Maggie just looked at him, then looked down at the girl in her embrace, then back up at her now-boyfriend. She said nothing, but Trey somehow managed to understand exactly what she was not saying.
“Yeah. Bad idea. Sorry.”
“Little girl, Trey. Little girl.” She patted Janey on the shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “How about pancakes? Do you want some pancakes? There’s a place pretty close here that makes them with chocolate chip smiley faces.”
Janey looked up into Maggie’s face and grinned at her, nodding with enthusiasm. Maggie nodded at Darc, winked at Trey, then turned on her heel and led the little girl out.
Such a simple thing. Pancakes. And yet it had lit Janey’s face up in a way that Darc had not seen since he had known the young girl.
Simple.
Darc was overcomplicating things. The answer was simple. Right in front of his face. And he had overlooked it out of a desire to be more than human.
He knew what to do now. He only hoped it would be in time to save Mala.
*
It had felt fantastic.
Crying for almost an hour straight? Best therapy ever. Sure, her nose was stuffed up and she had a pounding headache, but emotionally, Mala felt as light as she could remember feeling in a long time. Not bad for being shut in a creepy replica of her own apartment by a psychopath. Actually, sociopath was more likely. Especially with this guy’s Truly Good thing.
She had been right. Her captor had begged her to know what was going on. He had been frantic, almost angry, as he pressed her again and again for details on what she was going through. She had not replied, other than to say that she didn’t deserve him.
After a while, though, something had started to happen. Rather than push for more information, the voice would go silent for long stretches. They were currently in the middle of the longest one yet. According to the clock by the bed, he hadn’t said anything for at least twenty minutes.
That was exactly what she needed. Whatever he might say, the fact that Mala had planted the idea in his head that she might not be worthy of his goodness was working its magic. He was wondering what it could be. But right now he was only wondering.
Mala had given him nothing specific to latch onto. No hint of immorality or lack of dedication to him. No jagged edge for him to cling to with his fingertips. He was scrabbling at the sheer face of a high wall, unable to gain any purchase.
This was a necessary but extremely dangerous part of the game Mala was playing. She was keeping her abductor in a very uncomfortable place, a place where he had no information. A lack of information was a lack of control. This man was all about control.
Dangerous indeed.
If she had gone here immediately with the voice, her life would have ended quite abruptly. Without submitting to him first, there would have been no way to resist him so completely now. But now, her withholding of information seemed a part of her wanting to protect him, be a better partner for him. No control over the immediate scenario? Yes. But no control in a place where he still felt himself to be dominant.
The voice cleared itself into the microphone. Interesting. That hadn’t happened before. He was showing hesitation, some insecurity. Mala was stripping him down to his youngest, most fragile, most vulnerable self.
“Why won’t you tell me why you don’t deserve me?” The voice pleaded with her. The tone was high, almost a whine, even through the distortion.
Time to move forward. “I just don’t want you to think less of me. You’re so wonderful.”
“What have you done? You can tell me.”
“Oh, no,” Mala corrected him gently. “I haven’t done anything. That’s the point.”
The voice fell silent. Her captor was mulling that little nugget over.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m inexperienced. Weak. Unlearned.” Mala shook her head, allowing her eyes to fill up with tears, but not allowing any to spill over. This would take finesse. “Unworthy.”
“But it’s your deeds that would make you unworthy,” he argued. “You haven’t done anything wrong, so you… you are perfect.” Her abductor sounded like was trying to convince himself. Perfect.
“It’s my fear that makes me unworthy.” Mala decided to play out a hunch. If he was one of the Truly Good, there was a strong possibility that it would work. “‘Perfect love casteth out fear because fear hath torment.’” She allowed herself a small, choked off sob. “I have torment.”
“Saint John,” the voice whispered, and Mala breathed a silent sigh of relief. Her captor continued. “What do you fear? Not me?” His tone sharpened.
“No, no,” Mala quickly responded. “Not you at all. Me. My doubts. My insecurities.”
“That’s not important. I can help you through all that. My love will purify you.” His tone was becoming more insistent. Perhaps to push though his own doubts that were creeping in?
“But that will distract you. Take you away from the marvelous work you are doing.” Mala took another breath and plunged in once more. “You are doing a work, aren’t you? Something special.”
“Yessss,” he answered, his extended response hissing on the s of the word. “You know. You understand.”
“We can’t risk you being sidetracked by my weakness. You are too important. What you are doing is too vital.” Mala allowed a tone of pleading to creep into her voice. “Please. Don’t let my frailty keep you from your destiny.”
“But you’re such an important part of what I want to do.” His tone was now thoughtful. He seemed to be trying to work his way through the problem on his own. Which was exactly what Mala wanted. “How can I move forward without you?”
“You don’t have to. I will be with you in spirit. Joined with you in purpose. And soon,” Mala continued, “I will be with you in body as well. But only once I have cleansed myself of my fear.”
“Ah, Mala. I’m not sure. I have so many conflicting thoughts and feelings surging through my being. I must think on this.” The microphone cut off abruptly, the silence in the air heavy.
“Of course, my love,” Mala whispered, not knowing whether or not he could hear her. But it didn’t really matter. The seed had been planted. Now it only remained to be seen whether or not it would produce the fruit Mala desired.
If not, her life could be forfeit.
CHAPTER 4
“Okay,” Darc’s partner had stated when they got into his Land Rover. “Time to get our team back.”
The sun had gone from creating a colorful blanket for the awakening city to hiding sullenly behind a thin layering of clouds. Its ruddy outline shone faint against the wispy moisture caught in the atmosphere. Darc followed the less obscured trails of light-based logic in his mind, pointing out the turns to his partner as Trey navigated the crowded early morning streets in his old Land Rover.
In the end, it had been simple. Rather than track the vehicle through the purchase of the car or a non-existent GPS or some sort of LoJack system, they followed the vehicle itself. The nearest sensation to what Darc had experienced in that moment was what others referred to as embarrassment. Especially since Darc and Trey had already started along the lines that ended up yielding results.
They had managed to trace the movements of the helper’s vehicle to a warehouse in SoDo using a combination of traffic and ATM cameras. It was laborious, but they had tracked down footage at each possible intersection where the Chevy Impala could have travelled. When they had run into an intersection where there was little to no camera coverage, they had to back out to all of the surrounding ones.
One of the major irritations was that the driver had been careful not to be seen. He had his car visor down, a baseball cap pulled low with sunglasses on, and the side windows were tinted far darker than the law allowed. It was not unexpected, but Darc’s inability to find a clean shot of the man’s face meant that tracking him down would be much more difficult later.
But they had a location. They knew where to go. According to the lates
t recordings, the vehicle was no longer at the warehouse, but the trails of intelligence Darc was following wept blue light. Mala was still there.
At another time, in another set of circumstances, Darc would have waited in order to set a trap for the returning suspect, so as to catch the perpetrator at the same time they saved the victim, especially seeing that they had no photo of the man’s face. That was the course of action logic dictated. In fact, all of the glowing lines of information in Darc’s mind were currently vibrating in what Darc could only describe as irritation with him.
Further evidence of the massive changes that were occurring in Darc. The changes were proving to be a fundamental shift in the way he interacted with the world. They also appeared to be lasting ones, perhaps permanent.
These changes thrust Darc into an area of gray emotion that had previously confused and terrified him. It still did. But the consequences of not venturing into this new territory were too negative for him to take any other action.
The scenery whipped by them, the forms blurring in the periphery of Darc’s vision. That blurring effect mirrored what was happening to him. He no longer trusted implicitly the tracings of reason that had so securely led him in his life up until now.
How that would end up influencing his work remained to be seen. He could not think that it would be a positive turn.
As they neared their destination, Trey pulled off into a side street, coming around the back face of the warehouse. If the accomplice was as intelligent and careful as his predecessor, he would more than likely have employed some form of surveillance around his lair.
Trey stopped the Land Rover and put the vehicle in park. He placed his hand on the car door handle, looked over at Darc, and seemed about to speak. Closing his mouth without a word, Trey opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement.
Joining him, Darc noticed a cloying scent of rotten milk that pervaded the area. One of the nearby buildings must have processed or stored dairy products. The odor latched itself onto Darc’s palate, overwhelming any more subtle nuances in scent or taste that might have existed in this region.
Moving toward the nearest door, Trey unbuttoned the holster to his gun, placing a hand on top of the weapon, apparently in preparation for a quick draw if it were needed. While nothing appeared on Trey’s face to indicate it, Darc’s more intimate knowledge of his partner suggested that Trey was fully engaged in what they were doing, as opposed to his more typical laissez-faire attitude.
Trey’s previous comments regarding their “team” resurfaced in Darc’s mind. It was true that Darc had experienced a strange sense of incompleteness as he and Trey had tracked down the priest’s assistant. While Mala was not a trained law enforcement professional, her insights had proven themselves vital.
And he missed her.
More gray threatened his equilibrium. He had a task at hand for which he needed all of his focus intact. Directing his attention to his partner, Darc nodded toward the door, indicating that Trey should open it up.
Placing his shoulder against the metal door, Trey turned the handle, which yielded to his touch without resistance. Trey shrugged at Darc, his eyebrows lifting in what Darc deemed to be surprise. That made much more sense than the equally indicated sexual advance the eyebrow lift could have indicated.
The door creaked open, the room within a blanket of shadows. Darc moved ahead of his companion, pulling out his penlight, which he shone into the corners of the room. There were no signs of other inhabitants, nor did the space appear to have been used in many months. A layer of dust, previously un-trampled by human feet, stirred with each of his steps.
Was it possible they had come to the wrong place? The illuminated pathways in Darc’s mind lit the way before them, but the trust that he normally placed in that internal process was lacking. Perhaps the killer had entered though another door.
Darc felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Trey pointing toward a hallway that appeared to be the only egress from the large room. His partner mouthed the words “this way” and began moving toward the exit.
A sudden noise caused Darc to shoot out his hand, bringing Trey to a halt. The sound had come from behind the door set at the end of the hallway. Darc held up a hand for Trey to remain motionless.
There.
More scuffling from behind the door. The handle began to turn. Trey whipped his gun out of its holster and leveled it at the exit as it began to swing open.
What Darc saw there challenged not only his newfound sense of emotional connection, but the logic lines, as well.
“Is that any way to greet a damsel in distress?” The familiar voice mocked them both, its tone playful and exhausted at the same time.
It was Mala.
*
“And then it was only a matter of time before he decided on his own to let me go. I looked around for a bit, when I got outside the apartment set he had built, but there wasn’t anything there that I could see. My guess is that he was communicating with me remotely from quite a ways away.” Mala rested her head against the worn leather of the back seat of the Land Rover. “In the end, it proved to be relatively simple.” The car smelled of man and fast food. The scent was almost overwhelmingly comforting to her.
“Ah, yes. So freaking simple.” Trey scoffed at her.
“Whatever,” Mala teased back, then stiffened up once more. “You’re sure Janey is okay?” A feeling akin to panic resurfaced in Mala’s chest. That feeling would more than likely not leave until she had seen the little girl in person and held her close.
“For the fifteenth time, she’s fine,” Trey chuckled. The detective had a grin on his face that hadn’t diminished from the moment he had recognized her. The obvious warmth there created a reciprocal glow in her.
Darc, on the other hand, had said exactly two words to her. You’re safe. That was it. From that moment on, he had sunk into what Mala could only describe as a sullen pout. That was so far outside her experience with Darc up to this point that she figured she had to be mistaken.
“The girl has suffered no ill effects from your absence,” Darc grumbled.
Nope. Not mistaken.
Against all sense and reason, it was more than evident that Darc was pissed off. And Mala had no clue why. She nestled her head more firmly into the seat, feeling the enveloping softness of the material made soft by years of friction.
Men.
She truly did not understand them at all. Maybe that was why her relationships to date had been mostly short and unfailingly unsatisfactory. With one notable exception.
Mala let out a long sigh, both of relief and frustration. Her life over the past little while had taken her so far beyond her comfort zone that it was impossible to see the boundary from where she now was. And yet, she had never felt more… present.
Trey had given her a brief overview of what had happened since she had been captured, and while Mala was convinced that a good portion of it had been sanitized for her protection, what remained was shocking. The whole underground defiled cathedral defied even her darkest imaginings.
And while Mala was relieved that Janey was safe, she could only imagine what horrors had stayed behind in the little girl’s mind. Children were much more resilient than many adults gave them credit for being, but that kind of trauma would end up shaping Janey for her entire life, even with the best that therapy had to offer.
“Not to interrupt your little siesta there, Mala…” Trey spoke to her reflection in the rearview mirror. “But if you’re up for it, we can swing by the precinct so you can see Janey.” He looked a bit more closely. “Or maybe by your place for a shower and a change of clothes?”
Darc finally spoke up at that. “She needs to be debriefed first.”
“Dude.” Trey shook his head at his partner. “We are so far off the reservation right now, I’m pretty sure we can take a few side trips. I probably could’ve gotten away with not coming back in to work at all. At least for a while.” Trey found Mala’s eyes in the mir
ror again and grinned at her. “I got PTSD from being attacked from above by a mutilated corpse. Can’t you tell?”
“Hmmm. Sounds serious, Detective. Perhaps you should seek the help of a professional?” Mala winked at him. “And yes, I would love to see Janey. But it’s still early, and that shower sounds magnificent.”
Trey nodded and turned his attention back to the road ahead of them. His hair, messier than usual, bobbed as he hit a pothole in the street.
Mala closed her eyes, thinking of what lay ahead for her. A shower sounded divine, but the thought of seeing Janey again made her eyes tear up and an involuntary sob escape her chest.
And what would happen after that? Mala found that, for once, she had no answer.
*
It had been a long time since Janey had eaten pancakes.
Her mommy used to make them for her, but there hadn’t been lots of time before they moved, and then once they were in the new house, it was just unpacking boxes all of the time. They had eaten a lot of cold cereal. And McGriddles. She loved McGriddles.
But not as much as she loved pancakes.
And this was the best pancake Janey had ever seen. When the waitress came out, it had looked like it was bigger than Janey’s head. It was ginormous, filling up the whole plate. The mouth was made of chocolate chips, the eyes of whipped cream. The nose was a cherry. And there were three different kinds of syrup to choose from.
Tears sprang into her eyes, but Janey pushed them back down. She was sad, ‘cause this was a pancake that her mommy hadn’t made. She would never get pancakes from her mommy again. That was hard. Really, really hard.
But Maggie was here, and she was nice. She had such pretty hair. It was red and curly, and it was like each of her curls had a mind of its own. There was one that kept flopping down into Maggie’s face. She would brush it away, but it would come back. Janey liked it a lot. She wound her own hair around one of her fingers to make it curl, but it wouldn’t stay that way.
Janey looked back down at her pancake. It was way too big for her to eat all at once. She would need to cut it into pieces. Looking at the big circle face of food in front of her, Janey could see the lines where she needed to slide the knife. It made a pattern that made the pancake so much prettier. She began to cut where the lines told her to cut, making letters. Pretty letters.
7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series) Page 4