The Ninth Life

by E. H. Reinhard

  Eve hopped the gate, as she had the night before. She didn’t know whether Billie Webber was home, or alone. She’d find out both in just a minute. Eve walked to the front door of the apartment, knocked, and waited. She stared at the peephole and saw it go dark—someone was looking out. The sound of a lock being turned was followed by the door swinging inward.

  A woman stood before her. She had brown hair hanging well past her shoulders and appeared in her later twenties. She wore a purple hooded sweatshirt and tight black yoga pants. A pair of black-rimmed glasses wrapped her eyes—eyes that were pink and glossy from crying. The woman sniffed and wiped at her thin, pointed nose with a tissue that she had gripped in her hand. Eve was certain it was Billie Webber, the roommate.

  “Just you here?” Eve asked. She flashed her a smile.

  “Um, yeah. Can I help you?” the girl asked.

  “You most certainly can help me.” Eve looked left and right and saw no one, as expected. The front door of the apartment was only one of two facing an overgrown pond behind a fence. She pulled the knife from the sheath on her hip and planted it into Billie’s stomach. Eve yanked it out, jammed it back in, and then pulled it out a second time. She watched the woman’s purple sweatshirt begin to darken with blood as she stood just inside of the apartment doorway.

  “By dying,” Eve said.

  She pushed Billie by the face into the apartment and closed the door behind her.

  Billie fell to her backside. She tried to use her feet to push herself backward and away from Eve. Both of her hands were clutching her stomach. Eve watched the blood roll through Billie’s fingers, down her hips, and smear across the dark-colored faux wood floors with every push of her feet.

  “Where are you going?” Eve asked.

  Billie had pushed herself backward from where she fell in the living room to a small dining room table. She reached up and pulled a purse from the table’s surface, spilling most of the contents on the floor. A set of car keys jingled and slid as they hit. Billie reached out for them.

  “Don’t worry. You’re going to go in the car,” Eve said. “Thanks for getting me the keys, though.”

  “Wh…” Blood came from Billie’s mouth and rolled down her chin. “Why?” she asked.

  Eve took a few casual steps toward her and knelt at Billie’s side. “Because I need your body. And the blood that I spill will ensure my place alongside the powerful one, and the master.”

  Billie tried kicking at the floor again in an attempt to get away from Eve, but her bare feet just slipped across the blood. She took her hands from her stomach, turned over, and tried pulling herself away.

  Eve stuck the blade of the knife into the laminate floor and pushed herself up to her feet. “If you’re going to do that, pull yourself toward the door that leads to the garage so I don’t have to drag your body as far.” Eve shook her head, watching Billie’s pathetic attempt at fleeing.

  She took a step to where the car keys had come to rest on the floor and snatched them up. She dropped the keys into her pocket. Eve walked after Billie, who’d managed to get herself only a few feet away. She kicked her in the shoulder to get her to flop over onto her back. Eve went to her side and turned the knife blade down in her hand. “I release your soul to the master.” She slammed the blade down into Billie’s chest, ripped it back out, and delivered another blow. She continued stabbing as she recited the words that he had taught her. Blood flew from the blade with each yank out and downward strike back in. After the seventh time, she stopped. Eve’s chest heaved in and out as she tried catching her breath. She stared down at Billie’s body and jammed her finger inside one of the nine knife wounds.

  “With the marks, it will be done.”

  Eve pulled her finger out of Billie’s body and drew the nines on her cheeks and forehead with the point of her knuckle. She examined her work and sucked the blood from her finger. Eve cleaned both sides of the knife’s blade on Billie’s yoga pants and slid it back into her sheath. She walked to the kitchen sink and washed the blood from her hands and face. She used a kitchen towel hanging from the refrigerator’s handle to dry her hands and then tossed it to the floor.

  Eve returned to Billie’s body and stood directly at her head, placing a tip of each of her toes at Billie’s ears. She crouched down, grabbed one of Billie’s wrists in each hand, and pulled her through the apartment to the door that led out to the garage. Eve let go of Billie’s left wrist—her arm dropped to the floor with a thud. She turned the handle on the door to the garage and pushed it open. A black couple-year-old Audi sedan sat inside.

  Eve grabbed Billie’s wrists again and dragged her into the garage. Billie’s heels made a thump as they fell from the small step up that led into the apartment. Eve got the body to the trunk and reached into her pocket for the car keys. She pulled them out and clicked the button in the center that showed a little image of a car trunk. The car’s lights flashed, and the trunk popped up. Eve grabbed Billie’s body under the armpits, lifted her so that her butt was on the edge of the trunk, and then pushed her in backward. She tucked in her feet and slammed the lid.

  Eve pulled out her phone and dialed, expecting to get a voice mail.

  “Is it done?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I didn’t think that you’d pick up.”

  “They just finished their rounds,” he said. “They won’t be coming through again for a bit. I just so happen to see the light flashing that you were calling.”

  “Okay. Well, six is done,” Eve said.

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in her car.”

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Empowered,” Eve said. The word came out without a second thought.

  “This is how we were meant to be. How he wanted us. Can you feel it? Every sense heightened? Your eyes open, your vision sharp. Every smell in your nose more fragrant than before. Aware of every piece of fabric in touch with the hairs on your skin. The smallest sound. The taste of her blood in your mouth.”

  “It’s as exhilarating as the first,” Eve said.

  “And it will be each time,” he said. “Now I want you to change your clothes and leave the old ones there.”

  Eve wondered but wouldn’t ask why. “Okay,” she said.

  “Leave after that. I love you.”

  “Can I call you when I leave? Will you still be able to answer?”

  “You never know if you don’t try,” he said. He hung up.

  Eve smiled and tucked the phone back into her pocket. She caught her reflection in the car’s window—the black shirt and jeans she wore were covered in the woman’s blood. She thought about Billie’s size and then that of her roommate, Erica, who she’d killed the day before. Both girls were a good six inches shorter and a minimum of fifty pounds lighter, maybe more. Her face twitched. While her large size for a woman had its pluses, it also had its immediate drawbacks. Yet Eve had her instructions. She walked back into the house and rummaged through the closet and dresser drawers of the first bedroom she came upon, Erica’s, judging by the photos of her and unknown other people that were framed on the walls.

  “What, do you not own anything that’s not baby sized?” Eve said.

  She slammed the dresser drawer closed and walked to the other bedroom. Eve ransacked the closet, finding nothing more than tiny T-shirts and size-zero everything else. She went to the single dresser in the room and pulled out the top drawer—panties, socks, and undershirts. She pulled the second drawer. She smiled.

  “Billie has a boyfriend,” she said. “Or had.” She rifled through the clothing and yanked out a pair of men’s jeans. Eve briefly checked the tag for the size—thirty-four waist, thirty-four length, perfect. She pulled off her belt with the knife and set it up on the dresser’s top. Eve dropped her blood-covered pants, pulled the men’s jeans on, and ran her belt through the belt loops. She took off her black button-up shirt and tossed it to the carpet. Eve stared into the dresser mirror. She turned to the side and looked back
over her shoulder to get a look at the big tattoo, recently finished, on her back. She wrapped her arm around her stomach and touched one of the edges of the tattoo. The area of skin was still tender to the touch. Eve took her hand from her back and squared herself to the mirror. Three large tattooed nines covered her stomach. She pulled on the men’s size extra-large T-shirt and adjusted the knife’s placement on her hip.

  Eve stared down at her bloody clothes, contemplating why she was instructed to leave them. She dismissed the thought and removed the items from the pockets.

  Eve stuffed her men’s wallet into the back pocket of her jeans and left the bedroom. She walked back through the house toward the garage. As she walked past the kitchen, a knock came at the front door. Eve froze. Her head snapped toward the door, just fifteen feet away. A small vertical rectangular window stood to the right side of the door. The blinds were drawn closed—no one would be able to see in. Eve hugged the left wall of the living room and took silent footsteps toward the door. She stopped just a foot away and listened. Eve could hear men talking.

  Chapter 8

  I made a U-turn on Highway 54 and crossed the three lanes to get into the right turn lane. The main entrance for the apartment complex was just up ahead. I made a right and followed the road back. Planted groups of bamboo followed the road on our left—nothing but trees behind a waist-high wooden fence ran along the road’s right edge.

  “Do you have her apartment number?” Hank asked.

  “It’s 1107,” I said. “I guess she’s going to have to buzz us through the gates.”

  As we approached, I saw the main gates fifty yards ahead. The trees outside the passenger side of our car opened up into a parking lot in front of a large clubhouse. The entrance road we were on split at the gates with a small sign directing guests to the left and residents to the right. I imagined the split was so the residents could bypass people calling to be let in. A small flower garden separated the two split lanes that led to the same front gate.

  I slowed and lowered my window to reach the keypad on the metal box jutting up from the ground. The directions said to press the pound key and then the unit number. I punched it in. The box sounded as if a phone was ringing and then went silent.

  “Is it supposed to do something?” Jones asked from the backseat of our cruiser.

  I glanced over my shoulder and through the cage at him. “Don’t know.” I looked back out of the windshield. The gates weren’t opening. I reached out of my window and punched in the code again. The box made the same phone-ringing sound and then did nothing. A car passed on our right and stopped beside us, just on the other side of the flower garden. The gates creaked and opened, and the car pulled through.

  “Just go,” Hank said. “We’re the police. I’m sure no one will mind us sneaking in.”

  I pulled forward and followed the other car in. We passed the clubhouse’s large outdoor pool area. The apartment buildings of the complex seemed to follow the left and right sides of the road out of our view—a side street came up on our left. I glanced up at the sign, which had the name of the road we sought. I made a left and passed the complex’s little mail building. To our right was a car wash and strip of garages. I looked out of our passenger side window at the address on the closest apartment building—not what we were looking for.

  “We’re looking for a 3440,” I said.

  “It’s the last one on the right,” Hank said. He pointed out of the windshield.

  I caught our address in black on the top exterior of the building. “All right. Let’s find a spot.” I pulled into the closest vacant parking space that I could find and put the car in Park. I stepped out and opened the rear door for Jones. We started up the sidewalk to the building and followed the walkway left, looking at the doors for our number.

  “We have 1101, 2101,” Hank said. “Must be a first- and second-floor arrangement on the numbers.”

  We continued down the sidewalk of the building. We’d see a pair of recessed black front doors under an overhang, then a group of two, two-car garage doors, then another pair of black front doors. We passed the last garage doors of the building. The sidewalk turned around a corner.

  “We want 1107?” Jones asked.

  I glanced back at him and nodded. “Yeah.”

  We followed the sidewalk to the right around the corner and found our address next to 2107. The doors were the only two on the far side of the building. Jones and Hank stood at my back. I looked for a doorbell but didn’t see one. I reached out and gave the door a knock. We waited. Fifteen or twenty seconds passed, and no one came.

  I knocked again, and another thirty seconds passed with nothing.

  “She knew we were coming over, right?” Hank asked.

  “Yeah. You heard me on the phone with her. I said we’d be here in a half hour.” I pulled at my sleeve and looked at my watch. “It’s pretty much exactly a half hour right now.”

  “Do you have her number on you?” Hank asked. “Give her a call. Maybe she had to run out for something quick.”

  I stuck my hand into my pocket and fished around until I found the folded piece of paper that had her number on it. I yanked it out, pulled out my phone, and punched her number in. The phone rang in my ear. I got a voice mail saying that I’d reached Billie’s phone and to leave a message. I clicked off.

  “Nothing?” Hank asked. “Have a different number, maybe?”

  “That’s the number I just used with her. The same number that was calling and sending text messages to Erica Osweiler,” I said.

  “So she’s either inside and not answering or not here. Maybe she flaked on the interview,” Hank said.

  “Or stepped out for just a second,” I said. “Or is in the bathroom or something.” I gave the door another knock.

  We waited another minute, but still no one came.

  “Let’s give her a couple more minutes and see what we get. Maybe she walked to the store or is in the shower or something.” I walked across the sidewalk from the front door, stood in the grass, and leaned up against the wood fence by the overgrown pond. Hank and Jones came to my sides. Hank poked away at his cell phone, probably sending off a text message to his wife. I looked at Jones, who stood at my side and stared out at the pond.

  “Routine visit this morning?” I asked.

  “Huh?” Jones asked.

  “The dentist.”

  “Oh, I had them fix a couple crowns in the back right.” Jones pointed at his cheek. “They must have shot me up with every last bit of novocaine they had in the office, though. It took a good hour before I wasn’t drooling down my shirt and could feel my eyes again.”

  We waited another five minutes before I pointed up the sidewalk for us to head back toward the car—we’d stood around long enough. We rounded the corner of the building and walked the sidewalk to the cruiser. I glanced left at an open garage door—the second one from the corner. I stopped dead. Jones and Hank stopped behind me.

  I squared myself to the open two-car garage and stared inside—bloody drag marks came from a door, which I figured led into an apartment and came to just a couple of feet from where the garage door would close. I snapped my head around and looked over the parking lot. I didn’t see any cars driving out, just one black SUV pulling into the complex through another set of gates in the distance.

  “Shit,” I said. The garage had been closed when we went to the door. In our knocking and waiting on the other side of the building, someone had slipped out.

  “Jones, find out what Billie Webber drives and get a BOLO on it now. Call the Pasco County Sheriff’s Department and get some cars here and looking in this area.” I pulled the cruiser’s keys from my pocket and jammed them into Jones’s chest at my shoulder.

  Jones took the car keys in hand. “Got it, Lieutenant.” He jogged to the cruiser.

  I motioned to Hank that we were going in and pulled my service weapon. Hank reached into his suit jacket and removed his weapon. We started into the garage. I stared down at t
he bloody marks on the cement. The blood was still wet.

  We walked to the garage door that led into the house. Hank pulled the door open as I covered him. I took a step inside. A kitchen was immediately to my right. The open-concept layout let me see out into a dining room, and I could see a bit of the living room beyond the kitchen. We continued inside. The bloody drag marks continued around the granite breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the dining area. A doorway leading to a bedroom stood to our left. I pointed at Hank and then at the doorway. Hank entered the room. I held my position until he returned a moment later.

  “Master. There’s some bloody clothes on the floor. But clear otherwise,” he said in a whisper.

  I looked to my right into the kitchen. A towel lay in the middle of the floor. We walked to the edge of the breakfast bar—I saw a cell phone sitting on its surface. To our left was another open doorway. I pointed Hank to the room. From what I could see, it appeared to be a home office. Hank entered and came back. He gave me a nod, signaling that the room was cleared. We moved to the dining room.

  I followed the drag marks with my eyes five feet to a large pool of blood near the dining room table. What I figured to be cast-off blood made lines stemming away from the main pool. On the floor, at the dining table’s edge, was a spilled-open purse and smeared blood. The blood tracked a few feet into the living room. Drips of blood from that point went through the living room to the front door that we were standing outside of a couple of minutes before. We continued to clear the living room, a bathroom, and another bedroom. I holstered my weapon, as did Hank.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said.

  “What the hell are we dealing with here?” Hank asked.