My photo was replaced by Dr. Drake, who stood outside his clinic with Holly Holstein, who held a microphone near his mouth. “It’s imperative that we find the woman soon. The patient’s not only a threat to herself, but the general public,” Dr. Drake said.
“Is it contagious?” Holly asked.
“It’s potentially deadly.”
“Could you tell us what illness she suffers from?”
Go ahead, Dr. Dumbass, tell them you have no freaking idea.
“I haven’t been able to attain a blood sample yet, but it’s unbelievable that someone can live with a blood pressure of three-hundred over two-hundred and a pulse in the two-hundreds.”
“Aren’t you violating patient privacy laws?” Holly asked.
I was beginning to like this reporter.
“My concern is for the general public.”
“So you’re not certain what the woman’s illness is, but you’re telling the public they have to fear a potential deadly virus?” Holly asked.
Two suited men pulled the microphone their way and one of them said, “We would like to thank Dr. Drake for his concern, but we’ve located the woman. She doesn’t suffer from a deadly virus.”
I swallowed hard. That was news to me.
“And who are you?” Holly asked.
“Agents Hughes and Bernstein.”
Hughes and Bernstein each grabbed one of Dr. Drake’s arms and led him away quietly.
“It’s safe to say the city is safe from a deadly virus,” Holly said with a sad shake of her head. “And apparently we need to quit blasting the woman in question’s photo on the airwaves. You can depend that we’ll stay on top of this to discover the truth behind the story. Back to you, Helen.”
I smiled in relief until there was a knock at my door and my heart jumped into my throat. I opened the door to Detective Blake and allowed him in.
“This is a surprise,” I said as I moved into the kitchen and returned with two bottles of water and handed him one. “I hope you’re here to tell me you have solved your case.”
Blake unscrewed the top of his bottle. “Which case would that be?”
“Don’t play games.”
“I haven’t,” he said as he plopped into a chair in the dining room. “I was worried about you. After all, you have a deadly virus.”
“There was a retraction,” I said. “I thought you cops kept up on that sort of thing?”
“We try, but that’s not why I’m here. Is there something you’re keeping from me? You know I’m a good listener.”
“I took a little fall,” I said as I showed him the cuts on my arms. Thankfully the glass had done some damage. It would have been hard otherwise to lie to Blake, who I considered a friend.
“So let me get this straight … .”
“I hate when you begin a sentence like that.”
“You went to the medical clinic for those injuries and the doctor went off the deep end?”
“Sounds about right. I tried to tell him his equipment was faulty. He insisted I go to the hospital, but I didn’t want to. I have the right not to be treated.”
“I’d think if you went all the way to the clinic you’d want treatment.”
“I’ll admit I should have just called my doctor, but she’s out of town.” That wasn’t a lie. “Her daughter is getting married in Canada this weekend.”
I expected Blake to jot that down or ask me the name of my doctor, but he didn’t.
“What a way to end your day, eh?” Blake smiled. “I really stopped by to see if you’re okay. I hope Mr. Lee and Lina at Hunan’s don’t give you a hard time when you go back to work.”
“I was thinking I’ll take some time off. After the near mugging, I think I deserve some down time.”
“I can’t say I blame you, but … .”
“How is the mugger doing? I hope he wasn’t seriously injured.”
“Only a concussion, but he’ll be checking into our jail when he’s released. He has quite a rap sheet. Prone to violence. There’s a warrant out of Clair County for assault and carjacking, so you might say he won’t be on the streets anytime soon.”
“Does this mugger have a name?” I asked as I examined the cuts on my arms to determine if they really needed medical attention.
Blake, ever observant, said, “Those cuts aren’t too bad. I doubt you’ll need to head back to the clinic.”
“No worries there,” I smirked. “And his name is?”
“Does it really matter?”
“It would be swell to know his name before the prosecutor tells me.”
“I just didn’t want to burden you any more than I have to. Getting mugged twice by the same man must be traumatizing enough.”
“For the record, he mugged me only once. The other time it was only an attempt.”
“I wish I had been a fly on the wall to see his reaction when you fought back.”
“That should be fly on the dumpster,” I corrected.
“Whatever. I’m just happy that you made it out okay. I’d hate to lose a partner like you.”
“Partner you say?” I asked.
“You’d make a damn good private detective. There’s plenty of perks with that, you know. You even get access to the same websites the police can access.”
“I’d need a license for that.”
“Not with me vouching for you.”
Blake pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to me.
I opened the envelope and stared at the paper inside. “Is this really a private investigator’s license?”
“I pulled some strings at city hall. It will make it easier for us to share information. He grinned. “Depending on what that information is.”
I was stoked as I studied the license. “I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Thank you’ always works.”
“Thank you, Blake,” I said as I reached for his hand.
He quickly pulled it back. “No need to go touchy-feely on me.”
“Sorry,” I gasped. “And you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re not even my type.”
“You either -- you’re too skinny.”
“And you’re balding prematurely.”
Blake frowned and rubbed his hair.
“Got you.” I smiled. “I don’t know why that gets to men.”
“Mr. Lee told me he has a backroom you can use for an office if you don’t want to hang out at home all day.”
“Really?”
“Believe it or not, the Lees have a soft spot for you.”
“Lina might,” I countered.
“Don’t sell Mr. Lee short. He was very concerned about what happened the other day.”
“So besides bringing me the license and arranging an office space for me, what can you tell me about your case?”
“No movement in that direction. Did you meet with the psychics?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in psychics.”
“I don’t, but thought you might.”
“I can’t say I do, but it’s worth talking to them. I want to find out about the paranormal activity that’s happening.” I laughed.
“I wouldn’t put too much stock into what they say, but keep me informed.”
“That would be something if they actually could tell me something of use and you didn’t even question them.”
“I don’t care where the tips come from. We need to catch this killer before he strikes again.”
“Do you think that’s a possibility?”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
“Did the tip line get the name of the man who called in and confessed?”
Blake’s brow furrowed. “What man?”
“The werewolf?”
“Oh him. I’m afraid not.”
“It’s strange he didn’t leave his name if he confessed.”
“Quacks call tip lines all the time.”
“How do you even know which tip is worth checking into?”
“I’m good
at reading people.”
“I can see that.” I yawned. “I think I’m heading to bed early. All that fleeing from Dr. Drake’s clinic was exerting.”
“At least you don’t have those federal agents pursuing you.”
“Who are Hughes and Bernstein?”
“All I know is that they work for a government agency.”
“Which one?”
“Might be good to find out after you recover from your injuries.”
“You’re right about that. I’m glad I keep a first aid kit handy.”
“I like that about you,” Blake smirked as he downed his water and I walked him to the door.
I leaned against the door with a smile. Blake was a good detective. He was also honest and helpful in regards to the private investigator’s license. Now that one I didn’t see coming.
Seven
I walked back into the living room with a purpose in mind -- to uncover whatever was hidden inside the burlap. I was glad that Blake preferred to sit in the dining room. He would have been all over me about what I was hiding under all that burlap and of course I wouldn’t have an answer for him. I didn’t know, but I was about to find out.
I lifted the burlap-covered object and fetched a pair of scissors to remove the bindings. I had no more than attempted once to cut through the rope when the scissors fell apart. I shook my head in disbelief and for a moment I thought I should just forget about the whole thing. But how could I when the object had been so carefully concealed?
I ran my hands along the covering hoping to find something that would help me unwrap it. Fingers burning, I sat back with a sigh. This shouldn’t be that hard. I tweaked the rope with my chewed down nail and winced. The rope hadn’t given in the slightest. What was it made of?
I carried it into the bedroom and I tossed it on the bed. I raced into the bathroom when hot pain seared into my pupils. I washed my hands in a hurry and removed the contact lenses. I couldn’t afford another infection after my last jaunt to a medical clinic.
The reflection in the mirror caused me to retreat, my back slamming into the opposite wall. I blinked as my pupils dilated and contracted and then … I crumpled to the floor. I crawled back to the sink. Maybe when I looked again my eyes would be normal or would convert to normal as they had just the other day. I clambered to my feet, afraid to look. But I forced myself and faced the certain horror of my situation as I stared at the yellowish slits that had formed in my pupils, the irises a horrifying shade of burgundy.
I shuddered as I cried out not in agony but confusion, anxiety and disbelief. The eyes, the fire, the scales the doctor pulled from my back … the burlap-wrapped object I’d found. What does it all mean?
I trudged into the bedroom and grabbed the object with the intent to toss it into the closet. But the burlap and bindings tore away, and only then did I realize it wasn’t rope at all but a golden necklace with a sapphire dragon pendant. The necklace felt cold against my warm hand and I shrugged as I slipped it over my head for safekeeping.
I then opened the burlap and revealed a leather scabbard that contained a sword with a silver dragon etched into the blade.
There seemed to be a running theme here, one I’d rather not acknowledge, not now anyway.
I cradled one hand under the blade, the other beneath the handle, and blue lightening shot across the sword, lighting the strange symbols etched on the blade that now glowed. I gripped the handle fully now and moved my other hand to it as well, but it was surprisingly lighter than I’d imagined. Of course I reasoned if I were to wield the sword it would take both hands. Wield the sword? Where did that thought come from? This was the 21st century, not the dark ages. One thing was certain, I wasn’t ever meant to possess such a weapon. You don’t see someone carrying a sword these days unless you go to one of those fantasy conventions where fan boys dress the part of medieval characters.
I carefully set the sword on the bed to admire the workmanship. I’d never seen anything like it, but after a few moments the glowing symbols extinguished quicker than a blown-out match. I gingerly touched the blade and it began again. Surprisingly, it didn’t burn my skin. I’ll leave that be for now.
I then removed a small parcel covered in dated leather, like something that you’d see in a museum. I plopped on the mattress and cradled it gently. I had possibly found missing artifacts. Certainly the sword and dragon necklace led me to that conclusion. It was the only thing that made sense at the moment.
My eyes didn’t burn any longer and I felt relatively calm as I pulled the strings of the small parcel and removed a folded letter. It didn’t look nearly as old as the other items. I carefully unfolded it and two gems rolled to the bed, one red and one green. My cheeks warmed in excitement. They looked very much like a ruby and emerald!
I glanced back at the letter with a thudding heart in anticipation that it might offer clues to the origins of the items, but instead it read:
Danger to see,
Danger to behold.
Curse of the dragon is upon you now.
I covered my eyes and shook my head, the letter still clutched in my weary hand. Oh great, I just found artifacts with a curse attached, not that I didn’t already feel cursed.
I screamed when the letter burned my fingertips, and I barely was able to get it to my trashcan before it completely combusted.
My back twitched and I raced into the bathroom to check my injured back in the mirror. The wound was healed, but how? I touched the necklace that warmed to my touch, and a blue aura surrounded the dragon pendant until I moved my hand away.
Had the necklace healed me?
I moved into my closet and put the gems into the small safe that once housed my pot stash. Those days are behind me, and now the safe contains my few valuables. My grandmother’s antique ruby ring that I refused to have reset and a lock of my sister’s hair that I had angrily clipped while she slept when we were children. I don’t know why I saved that lock of blonde hair, but it was all I had to remember of her. Corrie drowned rafting on the river near the waterfall. It made life when I was a teenager doubly hard. My grandmother raised us and she tried her best to lift my spirits after my sister drowned, but nothing could ever take that pain away. It’s part of the reason I had a hard time connecting with people.
I sheathed the sword and heaved my hope chest, or as I called it, my hopeless chest, from the closet. I dropped to my knees and unrolled my carpet, digging my fingernails under the tile until a large section pulled up. I then opened my safe and removed a skeleton key. I used the key to unlock a steel box and lifted the lid. In went the sheathed sword and my hastily locked safe among a caseload of firearms, handguns for the most part. I had sort of inherited them with the condo. I had learned my condo was previously owned by an honest to goodness agent, whether it be for the CIA or another secret agency I couldn’t say. But it was a handy place to safeguard the sword and gems until I could figure out what to do with them. Before I locked it up, I also placed the burlap and the old leather parcel that once had hidden the now combusted letter inside.
Once I assured myself I didn’t forget anything, I relocked the steel door and pushed the carpet back into place, making sure to tuck it into the crack that ran the length of the rear of the closet. Lastly, I replaced the hope chest precisely where it had stood. I didn’t do it just because I have OCD. It was out of habit, to assure myself that if anyone had entered my apartment I’d know. I often worried that the previous owner would come back to retrieve his belongings, and I felt secure having the handguns down there even if they weren’t readily available.
I placed the skeleton key in a hidden compartment in a kitchen cabinet. This small safe with a combination lock would be a perfect safe to conceal a handgun -- and it did. I have never touched any of the handguns in my place, leaving them as pristine as I’d found them. I still feared the owner would come back for them.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and took a hot shower. It was only then that I glanced down at the neckl
ace. If this necklace had healed my body, I planned to keep it close.
By the time I dried off, my toes and fingers were puckered. I poked my head from the steamy bathroom at a knock at my door. I quickly donned panties and a cameo top before tiptoeing back to the bedroom as the knocks turned more aggressive.
I hastily threw on khaki shorts and stormed to the door, ripping it open. “What?”
Maybe I should have looked through the peephole first, but the way these men were pounding I half expected they’d kick my door in.
The two familiar men stared at me, one six feet tall, the other a head shorter, both wearing black suits.
“Agents Hughes and Bernstein,” I said with a slight smile. When the men frowned, I quickly added, “I saw you on the news dragging Dr. Drake off. At least someone knew he was a crackpot.”
The taller of the two said, “We need to speak to you, Alex.”
I didn’t care for the familiarity. My full name is Alexandra. Who did these jerks think they were?
“We can talk out here,” I insisted.
“I don’t think you’d care for your neighbors to know about your medical problems.”
“Hughes is right,” Bernstein said as he leaned his hand against the wall. “Isn’t it bad enough your face has been flashed all over the airwaves?”
“Not my fault.”
“To Dr. Drake’s credit, he had a legitimate concern. It’s not often he has seen one of your kind.”
I laughed. “Now that’s no way to talk to a lady.”
“Are you though? A lady or a monster?”
“Maybe we should go inside, but don’t make yourselves too comfortable because you’re not staying long.”
I pressed my back against my door until they both entered. I knew what they wanted. They wanted to see that I was injured. But calling me a monster was way out of line.
I left my door ajar and didn’t journey from the entranceway.
“So what’s this really about?” I asked.
“You’ll need to come with us,” Hughes said.
Curse of the Dragon Page 5