by Martha Woods
The hunters started to sprint towards the exit, a number of those at the back of the crowd being hoisted up into the air, their colleagues not daring to look up or back as they started to rain down around them. The hunter carrying Christian ducked to the side just as his friend was dragged into the floor, disappearing into that inky blackness never to be seen again. He burst through the doors, throwing Christian into the back seat and jumping into the driver’s seat, slamming the accelerator down and rocketing off into the night, ignoring those that tried to wave him down before getting dragged back into the darkness. He could make comfort with that decision later.
Inside, things had finally died down, the only people still alive those that had come there to save a life. Liam approached his wife slowly, knowing that she meant him no harm but still wary of appearing as a threat. He of all people knew what it was like to be in a blood frenzy.
“Sky? Sky are you ok?” Slowly, he placed his hand on her arm, feeling the smoke cool at his touch. “Sky it’s me, you’re safe now.”
She turned, eyes fading from red back to their normal color, sadness and love overflowing when she ran a thumb down his cheek. “I’m so sorry Liam, I think I went too far tonight.”
“Hey, no Sky, that’s not true. You did what any one of us would, you didn’t do anything wrong, I still love you.” He took hold of her hand, squeezing down. “You hear me? We all still love you.”
Tears started to fall once more, her voice pained when she said, “That’s not it Liam, I... I don’t think I have much longer.” Her body flickered, smoke wisping away and her body starting to lose shape. “Please, take care of Abigail for me.”
The rest of them rushed over, both for her and Liam’s sake. “What? No, no no no Sky, please, you’re going to be alright!” His hand passed through hers when her form failed once more. “Please Sky, I need you!”
“I love you Liam, I love you so, so much.” She fell forward into his arms, the last of her form dissipating as soon as it made contact with his body, Liam falling to his knees in anguish, desperate to get even one last touch of her skin.
“Skylar! No please, not like this!” His head slammed against the concrete, back heaving with the force of his sobs, the others not able to do anything other than kneel down and hold him, their own tears flowing freely as they watched their friend mourn the loss of his wife, each and every one of them feeling that loss themselves.
“We’re sorry Liam,” Cayden spoke through tears, swallowing twice before he could find the strength to speak again. “She saved us, she saved all of us. She deserved better than this.”
The witches looked between each other, rage clear through their sorrow and beginning to burn brighter and brighter. “We’re going to find those men Liam, and we’re going to make them know the loss that we’ve all felt.” Cassandra scowled, her fist clenching and the energy cracking the concrete below her. “We’re going to make them all feel it.”
Liam didn’t acknowledge what she was saying, only laying there on the concrete, clutching Cayden’s hand in a death grip and racking himself with sobs once more. It was going to be a long, long time before he would be able to find himself capable of anymore. The others understood fully, and there in that garage surrounded by death and sorrow, they held him until morning, a pit settled in each of their stomachs.
They had lost family, and nothing was going to make that better.
* * *
A week had passed in Boulder Junction, a black veil settling over the town when news of Skylar Conway-Moore's death had been delivered. None were sure of what had happened, they understood that such details were meant to be kept quiet, so they settled for quietly mourning her. Skylar had been well known to the locals, always quick with a smile or a friendly compliment, her presence one that people could quite easily bask in, the day seeming just a little brighter than normal.
Out in the forest, even the trees had seemingly gotten darker, shadows falling across the ground like splashes of ink, the sunlight moving in such a way that one would think that they were almost swimming. But that was insane to think, so any normal member of town who witnessed it simply brushed it off as a trick of the light, as easy to explain away as a rainbow. On this day however, though no one was around to witness it, the shadows were indeed swimming, gathering in the middle of the clearing and forming the shape of a woman, the birds taking flight as the figure's chest began to rise and fall.
Skylar shot up with a gasp, hacking and wheezing as she coughed out smoke, her lungs not quite used to the sensation. Her heart was racing while she looked around her, her last memory being that of falling into her husband's arms, the sensation of falling apart... She shuddered when she remembered what she had done to those people, the way they had fallen apart under her attentions, how she had scattered them around the room like they were little more than trash. She never thought she would be capable of something like that, and she honestly still wasn't sure whether it had been a nightmare or not.
Shakily, she got to her feet, the early morning wind chilling her naked body while she took in her surroundings. She felt like Boulder Junction may have been close, but she had no idea just where she was, only that she was surrounded by forest on every side.
Which could mean that she was anywhere within almost one hundred miles of the area.
She cursed, scratching her nails down a nearby tree. "Real great Sky, you come back from the dead to just freeze to death in the fucking forest. Just great, you're a true hero."
Her hair stood on end when she heard a chuckle, a deep, throaty sound that seemed to bounce off of the entire forest. Skylar turned around quickly when she sensed it behind her, looking just in time to see a figure emerge from the trees. Not step out from behind, from the trees, stepping out of the shadows like she had been doing just one week ago. They grinned from under a hood, teeth glinting white even as the rest of their skin shifted and wisped around.
"You are amazing Skylar Moore, I've been looking forward to meeting someone like myself for quite some time."
"Oh yeah?" She covered her body, though she still made an effort to look intimidating. At the intruder’s giggle, she obviously wasn't successful. "Who the hell are you?"
The figure, now clearly a woman, pulled her hood back, red hair shining bright in the sunlight and her eyes gleaming. Skylar gasped when she saw her face, discounting her hair she knew someone who looked exactly like her.
She saw her every morning in the mirror.
"Well Skylar Moore." The woman stepped forward, taking her into her arms. "I'm your mother."
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Chapter 1
I am sitting at home sipping my glass of Shiraz and nibbling on cheese and crackers. I roll my eyes as the credits roll to a romantic comedy that ended with a stereotypical happily ever after. I scoff. I don’t know why I watched it. I knew the ending would be made up of a predictable pl
ot where the characters’ love is the most important thing in this world and completely outweighed any rational logic for what would happen after the credits stopped rolling.
“Happily ever after.” I smirk. I know that there is no such thing. At least not when it came to romance. Why did a woman need a man to make her life complete?
What happened to self-esteem? To knowing that actually, you don’t need the stereotypical bad boy to change overnight and run off into the sunset with you? I always thought these movies would have a happier ending if right at the end, when the man had “changed,” the woman laughed and told him it was only ever about sex, and walked off into the sunset on her own.
Cara, my best friend, would describe me as cynical. She would say it’s a defense mechanism – if I don’t believe in love and romance, then I don’t have to admit that it’s just never happened for me.
I would describe myself as a realist. I just don’t think we’re programmed for monogamy, at least not long term. I have to agree with Cara on one point, though. It probably will never happen for me.
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old forensic scientist working for the LAPD. I am smart. I can hold my own in situations that would turn most people’s stomachs. Yet, here’s the kicker: whenever I find myself with a man who I find attractive, I turn into a clumsy thirteen-year-old who can’t string together a sentence. I’m the one who will trip up, knock something over, or say something really awkward.
One of my least disastrous recent dates, in fact, featured me getting so flustered when the guy had bought me a bouquet that I managed to knock over the entire display of flowers, causing who knows how many dollars of damage. There went that week’s pay. Needless to say, I declined a second date.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m a cynic. Sorry, a realist.
But I’m not heartbroken about it or anything. I have Bella, my adorable and loyal puppy, and right now, she’s the only housemate I want or need. She’s been my constant companion since the day I picked her up from the pound. With my crazy work schedule, she’s really the best partner I could ask for, and she doesn’t mind a good long run. I reach out and run my hand over Bella’s soft fur. She wags her tail and snuggles closer to my side.
I reach for the remote and flick through the channels. I’m looking for a horror movie, maybe a sci-fi at a push. No more icky love stuff. Sometimes I’m in the mood to leer at a Rom Com, but the inclination usually doesn’t last long. I know it’s all totally contrived. Real love doesn’t exist. And commitment just isn’t in our DNA. I’ve had enough personal experiences to know that – and worked enough cases that reinforced the idea. People would probably agree with me about my “cynical” outlook if they knew how many murders were perpetrated by lovers. Cheating spouses, insurance scams, arguments gone horribly wrong…if that’s what love is all about, count me out. Something catches my eye, and I flick back a channel.
There. A good old fashioned newscast. No fairytales here.
“We can confirm that the body of an unidentified female has been found just moments ago in the parking lot of The Watering Well.”
Great, I think. I count to five, and sure enough, as I hit five, my pager lights up. With a sigh, I lift Bella off my lap and set her on the ground, reaching for my cell phone. I call in and let the dispatcher know I’m on my way.
I grab my car keys and my purse and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and set my bag on the passenger seat. My cell phone, I place on the dashboard. My pager goes in the little alcove in the center console, where I can see the screen clearly without taking my hands off the wheel to pick it up. I have a system. Some people might call me obsessive, but I prefer organized. Obsessive, organized. Cynic, realist. Cara would say I’m just trying to justify my personality flaws. She’s a lawyer, but she likes to think she’s also my therapist. I don’t mind, though. If nothing else, she keeps my ego in check. I chuckle a little to myself at the thought. Cara would keep anyone’s ego in check. She’s gorgeous, successful, always at ease, and always kind. It’s hard not to compare myself to her and come up a bit short.
As I drive towards The Watering Well, I sigh. I can’t believe a reporter heard about this before I did. I’m the chief forensic officer for the LAPD, and I found out about a murder through a newscast! Heads would roll of people found out about this.
I push the thought away. It’s not like Rick doesn’t already have enough on his plate without me making trouble for him.
I know before I’m even close to the scene that it will be Rick. Rick Gordon. And I know before I arrive exactly what I’ll find. Rick is the lead officer investigating a series of grisly murders in the city. They have happened over the course of the last month. All of the victims are women. All of them turn up in parking lots, alleys and other outdoors places. And all of them are mutilated.
The bodies look as though a wild animal has been on them, but there is never a trace of forensic evidence to back up such a theory. These murders are very much man-made. I find that fitting. The things human beings do to each other are far worse than anything a wild animal might do.
The public is becoming restless, spurred on by the unrelenting media coverage calling for action. A resolution. You know, in case the LAPD actually have solved the case but don’t want to reveal it until public pressure builds. Because of course, that’s how it works. Not.
It’s hard not to get irritated with the media during cases like this, but I know it’s not really them I’m frustrated with. I’m frustrated because my job, my purpose, is to find the evidence that will allow Rick to do his job, that will see justice done, that will give some measure of peace to the families of the victims. But the murderer is meticulous. He must be. I haven’t found so much as a hair, a skin particle, to trace back to the killer. I feel useless. And after seeing these women, bloodied and torn, I desperately want some closure for them. I don’t really believe in ghosts or spirits or even the soul, but I still feel compelled to help the victims, even in death. How can I do that if I can’t find a shred of evidence at the crime scenes?
I arrive at The Watering Well. I park on the curb side and get out of the car, quickly grabbing my kit from the trunk. I never leave it in the car – it looks too conspicuous and Rick worries it will make me a target. He’s overprotective. Usually that would drive me nuts. I don’t need anyone looking out for me, and I’ve worked hard to make my coworkers see me as an investigator, not some potential damsel in distress. But he’s one of the most important people in my life, so I cut him some slack.
The parking lot is full, even though it’s after 1 am and the pub has been closed for an hour. Even at a quick glance, this couldn’t be mistaken for revelers spilling out of the pub. The parking lot is also crawling with LAPD. The yellow crime scene tape flaps in the light breeze. The flurry of activity that would have arisen when the officers first arrived on the scene has died down and most of the officers stand in small groups, awaiting further instruction.
Awaiting me. Once I have trawled the scene and collected the forensic evidence – not that there will be any, I think to myself – the officers will be able to have the coroner called to the scene and the body removed. Okay, maybe I am a bit cynical.
I cross the road and duck under the tape, making my way to the largest group. Rick spots me at the same time as I spot him. He breaks away from the group and heads towards me.
Rick is somewhere in his early fifties, although he looks younger. He’s tall and muscular. His buzz cut hair has the tiniest hint of gray at the temples, but other than that, it’s jet black. He cuts an imposing figure. Poised, mean. Until you look at his dark brown eyes. They sparkle with warmth. And when he smiles, his face changes. It becomes soft and kind.
“Amy,” he says. He isn’t smiling now.
I nod a greeting. Rick looks calm, yet I know that actually he’s anything but. Inside, he’ll be concocting a hundred different ways his team can solve this crime. A hundred way to find potential witnesses gather evidence. His mind
constantly whirring, looking for the break this case needs. But on the outside, he’s calm. And his appearance of calm works on two levels. It keeps his team calm. And it gives the impression of a man who has everything under control. I personally believe that this calm exterior during the press conferences is the only thing that has given the public even a tiny hope that he is well the on the way to solving this case.
“Same MO?” I ask.
Rick nods grimly. “Yeah,” he confirms. “She’s one of his alright.”
I turn away from Rick, nothing else needing to be said, and head to the far end of the parking lot. The corner that is consciously untouched deserted.
“Amy?” Rick calls after me.
I turn and look back at him.
“Find me something I can use.”
I hear the tiniest trace of desperation in his voice. I nod, although I’m almost certain I’m making a promise I can’t keep. There’s been nothing of any use at any of the crime scenes so far, and I’m far from hopeful this one will be any different. From what we’ve gathered so far, all we really know for sure is that there have been no signs of an animal being present. Not that that entirely rules it out, but it makes it extremely unlikely. An animal would make no attempt to cover its tracks, so to speak, and we would have found something.
Rick’s team believe that the killer is a man who lures unsuspecting women into deserted areas with him. They think that this scenario often comes about as part of a first date. They’ve trawled all of the popular dating sites, and as many of the unpopular ones as they know about, and have found nothing. None of the women have had profiles on the sites.
Their friends and family have been less than useless. It seems that these women have all been very secretive about their plans for the night they were killed.