The Warning

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Was the picture hidden?”

  The word ‘hidden’ suddenly sunk in. “It was taped to the back of the closet door. How did you know?”

  “Where in the park was the picture taken?” he asked again.

  “At the Greywacke Arch. We always went … there!” His eyes widened. “It’s a clue. I’m supposed to go to the bridge and …” He clammed up as Ebenezer jerked his head around and stared into the darkness. “What is it? Cops?”

  “Worse,” he replied softly.

  Something yanked Nikolai from behind and threw him across the room. The light of his flashlight streaked the darkness. He crashed onto a table and rolled off onto the floor. Stunned, he watched as Ebenezer faced a woman who then struck him in the chest. The impact threw him back and he skidded backwards until he caught his balance and charged her. As he did she swung her Rocket Rifle off her shoulder and aimed it at him. Ebenezer leapt to the side as a cartridge exploded from the barrel. She rushed him again, but he grabbed and threw her.

  Nikolai started to rise when something snatched him by the jacket and shoved him against the wall. He gasped when stone-hard knuckles pressed against his breastbone. The weight of the Replica’s hand crushed his heart.

  “I’ve seen you before,” the Replica said. “Your image is all over the city. You’re the one they’re searching for.”

  The windows near the ceiling shattered when something crashed through it. Nikolai dropped, clutching his aching chest and gasping. He watched as the other Replica charged Ebenezer. They met in the center of the room where the Replica caught Ebenezer’s arm and wrapped it around his own, locking Eb to him. He drove a fist into his side a few times and then pulled Ebenezer’s arm upward before it twisted like a wet rag.

  Nikolai slid up the wall and listened as Ebenezer took one hit after the other. After a blow to the face, Ebenezer dropped to his knees. Before he could get up, his opponent struck him once more in the collarbone.

  That thing is going to kill him. I can’t leave him there to die.

  Yet he couldn’t simply jump into the fight, either. Instead, he picked up the flashlight and searched for a weapon. Panning the light around, he spied a large rifle on the ground and rushed to it. He heaved the heavy thing onto his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

  Damn, is it empty? How do I work this thing?

  “I want to thank you,” the Replica said, holding Ebenezer by the collar. “You’ve given me the opportunity to challenge myself. I will never forget it.”

  On his knees, Ebenezer tilted his head up, blood streaming into his swollen eyes. As the Replica raised his fist for a final blow, Nikolai found the safety switch on the side of the weapon and flicked it up. Kneeling, he raised the weapon again and took aim. The bulky rifle dug into his shoulder, and it took everything he had to maintain a steady aim. He directed the gun at the Replica’s back and pulled the trigger.

  The impact threw the Replica against a nearby wall, crashing him into it. He reached behind his back and ripped the fuming miniature rocket out of his bulletproof vest. He pitched it upwards and tried to escape, but the artillery exploded and rained heavy pieces of concrete down on him.

  “Damn,” Nikolai said, looking at the smoking weapon. He dropped it and rushed to Ebenezer. Wrapping his arm around his shoulder, he said, “Come on, we need to go.” When he tried lifting Ebenezer, he went down under the weight of him. “Jesus! Are you retaining water or something?”

  “I haven’t drunk any water in a while,” Ebenezer said.

  “Never mind. Just get up.”

  Again, he tried helping him up, this time bracing himself for the weight. Together, they managed to get to their feet and head for a nearby exit. Ebenezer suddenly shoved him away. Nikolai slid on the floor as the female Replica emerged from the darkness.

  Ebenezer wrapped his arm around her neck as she tried tackling him and yanked up, ripping her head off her shoulders. Nikolai gagged at the sight of blood spurting out. Tossing her head aside, Ebenezer approached Nikolai.

  Gapping in speechless horror, Nikolai said, “You … just tore off her head.”

  “We have to go before the other awakens.”

  “But you … just tore off her head, like a goddamn Barbie Doll!”

  “You’re in shock,” Ebenezer observed. “That gives you no excuse to delay our escape.”

  Ebenezer grabbed his arm and hoisted him to his feet. His legs were numb, yet he managed to follow Ebenezer out into the yard.

  “How did you know she was coming back?”

  “She believed she owned the element of surprise, but I expected her to come back after I threw her through the window. I was listening for her footsteps. She misjudged my capabilities.”

  “Jeez, you could’ve just said you psyched her out,” he said, climbing down the sewer ladder. “Why didn’t they just shoot at us the minute we came inside?”

  “Replicas aren’t allowed to use weapons if humans are too close, unless given permission by the lab. For them to use weapons, they had to get you away from me.”

  “I guess you have to abide by that rule also?” Nikolai asked, leaping from the last step.

  “The rule applies to us, yes, but we have our own minds.”

  Twenty regained consciousness and rose from the pile of bricks. An intense burning gnawed at his back. The rocket had left a two-inch hole in his bulletproof vest. To his good fortune, the vest had taken most of the abuse. He tore it off and tossed it away, stumbling when he finally got to his feet. His flesh had already begun to heal as he approached his decapitated partner. He was enraged, but not about her death—he felt nothing for that—but over his own failure.

  He got on his communicator and reported her death.

  “I’m disappointed in you,” Linden said hotly. “Find the Replica. We’ve locked onto Fifteen’s location and will retrieve her body.”

  “Yes, sir,” Twenty said bitterly. He lowered the communicator.

  A mere human defeated me. I’ll find him again; and once I have him, there’ll be nothing left when I’m done.

  Something unlike anything he’d ever experienced grew inside him: pride.

  Knox reached the Farwell Morgue in Midtown West Manhattan. The morgue was one of the largest in the city, where the rich and powerful were brought after they die. He’d gone there once before when investigating the death of a famous actor. The man had a drug problem, which ultimately led to an overdose, a mix of cocaine and meth. His death had led Knox to the drug smugglers at the Ancient pier after questioning the actor’s supplier.

  He parked his car in the parking garage and entered through the front of the building.

  “Knox,” greeted a security guard at the front desk. “It’s been a while, man. How’s it been?”

  “It’s been … well, hectic lately.”

  The lobby of the morgue appeared as lifeless and cold as the bodies below. The stainless steel walls reflected images like funhouse mirrors, and the metallic blue tile floor added an icy chill to the room.

  “I can imagine. Here to see Judith?”

  “Yeah,” he said, walking toward a shiny elevator.

  “Hey,” the security guard called out. Knox turned on his heel after pressing the button to the elevator. “Have any leads on finding the kid who killed her, yet? Y’know, there’s a four million dollar reward for him.”

  “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  “You detectives and your by-the-book procedures,” the guard said, waving his hand at him.

  The elevator doors slid apart. He stepped in and pressed a button to a lower level. He was anxious to examine Sho’s body. Several mysteries surrounded the case, and he was desperate to sniff them out. He wanted to keep most of what he’d found under wraps until he could crack the case.

  He stepped into the vast mortuary after the doors opened, where he was greeted with the pungent smell of glutaraldehyde. He’d gotten used to the things inside mortuaries long ago. The sight of a dead body in an
y condition never bothered him. He’d come to terms that he would lie on a stainless steel slab himself one day. Being in his line of work, he’d learned what most people refused to accept: that death was just as much a part of life as life was part of death. There couldn’t be life without it. No light without dark. No growth without decay. Death came for every living thing and it would never change so long as time existed.

  “Can I help you?” one of the forensic technicians asked, standing beside a corpse on a slab. His apron was covered in blood as he transferred the body’s heart to a scale.

  Knox reached into his pocket and showed his badge. “I’m Detective Lucas Knox. Where’s Doctor Kincaid?”

  “It’s about time you showed up,” came a woman’s voice off to the side. He slid his eyes over as Judith Kincaid approached. “It’s been a strange night, huh?”

  “Must be a full moon.”

  “Must be,” she concurred, taking a pair of latex gloves from her white coat pocket. “Here.”

  He took the gloves and pulled them over his hands.

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Right this way,” she said.

  He towered over her and needed to look down to meet her gaze. When he spoke, he did so softly. “Do you think anyone else could’ve examined it before you got here?”

  She raised her chin to him, confused by his secrecy. She met the volume of his voice with her own. “I got here just as she arrived and I haven’t left since.”

  “Why didn’t the coroner mention anything about the blood under the fingernails in his report?”

  She shrugged. “Guess he overlooked it.”

  “Overlooked it?” he said suspiciously.

  “How did you know about it anyway?”

  He thought about the answer, but in the end, he decided to tell the truth. “I didn’t see any marks on Crowe’s face.”

  “You’ve seen him? Have you caught him?”

  “I almost did. Just don’t ask me anything else about it?”

  She smiled. “Only if you beg me not to.”

  They came to a wall with a dozen stainless steel doors, six on the bottom, six more on top. Kincaid grabbed the latch on one of the top doors and pulled it forward. A cloud of cold mist whisked into the open air. She reached inside and pulled out a tray with a body wrapped in thick clear plastic. She unzipped the bag past the lifeless face.

  “It’s a pity,” she said. “She was so young and pretty.”

  He studied the face for a moment. Its skin was as pallid as chalk and the cold had hardened it to stone, yet Jade Sho appeared to be asleep. He hated seeing young people in the morgue; their lives cut short in some tragic way, erasing everything they could have become.

  “Young, indeed,” he said almost suspiciously. “She doesn’t look a day over fifteen. Are you sure this is the right body?”

  “I’m not stupid,” she said sternly. “This is Jade Sho. If you want, we can do a DNA test, but I bet my right arm it’s her.”

  It wasn’t like her to be so short tempered, but as she’d pointed out, it was an unusual night. With a sigh, he said, “I need to inspect what you found.”

  “Sure,” she said, pulling the zipper lower. Once the bag was opened enough, she reached in and brought out a stiff arm. “I haven’t done anything with the blood, just like you asked.”

  “I appreciate it,” he said, moving beside her. He took the dead woman by her tattooed wrist. With his free hand, he gently took one of the fingers and inspected her nails.

  “There’s a lot of blood and some skin under there,” Kincaid pointed out.

  Lifting the fingers a bit, he discovered that she was right. His nerves tingled with excitement. “I need a slide and something to scrape this onto.”

  She left to fetch what he wanted, while he kept his eyes on the fingers. Under three nails were red chunks of the killer’s skin; more than enough for a DNA reading.

  Kincaid returned shortly with a slide and small probe. She handed them over. “Thanks,” he said. “Hold her hand, will you?”

  He drew the hook of the probe under one nail. Carefully, he dug out pieces of skin and pressed it onto the glass slide. He did the same for each nail. Once he had everything he needed, he rose to his full height.

  “Do you think someone else is involved in her death?” she asked, slipping the dead woman’s arm back into the bag.

  “I trust you, Judith,” he said, even quieter than before, “so I’ll say this. I don’t think Crowe did it at all.”

  “Really?” she said mildly. “Then who do you think did?”

  “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

  He approached a DNA computer and microscope, while Kincaid zipped the body bag up and slid the corpse back into the cold drawer. Years ago, she’d shown him how to use the older DNA machines and had allowed him to do most of his own tests himself. This test was certainly one he wanted to perform.

  “You really don’t think the boy killed her?” Kincaid whispered, coming up beside him.

  “No,” he replied.

  He looked through the eyepiece to make certain the sample aligned with the scanner under the slide. He then took a seat at the desk and opened a plastic box filled with blank memory chips. He brought one out and slipped it into a razor-thin receiver in the mechanical stage. The scanner swept over the sample before processing the DNA code onto the chip and transferring the information into the computer for decoding. Images of people and their names flashed across the screen. He waited anxiously to discover who the mysterious person was. The pictures slowed until at last they came to a stop.

  “Are you sure?” Osborn said to Rivera.

  Rivera had done what Knox told him and explained everything to the police chief in person. “One hundred percent positive, sir. Every single body found has been dead for days. Knox even found the suspect’s escape route.”

  Osborn was stunned. “How much money was taken?”

  “They weren’t after money. I found a blasted open wall safe inside Lloyd’s office. The suspects must’ve stolen whatever was inside.”

  “Stolen? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The chief let loose a long breath and stood, turning his back on him to stare out his office window. Watching his reflection, Rivera saw the man lift a trembling hand over his mouth.

  “What was Knox doing at the bank?” he asked edgily over his shoulder. “He’s supposed to be looking for Crowe.”

  “He is,” Rivera said.

  “Well, damn it, does he have any leads for finding him?”

  “Actually, sir, that’s the best part. He believes somehow the bank robbery and Sho’s death are connected, and that Crowe is innocent.”

  Osborn shot around to face him. “What? How’s that?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say. He just told me to come to you directly and report all this.” Rivera realized the case was getting much more interesting, unlike earlier that evening. “Sir, I think we should ask Lloyd what was in the safe.”

  “No,” Osborn said sternly, “I’ll have Detective Shaw handle it.”

  “I don’t understand, sir. This is my case. I think I should—”

  “I said Detective Shaw will take care of it,” Osborn cut in. Rivera snapped his mouth shut. Osborn’s tight expression relaxed. He composed himself and went back to his chair. “When did Knox leave for the morgue?”

  Rivera had only been a detective for a year, but he wasn’t stupid. Osborn’s pale complexion and the glistening sweat on his brow told him something wasn’t right. “I don’t know, an hour ago, maybe two.”

  “I need to call Shaw,” Osborn said, bringing their meeting to an end.

  Rivera’s face was serious, but he said nothing more than “yes, sir,” and left the room.

  Shaw had his usual gin and tonic while flirting with a redhead he’d been eyeing since arriving at the bar. Getting laid would help him forget the mess he’d allowed himself to get into. She laughed at his jokes, even to
ssed her hair from her low-cut blouse, and didn’t seem to mind that his eyes focused on her breasts more than her face. It appeared to be a done deal until his cell phone rang.

  “What is it?” he answered his voice filled with irritation.

  “Remember what we discussed if Knox got too close?” Osborn said on the other end. “It’s happening. Set it up.”

  “A kid?” Kincaid said, staring at the computer screen.

  Knox’s primary focus wasn’t on the half of the screen displaying a photo of a young boy, but the other half which read off basic information about him.

  “Douglas Crawford?” Knox said, reading the name.

  “Do you know him?”

  “I’ve heard the name somewhere.”

  “How would that kid’s skin end up under Sho’s fingernails?”

  “He isn’t a kid anymore,” he said, pointing to the screen. “Look at his birth date.”

  She moved in closer to the monitor. Knox smelled her recognizable perfume. “September 22, 2001.”

  “It says he broke his arm while playing hockey when he was eleven. This is an old record, and it’s the only one. Someone’s gone into his medical files and tried to erase him from the computer.”

  “Who?”

  “Just about any skilled hacker can go through someone’s medical files and erase information if they have the person’s name and social security number. The only problem is that people’s medical histories aren’t kept in one big file anymore. Each illness, injury or check-up are in separate files. It can be difficult to find everything about a person depending on how many files they have.”

  “I know that,” she said shortly.

  “We got lucky with this,” he went on, again stating the obvious. “Let’s see, he was born in 2001; that would make him …?” He paused for a moment. “A year younger than Crowe.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, taking out his cell phone. “But I think I have an idea where I’ve heard that name before.” He put the phone to his ear and waited.