The Forsaken (26 page)

He watched the terrible film roll. He watched his mother grip the plastic countertop while she bit down hard, masking her discomfort with a grunt and closed eyes. Stanley’s hairy paws nearly choked her as he whispered something Morgan couldn’t hear into her non-pierced, sterile ear.

They’re like animals
.

Then it was like Stanley could hear his thoughts. Mom’s eyes found him first. A look of shock, embarrassment even, blistered her stare, followed eventually by fright. Shame didn’t exist for the moment. In the panic, she’d knocked her head into Stanley’s snarling mouth. His teeth had cut into her scalp, staining some of her hair. He took the Lord’s name and awkwardly reached down in a rage for his pants.

“We got ourselves a curious little rat, don’t we?” he gasped, fastening his belt while his mother adjusted her summer dress.

With the same vigor that Stanley had groped his wife, he clutched Morgan by the shirt. His greedy, sweaty palms could steal a human soul, Morgan swore. The dragon grabbed him with his talons and wouldn’t let go. “Rats sleep in the basement. They like the cold and the filth. Hope you took a mental picture! ’Cause it’s all you’re gettin’ for the rest of the night!”

The basement door flung open. Was that the stench from the cellar cutting through his hair or Stanley’s rotten breath? With a fury, Stanley released his son to the darkness. Morgan sprained his wrist during his descent into the shadows.

It felt so real again, like he was living it over, only this time he could rewind it, fast-forward it, freeze it. Each time it grew more painful, purer. Stanley Baker, the miserable soul whom the rest of the outside world knew as Morgan’s father, was still whispering that name—
Rat
—to him now, so many years later.

Morgan walked into the bathroom and shut the door. It was dark, the way things usually were in the Baker house. He shuddered. Morgan kept waiting for Stanley to barge in and start with the threats and the screaming; kept waiting to be told he was weak.

Incensed and haunted once more, Morgan pulled out a razor and pressed it into his palm, feeling the blood trickle within the frail cracks he dared to tempt with existence. No matter how hard he squeezed the metal tip, no matter how deep the wound, it kept closing up. He hated not being able to kill the memories for good. He had good reason to do what he did. To do what he did and run.

The razor lay trapped inside his palm for minutes. Irate tears swelled in his eyes. Real tears. Morgan hadn’t cried in what felt like forever, but tonight—for a few minutes—he remembered what it was like to be human.

35

RACHEL LOOMED OVER A
cluster of pictures spread out across her desk. Pictures of the dead bodies. Their lifeless eyes seemed to lunge out at her. She blinked. She fidgeted. Blinked again. Was that desk lamp burning a hole in her skin? It felt hotter than usual.

Her fingers glided stiffly over the keyboard. Another internet search with weak results.

Crowded. Alone. Rachel hated the condescending glances from other officers, ones she’d refused to work with, on anything. No doubt many had already given her several creative names. The secretaries in the surrounding rooms, Jude’s included, probably shared similar opinions. None of it should’ve bothered her, though. She had been born with a thick skin. What did bother her was that no one, save the chief, believed she could put an end to the string of murders.

But in reality, neither did she.

She finally dropped her head into her open hands. “Pull yourself together, Rachel. He left. He’s not—”

“—coming back?” came a voice from behind her. The words shook her.

Rachel swallowed hard and turned around to catch a glimpse of the man who’d put her emotions through the blender.

She turned back around after glancing into his eyes. She just wasn’t ready for this. Not today. Not now.

He slowly walked toward his desk and sat down. She noticed how his eyes never left her body, and it made her feel invaded. Rachel spent the next few moments punching meaningless keys, typing incoherent sentences, and checking a blank calendar.

“Do you want to talk?” he eventually asked, breaking the silence. His words were presented with pristine elocution.

“About what? You took off. In the middle of a case, which I agreed to be a part of to help you.”

“Please, let’s not have our first conversation since I left be a fight. I’d appreciate it if you spared me the bleeding heart routine.”

She stopped briefly to register his insensitivity. She wanted to spit into his smug face, but there was little reason to justify such a drastic expression of pent-up emotion. The deep breaths came next.

“What’s the matter, Rachel? You’d think you just came in from a ten-mile run breathing like that. What are you, nervous?”

“Frustrated. Tired. Ill-treated.” Her bullet responses were sure to wake him up.

“Moody?”

“Pissed off.”

“Noted,” Jude concluded, folding his arms. “But I had my reasons for leaving. I didn’t abandon this case. And I didn’t abandon you.”

“I don’t need your pity or your sanctimonious sympathy.”

“Good.”

“You know, you are such a—” She grunted, aimlessly searching files.

“Looking for something?” he prodded.

“Something to smack you with if you don’t leave me alone.”

“I thought partners were supposed to have good communication. I
am
trying.”

Rachel choked back a bitter laugh. “
Partners?
So we’re partners now? Where was that conscience when you split? Forget it. It’s always easier to run, isn’t it?”

“You think I was running?” Jude replied, shaking his head.

“What would you call it? What, did you go and have an epiphany? Find God? What possible reason could there have been for you to run off in the middle of an important case?”

“I went looking for answers, and I found them.” Jude powered on his computer. “Home, sweet home,” he sighed.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked. “What made you run?”

“For the last time, I didn’t run!” Jude said, smacking his desk.

She jumped.

“Sorry,” he immediately said. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Arguing with you like we’re teenagers. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. You’ve already made up your mind.”

“That didn’t take long. You’ve managed to make a complete jackass out of yourself in a matter of minutes.
You
left, Jude. And then you expect to just waltz back in here like nothing happened?”

“It was a few days,” he tried. “This case has been my complete focus.”

“Sure. A few days. Maybe you don’t get it.” Rachel crunched her knuckles.

Jude forced a clean breath out of his lungs, leaning up against the side closest to Rachel. “Would you believe me if I told you I was
led
to Haiti?”

“What?”

“It started when I visited the old church.”

“Where Morgan tried to kill you?” she asked. “Wow…I can’t believe he was right.”

“Who?” Jude pried.

“Never mind.”

“I couldn’t ignore it, Rachel. Morgan wanted me to follow his clues. One of which was a photograph.” Jude handed her the wrinkled image. “I found this in the church. Morgan led me to Victor’s exact location.”

Rachel was spellbound by the photograph and thankful it didn’t have a corpse sprawled across the middle.

Before Jude could explain further, a shrill voice echoed from down the hall. It was Mike. “Foster! Get in here!”

“Home, sweet home,” Rachel said, unable to hide a gloating smile. She’d wanted him to return since the moment she discovered he was gone. But something was different. She still wasn’t sure how to react around him, how to make sense of any of it.

***

Once Jude entered the office, Mike shut the door. “So where should I begin?”

“Morning,” Jude said, taking a seat.

“Don’t start. I am beyond furious with you. Selfish, reckless moron.” Mike paced the room, scratching at his arms, frustrated. “Explain.
Now
.”

Jude cracked his neck.

“After all we’ve endured together, how could you play me like this?”

“Don’t take it so personally, Mike.”

“For the time being, it’s Chief Harrison! You high-tailed it outta here like a third-grade school-girl, leaving me and your new partner confused, pissed off, and trying to outrun the clock.”

“What else is new?”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Mike asked, walking toward his desk. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his text messages. “Now, would you mind explaining this to me?” He read, “On my way back. With answers. I was wrong. Must bring down M.C.” He placed the phone into his pocket. “You disrupt me at six a.m. with a vague-as-hell text message? I tried calling you eleven times, went right to voicemail. Where have you been?”

A deep sigh. “Haiti.”

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me what you were doing there.”

“A year ago, I almost died. This isn’t anything new to you, I realize that. But try to track with me, okay?”

A shaky nod.

“I went back to that church. You know the one. My shrink would probably have an aneurysm if he found out I was digging into the past like this. I found a photograph next to a map of Haiti. In the church. Morgan must’ve been using the abandoned building as a hideout. Maybe it was before I nearly died, not entirely a hundred percent on that. But it doesn’t really matter. The photograph had Victor and Morgan in it.”

“Naturally you would fly halfway around the world on a hunch.” Mike’s sarcastic words were needles.

“I’m still having a little difficulty processing all of this myself, believe me.”

“It was unprofessional, inconsiderate, and foolhardy to leave like you did. You flew to Haiti because of an inclination? What did you expect to find out there?”

“You’re not gonna believe it, but I found him.”

“Who?”

A slow breath. “Victor.”

Mike’s ears pricked up. “You want to run that by me again?”

“I swear it. I found him in this small village. I don’t even think it’s on the map.”

“And?”

“He died, right in front of me.”

“How?” Mike pressed.

Jude clenched his jaw. “I don’t know how to say this.”

“Try.”

“Do you believe in demons?”

Mike roared with laughter. “Demons? Yeah, I believe in demons. Unicorns too. And little green men.”

Jude was unshakable.

“You’re actually serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“What do demons have to do with this case or your trip to Haiti?”

“Everything. When I sent you that text, I was out of it.” Jude lifted his shirt to show Mike his bruises. They were fading much faster than usual, but that wasn’t obvious to the chief.

“Some locals roughed you up?”

“Yeah. Took some pretty strong drugs to numb the pain. Haven’t felt right since I hopped on the plane to come home.” He lowered his shirt and bit down hard. “I was wrong, just like I said in the text.”

“Misguided. Insane. But no, you weren’t wrong, Detective,” Mike admitted. Jude could tell it was killing the chief to admit such a thing at this point. “Looks like your hunch ended up being true after all. The two of them
were
working together.”

“Now this next part gets a little tricky to follow, but try to have an open mind. Victor and Morgan were connected. And I’m not just talking about the case or the string of murders. All this time, we’ve been wondering how they were able to kill the way they do. How they’re able to move by us, undetected. I know now. Whatever was inside of Victor that allowed him to have these…I don’t even know what to call them…”

“Superpowers,” Mike sarcastically added.

“These abilities were passed on to Morgan. Now he can move and kill the way Victor did.”

“So Morgan was his puppet?”

“I don’t think so,” Jude answered immediately. “I think Morgan was calling a lot of his own shots.”

“How did Victor die?”

“He was killed…by a demon.”

“Right. When are your sessions with Dr. Irons? I think he’d be mighty interested to hear about all this. As for me, I’m a realist. I caved once with this bullcrap. Not again. I’ve got real work ahead of me.”

“Come on, Chief. My trip to Haiti…it changed me. Changed my perspective. What I’m telling you isn’t just a theory. Morgan has been killing his victims in the identical fashion that Victor, or, the demon, did before him. And it’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants, whatever the hell that is.”

“I still can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is the real world, Detective. Time to wake up and smell the asphalt. I cannot afford to be indulging in idle conversation about demons and magic when I’ve got a city with a monster on the loose. Don’t you get that?”

“Just shut up, and listen to me.”