by David Beers
She’d stared at him for what felt like forever, both of them just looking at each other—him apparently waiting for an answer.
“Okay,” she said.
Abel stood up and offered his hand. “I’m Abel Ease.”
“Emi Laurens,” she said.
“You should wear sunblock, Emi, if you’re going to come out on a day like this.”
She got that joke, and she’d laughed, probably harder than she should. More tears spurted from her eyes at the laughter, and she knew he could see them welling in her eyes before spilling on her face. He didn’t remark on them, though, acting like he saw nothing at all.
“Come on. Let’s keep going nowhere.”
And so they did.
It was a good walk. So many, many things would go wrong later, but that walk … it’d been damn near perfect.
Chapter Six
Present Day
“This is a problem,” Brett said.
Emi didn’t need to look around to understand he was right. No less than four media vans were in front of the house, reporters and camera crews standing just past the yellow caution tape. All the cameras faced the house, most likely with wide angled views, catching the cops walking in and out.
The sun rose an hour ago. Neither Emi nor Brett had gone to the office; they both got the call then simply showed up at the crime scene, knowing the other was on the way.
Emi had gotten out of her car and walked over to Brett, both of them now standing in front of his hood. Neither wanted to go inside, but both knew standing out here much longer would draw attention. Their boss, Associate Deputy Director Clyde Hartwell would want no coverage at all, let alone his two chief agents caught wasting time outside of the scene.
“Let’s go,” Emi said, swallowing her gum. She felt better about what they were walking into, though she knew it was the same killer—at least from what she’d been told. Had to be, given the description from earlier this morning. Emi felt better because she had put a shot (or maybe two) in her coffee before leaving her apartment.
The two walked up the driveway and into the house.
“I’d planned to take today off,” Plains said as soon as they walked in. The forensic techs had apparently gotten the call first. Plains’s face said more than his words did, and he didn’t appear pleased about being here. “So much for work life balance … There’s good news and bad news, at least that’s how I’m viewing it. The good news is, you won’t be as shocked this time, because it’s similar to the last murder. The bad news is, you’re about to see nearly the same thing.”
“Child?” Brett asked.
“Two of them. One eight and one four. Mother and father were both home this time.” Plains glanced up the stairs. “Want to go on up?”
“No,” Emi said. “If it’s anything like last time, it’ll be tough to focus. Tell us everything here.”
“Smart,” Plains answered, facing them again. “This definitely occurred last night. We’re thinking sometime after one. The local cops interviewed a neighbor this morning who had a little information. I won’t go into the details, but you can check when we’re done. At 4:30 this morning, the husband’s mother received a call from the husband’s cell phone. The caller said, ‘They’re all dead. They’re all dead and it’s a good thing.’ The caller hung up and the mother tried calling back six times before finally dialing the police. The cops arrived at 5:30. I got the call at 7, and you two shortly after.”
He nodded to the living room windows, the blinds drawn across them.
“Someone leaked this time, and the media showed up around 7:30. They’re calling it a Satanic killing. Ritualistic. The actual murder, like I said, is very similar to what we saw last time—if a bit more extreme.”
“Anything else?” Brett asked.
“Just that my techs are scouring everything.”
“Let’s go,” Brett said and looked up the stairs.
Plains turned and the three walked through the foyer and to the open staircase. The scent of blood grew stronger as they climbed.
Emi knew Brett smelled it too, but she said nothing. The slight buzz she felt was nice, and she didn’t regret drinking at all.
Very similar to what we saw last time—if a bit more extreme.
Not a single regret.
They entered the bedroom, a red light shining down across everything again. Three people were inside already. A woman on the right nodded at Emi. The other two didn’t look up from their work.
Emi didn’t need to inspect any bodies to understand the same person, or group of persons, had done this. A cursory glance gave her all she needed.
No one was hung from the wall this time, rather they were laid out on the floor. Father first, mother second, the two children next.
All were naked. Each had a cross carved into their chest. All of their nipples had been removed for the horizontal piece. Their hands were spread out, creating space between each body and its neighbor.
“The fuck is that?” Brett asked, stepping forward and walking to the father.
He squatted down and Emi followed.
“That’s their teeth,” Plains said.
Emi glanced to the man’s mouth. She didn’t touch the body, but she didn’t need to. His lips weren’t sitting on top of anything, but folded in.
“Whoever did this pulled them out, and then created that.”
Emi looked back to the top of the man’s head. “What did he use to tie them together? Do we know?”
“It’s hair,” a tech said from the other side of the room. “If you lift their heads up, you’ll see large gaps on their scalps.
“Gloves, please,” Emi called.
She and Brett pulled them on quickly.
“You or me?” she asked.
He reached forward and gently lifted the cadaver’s head up until its chin touched its chest.
“There it is,” Emi said as she looked around the back of the head. The scalp was visible in two different patches. The perp had ripped the hair out in large chunks.
Brett looked too, then set the head down gently.
Emi stared at the object on the top of the head.
“It’s a crown,” Brett said. “A crown of teeth.”
Dried blood rested on the yellow teeth.
“There’s 32,” Plains said from behind him. “At least for him and her. Less on the kids.”
“He pulled them all out,” Emi whispered.
How long had something like this taken? To rip the teeth from their mouths, then intricately loop strands of hair over them?
Hours. It would have taken hours to do this.
The amount of hair holding the teeth was thick, and that meant the killer had to actually tie the strands together as well.
“This isn’t possible,” Brett said as he stared at the crown. “I know I’m looking at it, but there’s no way someone could do this. Not in the amount of time he had. Five hours isn’t enough.”
“Their hearts were still beating when it happened,” Emi said. She turned to the mother and gently lifted the crown so that she could see it better. “That’s why there’s so much blood.”
“How, without them screaming?” Brett asked. “Again, it’s not possible.”
Emi leaned over the mother and using both hands, pressed open the woman’s mouth. A wrecked mess looked back at her, dried blood caking her gums. She stared only for a second before closing the jaw.
“I don’t know how he did it.” Emi stood up and looked around the room. “Have you guys picked up anything yet? Anything useful at all?”
“We’re finding samples,” one of the techs said, “but we won’t know if they match the residents or someone else. We won’t know about the blood for a day or two.”
“He didn’t leave anything last time,” Brett said as he stood up.
They say you should leave the world better than you found it, Emi. I’m just wondering if it might be best to simply leave.
Emi’s mouth opened slightly. For a moment,
she forgot where she was, that dead bodies lay at her feet and blood drenched the room around her.
That hadn’t been her thinking, but rather Abel Ease’s voice. In here, in this house. She hadn’t heard him since the last murder, at the last murder.
“We need to get started on our part,” Brett said, though Emi only partly heard him. “You’ll let us know what you find?”
“Sure will,” Plains said.
“You ready, or want to look around more?”
Emi shook her head, staring at her feet. “No. We can go.”
Emi didn’t want to think about Abel. Not ever, really—but especially not in a place like this. She’d seen a hundred murders before, and not once had his voice come up. Not until a week ago, and in the seven past days, he’d been silent. Until now.
“Hey, you coming?”
Emi looked up and to the bedroom door. She hadn’t heard Brett walk away, despite standing right next to him.
“Yeah. Sorry,” she said as she followed her partner out of the room. Plains said something, but Emi didn’t hear it as she walked downstairs.
They were on the stoop when Brett finally stopped walking. Another media van had pulled up, putting the number at five.
“What just happened up there?” Brett asked.
Plains hadn’t noticed and neither had his techs. Brett had, though. He saw the pause, the way she mentally left the room and simply stared at her feet.
“Not right now,” she said.
Brett nodded and then started to the car. Emi followed, pulling out a piece of gum from her pocket and popping it in her mouth.
Brett got in the driver’s side and Emi the passenger’s. Their office was a half hour away, and Emi was deciding what all to tell him. She wasn’t going to lie to Brett. They’d been partners for two years, and more, he was her friend. Emi might lie to other men in her life, telling them whatever she wanted them to hear, but she wouldn’t do that to Brett.
He pulled the car out of the neighborhood before saying anything.
“What was it?”
“I doubt you’ll believe me, but it’s not a big deal,” she said. “At least I don’t think it is.”
“I don’t believe you. It happened at the last crime scene too. I just didn’t say anything.” His right hand remained on the wheel and he kept from looking over at her, his eyes focusing on the road ahead. “If you don’t want to talk about it right now, that’s fine, but something happened.”
“No,” Emi said. “I’ll talk about it. I just don’t want you to think it’s a big deal.”
Brett said nothing and Emi knew he was waiting on her to speak.
“I …,” and Emi paused, unsure exactly how to talk about this. She hadn’t mentioned Abel Ease to anyone in years. It was something she had put behind her, just like her parents. You didn’t carry your baggage along with you your whole life. You locked that shit up and then you didn’t talk about it.
And you drink, a cynical part of her said. You drink, because then you don’t ever need to talk about it.
She shoved the thought away. She’d tell Brett because not doing so could possibly harm him. Not being honest with your partner could create a hell of a lot of problems, and problems led to danger.
“I used to have a friend when I was younger, and I haven’t thought about him in a long, long time,” Emi said. “Over a decade. These two crimes, though … Well, things he used to say rise up into my mind. He had a weird way of saying things, and for some reason, when I’ve been at these two crime scenes, I heard him again.”
Brett finally looked over, now being let in to her life, his voice sounding friendlier. “What was his name?”
“Abel. Abel Ease.”
“For real?” Brett said, smiling.
“Yeah. His parents were … odd, to say the least.”
“What happened to him?”
Emi sighed. “I’m not 100% sure. I think that’s probably why I heard his voice in there, because of the things that I do know happened.” She shook her head and looked out the window to the right. Had she abandoned Abel?
She never thought about that anymore, but she had for a long, long time. When she was younger. For years it had nearly consumed her, and if she thought about it now …
Don’t. Don’t bring that back up.
“You going to tell me anything?” Brett asked.
“Sorry,” she said, not looking over and still staring out the window. “I was just remembering. Abel had some strange beliefs, and they came from his parents. That’s why we were so close, I think. Because my parents were fucked up, too, even if not as badly as his … It really doesn’t have any bearing on this, though. It’s just when I’m in there seeing that stuff.” She turned to him. “I promise, I’m fine.”
“Oh no,” he said. “Now I’m curious. Let’s hear it.”
Another sigh, a long one, and she looked away again, watching the highway pass by and remembering. “It’s just crazy. Literally the craziest shit you’ve heard, Brett.”
“You’re only building my interest.”
She chuckled. “Whatever. Abel’s great-grandfather was in World War II. For the Germans. From what Abel said, he was actually pretty high up over the concentration camps. Abel told me once they called him an ‘efficiency expert’ because whatever camp he went to, the number of Jews they murdered shot up. Just disgusting stuff, but I guess that’s the whole story behind World War II.” Emi shook her head again, trying to push through the memories rising up. There were so many, because the two of them were thicker than proverbial thieves for almost a decade. “Anyway, Abel’s entire family, from his great-grandfather’s son—Abel’s grandfather—down to Abel’s younger sister, they all thought a curse followed them.”
She looked over then, and Brett was hardly watching the road at all, staring at her with raised eyebrows.
“Yeah. I told you. It’s nuts. If my parents hadn’t been such bastards, I would have thought him insane. I do now, but it took a lot of time for me to get there. Abel and his family thought all those Jews his great-grandfather killed were haunting them. They had horrible nightmares, all of them. In the end, his father tried to kill everyone. The entire family.”
Brett’s mouth dropped open.
“Yeah,” Emi whispered, nodding. She could almost hear the armoire crashing again, Abel’s father speaking. The things she’d seen when going to the kitchen herself. (No. You didn’t hear that. You didn’t see anything. You imagined it all.) “I was there, spending the night. We were 18, but we were basically like brother and sister. We never fooled around, though I don’t think either of our parents would have cared … His father killed his sister, then nearly killed his mother, before Abel could get to him.”
“Get to him?”
“Abel killed his father.”
“The hell?” Brett said. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Killed his father while I was there. Then got sent away to a mental institution.”
Brett slowly looked back at the road. “Holy shit.”
Emi was quiet, staring out the window, still sifting through memories that she’d shoved away for so many years.
Did I leave you, Abel? Did I really?
A harder part of her spoke next.
Is this what you want to do right now, Emi? Want to go back there? Want to think about how when he went to that hospital you hardly tried to see him, because your father was losing his mind about the whole thing? Want to think about how you quit writing him letters? Want to consider how you abandoned your best friend when you got that letter saying Stanford accepted you? That what you want to do after what the fuck you just saw?
“I don’t understand,” Brett said, interrupting her thoughts.
“What?”
“We see awful stuff all the time. I’ll grant that this is extreme, but how much more extreme than normal? Why would you hear him now?”
It was the same question that’d been bothering Emi, but one she’d hoped Brett wouldn’t ask. �
�I don’t know.”
And that was the best she could give him.
Because Emi really didn’t understand it, why she would hear his voice now and not at any other time …
… She would though. Shortly, Emi would know exactly why Abel’s words flowed through her head. Then, when it was too late to stop everything, she would wish more than life itself that Abel Ease had remained in her past.
Vince stood outside of his office building and stared at the front doors. It was lunch time and people were constantly coming and going. The building was large, housing a lot of Georgia’s government functions as well as some consulting firms. Vince didn’t know the exact number of people who worked here, but he thought it near a thousand.
He sat on a bench with an untouched hotdog in his hand. He’d bought the thing an hour ago, for cover more than anything else. Vince wasn’t hungry in the slightest, but he didn’t want to sit outside and simply stare at the building. Most likely, no one would notice, but Vince couldn’t afford likelihoods right now. He needed certainty—or as close to it as he could possibly get.
Vince went home last night and turned on the television. One thing dominated every channel he watched.
Murder.
Multiple murders. Four to be exact.
A ritualistic killing.
Vince had stared at his television, the bowling ball made of ice returning to his stomach. He knew what he’d done the previous night, though only vaguely. The voice had come again more strongly this time, whispering its insane directions. Vince knew, without a doubt, that he was losing his mind. He knew that he should go to the police, or at least to some sort of psychiatric ward, but …
No, no. You don’t need to do that, Vince. Don’t be silly. A few deaths here and there, they aren’t such a big deal. Everyone dies, Vince. And plus, what do you think will happen when you go and start talking? Do you think the cops are going to let you go when you tell them a voice is in your head? Do you think they’ll grant you IMMUNITY if you tell on me? Oh, that is a riot. No, no. They’re going to lock you up forever. Maybe give you the DEATH PENALTY. Your future—that bright, bright future everyone always talks about will be over.