Blood & Spirits (15 page)

I found him right where Carl remembered I would, in the trailer park he calls home. Quickly and silently. The woman sleeping next to him never even knew he was gone. No one will miss him until tomorrow; if they miss him at all. For the rest of the night at least, he’s mine.

The sound of a million rain drops hitting the metal roof echoes through the building, broken only occasionally by his blubbering. I’m enjoying his fear of me, but beyond that I’m getting nowhere with him.

I put the pistol down on the table next to my purse and step closer to him again.

“Your friend Carl is sitting in county lockup, Jake. It’s only a matter of time before he gives them you. If I kill you now it could be seen as an act of mercy. You won’t have to deal with the shame and embarrassment of your family and friends finding out that you like to dig up and steal the bodies of dead little girls.”

I’m riding his thoughts. He’s panicked and scared, but he has no idea what I’m talking about. He’s either really good, like better than the best I can imagine, or there’s more to his involvement that I’d thought.

Walking him over the events of that night in his mind, he went to bed and woke up the next morning. There’s just nothing there during the time frame I’m looking for so he must have been asleep. There’s nothing in his conscious mind to suggest that he had any part of the graveyard excavation.

Then it hits me. What if it wasn’t his conscious mind that was in control when he did it? Could he have been ‘sleep grave-robbing?’

I’ve only attempted to get into someone’s subconscious mind once. It worked, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, it was harder to get back out of than it was to get into in the first place.

I know that it’s dangerous, but I also know I have to know why they were after her body. I lift his head up so that he’s looking at me and slip into his thoughts. Inside, he’s a bigger mess than he is outside. He thinks I’m going to kill him and he’s going over all the things he’s going to have to atone for. I do not want to know this much about this guy.

I hold his right eyelid open with my left hand as I punch him in the face a few times. He loses three teeth, gets a broken nose and a cracked cheek before he’s finally out.

This is where I hit the sweet spot between conscious and unconscious and I start to fall deeper into his mind than I really ever wanted to go.

There’s a psychological residue here. The kind people leave behind on things tied to highly emotionally charged events. I’ve never felt one this strong before, or this unfocused. Usually it’s a strong emotional film on something, love, hate, passion. This is just like another whole mind and thought pattern laid right over his mind like a transparency.

Wait.

I may not have to go any deeper than this.

I think this guy was somehow possessed. Either by a spirit, or a demon, or by one like me. I’ve heard that others can transfer their mental essence, like I do into the land, briefly into other people. It’s unusually rare, but it’s been documented. This is kinda freaky.

I try to pull back out of his mind and I’m in a dream or a fantasy of his. He’s watching cars racing around a track and getting head.

I try again to pull back out and now he looks at me. He’s frightened and trying to run from me, tripping over his pants that he can’t get pulled up.

A final pull on my mind and I snap back to my body, letting his eyelid drop and stepping back away from him. It’s bad to have someone’s stink on you when you don’t want it. It’s worse to have it in your mind and you can’t just wash it off.

This guy is insignificant. I think he might be involved, but as much a victim as accomplice in the grand scheme of things. I kinda feel sorry for him. I’m going to let him go and see what happens. I can’t help but feel a little unfulfilled on some level.

I take out my phone and call Frank while I let Jake dangle on the chains. I give him the details of what I’ve found out and have to be a little more thorough than I usually am in explaining why I think what I think.

I tell him that I don’t believe this guy is going to be a further threat, but just in case, I want someone to stay on top of him. If whoever used him before tries it again I want to know about it.

“All right,” Frank says, dedicated as usual. “I’ll dedicate a LoJack and a PI to monitor him, what he does, who he meets with, where he goes. We’ll stay on top of him, V, don’t worry.”

“One last thing, before I forget. I have this guy in the warehouse in West Pekin. I need you to pick him up and get him out of here. He doesn’t need to know where he’s been.”

I feel my fangs pushing against my lips.

“He’ll be easy to get along with though. I’m gonna run him a couple of quarts low.”

The sigh I hear over the phone tells me wordlessly that he wishes I’d just killed the guy.

“Sorry, Frank.”

***

Mist begins to collect in the shadows that fall in the corner of Calvin Hocker’s cell. Slowly it builds almost like a tower until finally it coalesces into the somewhat human form. Stepping forward into the red light from the emergency exit, it draws Calvin’s attention. He sits up and looks at it, confused.

“My, my. What have they done to you?” It has the voice of a chorus, speaking in unison.

Calvin has enough of a mind left to be frightened, but not know why.

“It’s time to leave. There’s too much for you to be doing to waste your time lying around in here.” It speaks again, and then moves toward him. He tries to scream but the thick black mist starts to pour into his open mouth, preventing any sound from escaping.

His eyes dance around wildly and he flails around on his bunk as he knows this is the end.

THE SOUND OF BONES CRACKING
and skin tearing is sickening. It echoes off the windows and concrete walls, giving the whole of C Block the feel of a horror film. Most of the men sleeping wake to the awful sound and know immediately that something is terribly wrong. They also know better than to say or do anything about it.

After fracturing his skull enough to squeeze it through the narrow window, it’s just a matter of snaking his body back and forth past a few rib pops before he reaches his hips. His hips, now those are the hard part.

Calvin tugs, pushes, and pounds until he’s finally able to completely break his pelvis and folding it in, this allows him to finally pass all the way through the window and he’s out. He falls from the second floor, hitting the ground with a painful thud and a grunt.

Pushing roughly on the sides of his head, he pops his skull back vaguely into shape, almost losing an eye in the process, and then begins repositioning his hips enough to stand. With a devil’s grin on his face he faces west and starts limping.

Once the disgusting noises have stopped the other inmates begin yelling to get the attention of the guards, but by the time they actually check the cell it’s far too late, and none of the prisoners’ claims on what happened or what they heard are taken seriously.

What they do succeed in doing is getting the jail put on lockdown, and a report run on the local news about a dangerous escaped felon on the loose. Too little, too late.

***

The amber glow from the lights along the interstate flash through my car, front to back quickly, giving it the feel of some strange sepia toned rave at this speed.

I’m almost to my exit. How Frank gets people to agree to meet him in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere is a mystery to me. He’s charming sure, but it has to have limits, right?

Rolling over in my head this lead he said he had I get a little angry. Supposedly we’re going to meet with a ‘friend’ of his who claims that someone tried to pay him to dig up Rachel’s grave before it happened. I can hear his practically giddy voice telling me about it. ‘And, V, you’ll never believe who tried to hire him, Calvin Hocker. I know, right?’

Frank was excited. I’ve actually started to wish I could just go back and kill Hocker before he made any of these messes for me. I don’t get overjoyed to find out one guy has been fucking me seven different ways. No, I get pissed at that guy and want to make him not live anymore.

My phone hums, vibrating in my purse, bringing me back to reality. It’s likely Frank telling me that we’ve rescheduled.

Caller ID says it’s the house calling.

“Whatcha need, Julie?” I ask the question and instantly know that something’s gravely wrong. I hear glass shatter in the background, and get no answer from her at all.

Finally I can hear her, but she’s not talking to me. She’s yelling at someone, holding the phone to the side. “Hey, asshole! What do you think you’re—” She’s cut off by the sound of gunfire. Then the phone is filled with sounds of things breaking and screams.

“Julie!” I’m trying to get her attention, trying to tell her to get the shotgun and to hit Frank’s call button. It’s only a moment before there’s a plastic crunching and the line goes dead. I have to get there now.

I flip the car around through the median and dial Frank. He answers on the second ring; he was waiting for me.

“Frank, get to the house now!”

“We have a meeting in, like, ten minutes. They’ll be pulling up any time now.” I can see him looking at his watch nervously.

“I’m not going to argue with you. Julie is in trouble. Get there now!” I hang up before he has the chance to bicker with me anymore and take the speed up to twenty over the limit. If anyone wants to give me a ticket tonight they’ll have to work for it.

***

Walking into what was my house, over the broken remains of the antique stained-glass inlayed front door, is absolutely surreal. It seems like more of a shambles and less like a home than it was when I originally found it, condemned and in decay decades ago.

Dim light bathes the room from the streetlights outside, an ethereal glow from the jagged mouths of broken windows. There are so many shattered pieces of my life everywhere that I really can’t tell what’s what. Blood is splattered on almost every surface, like a thick red rain from the storm that came inside. I can smell it.

I have a pistol that Frank likes for me to carry but it’s in the car. I always tend to fall back on myself as my weapon of choice. That may prove to be an unwise decision, I think to myself as I creep through the dark building, not knowing if whoever or whatever did this is still here.

The distant rushing of water and the mewing of a black cat from the sofa in the front parlor were all that held the breathtaking silence at bay. The last time I remember the house being this quiet was that night in 1998. A pimp from the Southside thought I was competition, and sent a couple thugs with guns. Before I could get there to stop them they’d killed everyone. I gave up the business and moved out into Jules’ old ranch house in the county. It was because of Julie that I opened it back up in 2002.

Lucy brought her to me, like she did Rachel. Julie was eighteen and working truck stops. She was going to end up getting hurt, so I took her in. I literally rebuilt the house around her, she just never knew that. Now I may not be able to tell her.

Ragged breathing draws my attention; it’s weak and soft but I follow it. I pass through room to room, blood and destruction, but no bodies. Were they taken? Did they get away? I find the source of the breathing between the kitchen and the back door, on the entryway floor.

Leslie is alive but badly beaten; I could swear her breathing is getting weaker as I listen. Spent magazines and shell casings litter the floor all around her but I don’t see a gun.

Sliding my hands under her I pull her close, cradling her. I believe for a moment that she is near death, then her body shakes with coughing and her breathing becomes stronger.

“Leslie, can you hear me?” I say it softly, but it’s still enough to startle her.

She jumps in my arms and begins to look around in a panic. Her breathing is getting rough again. “V? Is he gone?”

“Who? Who did this? Calm down and talk to me, Les. You’re safe now.” I try to comfort her with words and touches, and when that doesn’t work I slide in through her eyes and bring calm down on her mind like a blanket.

I have her explain to me what happened, while I watch. She was in the kitchen when this started, making dinner for everyone. There was a loud popping sound, like something metallic breaking and she ran to see what had happened.

She saw him coming over the front door, and that was the last time she saw Julie, standing in the front parlor with the phone in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

Julie barked at her to get the girls out the back and stepped up in Calvin’s face. From the amount of blood I saw in the front parlor when I came in, it didn’t look good. No, can’t let myself think like that.

Leslie ran up the stairs telling everyone it was time to go. She was yelling, directing them to take the back stairs to the kitchen and go out the back.

It happened so fast for her that her memory is shaky and blurred. He was on top of her on the back staircase. He was punching her and riding her down the steps, laughing as they went. He didn’t seem human. His face was ripped and the skin seemed to hang off him like cloth.

His eyes had a darker quality in her memory than they were when I had seen them. And his laughs weren’t his voice, like dozens of laughs laid on top of each other all at once.

She managed to get her pistol out of its holster on her hip and the force of the rounds knocked him back off of her, though they didn’t seem to be causing him any pain.

With round after round, magazine after magazine, she kept knocking him back, held him in the kitchen long enough for the other girls to get out of the house unharmed, the ones lucky enough to have been upstairs anyway.

When she had nothing left to fire at him she threw the gun at him, and then turned to run. He caught it as he leapt at her. The last thing she remembers was feeling the weight of her own weapon hitting the back of her head and then the lights went out. He must have taken her gun with him.

“Leslie, honey, how many clients were in the house?” I’m concerned for her, but I have to know how much worse this is going to get.