asleep in one more class, I'm outta here. So excuse me if I don't care about your sulky brooding act. I need to eat and you're the only one they won't mess with, so until we graduate, I'm your shadow, handsome. You now have a little, blond, white mini-me. Where you go, I go." Eli had looked at the skinny little man with big blue eyes and smiled. Riley had finished his chili and dug into a piece of cardboard cornbread like an animal.
"You gonna eat that?" He pointed to Eli's half-eaten food once his tray was licked clean. Sighing, Eli shoved his tray over to him.
"Eat." He said simply. That had been the start of it, and they had remained best friends for ten years. And in those ten years, he had seen Riley go through a dozen boyfriends, his party boy phase in which he wore day glow neon almost daily, and finally his current state of self-acceptance.
"Why are you here so early?" Eli asked, laughing off Riley's comments. Knowing Riley as long as he did, his sexual innuendo and crudeness was a part of his charm. Riley had the ability to charm both men and women with his easy good ol' boy southern charisma.
"You don't know? We've got a high profile case. Missing Body." Riley grinned.
Eli groaned and shook his head. "We're homicide not missing persons."
"I said high profile. The rock star, Nicky Sky, his body is missing." Riley was about to burst from the excitement. One of the perks of being a homicide detective was the fact that they always got high profile and celebrity cases, not just murders. The death of Nicky Sky had been the only thing Riley had talked about for the past few days. An avid fan, he had spoken ad nasuem about the death, the memorial, and the celebrities floating through the city for said memorial. Now they had been assigned to the case, Eli would never hear the end of it.
***
"Missing?! How can a dead body be missing? Did someone steal it?" Eli grumbled. Riley squinted at Eli, waiting, as if he knew Eli had the answer. He always had the answer. There was something about Eli Cain that not many people knew. He was a telepath. A very controlled and regimented telepath, but he was one, among other things Riley had discovered. Eli never got sick, rarely slept more than two hours a night, and hardly, if ever ate more than one meal per day. And that meal could consist of something as insubstantial as a milkshake or a glass of wine. He was just hard wired differently, always alert and powerful. But Riley accepted him for whatever he was; Eli was his best friend after all.
If there was one word Riley would use to describe Eli, it would be intense. Everything about his posture, his demeanor, his no-nonsense attitude was very intense. The one word their fellow officers would use to describe Eli would be bastard. Because the other thing about Elijah Cain was the pure unadulterated beauty of the man. He was movie star gorgeous but paid absolutely no attention to his appearance. Riley had been sure that Eli had never been an awkward teenager. He had never had a blemish or a crack in his thick baritone. He was perfection in a tailored suit. Which was why being a gay man; he was the only one confident enough to be Eli's best friend. After all, he could care less if women threw themselves at Eli and completely ignored him. Not many men could handle being the wingman to a freaking sex god with a bullshit filter. Cops were known bullshit artists and being called on it had made Eli less than popular. Riley, on the other hand, found it amusing. Not just because of the brazen attempts made by these women, but the sheer volume and creativity utilized in the attempts. They mostly failed, and those failures were pure comic fodder for Riley.
"No," Riley started cautiously. "It wasn't stolen."
Eli squinted at the menu board as he waited in line with Riley at the small coffee shop on the corner of St. Charles Ave. and Canal Street. As they moved up in line, Riley noticed two women in their mid- to late- fifties staring at Eli. One was tall and sleek, a cougar if Riley had ever seen one. The other was more soccer mom than sexpot, but she was the one who fascinated him.
This is going to get interesting, he thought. The soccer mom was staring at Eli raptly, running a nervous hand over her perfectly coiffed hair with perfectly manicured nails. She looked the part of the perfect society housewife, in her perfectly accessorized outfit. She did a double, then a triple take when she'd spotted him; now she approached, slowly, cautiously. Eli placed his order as she approached, and Riley held his breath and waited for the inevitable.
"Excuse me." She touched his arm and when he looked at her, she gasped.
"Yes," he said, giving her a pleasant smile.
"My God, you are the spitting image of someone I used to know when I was younger. Same eyes same dimples. I swear you look exactly like him. Maybe he's a relative. His name was Elijah." She said breathlessly.
"That's my name," he said. His smile never faltered, but his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Is he your father?" She asked, a smile spreading across her lips as she gave her friend a shake. She took a step back.
"I'm sorry; my father's name was Gabriel. He died years ago." His tone was gentle, almost apologetic.
"Oh," she looked crestfallen, but her eyes, pleaded with him. "But you look just like- you can't be-" She reached up to touch his cheek, her face softening at the memories of the boy she knew in college in the 1960's. She remembered him holding her hands and taking her to dances and she remembered kissing him under the willow trees on campus. Eli felt a pang of guilt and sadness over the memories that flood into his mind. This man she remembered, the one who'd loved her and then he was gone. She had moved on, but never had she completely recovered from his loss.
"Come on, suga. It's not him," the cougar said, escorting her away. She gave Eli a tight sad smile as she led the other woman away. "You know what they say, everyone has a double." She offered as they moved away.
"He just looks so much like him." she was saying. Eli stared after them until the barista handed him his coffee. He shook his head. He'd become accustomed to scenes like this over the years, that hadn't really affected him before. But something about the sadness in her eyes touched him. Sighing heavily, he turned on his heel and walked out of the coffee shop, Riley silently followed. This exact scenario had occurred at least once a week. Someone always thought Eli was someone they had known, or was the son of some friend that they had twenty or thirty years ago.
"I guess I just have that kind of face." Eli would say. This encounter was different, it had unnerved him. This was the first time someone had actually used his name.
***
Riding in silence, Riley glanced at Eli and could just about see the wheels turning in his head. Eli’s brow was creased as he sped through the heavy traffic that led Uptown. Eli's intensity was beginning to unnerve Riley as the standard issue sedan hopped the curb and landed in the jogger and bike path that ran the length of St. Charles Avenue.
"Okay, what's up? You're driving like a fucking lunatic," Riley finally asked in terrified exasperation. He wasn't sure if Eli was being affected by the dream, the coffee shop encounter or the missing body of the rock star.
"Just thinking," Eli mumbled. Riley knew that was an understatement, Elijah Cain was always thinking. He never stopped thinking.
"About?" Riley pressed. They breezed past pedestrians before swerving back into the flow of traffic.
Eli was thinking about ten things at once, actually. He was thinking about this dream and the mysterious blue eyed beauty, he was thinking about the poor disillusioned woman who'd approached him in the coffee shop. He chose the least distracting thing he could think of though, something that would get Riley's rapt attention off of him.
"He walked out? How does a dead man walk away?" Eli began mumbling over and over, as if he were trying to wrap his mind around the image of a dead body walking.
Riley shook his head. "No, they had a public viewing and memorial service. But because of all of the rain the other night, his tomb wasn't ready, so he was at the funeral home. They were going to b
ury him today but the Funeral Director got a call at five this morning because the alarm had been triggered. When he got there, he and the police found that no one had broken in, someone had broken out. They did a search to clear the building and found the coffin empty and the body gone. Security video was a little blurred but witnesses' say that they saw a thin blond man hopping the fence." Eli frowned as a thought occurred to him.
"Wasn't he embalmed?" He asked Riley.
Riley ran a finger over his tablet and typed for a minute. "No- he wasn't. Not at the funeral home anyway. The report says that he was given an autopsy by- his personal physician."
"Wait, -the coroner-" Eli attempted to view the screen, momentarily swerving into the next lane. Riley, never flinching, shook his head vigorously. Eli’s distracted driving had become as normal to him as breathing. The only thing that really amazed him is that they had never had an actual accident. Not so much as a scratch.
"Never examined him, other than to pronounce him dead on at the scene. Do you think this was all some elaborate publicity stunt? Nicky Sky did have a movie about to be released and a new album coming out; rising from the dead would be-"
"Stupid,” Eli said. "Wouldn't he wait until the movie came out to show himself? It would make a better impact. Then he could come up with some elaborate story of his disappearance. No- this is something else." Eli could feel the familiar itching in the tips of his fingers as he drove. This was different. This was wrong. This was all sorts of wrong.
The dark, unglamorous sedan that was their work vehicle, came to a stop in front of the massive gates of St. Pierre Brothers Funeral Home in the Garden District. The building resembled a Tuscan villa, all red roof tiles and putty colored stucco walls. Eli leaned out of the driver's side and pushed the call button on the intercom. After a loud buzzing, a high-pitched nervous voice crackled through the silver box.
"Yes?" Came a shrill voice followed by static as the speaker left the line open for a response.
"N.O.P.D." There was a moment of silence before the massive gate began sliding open.
"That's odd." Riley commented as the car rolled onto the grounds.
"What? The gate?" Eli asked, slowly steering the car up the garden lined path.
"Yes, they locked the gate during business hours. Who are they trying to keep out?" Riley looked out of the window at the massive lawn. "Maybe now," Eli teased, "It’s about keeping them in."
***
Walter St. Pierre was a small, nervous man with watery blue eyes and deeply tan skin. He seemed to be in his early to mid-forties, with thick dark hair. He stood on the threshold of the building, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his khakis. Around him was a swirl of activity as the forensics team mulled around and police officers questioned witnesses and staff members. Walter stood in the center of the activity, the anxious eye in the storm.
"Detectives?”
Riley raised an eyebrow, staring at the little man. "I'm Detective Quinn, this is Detective Cain."
"Walter St. Pierre." Keeping his hands fisted in his pockets, he offered them a bow in greeting. Eli felt wave after wave of anxiety coming from the man, anxiety and terror.
"Germ-a-phobic." Walter muttered as he hurried off a bit embarrassed. Riley gave Eli a quizzical glance.
"How can a mortician be a germaphobe?” Riley whispered. Eli shrugged and followed the jittery little man.
***
They followed the jumpy, twitchy Walter St. Pierre into the main foyer and an immediate feeling of 8déjà vu overwhelmed Eli. He paused, falling behind the others as everything seemed to fade into sepia tones and blurred around the edges. The busy bustling bodies of the forensics teams seemed to move as though they were underwater. Eli felt as if he too had been submerged in a vat of ice-cold water, and his breath left him. He froze, paralyzed as the day slowly rewound before his eyes. The bodies moved awkwardly backwards, out of the room, slowly speeding up until they were wraith-like balls of colored light. Walter St. Pierre was no longer leading the way through the oak-lined hallway of the funeral home. Riley was no longer standing beside him in that blindingly vibrant red shirt. He was alone in the silent solemnity of the foyer.
Finally, the hallways were dark. Only the soft dim lights from the security system illuminated the halls. As if pushed, Eli found himself moving forward through the halls, coming to an abrupt halt in one of the viewing rooms. There were soft lights and a vast array of bouquets filling the room with overpowering and conflicting floral scents. In the corner, on an easel, was a promotional photo of Nicky Sky. Nicky stared at him from the photo, his piercing cyan eyes stared blankly into oblivion, a much photographed smile frozen on his lips. Eli stared at the photo, feeling as if he were being drawn into the photo, almost hypnotized by the boyish beauty of the young man and he felt anguish over the loss.
A muffled cough caught Eli’s attention. He turned to see a red lacquer casket with steel trim, surrounded by flowers, cards and stuffed animals that had been placed on and around the altar. Even though the casket was closed, Eli knew Nicky had made that noise. The room was silent, and then the choking cough came again. Only this time the lid of the casket was thrown open as Nicky sat upright, pulling wads of cotton from his nose before clutching at his lips as if in agony. He struggled leaning over the side of the open casket, making deep throated gagging noises that seemed to ring in Eli's head as the casket slid from its mount with a muted thud, tossing Nicky to the floor.
As if on springs, he bounced to his feet, pulling at his lips with one hand, and searched blindly around the room with the other. Finally, his hand landed on something small and metallic, which shone silver when it caught the light. A letter opener, Eli realized. A small cheap giveaway with the name and number of the funeral home printed on the side.
Nicky used the razor- like edge of the letter opener and slashed at his mouth several times. Each time, blood poured from newly opened wounds, until finally, he was able to pry a thin wire from his lips, and open his mouth. Instantly, he began to cough and, reaching into his mouth, he pulled a cloying amount of cotton from his throat before throwing up what looked to Eli like a mixture of cotton and bile, Nicky inhaled deeply, gulping air and started clawing with his eyes. He wheezed and gasped for air, his breathing ragged and labored, his fingers digging until the eye caps holding his eyes closed were removed. Finally, he opened his eyes, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks as his breathing regulated itself. Slowly, he opened eyes that glowed like white ice in the dimly lit room.
He wore a dark expensive suit tailored perfectly to his body. His blond hair stood in defiant spikes, and he smiled, the wounds around his mouth and eyes rapidly healing
Eli stared, unable to breathe when Nicky slowly turned toward him. Eli frowned, confused as to whether Nicky saw him or not when Nicky winked, then began walking awkwardly toward the door. He paused just in front of Eli, who hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway, and his face twisted in discomfort. Eli was a bit startled as Nicky reached into the back of his pants and began digging in a most unpleasant manner before pulling out another bloody wad of cotton. Shaking his head, Nicky tossed the cotton to the floor and exited the room by passing through Eli's body.
The moment Nicky stepped into him, an icy chill rattled Eli and he could feel himself falling backwards as the room went dark.
***
He opened his eyes and found Riley hovering above him, his face tight with concern as he watched his friend being helped to his feet. All activity in the foyer seemed to have paused at the sight of the nearly seven foot tall detective being helped to his feet. Eli straightened his clothes and ran a hand over his hair. Graciously, he took the bottle of water being silently offered by an attentive female officer. As usual, Eli was oblivious to her fluttering eyelashes and coy smile.
"E, you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?" Riley held up his hand and Eli brushed it away. He in turn raised his own hand in an obscene gesture.
"How many am I holding up?" He sm
irked and Riley exhaled in relief.
"He's fine," Riley assured the approaching EMT. "Mr. St. Pierre?" Riley motioned for the little man to continue leading them towards the crime scene, the scene Eli had just visited. He shook his head, trying to focus. As they walked, Riley and Eli stayed back, just out of Walter's earshot.
"How long was I out?" Eli asked between sips of water. His throat was suddenly very dry.
"Couple of minutes, and you hit the ground pretty fast and hard. I've never seen you pass out like that. Is that the first time that ever happened? Are you sure you’re okay?” Riley spoke in a low voice so their escort wouldn’t overhear. Eli nodded.
“I’m fine but that was... new,” Eli mumbled.
***
They entered the room where Nicky had been kept and it was exactly as Eli saw it in his vision. The bright red casket lay overturned on the floor, flower petals smashed beneath it. There were wads of bloody and damp cotton on the floor, and the room smelled of vomit and mums.
"Just like I left it," Eli mumbled.
"What?" Riley stared at him and then the huge poster of Nicky Sky.
"This is what I saw," Eli whispered to Riley. "When I was out, I was in this room. I saw that poster. I saw Nicky Sky get up from that coffin and walk out of here."
"What's with all of the cotton?" Riley knelt down and poked at a pile of bloody cotton with an ink pen.
"He pulled that out of his ass." Eli spoke in a strange, hollow monotone, Riley looked up at him with concern.
"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked and Eli nodded.
"We block all of the orifices with cotton to prevent leakage," Walter said and Riley's face twisted comically in disgust, before dropping the ink pen to the floor.
"I thought you didn't embalm him." Riley moved slowly away from the cotton and spotted the bloody letter opener on the floor. He motioned to another officer in the room to come and bag the evidence.
"Well, we didn't but- the rest- it’s standard procedure for all of our guests." Walter nervously stepped back until he was standing at the entrance of the room, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other.
The First to Fall: A Fallen Novel (The Fallen Series) Page 2
