by Rita Herron
Another storm was rolling in, and she flipped on the radio to listen to while she worked.
“This is Jebb Bates coming to you with some sad news. Sam Larson, former sheriff of Mysteria, is dead. The coroner stated that it looked as if he suffered a massive heart attack, but there will be an autopsy to confirm the results.
“Sheriff Larson served as our sheriff for over fifteen years..
Marlena flipped off the radio, her chest constricting. She had just spoken with Sam Larson. And she’d upset him.
Guilt washed over her.
Oh, God. . . had she caused his heart attack?
After his confrontation with Father Gio, Dante stopped by the morgue to confer with the ME.
Dr. Underwood limped toward him, claimed his desk chair, swept aside a stack of files, then spread open the one he’d been carrying and examined it.
“What do you have on victim number two?”, Dante asked.
The doctor consulted the papers with a deep frown. “Her name is Brenda Mulligan. We identified her from her medical records. She had a pin in her hip from a car accident. She worked at BloodCore.”
Dante gripped the arms of the chair to keep from reacting. If she worked at BloodCore, Marlena must have known her.
Dante straightened. “Did she bleed out like Jordie?”
‘Absolutely. He carved an S into her chest, then bit into her carotid artery.” He shifted the papers to reveal several
photos he’d taken of the bite marks. “Obviously she was killed someplace else and carried to the property near your house.”
“Did the blood in the cave match Brenda’s?” The ME nodded.
“Did you find any other blood?”
“I’m afraid not.”
This killer was definitely clever.
“Anything else you can tell me?” Dante asked. “Just that this is one sick, sadistic son of a bitch.” Dr.
Underwood rubbed at his leg as if it was aching, then pushed up the sleeves to his lab coat and folded his arms. “I haven’t seen anything like it in years, not since Larson was sheriff.”
Dante started to speak, but Underwood cut him off. “By the way, Larson is dead. EMT said it presented like a heart attack, but he’s on my table now for an autopsy.”
Dante’s mind raced. “Larson is dead?”
Underwood nodded. “The timing seems odd to me,” he said. “Perhaps you should call in the Feds. The people of Mysteria won’t sleep again until this maniac is caught. And any more deaths are on your head.”
Anger raced through Dante. The damn ME didn’t have to tell him that. But this killer, this series of murders, was far more disturbing than the humans in Mysteria thought.
Knowing the truth would only create widespread panic. Better they, believe one of their own, a human in town, was killing women than learn that demons roamed the underground.
Demons more ruthless and vile and committed to spreading evil than anyone could ever imagine.
Zion gestured for the Seer to relay her report.
“Vincent and Quinton found Dante,” she said with a wave of her black hand. “They have spoken.”
“And?”
“Having your minion burn his victims worked perfectly and raised distrust between the men.”
“Dante rejected his brothers?”
“Yes. He wants no partnership with them.” The Seer hesitated. “He makes his own laws and ways.”
“Good. We must destroy their bond,” Zion said. “As long as be carries the seed of evil within him, he can be turned.”
He simply had to play Dante right. Keep his son from mating with the woman. Turn her against him.
But he’d choose the timing.
The rumbling of footsteps and voices reverberated in the cave, then the first team of soldiers filed in. The demon he’d appointed to the new chair as the Death Angel led the group, and they gathered around the fire.
“The Hunters Moon is upon us. We must prepare our soldiers for war. I’ve enlisted the elements to dole out their worst.” He gestured toward Hypnos. “Your job will be to plant paranoia in the minds of the humans so they turn on each other in anger and fury.”
He gestured to the demon on his right. “You will rob people of dreams. Without dreams, the humans can’t work out their frustrations, and their tempers and anger will rise.” A smile curved his demonic mouth as he gestured to the werecreatures he’d chosen to serve him. “You will begin the pack wars. Kill the leader of the opposing packs so they blame one another, then they’ll destroy each other.”
The Soul Collectors bowed before him. “Master, we are prepared.”
Hypnos bowed his head in supplication. “And this plan begins when?”
“The night of the Hunters Moon. The dead will rise and haunt the humans. And hopefully, my son Dante will join me. Then the anarchy and the end of humanity will begin.”
Chapter Eighteen
Marlena phoned Dante. She had to talk to him about Sam Larson. “Dante, it’s Marlena.”
“You sound upset. What’s wrong?”
Tears choked her throat. “I just heard that Sheriff Larson is dead.”
A tense moment passed. “I know. I talked to the ME and he’s going to perform an autopsy.”
“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Marlena whispered. “My fault he’s dead because I upset him asking questions.”
“You don’t know that, Marlena.”
“Don’t I?” she asked angrily.
“No,” be said. “He was a sick man.”
She swiped at her eyes. “But you told me it was dangerous to ask questions, and my being there upset him.”
“Stop blaming yourself, Marlena,” Dante said. “This is bigger than you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Why? Did you find Gerald Daumer?”
“No. But the ME identified the second body.”
His gruff tone made her tense. “Who was it?”
“A woman named Brenda Mulligan. The ME said that she worked at BloodCore.”
Marlena sank into her desk chair with a groan. “Brenda? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Dr. Underwood verified her ID from her medical and dental records.”
Marlena leaned her head into her hands. Why was all this happening? First Jordie, now Brenda.
So sad. So unfair. So tragic. She was in the prime of her life, and to have it snuffed out so cruelly...
“Do you know if Miss Mulligan has any family?” Dante asked.
Marlena struggled to think through the grief and shock eating at her. “No, she was an only child. Her parents died in a car crash a few years ago.”
“I’m going to her apartment to check it out,” Dante said. “Maybe I’ll find a lead. Marlena, did Brenda have a boyfriend or lover?”
“No, she only moved here a few months ago. She was fresh out of college, attended UT-Chattanooga. She told me that her boyfriend left her at the altar, so she was reluctant to date again.”
“How about other close friends? Someone she might hang out with socially?”
“No one that I know of. She kept to herself. I think she liked to read, and once she mentioned that she kept a journal.”
“Okay, if you think of anything else, let me know. Wait at work, and I’ll come by and follow you home.”
“That’s not necessary, Dante. If something happens, I’ll call you. Just focus your energy on finding out who killed Brenda and Jordie.”
A heartbeat lapsed before he agreed. “Just be careful. And if you think someone is following you or. if, when you arrive home, anything looks suspicious, don’t go inside this time. Call me.”
“I will.” Marlena sighed wearily. It had been so long since anyone had worried about her that his concern touched her.
But she had to protect herself from him.
Still, his dark intensity drew her. And he had saved her life.
But she couldn’t allow herself to get too deeply involved
with him. The pain of loving her family and losing them had been too much.
Her work was her life.
She snapped her phone closed, then walked down the hail toward Dr. Raysen’s and Dr. Sneed’s lab to break the news about Brenda’s death.
Edmund’s already pale skin turned chalky white. “My God, who would want to hurt Brenda? She was one of the sweetest girls in the world.”
“That is terrible.” Dr. Sneed’s face grew pinched. “When the sheriff finds this killer, I hope we can draw samples of his blood and test it. I’d like to examine his serotonin and dopamine levels.”
Marlena frowned at his impersonal reaction, although the genius doctor had only been working at BloodCore a month, and hadn’t known Brenda very well. Science was his life.
Edmund removed his glasses and wiped his face with his hand. “Does the sheriff have any clues?”
“He’s still looking for Gerald Daumer.”
Dr. Sneed pulled a hand down his chin. “Daumer’s blood did have abnormalities. Let’s look at it again and compare it to that of other serial killers on file.”
“Good idea.” Marlena pressed her fingers to her temple, trying to soothe away the tension. “Maybe tomorrow. I’m beat right now.”
Exhaustion and guilt weighed on her. She hadn’t slept well the night before, not with Dante downstairs, so she headed home. She wanted to mourn Brenda alone. And think about Sam Larson’s death and Dante’s comment that this situation was bigger than her.
Storm clouds thickened, thunder rumbling, the moon barely discernible in the black sky as she walked outside, jumped into her car, and drove from the parking lot. Rain began to sprinkle as she wound up the mountain, fog making visibility limited. She amped up the defroster and heater, glancing over her shoulder for headlights, but the road was deserted, the endless sea of trees groaning from the weight of the wind.
An eerie sensation flooded her nerve endings, and once again, she imagined she saw eyes watching her from the forest as she parked in her drive. The house appeared to be just as she’d left it. Doors and windows closed. A sole light burning in the kitchen.
Wrapping her coat around her shoulders, she grabbed her umbrella, then rushed up the front steps to her house, unlocked the door, and fell inside with a sigh. Despite her fatigue, adrenaline pumped through her, and she had to take deep breaths to calm herself.
But suddenly a noise jarred her. A creak from upstairs. A rocking sound as if someone’s foot was tapping repeatedly.
Then a low, keening cry like a baby’s.
She clamped her teeth over her lower lip and dropped the umbrella. Gerald? Prudence?
She tugged her cell phone from her purse, grabbed the fire poker, and tiptoed toward the stairs. Slowly, she inched upward. A quick check showed that the bedrooms were clear.
The attic again? Gerald? Had he come back for help?
Dust motes floated in the haze of the stairwell, a dank odor seeping from the corners, but she forged ahead, then to run if necessary. She tried the light switch, but the light was out, so she picked her way up the stairwell until she reached the clearing at the top. A tiny sliver of moonlight wove through the treetops and spilled through the narrow window, just enough to illuminate a figure in the room.
A man huddled in the corner with his knees pulled to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and was rocking himself back and forth.
Gerald Daumer.
When he looked up at her, his eyes gleamed an odd shade of burnt orange, and the raspy gurgle that erupted from his throat sounded inhuman and terrifying.
Dante met a CSI team at the Mulligan woman’s apartment. The manager of the complex let him inside with his master key, and Dante scanned the front room, mentally logging the details.
A combination kitchen and den. A green floral sofa, pine end tables, a mismatched chair, a small wooden table with dried flowers in a vase in the center. A painting of a farmhouse on the wall. A bookshelf overloaded with paperback novels, psychology books, and travel magazines. A small desk in the corner with a laptop on it.
He pulled on gloves, then strode through the den to the bedroom on the left, once again cataloging the contents and looking for anything out of place. Bed made neatly with a dark green comforter. Yellow and green towels hanging haphazardly in the small bath. Hairdryer, curling iron, makeup case—all the things he’d expect to find in a woman’s apartment.
He checked the drawers, the medicine cabinet, the closet. Women’s clothes, lab tech jackets, sensible shoes, and toiletries.
No sign that a man had lived here or stayed over.
He returned to the den and checked her phone log. The lab. A few unknowns. Nothing that created suspicion. He located a small address book on the counter and flipped through it. The number for the local dry cleaner’s, police, fire department, pizza delivery place, BloodCore, the psychiatric hospital where Marlena worked, and a few numbers whose area code indicated they were from Chattanooga. Probably college friends or acquaintances.
Hoping to find something helpful on her computer, he booted it up, then checked her email log, but it had been erased. Suspicious.
He searched to see if she belonged to any online groups, chat rooms, or single clubs but found nothing. No Facebook or MySpace page either.
Odd. Had the killer erased any evidence of her social networking life to protect himself?
Other than living in the same town, was Brenda connected to Jordie in any way?
Maybe the CSI tech team could recover the deleted files and they’d find a link, maybe a club or singles group where the killer might have met the victims.
Remembering that Marlena said Brenda kept a journal, he rummaged through the desk drawers in search of it, but found nothing except a few bills and brochures on local tourists sights. He shut down the computer, then checked the kitchen drawers and the end tables and felt between the sofa cushions.
A journal was private—where would a woman keep it?
Her bedroom?
Pulse racing, he hurried into the bedroom and checked the bedside table. A Bible had been tucked inside the drawer, but no journal. Hoping the killer hadn’t found it, he walked over to the closet, searched through the pockets of her coats, felt along the top shelf, then looked inside the shoeboxes on her floor.
Eyes narrowed, he turned and peered across the room, and suddenly moved to the bed. He felt beneath the pillows, then lifted the mattress and skimmed his hand between it and the box springs. His hand brushed across a rectangular leather-bound book.
Maybe her journal would finally give him a lead.
Marlena took a step back, bracing herself to run and call for help.
“So cold, so cold, so cold,” Gerald whispered. “Make the voices be quiet. Make them be quiet.”
Marlena released a pent-up breath, but kept her distance. She had to remember that Gerald might be a killer, or he could just be a frightened mentally ill patient who needed her help.
“Gerald,” she said softly. “It’s Dr. Bender. What are you doing here?”
His crying continued as if he hadn’t heard her, and he started beating at his temple just as he had in her office.
“Gera1d,” she said again. “Can you hear me?”
Slowly, his cries softened, then he looked up at her with swollen, bloodshot eyes. His skin was ruddy and chapped as if he’d been out in the elements too long. His teeth were chattering, his hair damp and matted, and beard stubble grazed his face. The scent of sweat, body odor, and smoke wafted off of him.
Fear mingled with an adrenaline rush and the need to help him. He was her patient. She wanted to help him, convince him to turn himself in for questioning before he got hurt.
“Gerald, tell me why you’re here,” she said, lowering her voice. “I thought you were going to stay at the hospital for treatment.”
“No, no hospital,” he cried. “They do awful things to me there. They lock me up and tie me down. Then he can get to me.”
“Who can get to
you, Gerald?”
“The devil. He’s after me. He tells me to do bad things and if! don’t, he’ll kill me and send me to hell where he’ll torture me for eternity.”
She touched his arm. “Let me get you a blanket and something hot to drink, Would you like that?”
“Don’t leave me.” His eyes darted around nervously. “He’s here now. He’s watching.”
“Who’s watching?”
“Zion. He’s here. He keeps whispering in my head. He wants me to kill for him.”
“Whom does he want you to kill?”
He pressed his hands over his ears, slapping at them.
“Stop it, make him leave me alone!”
“Gerald, tell me what happened. Did you kill Jordie?”
“Blood. Blood. Blood. So much blood everywhere,” he screeched. “He likes to bite his victims, sink his teeth in deep, and watch the blood spurt out. It’s everywhere.”
“Did you see the person who killed Jordie?”
“He killed them,” Gerald cried. “He told me how it felt. How the blood tasted so succulent and delicious that he was dizzy.” He suddenly lurched up, the childlike voice disappearing as a roar of rage burst from him. “He wants me to kill the rest of them. He says you can’t save them, but you have to.”
Marlena backed up, gripping the fire poker tighter. “Save who?”
“You,” he shouted. “And I have to obey him.” Then he lunged toward her, his teeth bared, his eyes gleaming, wild and delusional.
Chapter Nineteen
Marlena screamed and swung the fire poker to fend him off.
“Gerald, stop, don’t do this. I can help you. Let’s sit down and talk.”
“No, he says I have to kill you! Finish what he started. Finish what be started.” He ground his hands against his ears. “The devil says do it!”
She jabbed the poker into his stomach, and he doubled over with a wail. Her heart racing, she turned and ran down the steps, but he charged her from behind, and they both tumbled downward. Her shoulder hit the steps, her knees scraped the wood, and he slammed his fist against her head.