Angels & Sinners: The Motor City Edition

by Ashley Suzanne

  CHAPTER 5

  ANGELO

  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Bobby sighs and opens his car door. We walk into Hope’s apartment building, her keys in my hand. Her mother broke my heart when we delivered the news—she was so calm about it until she picked up the keys, then she fell to the floor, screaming for her baby girl. Looking at the keychain, I can’t help but feel a sense of peace surround me; maybe I’m just tired since I didn’t get any sleep last night.

  “All right, Bobby, I guess you can start in the kitchen and I’ll start in the bedroom.” I head through the living room and stop to look at the pictures of her friends and family she has all over the walls. Stopping at big group shot, I study the faces in the photo. About halfway through, I see Hope’s smiling face, so young and carefree. They all look so happy. Moving down the row, I see another face I recognize. What the . . . !? “Bobby, can you come here a second, please?” I want to make sure my eyes are not playing tricks on me.

  “What’s up, Angelo?” Bobby comes walking into the living room.

  “Who does this look like to you?” I ask, pointing out my brother.

  “It looks like Mateo,” Bobby replies, shrugging. ”When is the crime scene team coming in to start working?” he asks, walking back into the kitchen.

  Taking the picture off the wall and out of the frame, I see Hope has written on the back, “U of M class of 2013 business management” with everyone’s signature. I scan the names, and sure enough, ‘Mateo “Matt” Baldoni’ is there in black and white in the top right hand corner. Making a mental note to talk to him, I place the picture in an evidence bag and seal it with my initials across the seal. I police both Bobby and myself when it comes to chain of evidence. I’ve seen too many veteran detectives lose their pension for a rookie mistake more times than I can count. It’s very important and I’ll never have a case dismissed because I got lazy. I continue to look at the pictures, but no one else stands out. I put the bag into the box by the door and turn toward the hallway. Hearing a faint sound, I listen but don’t hear it again. Shaking my head, I say to myself, “I could have sworn I heard a voice coming from over there.”

  “I’m going to the bedroom, Bobby. CSI should be here any time now,” I call over my shoulder. As soon as I hit the entry to the hall, I feel this heaviness that takes my breath away. It sends a shiver down my spine, and the heaviness quickly disappears. Shaking the feeling off, I walk to the end of the hall. With two doors on either side, I take a stab in the dark and open the door on the right and find her bedroom on the other side. It’s a very girly type room, I think it’s. . .nice

  The walls are a dark brown with a black bedroom set. The bed is a queen with brown and blue sheets and the dresser matches the bed. On the wall are more pictures, but there are a few nails on the wall which give me the impression there was maybe a boyfriend or someone she no longer cared to see in them, but either way, I’ll find out.

  I walk over to the dresser and books sit on the corner. Glancing at the titles, Mirage by Ashley Suzanne, False Fairytales by Summer Scott and Flame by Brooke Cumberland—I’ve never heard of these. I shrug and move on to the next set which are Psycho, The Shining, and Misery by Stephen King—now these titles I know. More pictures sit on top of the dresser, friends mainly in these. She seemed well liked, loved even. “Fuck. My. Life today”, finding a picture with a handful of girls, Marianna is looking at me with a big grin. My sister knows her, too? Well, if one knows her they all know her. Pulling out the snapshot and flipping it over, she’s written ‘Girls night out with Ashley, Summer, Brooke, and Marianna March 2014’. These names match the books. I bag and tag the photo, add my initials and “bedroom”, and set it on the bed to take with me later. Pulling out my phone, I call Marianna, but it goes to voicemail.

  “Hey, Mari, call me back as soon as you get this. It’s important.”

  I walk back over to the dresser and pick up a small ornate jewelry box that looks vintage, I’m a bit perplexed because there is no jewelry in the box, instead there are little cards, like flower cards. Looking at them more closely, that’s exactly what they are. Each card different, but all saying the same thing, ‘I see you, Love, Yours.’ On the back is a date. I look at all of the cards and see the flowers started coming more frequently over the past few months, the very first was dated for September 2013 and it said ‘I am yours and you are mine’. There’s no flower shop logo on them, which I find odd, most have a logo or stamp on it. While heading to the kitchen, I turn toward the couch, expecting someone to be sitting there. I have this nagging feeling I’m being watched. CSI is here and is working hard. Stepping into the kitchen, I find Bobby going through papers.

  “Hey, check this out,” he says, looking up at me from his spot at the table. He hands me a stack of letters. As I scan them, I’m noticing the same penmanship as the cards.

  I hand him the cards, “I found these in a jewelry box on her dresser.” I read the letters and find that they are signed the same as the cards, ‘Always, Yours’. “Maybe they are from a boyfriend.” I try to be a glass is half full kind of guy—I like to look at the positives—but more often than not, the glass is half empty.

  “Keep reading, they get interesting,” Cory, the lead CSI tech, says to me as he walks into the kitchen.“How’s it going, Cory?” Bobby asks. Their conversation fades into the background as I’m skimming the letters. I’m noticing a pattern here—all of them start out normal, talking about the weather and seeing her around, but never saying exactly where they had seen her. But then about halfway through, the writing starts to get mean and rude—telling her she’s acting like a slut, how she shouldn’t be teasing him like she does. She is his and he is hers and that talking to other men is disrespectful and she’ll be punished for her indiscretions. But then the letters all end sweetly with, “I love you, always, Yours.”

  He sent letters to her weekly, and as the weeks dragged on, the more impatient he became. By the last few letters, he’s no longer nice, calling her a dirty whore and slut and promising she was going to have to pay for her sins. They go on to tell her how happy they could have been together and how much he loved her. But the last one said just four words, “YOU ARE MINE, FOREVER.”

  Speaking through gritted teeth, I crush the letters in my hand, “Bobby, call the station and ask Officer Scott to find out if Hope ever reported this stalker.

  “Deep breath, chief. I’ll call Tabby, just relax,” Bobby says as he tries to pry my hand open so I don’t ruin the letters.

  I take a few deep breaths and start to feel my blood pressure lowering and my jaw unclenching. “Sorry, man, it just enrages me that a person can end someone else’s life just like that.”

  I try miserably to get my emotions in check, and force my head back into the investigation and start to examine the kitchen. I’m overcome by all the flowers, all in various stages of wilt. The prettiest purple roses sit in the trash can, “These must be her most recent delivery.” I pick up a rose and smell it while looking around. Next to the dishwasher is a set of dog bowls. Funny, I didn't see a dog. "Hey has anyone seen a dog around here?" I call out to the team. If it's here, we need to find it.

  After a round of no's, Bobby walks back into the room, "Hey, wasn't there a dog over at her parents’? Maybe it's the same dog. Bobby points at the flower that’s unconsciously up to my nose, “Those were all in the trash”, he says. “I don’t think she wanted them around.”

  “What did Tabby say?” I ask, dropping the flower into a zip lock baggie.

  “That we’re having dinner with her parents Saturday.” Officer Tabby Scott is Bobby’s girlfriend and runs the desk at the Birmingham station which just so happens to be the city Hope lived in. They’re perfect for each other; both are hot headed spitfires that will fight to the death for you. It’s not easy to tame Bobby but I think Tabby is wearing him down.

  “Like I give a fuck. Did Hope put in a compliant or not?” I’m so not in the mood for this shit.

  ”Oh
yeah, she said Hope had called and talked to an Officer Williams about the letters and flowers, but he told her all we could really do was take her statement. Without knowing who her stalker is we couldn’t do much else.” Reading his notes, Bobby double checks his information.

  “Did she ever give her statement?”

  “Negative.”

  “What was the date of the call?”

  Flipping through his notepad, Bobby says, “She called two days ago.”

  Leafing through the stack of letters, I find the latest one. “So it must have been this last letter that scared her bad enough to call the precinct.”

  “I’ll talk to Officer Williams and see what his take on the call was. When do we have to meet with Nate?” Bobby asks while collecting all the flowers to take back to the lab.

  “First thing tomorrow morning.” Looking at my watch, I’m surprised at how late it is. “We need to do our door to door and find out if anyone noticed anything.”

  “Yeah sure, I’ll see Officer Williams in the morning.”

  “Okay, good, go ahead and get started while I check with the others on the way out.” I smack him on the back as I walk out to the living room and check their progress.

  I clap loudly to get the crew’s attention, “All right, everyone, is that everything? If so, get it back to the lab.”

  With a box in his hands, Cory calls over his shoulder, “Yeah, Angelo, that’s everything. Once we get everything back to Lansing and inventoried we’ll start on it.”

  “See ya,” shutting the door behind them, they leave me alone. Fuck I’m tired. The urge to pray for Hope is suddenly overwhelming now that everything is quiet again. I take a knee and start with the sign of the cross,

  ”God our Father, Your power brings us to birth, Your providence guides our lives, and by Your command we return to dust. Lord, those who die still live in Your presence, their lives change but do not end. I pray in hope for my family, relatives and friends, and for all the dead known to You alone. In company with Christ, Who died and now lives, may they rejoice in your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever. Amen.”

  Ending the prayer again with the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, I get up and walk out. Bobby is down the hall to the right, so I head to the left and start knocking on doors.

  ***

  The door to door was uneventful, half of the tenants weren’t home which would make sense with it being not quite five o’clock yet; people are still at work. I did have one woman who thought I was Immigration and slammed the door in my face. I just slid my card under the door and in the mailbox at the entrance, hoping someone will see it. There wasn’t anyone that we had spoken to that could say they noticed anything out of the ordinary with Hope. We learned that she mainly kept to herself but she was friendly enough when she passed in the halls. The neighbor across the hall from her, an elderly woman and the building gossip, said she noticed purple flowers show up every week, delivered by the same man but he was always so bundled up you couldn’t see “hide nor hair” of him. She said he was about my height which would make him about six feet. She was unable to see his face and he had gloves on.

  “What do you want to do now?” Bobby has made it to my end of the hall.

  “A quick bite, then we come back and try again, give the others time to get home and see if anyone else has seen anything suspicious recently.” I dread what’s to come. I’m not the best with people.

  It’s about seven o’clock when we make it back to the apartment building. There are more cars in their parking spots so I feel this canvas will be a little more productive. I decide to try a few doors on the first floor that have the best views of the front walk and stoop, while Bobby starts on the third floor. I figured it was a strike out when a few didn’t even know who Hope was. But finally, the break I need is Walter in apartment 1C. He told me all about the man with “those insipid flowers” he delivered every week.

  “Every time he needed in, he would buzz my number asking to be let in,” Walter mumbles.

  My interest piques, “Did you ever see this man?”

  “Makes me get up every time. I told him last week to stop pushing my number and I refuse to do it again.”

  “Good for you, but did you see his face?”

  “No, not really, just a side view.”

  “Can you describe him to me, the best you can?”

  “He had dark hair that stuck out on the sides of his hat and wore sunglasses. He was tan, too, kind of like you, about that tall, too.”

  I sense I’m losing him, “Anything else you can tell me, Walter?”

  “What are you going do about that damn bunch of hooligans that keep breaking into cars in the parking lot?”

  And I lost him, “I’ll send someone over to look into it.” By the time I’m finished with him, Bobby is coming down the stairs looking defeated. “Done already?”

  “Yeah, none of the other tenants had anything useful, but one younger woman told me to look into the guy in 3D because he’s a ‘creeper’ and hits on all the women but seems to have taken a special kind of liking to Hope. What about you?” Bobby asks as he stops in front of me.

  Turning to head out the door, I state, “Mr. Walter said he let in a guy that looks likes me once a week, until he told him off last week.” As I get to my car, I look back at the building. On the third floor, I notice a curtain quickly move like someone was hiding behind it. I missed the person looking out the window but I’m pretty sure I can figure out who it was.

  “Was there anything else?” I ask, hoping to get more out of him.

  “No, not really. The guy in 3D didn’t answer. Anything else?”

  “No, we’re good.” I turn toward my car.

  “Okay, night, Angelo,” Bobby calls out as he climbs into his car.

  “Night, Bobby, and it’s your turn for coffee.” I run to my car, get in, and head home.

  AWAKENINGS

  Jennifer Fisch-Ferguson

  Frozen ground crunched beneath my paws. The cold leeched the little warmth left in my body out in tiny wisps. The only remaining heat flared from the ragged, blood-soaked gash in my stomach. The wound my sister had given to me. Even the spikes of pain couldn’t warm me, not that I wanted them to anyhow. I wanted to lie down on the cold ground and let the life seep out of me, but thoughts of avenging my sister wouldn’t let me. So, onward I trudged, too tired to even shift back to my human form.

  It wasn’t the first time I had suffered injury by her hand. It would be the last. War had seen to that. I tried to make my emotions go numb, like my body; still, they stung as unshed tears burned my eyes like acid. I snorted at the memory and then grunted in pain when the mangled tissue from my old stomach wound pulled.

  The first scar Amber gave me happened the day I found out I was Loup; werewolf in the common tongue. The possibility had always been there; I just had not expected to go through the Change myself. The day had started like any typical, lazy, sunny, summer day: fishing from a beat-up, old dock behind my Papa’s house. The sunlight glinted off the lake, throwing shards of bright light into my eyes. No matter where I sat, the light followed and blinded me. Amber sat next to me, watching me squirm; I could see her out of the corner of my eye, shaking with unsounded laughter. I rolled my eyes at her and focused on my pole.

  At seventeen, my sister exuded confidence and worldliness I had yet to gain being a mere twelve. I adored her with the proper amount of sibling, hero worship and sought her approval in all I did. Despite living in a small community in rural mid-Michigan, she knew a lot about things. She taught me how to bait a hook and how to make the best turtle brownies. She had an eye for fashion and often commented about world news and politics. She had taken me out fishing that morning because she had a date later and knew I wanted to spend time with her.

  “Beryl,” she said.

  I looked up mere seconds before an icy cold torrent of water cascaded over my head. She ha
d used the bucket meant to hold our fish, and my vivid imagination freaked me out as it pummeled my brain with the sensation of guts sliding over my arms and down my top. I shrieked and jumped to my feet. The dock weaved and waved like a drunken sailor reacquainting himself with his land legs, and I toppled into the water. Being mid-yell, I swallowed a mouthful of water when I went down. I swam for the top and coughed my lungs clear. Amber laughed loudly and threw worms at my head. I dove again to escape the slimy little projectiles, but I calmed as a retaliation plan formed in my mind.

  I’ll swim down under the dock, wait until she is in a vulnerable position, and then grab her before she knows what is happening. She will fall into this water with me. It will completely freak her out. That will show her.

  I swam to the other side; to my surprise, I reached the edge faster than I had thought. I swam to the bottom, so she wouldn’t see me lurking, waiting to catch her off guard. I watched her pace above, hands at the ready to shower me with more worms.

  All right, she won’t expect me to do this; she never expects me to retaliate. I can’t wait to see her reaction. This is the best plan I have ever had. I will really scare her. This will be fun.

  The muck of the lakebed squished between my toes like warm tapioca, and I dug my toes in deep. I enjoyed the gentle massage until my chest felt tight. It was time. I bent my knees, ready to spring up and surprise my sister.