Eve of Redemption (7 page)

Martinez turned the light around the room. “Your wife and daughter?” he asked. “They were here?”

Burke sighed. “You think I’m crazy.” He paused. “Maybe I am. I don’t know anymore.” He knew he was rambling. “They were here, though. I saw them. Felt them. But they weren’t alive. Not anymore.”

“You’re not making sense. Calm down and start over.”

Burke laughed, but the sound came out much higher than he would have thought possible. “Calm down? You want me to calm down?” He almost said more, but just shook his head before letting it fall with his chin to his chest.

Martinez put a hand on Burke’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll look around.’’

Burke heard the big cop step away and move deeper into the darkness of the house. Resting his head against the wall, he stared into the darkness. Had it really been less than twenty-four hours since the little redheaded street girl had stolen the picture of his family? He tried to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He knew he had seen the girl in his house, just as he knew something else had been here. Not Laura and Sara. He could never believe that those monstrosities were his family. If they were dead, they would be in heaven, not roaming the planet as rotting corpses. He wondered what would become of him when he passed on. He knew heaven was not an option. Even before the events of four years ago, he had known his wife and daughter were much better people than he would ever be. Working weekends had given him an excuse not to attend church with them, but an excuse was all it had been. He had no room in his life for God and, he suspected, God had no room for him. Maybe if he had been more involved, had at least taken the time to check out that new church that had popped up, things would have turned out different.

“What the…?” Martinez’s startled voice came from further in the house. His heavy steps pounded back into the room. Without warning, Burke found himself flung face down on the floor. A knee came down on his spine as the much bigger man pulled Burke’s hands behind his back.

“You scum. I was worried about you…and why?”

“What? What did I do?” Burke had been taken by surprise. He gasped as the cuffs clicked home, pinching his flesh.

“Shut up. Just shut your mouth.” Martinez’s breathing was ragged as he finished cuffing Burke.

“I don’t understand,” Burke tried to say, but Martinez stood up and stomped his foot into Burke’s back, right between his shoulder blades, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Don’t know why I bother,” Martinez mumbled. “Always the stinkin’ same. Why should I expect anything else? Why’d you do it? Huh?”

Burke tried to lift his head, but the huge foot planted in the middle of his back kept him flat on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Didn’t do anything, huh?” Martinez’s voice grew more menacing with each word. Burke heard the big man taking deep breaths, as though trying to get himself under control.

“I have no idea what is going on here, and not knowing makes me very irritable. Do you understand that, Mr. Burke?” Martinez grabbed Burke by the cuffed wrists and heaved him to his feet. Burke nearly screamed as his shoulders twisted in a direction they were never meant to bend. His head swam, and he stumbled as he tried to keep his balance.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know, huh? Don’t know nothin’? Well, I’m gonna show you.”

Martinez gave him a rough shove toward the back of the house. He pointed his flashlight before them as he guided Burke through the kitchen and pulled him to a stop just outside the laundry room’s open door. Without a word, Martinez pointed his light at the laundry room floor where something had been spilled. Burke squinted and saw that the spilled liquid was red.

Blood.

“What…? Whose is that?” Burke asked.

Martinez shrugged. “It’s your house.”

Burke turned back to the puddle of blood. Martinez held the light steady, and Burke saw that the fronts of both the washer and dryer were smeared with blood.

“Want to see the rest?” Martinez asked.

Burke opened his mouth, but no answer came out. He shook his head back and forth. No, if there was more here, he had no desire to see it.

“Oh, come on. Let’s see what’s behind door number one, shall we?” Martinez’s voice left no room for argument. Burke had not known Martinez well, but he remembered the man to be one of those people who didn’t let things get to him. He had always been calm and professional, not allowing himself to get emotional about cases. Either things had changed, or something else was going on.

The dryer door sat partially open, and Martinez used his toe to pull it wider. Inside, Burke saw what looked like a pair of jeans. Then Martinez grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed his face almost into the machine. Even through his swollen nose, Burke picked up the coppery scent of blood. As Martinez focused the light directly into the dryer, Burke saw that the jeans appeared to have a knee in them, and a pale hand rested on that knee. Martinez moved the light just a bit to better display a ragged, bloody stump where the head should have been. A body.

“See that?” Martinez asked. “Now, let’s see what’s behind door number two.”

Martinez moved the light from the body in the dryer to the front of the washer. At first, Burke thought he was supposed to look at the smears of blood on the front. Then the light shifted up to the clear plastic window in the door. A face gazed back at him from within, bulging eyes pleading to be let out. Burke stumbled back, but the rock-solid form of Martinez behind him left no room for escape.

“Know who that is?” Martinez asked. Much of the anger had faded, leaving him sounding tired and drained.

Burke took another look into the washer. The face was covered in bright tattoos.

Not waiting for an answer, Martinez said, “That’s one of the kids that beat you up this morning.” He waved the light between the two appliances. “Bit much, don’t you think?”

Burke tried to think, tried to trace back his steps of the day, but so much of it was a blur. He did recognize the kid, now that Martinez had identified him. This was the kid who had started it all. But still, Burke knew he would never do anything like this. He wasn’t even capable.
Was he?

“I didn’t do this,” Burke said. “You have to believe me. I did not do this.”

“Yeah?” Martinez replied. “Who did?”

Martinez jerked Burke out of the laundry room and back to the front of the house. He turned Burke so that they faced each other, and then he shined his light up and down Burke’s body. “The blood on you is consistent with the beating you took this morning, I’ll give you that.” He spun Burke around and inspected his back. Moving around so he could look into Burke’s face, Martinez said, “This is some crazy stuff. Someone put that kid in there, and that someone did it very recently. Don’t know nothin’ about that?”

The big cop grabbed Burke’s arm and propelled him into a chair. “You’re going to tell me a story, Mr. Burke. I don’t care how crazy that story is, or how unbelievable. Just make sure it’s a true story. Got that? Tell me a true story.”

Burke licked his dry lips and fought to get his mind to put together a coherent sequence of events. He was about to speak, when Martinez’s flashlight went out and a noise from the back of the house caused both men to freeze.

It sounded very much like the washer door opening.

D
ave Martinez’s hand automatically reached for the gun beneath his jacket. Was someone else in the house with them? He held his breath, straining his ears for any sound, but he only heard John Burke’s ragged breathing. Sweat trickled down Martinez’s back as he forced himself to remain calm.

“What?” Burke asked, but Martinez held out a hand, silencing him. For a moment, all was quiet. Then, another muffled sound came from somewhere in the darkness, and this time Martinez felt certain it was a footstep. He glanced at Burke. Muted moonlight illuminated the window behind him, casting him in shadow. Martinez held up his left hand to indicate Burke should remain where he was, while pulling the gun from his shoulder holster with his right. The door leading to the kitchen was little more than a black hole, but he thought he detected movement. He kept the pistol aimed at the doorway as he slipped across the room to get a better angle. Another shuffling step issued from the darkness, accompanied by shadowy movement.

Martinez took a couple more steps toward the center of the living room, putting Burke behind and to the right of him. The cuffed man could easily get to the front door, maybe even get the door open, but his primary concern at the moment was the figure lurking in the kitchen. The shadowy form moved clumsily, as though struggling to find his way in the dark. Could he be injured? Martinez wondered if Burke brought more than one of the kids to the house.

“Police! Come on out here where I can see you!” Martinez’s voice was loud in the confines of the quiet house. He was not one to scare easily, but something gave him the creeps. From the moment he arrived at Burke’s, nothing had felt right.

He tensed as a light appeared across the room. A flashlight lay on the floor, pointing into a corner. The light shone under an end table by the couch, casting an eerie glow over the room. Martinez assumed the light was Burke’s. He pressed the button on his own light a few times, but it was still dead. Keeping the gun and one eye on the kitchen door, Martinez moved across the room and picked up the working light. He cast the beam toward the kitchen door, but from his new vantage point he couldn’t see into the depths of the room.

“Get out here, and keep your hands where I can see them,” Martinez said. He felt more confident now that he had the light. Moving smoothly, he crossed the room and aimed the beam of light into the darkness enshrouding the next room. He cried out and jumped back as the light revealed a doorway into madness.

The headless body that had been stuffed in the washer shambled toward him, as though drawn by the light that it should not have been able to see. It held one hand out before it, the fingers opening and closing. Martinez’s stomach turned at the gruesome sight. The body took another uncoordinated step, like a marionette on strings. The corpse’s other hand rose, holding a long serrated carving knife.

“Stay where you are,” Martinez said, his voice no longer steady. He knew what he was seeing was impossible. It had to be some kind of trick. Maybe someone really was trying to drive John Burke crazy. “Take one more step, and I swear I’ll shoot.” He took another step back, hand shaking as he gripped his weapon more tightly. The corpse matched his step. It was now in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. Another step and it would be in the room with him. “Stop right there, you hear?” Martinez almost cracked up at his own statement. Of course it couldn’t hear. It had no ears. Martinez knew fear was beginning to get the better of him. A bead of sweat slid down his back. The thing clomped into the room.

Martinez fired.

The sound of the gun was deafening in the small room. The headless corpse lurched back, fighting for balance. For a moment, Martinez was sure it was going down. But then it staggered forward again. He fired two more rounds, both opening holes in the thing’s shirt. Again, it staggered. Still it came. The room grew cold. The sweat that had coated his body moments before now chilled him to the bone. He knew the sudden drop in temperature was anything but natural. Steam from his breath misted before the light. The smell of the fired powder filled the room, mixing with the undeniable scent of death. Martinez felt a terror he’d never thought possible. His heart pounded and his hands shook as he took aim once more.

“What in God’s name are you?” Martinez muttered as he unloaded the rest of the clip into the headless body. This time it stumbled back against the wall, but it still did not go down. In mere seconds, it was moving again, quicker this time, as though angered by the bullets tearing through it. Before Martinez could react, it lurched forward and slammed into his body.

The kid had been fairly tall in life, but without a head stood significantly shorter than Martinez’s six feet five inches. The big cop found himself looking down upon the exposed neck where the kid’s head should have been. The horror of the whole thing distracted him so much he almost missed the knife hurtling straight for his chest. Reacting without thought, he blocked the corpse’s arm with his own, the knife less than an inch from his chest. The animated corpse was much stronger than the kid could have ever been in life. It took everything Martinez had to keep the knife at bay. He used his other hand, still clenching the empty gun, to push against the corpse’s chest. For the next several moments, the two danced around the center of the room, Martinez’s incredible physical strength just barely matching the unnatural power of the dead body. He felt the back of his legs hit the coffee table and nearly went down. As the corpse bore downward, straining to plunge its knife into Martinez’s chest, Martinez used the downward leverage to spin away from the table and keep the thing off-balance.