1 Death Warmed Over

by Kent Holloway

  From the nightstand, she moved into the adjacent bathroom, pulling open drawers and cabinets, but found nothing particularly interesting inside any of them. On a hunch, she moved over to the toilet and lifted the lid to the water tank. Often, drug users would place contraband inside Ziploc bags and hide them in toilets in case the police came knocking on their doors. However, this didn’t seem to be the case in Andrea’s home. All that was inside was water.

  She moved back into Andrea’s bedroom, stopped, and just took the whole place in. She searched with her eyes, hoping to see something that caught her attention. But unless she just wasn’t seeing it, there were no signs of drugs, apart from the few bottles she’d found a minute ago. Nothing appeared missing or disturbed. No sign of what the intruder had been there for. She was just about to look through Andrea’s dresser for the second time when Silas shouted from downstairs.

  “Becca? EMTs are here,” he said. “And I think I just figured out who our intruder was and what he was doing here.”

  24

  By the time Becca came down the steps, one of the EMTs was already examining the back of Silas’ head, while two others were rolling their stretcher through the sliding glass door to the backyard. Two of her officers were also now on scene, assisting the paramedics with their unconscious comrade.

  There was a quick knock on the front door and Dr. Brad Harris, Becca’s ‘kind of’ boyfriend, as she liked to think of him, appeared. He was dressed in his customary sky-blue scrubs and white lab coat that hugged his muscular frame in a way that always worked to dissolve her uncertain reservations about him. His blonde surfer hair and perpetual five-o’clock shadow covering his square jaw only helped to accentuate the bronze tan covering his well-sculpted face and arms.

  Of course, despite his gorgeous looks, her office administrator, Linda, was right. Brad Harris was one of the most boring men on the planet. But he was dependable, practical, and kind to a fault.

  “Brad?”

  “Becca, are you okay?”

  “Of course. I’m fine.” She nodded toward Silas. “He’s the one that got knocked silly.”

  “Serious,” Silas said. “I got knocked serious.” He looked the doctor up and down. “I was silly before. Now I’m seriously irritated.”

  She rolled her eyes. “His ego’s hurt more than anything, I think.”

  Brad eyed the black-suited man being attended by the EMT. “Who’s that?”

  Becca shrugged. “He’s a consultant, of sorts. He’s helping me with this investigation.”

  “And you were attacked?”

  “He was. The officer I had watching the place was knocked out with Chloroform.” She smiled up at him. “I was still out front before I knew what was happening.”

  “Dang it, Becca, we’ve talked about this.”

  “Yes, we have. And as I’ve told you before…it’s my job.”

  Brad walked over to Silas, politely nudged the EMT away, and began inspecting his head.

  “Um, hi,” Silas said, looking up at the newcomer. “Who are you again and why are you poking around my head like some lunatic phrenologist?”

  Brad leaned back a bit and offered a polite wave. “Dr. Brad Harris,” he said before resuming his examination of Silas’ head. “Uh.” The doctor paused, then leaned back with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “What is it?” Becca asked.

  He blinked, then bent forward for a closer look. “A second ago, this was a serious laceration. It was going to need stitches.” He dabbed the spot on Silas’ head with clean gauze. “Now, I can’t find it. It’s just gone.”

  “I tried to tell her I was a fast healer, Doc,” Silas chuckled. “But she wouldn’t believe me.”

  He wiped more blood away; his movements were almost frantic. “But, this isn’t possible. No one heals that quickly.” Brad looked over at Becca. “It literally closed in front of my eyes.”

  Becca glared at Silas, who only grinned back at her. He’d done that on purpose. He’d healed himself in front of Brad as a matter of mischief. More showing off.

  “I’m sure it was a trick of the light,” she said. “Probably wasn’t as bad as you first thought. You cleaned the blood up more and voila.”

  Brad nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” He looked down at the bloody gauze in his hand. “Though I can’t figure out where all this came from if that was the case.”

  “Ah! The mysteries of the universe,” Silas said. “Some things just aren’t meant to be understood.” He stood up and clapped the doctor on the shoulder. “Or maybe you really do have that special healer’s touch.”

  Brad shivered while trying to pull himself together. “Well, truth is, we still need to take you back to the urgent care center,” he said. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but a blow like that…I’d prefer to keep you under observation for a while, if I can.”

  Silas looked over at Becca. His brows furrowed. “Chief Cole?”

  She struggled to contain the smile threatening to form across her face. Truth is, it would be the perfect opportunity to get rid of him. At least, for a few hours. She hadn’t worked with a partner in almost a year. She’d grown accustomed to doing investigations alone. Add to that the fact that the sharp-dressed man was also Death Incarnate and the temptation doubled.

  “Becca?” Silas asked again. His voice squeaked a little. He was getting nervous.

  When it was all said and done, as wild as his presence was, she was growing to like having him around. He thought outside the box and didn’t let politics or social graces interfere with getting to the truth. And his almost childlike wonder at the living world—its candies and yo-yos and the beauty of the ocean itself—was infectious.

  “Brad, can you just let this one go?” she finally said. “As much as I hate to admit it, I do kind of need him. If he starts acting weird, I’ll take him straight to see you. I promise.”

  The doctor shrugged. “I’m not sure. Like I said, he doesn’t seem to have a concussion or anything, but I can’t rule out a subdural hematoma without a CT scan. He might have some serious injuries internally.” He looked at Silas. “You understand that, right?”

  Silas smirked. “Sure thing, Doc. But I’ll be all right.” He swirled his index finger dramatically in the air. “I’ve got a good feeling about my chances.”

  Brad gawked at him, then glanced over at Becca as if to say, ‘Is this guy for real?’

  She grinned back with a nod.

  “Okay, I think you’re crazy for not getting checked out, but...”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that.” Silas nodded toward Becca. “She thought I was crazy too, but I won her over.”

  Brad hesitated, giving her a look of concern. “What I was going to say is…I can’t make you get checked out. But if you get dizzy or lightheaded, come see me as soon as possible.”

  Silas shot him a salute, but if Brad caught the sarcasm in it, he made no indication. Instead, he turned and walked over to Becca, and placed his hand on her shoulders. “You be careful,” he said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on her forehead. “I can’t imagine what I would do if anything happened to you.”

  Her stomach churned. She was such a horrible person. Brad cared so much for her, yet she could only see him as a temporary thing. More a way to pass the time than anything else. Yet one look in those gorgeous baby blue eyes of his and she could never find a way to tell him how she really felt. Instead, she just let him go on believing they had a future together, which was just about as evil as you could get, in her opinion.

  “I’ll watch my step,” she said, giving him a light kiss on the lips. “Promise.”

  He smiled, then nodded at Silas, and walked out of the apartment with the EMT.

  Silas sat in silence for several awkward moments. Becca stared unmoving at the front door. The clock above the television ticked in rhythm to her heartbeat.

  “Wow,” Silas finally said. “Just wow.”

  His voice interrupted her train of thought. She
wheeled around and glared at him.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing.” She placed her hands on her hips and squared off in front of him. “Say what you’ve got to say.”

  He patted the back of his head gently, testing the spot where the injury had been. When he winced, she knew at least that it was still sore. “So where did you find Captain America?”

  “Oh, there it is! The jokes. I had a feeling you’d have something to say about Brad once you met him.” She laughed. “And how do you know about Captain America anyway.”

  “Kid left a few comic books in my motel room along with the Rubik’s Cube. Read a couple of issues. A real goodie-two-shoes that Cap.”

  “Brad is a good guy. He’s a lot of fun.”

  “Brad,” he said, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Brad. Of course, his name is Brad. He looks like a Brad actually. Bet he drove a Miata in high school and wore his Polo shirt collar turned up.”

  “How would you know? You never even went to school.”

  “Besides reading comics and watching Perry Mason reruns, I also managed to catch a few episodes of Welcome Back, Kotter and Saved by the Bell since I’ve been in town. I got the gist.”

  She shook her head but found herself smiling anyway.

  “Brrraaaad,” he said again. He smacked his lips after saying it. “Such a weird name, if you say it enough times.”

  “All right. Enough.”

  He laughed, but then his smile faded as he gently tapped at the goose egg on the back of his head.

  “What? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Not sure,” he said with a shrug. “But this?” He pointed at his head. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Oh, don’t beat yourself up over it. We all get ambushed at some point in this business.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about. You don’t understand. This…” He waved up and down at his body. “…this isn’t a real body. There’s no blood running through its veins. Actually, no veins for blood to run through. No organs. And no brain to get a concussion or a subdural hematoma.” His eyes snapped up at her. “No jokes.”

  Becca chuckled.

  “Point is, like I told you earlier today, it’s a body I constructed myself to be visible to humans. An ectoplasmic shell made of ethereal matter. It’s how I was able to slip through your handcuffs and walk out of the jail cell without being seen.” He rubbed his head again. “It’s how I disappeared when those thugs tried to shoot me. I just disposed of it, returned to my spirit form, and constructed a new one after. Because of that, this injury shouldn’t have happened.”

  “So, what do you think it means?”

  “Not sure, but it’s concerning. I’m afraid that the longer the Hand of Cain stays in the hands of whoever has it, the less power I’ll have. My throne is being usurped, Becca, and there are beings out there that would love nothing more than to see me gone. This injury is an indicator of my power. The more I lose, the more human I’ll become.”

  She pondered that for a second, then nodded. “Well then, we’ll just need to solve this mystery all the sooner, right?” She turned and scanned the living room again. “Before we were interrupted, you said you found something and that you thought you knew who our intruder was.”

  “Oh yes!” Silas exploded from the ottoman and instantly regretted it. His legs wobbled and he was forced to hold out both arms to balance himself. “Whoa.”

  Becca lunged forward, grabbing hold of his arm before he fell backwards.

  “Thanks,” he said. He took a series of concentrated breaths and steadied himself. “Okay. I’m fine now.”

  She let go and he eased himself over to the travel chest. “Take a look.”

  He pointed down at the collection inside. She walked over and crouched, searching through the contents. Besides an assortment of multi-colored candles, there were a couple of handmade dolls constructed of palm fronds and other vegetation wrapped together with twine to form a human figure. She saw a few more miniature Orisha idols, two ceremonial daggers, and an open notebook with hand-drawn symbols scrawled over the pages. That was it.

  “What am I looking at?”

  He pointed down again. “You don’t see it?”

  “What am I supposed to see?”

  He crouched down beside her and pointed to the two daggers. One of them looked very familiar to her.

  “That dagger.” She pointed to the one on the left. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s a match to the one found in Andrea’s back.”

  “Well, of course it is,” Silas said. “I noticed that yesterday. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Wait. You noticed it yesterday and you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

  He cocked his head inquisitively. “Why would I? It was obvious. Plus, it’s not like the knife killed her.”

  “It’s still important for me to know.”

  “More important than the fact that the dagger on the right doesn’t match the dagger on the left?”

  Her nose twitched.

  “Or that the right dagger wasn’t here yesterday?”

  She looked up at him, waiting for what she suspected was next.

  “Or that the right dagger matches the set Spenser Blakely had in his display case at his office?”

  And there it was. A connection they could use. She stood, made a phone call to the sheriff’s office CSU team and waited for them to show up to collect the new evidence. She was going to stay and personally supervise the process until every vital clue was collected by the book.

  While they waited, they continued to search the downstairs. A few minutes later, Silas called out from the kitchen.

  “Becca? I think you should probably see this.”

  She placed the book she’d been looking at back on the bookshelf in the living room and went to see what he had found. When she stepped into the kitchen, she found Silas, holding an empty trash can, and standing over a pile of garbage he’d strewn all over the linoleum floor.

  “What are you doing?” She noticed her voice sounded weary. “Besides making a mess of our crime scene?”

  “Found…” He crouched down and sifted through the debris. “…something.” A second later, he let out a joyful shout, stood, and turned to her with a closed fist. “I think this might be the clue Lipkovic was hoping for.”

  He opened his fist to reveal an entire handful of oblong white pills.

  “What are they?” she asked.

  “Have no idea. There’s no bottle in the trash that I could see. But it looks like Andrea, or someone else, dumped almost an entire bottle out in there.” He waited for Becca to open a small evidence bag and he tossed the pills inside. “Now that’s something I find curious, don’t you?”

  She had to agree that she did and the two soon found themselves sitting in the living room discussing the implications of the pills while they waited for CSU to arrive.

  25

  SAND DOLLAR MOTEL

  FRIDAY, 12:05 AM

  Silas leaned against the tower of pillows he’d placed against his bed’s headboard, careful not to place too much pressure on the lump left over from his blow to the head. He grabbed a handful of buttery microwaved popcorn and tossed a few pieces in his mouth. He giggled at the television screen, which was playing Big Trouble in Little China at the moment while he kicked his shoes off his feet.

  “Want some?” He held the bag out to the adjacent bed where Elliot now sat, propped up by his own pillows.

  The archaeologist slowly moved his head back and forth but didn’t answer verbally. Of course, Silas knew he couldn’t. Not yet anyway. He had improved a lot since his earlier visit. All of Elliot’s fractured bones were now healed. The Formalin permeating his muscle and other tissue was almost entirely purged. But his joints and ligaments were still pretty stiff with the stuff. In another day, he’d be as good as new, but for now, he was immobilized in his rented motel room bed.
>
  “Your loss,” Silas said, returning his attention to the movie just as the protagonist, Jack Burton, caught a knife being hurled at him from the gigantic Lo Pan.

  He was trying hard to put the events of the day behind him. They had learned a great deal. Yet with every answer they discovered, two more questions popped up. He was certain Spenser Blakely was the one who’d attacked him in Andrea’s house…certain he’d broken in to replace the dagger from her set. But did that mean he killed her? What was his motive? Seemed to Silas that the cursed woman was his ticket to better newspaper sales. Then again, if he knew the curse had been lifted, his gravy train was about to dry up.

  Gravy train? He thought. Geez, maybe I really am watching too much television.

  Granted, he was finding the distraction of the rectangular screen to be something of a miracle. A method of allowing the swirling chaos of his mind to ebb. To ‘veg’, as he’d heard it called on one show. A wondrous means of escape from the pressures of the real world. He could see why so many mortals turned it into the altar of their familial abode.

  But it was becoming concerning. As his eyes stayed riveted on Jack Burton’s antics, he found it harder to pull away. It was like he had no control anymore, and if there was one thing that defined the Grim Reaper, it was control. Discipline.

  No. It seemed the longer he pretended to be a mortal, the more he found himself changing. The longer he pretended, the more mortal he was actually becoming. Part of him rather liked that notion. The other part of him—the one that took his responsibilities as Death with utmost respect—was mortified by the prospect. Where would the world be without his sacred station?

  He sighed, turning his attention back to the adventures of the truck driver in a mystic-filled Chinatown and up to his neck in Chinese black magic. He laughed at a one-liner the oafish hero made to Lo Pan and nearly choked on a kernel of popcorn when his room’s telephone began to ring.

  He sat up instantly, moving the bag of popcorn aside and staring at the phone. Only Becca knew he was staying in this particular room at the motel. If his phone was ringing, it would have to be her. But if that was the case, why was every instinct in his gut screaming at him not to answer it.