The Forsaken (23 page)

“Are you afraid of me? You can see them, can’t you?” Morgan asked, eyes flashing. “The others inside me. Their faces will show you your end. Your final breath.”

“Looks like you’re forgetting one thing. The house always wins. Them be the rules.” Chubb’s stubby index finger nudged the trigger, and everyone froze at the sound of the bullet leaving the chamber.

Morgan felt the lead chew into his ribcage, and red spilled out of the wound but quickly dried before it dripped onto the floor. It would be gone in seconds.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Chubb’s eyes read something horrifying when he noticed that Morgan hadn’t even flinched. He fired a second shot. And a third. In no time, the entire clip was empty. The weapon exhaled a hot mist into the smoky air. Chubb’s bodyguard stepped toward Morgan. He pointed the shotgun at Morgan and pulled the trigger.

Kevin screamed. The girls scurried beneath the table in a frenzy. People started to flee the club as Morgan’s body thudded against the floor.

“Disrespectful mother—he’s down,” Chubb said confidently.

Morgan showed no signs of life.

“Now, let’s talk business, Kevin.”

At once, Morgan stood to his feet, shaky. Kevin was a block of ice. With one blink, the table spiraled into Chubb’s bodyguard, knocking the goliath unconscious. The evening’s entertainment ran for the outside door, their heels clicking on the tiles. Cards hung trapped within the frailty of the air, waltzing to a slow, descending rhythm. Some had caught the fire from Chubb’s fat cigar and, coupled with the whiskey on his breath, floated to the floor like wilting petals.

Morgan’s eyes came alive. There was a stream of movement behind them, a sort of screaming. The bar was still so loud with bass. But death was walking. Morgan had unleashed it, the black mist from the inside of him. With less than a gasp for breath, his spirit reached into Chubb’s body and lurked within for only a brief moment. Less than a blink, and the reaping was complete.

He held chunks of his stomach meat in his hands as he engulfed the greedy soul. Before putting the organs and meat back into the pit the shotgun bullets had made, Morgan took control once more of his body.

And with a hush, the world caught up.

Kevin fell out of his chair and started crawling toward the exit, his fingernails breaking as his belly desperately brushed against the cold tile. Morgan closed his eyes, feeling the new life, the fresh energy surging behind them. He could already feel the souls swimming in his veins. With considerable strain, he pushed out every bullet in his chest and the one burning inside his face. The dropped to the floor, stained run, but only for a second. Azrael’s blood would soon dry and be vanish.

“Chubb, you waste. Always were a cheap shot.”

The craters each bullet had opened began to close and heal. An immediate but painful cycle.

Chubb’s empty shell finally dropped. The ground shook some. Morgan reveled in the fact that he could hear the cracking of the fat man’s skull as it smacked upon the tile and his forehead split opena bit.

Morgan kicked the corpse. Amidst the drowning music, all he listened for was Kevin’s footsteps. He used a pen and the blood from Chubb’s forehead to ink a new death note. This time, he rubbed some of the blood on his lips and pressed his mouth to the page.

“A kiss for you, Rachel.” He sighed, satisfied. “We’ll be seeing you…soon.”

He found Kevin still crawling on his palms outside. “For a pathetic little rat, you crawl pretty quickly. Don’t scream now.”

Morgan was still readjusting to his physical frame. His fingers cracked and his neck jerked. His jaw still felt tight. Returning back to a hard shell had its challenges, but the power gained from the sudden exchange was worth the momentary suffering. It wouldn’t take long for his skin to feel safe wrapped around his bones again.

He checked Kevin’s pockets. They were full of cash. “Smart rat. You can keep it. After all, you earned it.” Morgan’s sinister smile was a haunting white flame.

Kevin was a statue. “What are you doing with me? Are-a-ar-are you going to kill me?”

“Now where would you get an idea like that?”

Kevin stumbled, almost in a daze behind Morgan. They walked toward a sleek, white Mercedes. Chubb’s ride. Morgan pushed a button on the key and every door unlocked. “Get in. The cops’ll be here in no time.”

“What was that back there?” Kevin asked in a panic as he slid into the passenger seat.

A short answer came. “Wildcard.”

31

IT WAS COLD, AND
the falling snow outside wasn’t helping Rachel’s efforts to stay warm. Fatigue was settling into her muscles like a storm. Second crime scene in one night. The luxury of hope seemed like a distant whisper she swore she couldn’t even hear anymore.

She studied the area with slow, calculated blinks. The remains of the body belonged to an obviously obese man. His jaw hung open. He’d been sucked dry. Like the others. Bullet shells lay among the broken tables and bar debris. She made a dozen summaries in her mind, piecing the events together in the fashion she imagined they occurred.

The Pearl’s front and rear entrances remained cracked, a constricting wind invading.
This filthy place should be shut down
, she thought as the tormenting chill gloved her thin frame. A few glances at the new victim, but she hadn’t located the broken cross etched under the skin. Although she knew in her gut it was there.

A death note had blown toward her from across the room. She picked it up.

I will execute judgment upon him with plague and bloodshed.

The
M
and one
E
were marked by blood. Rachel’s eyes fell. “Two letters this time? Another piece of the grand enigma.”

“What is it?” Mike asked as he entered.

She turned. “Don’t you ever go home?”

“The wife and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms as of late.”

“Is my case the culprit?”

“Your case. And about a half dozen others this month.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “I can’t seem to make any sense of these riddles.”

“Let me see the note.”

She put the note in his hands.

“Well, these murders are happening very close together, all in the same way. There’s a definite pattern and purpose.” Mike rubbed his eyes, groggy. Still, he managed to give her a quick and efficient rundown of the notes, an impressive skill Rachel coveted. “I think it’s safe to assume there’s a pattern to these notes left behind as well. Red letters might spell something.”

“Jude said he believed that the notes were taken from Hebrew Scripture.”

“The Bible?”

She nodded.

“He should know. He’s spent more time in church than God himself when he was younger.”

“Is that a fact?” she replied, surprised.

“He’s got a friend who pastors one of them on the corner of Willow and Granby. A priest named…What the heck was that guy’s name?” His mind searched. “Eliam, that’s it. Knew it was an oddball one.”

“Well, never thought we’d need a clergyman to solve a murder.”

“We don’t. But Jude went there sometimes. He said it helped him keep his head screwed on tight. At least, before…That was old Jude, I suppose. I swear, when and if he comes back, I’m gonna rip his heart out.”

The paramedics shoved Chubb into one of the biggest body bags Rachel had ever seen. The nightclub became crowded in mere moments. Her ears were still ringing when one of her crew members finally figured out how to shut the obnoxious sound system off.

Rachel took some time to collect herself. Her composure felt like wax, melting the deeper she wandered into this case. She glanced down at her watch. It read 3:07. Walking outside to get some fresh air, a voice came out of the shadows.

“Evening, Miss Sutherland,” Chase Vallace said. “Or should I say, good morning?”

“Don’t say anything at all. Just leave me in peace.”

“Peace. Almost a believable request. Sounds to me like you’re nursing a bruised ego.”

“Keep it up and it’ll be your bruised face.”

His teeth flashed. “As long as you’re the nurse, it’s a good night.” With his overly large camera, he snapped several photographs of the nightclub.

“You’re not authorized to be here,” Rachel insisted.

“I saw one of the nosy writers from
The Journal
peeling out of here minutes ago. You know, it baffles me. It really does. Everyone hates the smell of garbage, but nobody wants to take out the trash. Someone’s gotta do it.”

“A charming guy like you doesn’t have anything better to do at three in the morning?”

“I can think of a few things.”

“Does your depravity know no bounds?” she snarled.

“I’m a man. I got needs. Speaking of needs, Detective, do you have anything you want to share with the good people of this city? I questioned a few of the others already, but I’d like to get a quote from Jude’s better half.” Chase raised his recorder.

“Get that out of my face, before I break it. And Jude and I aren’t an item. Don’t let me find out that your filthy mind is printing lies about us.”

“Jumpy-jumpy. Something’s got you worn thin. What could it be?”

“Go home.”

“But I want to be here, with you. With all of this magic.” He seemed to acquire a sadistic glow the more he studied the scene. He sucked in a deep breath. “You smell that? Beautiful. In some bizarre way, it smells fresh. There’s something so freeing about death.”

Rachel started to feel claustrophobic.

Chase stole a picture of Rachel as she glanced down the alley. “All these poor low-lives keep me employed.”

“Have a little respect for the dead.”

“Respect?” Chase took a step back. “He was a criminal. He was less than human. Soulless. Trust me.”

“Takes a soulless man to spot another.”

“You know, I’m not as bad as some paint me to be,” he said, taking another photo.

“Right. If you’re lucky, you might just get promoted to saint.”

“Patron saint of the truth. They say it’ll set you free, baby.”

“I’m shocked you even know what that word means. Look, just get lost. That kingpin paid for his crimes tonight with his life.”

“Scream mercy all you want. If it were up to me he woulda been tossed in solitary to scratch at the walls. Guess Morgan Cross had other intentions.”

“What did you say? Where did you get that name?”

Chase glanced at the images he’d taken. “Public knowledge, Detective.”

“No, it isn’t. You think Cross is responsible for these murders?”

“My theories aren’t conclusive, but the gun’s in his hand from where I’m standing. Rumor has it, this SOB may be working with the infamous ghost killer Jude never brought down. Two sadistic creeps. One case. I already got chills.” Chase shoved a stick of gum into his mouth and began to chew it methodically. “What, no comment? Really? You are a cold fish.”

Rachel rolled her eyes.

He squinted slyly. But she wasn’t about to show him that he’d struck a nerve or that he was on the right track. The readers of his column sure didn’t get all the facts, so to lead them on this train of thought was nothing short of dangerous.

“Detective Sutherland, I’m asking for a bone here. Give me anything. I got deadlines. I got a boss barking up my butt with threats. He’s just looking for an excuse to let me go. If I don’t have something sensational to run…Well, I suppose I could come up with something.” He clicked his tongue and played with the gum in his mouth.

“A city kingpin was sucked dry. But you already knew that,” Rachel said, taking in a view of the city. “Isn’t his death sensational enough?”

“Everybody dies. But how’s this story gonna end? I know you’ve thought about it, especially since your partner left you behind.”

Rachel began walking away.

“You can’t just walk away from a crime scene…Can you?”

She denied him a response. This wasn’t the time for antics or futile battles. Where was Jude? She wanted him to come back. Miserable, cynical, angry as he was. There was a menace loose, and with each new corpse, he was making fools out of every crew at the department. He was making a fool out of her.

32

THE WORLD SPUN. NO
telling when it would cease or when he’d at last throw up. Jude’s eyes slowly stopped rolling but the blood rushing to his brain didn’t.

“Let me go!” he screamed, weightless. The arthritic hand that clutched his ankle belonged to the witch doctor. And the witch doctor, who appeared weak, held Jude upside down from the edge of a cliff.

The new revelation that he might plummet hundreds of feet to an excruciating death didn’t prevent Jude from jittering uncontrollably. This was no dream. The pulsations in his temples were evidence of that. And the clawing that began at the back of his vision, sliding into his veins and grabbing his ribs, added to the numbing mayhem. It was at this point that he ended all second guessing that the events of the early morning happened.

It’s real
. His body writhed.
It’s very real.