Habeas Corpus: Black Womb (Black Womb Collection Book 1)

by Matthew LeDrew

  Then she looked around. “Justin?”

  That was when she saw it -- the limp body of her boyfriend being lifted onto a stretcher. There were cuts and bruises on his body everywhere and the chest of his shirt was soaked in blood. His eyes were open in an eerie gaze that sent chills down her spine. His hand fell limply over the side of his stretcher as they checked his pulse. The paramedic looked at his watch as his fingers pressed on the boy’s neck. He shook his head and the two doctors put the white blanket over Justin’s head.

  She buried her head into Xander’s shoulder and cried. He just held her. He didn’t say a word, either from being in shock himself over seeing the body or just because he couldn’t think of anything to say. Whatever the reason, he just held her for hours and hours. Long after the police, the paramedics and everyone else had left, he stayed there just holding her.

  How could someone as sweet- Sara’s thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Calendar raising his voice slightly in the middle of his sentence. Not out of anger, but more so to get the attention of the entire class. She looked up, slightly startled. It just isn’t possible.

  The voice of Principal Shnieder came over the intercom, which squealed a bit as it was turned on. “This is Principal Shnieder speaking. Due to the recent incidents in town, there will not be school until further notice. Also, a seven o’clock curfew has been placed on the town. Anyone caught out past seven will be brought home by a police escort immediately.”

  The announcement of school closing was followed by a barrage of hoots and hollers from students as they flooded out the doors. All except Cathy and Mike, who both realized what this meant: the killer had struck during the night.

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  GOOD TIME

  6:00

  The party was just starting. Grendel didn’t really want to start this early, but the curfew forced him to. It also ensured that once everyone got in, they had to stay until morning. Which was just fine for him, and one other person.

  “School’s out for summer!” Cathy and Xander chanted along with the music blaring over the speakers. “School’s out forever!”

  Grendel’s front yard was packed with kids and it was hard for Mike, Cathy and Xander just to stay close to one another. Sara was over by Grendel, chatting away to him, although he didn’t really notice. He was watching Cathy. Intently.

  “This is a great party, Gren!” Tommy shouted over the speakers.

  “What?” Grendel replied, putting a hand to his ear.

  Tommy motioned for Grendel to speak in private. They walked away from the yard and into the kitchen.

  “When are we doin’ it?” he asked.

  “Shh.” Grendel put a finger up to his mouth and took a quick glance around. “You want everyone to hear? Alright, around seven o’clock, you, Sud and Derek ask Mike to help you lift something. You do whatever it takes to keep him out there. That’s when I’ll take Cathy upstairs to talk to her. If Xander starts being a problem, just dump him. Got it?”

  “Yeah. What about Sara?”

  “That fucking airhead slut? She won’t be a big problem.”

  About forty minutes later, music still blared over the stereo. Everyone in the yard was bouncing and singing. Grendel’s backyard was a large open space contained by high wooden fences stained a rich rusty colour that kept out prying eyes. There was a large brick barbeque a few feet from the north wall that was currently covered with speakers, and a metal fire pit near the centre that was clogged with cigarette butts.

  The yard was filled with people attending the party.

  From one end of the fence to the other, it was packed so tightly that it was hard to move, let alone dance, although people still managed. Drinks were passed from the cooler from person to person until they found their desired party. People jumped and swayed and pushed, turning the backyard into a giant mosh pit.

  Jeffery Dunam made out with a girl a few years younger than him against the back wall of Grendel’s house. He had a beer in one hand that was half empty, and was so drunk that every time he took a drink great splashes of it dribbled down over his chin.

  Beverly Mass was throwing up into the barbeque, the roar of the speakers making her stomach do a back flip every time it urged.

  Sara smiled, raising both her hands up into the air and bobbing along to the beat, bending her knees and thrusting her arms. “Whoo-hooo!”

  Xander followed at her, watching the way every part of her danced. Her hair, her jacket... every part of her moved to the heavy bass beat. He smiled.

  She turned and looked at him, both hands clenching his drink to his chest and his feet planted firmly to the grass.

  Frowning and rolling her eyes, she slapped the drink out of his hands.

  “H-hey!” he stammered.

  “If it’s not alcohol, it’s not abuse,” she stated in a factual tone. She reached over and grabbed both his hands.

  His heart began to beat faster.

  She raised their hands above their heads and pumped them, her fingers laced around his until he got the rhythm and started to do it on his own.

  He smiled.

  “You looked like one of the lawn gnomes,” she said, pointing to a small cluster of little ceramic men that had been arranged in the corner so as not to get hurt. One of them was even holding a drink, in much the same way Xander had been. “It had to be corrected.”

  “Thanks,” he beamed, continuing to pump his arms to the beat that Sara had started them on, even when the beat of the music changed. After a moment he started to bend his knees as well, trying his best to mimic her.

  She laughed. “You’re dancing like a girl.”

  He stopped, his already pink face becoming red.

  “Here.” She reached over and took his hips in her hands and started to show him how to move.

  He could feel sweat trickle its way down his forehead. His throat became dry and his tongue refused to move.

  “Move with it, first with one then the other,” she said, biting her lip a little as she looked down at the way their hips pressed together, hers moving along with his. “Don’t be afraid to lean into me. And don’t over think it. Just... do it.”

  She looked up at him, meeting his gaze for a long moment.

  She cleared her throat, then stepped away from him.

  He continued to move, taking a breath for the first time in what felt like minutes.

  “Yeah,” she said, grabbing a cube of ice from the cooler and popping it between her lips. “That’s better.”

  Around her the others continued to bump and grind.

  Cathy sat near the fire pit and watched Sara as she tried to teach Xander to dance, a wry smile finding its way onto her lips even as people pushed and shoved each other all around her. Calla McFadden’s butt got dangerously close to hitting her in the back of the head every time she swayed to the music, but she tried her best to ignore it.

  Mike appeared out of the labyrinth of bodies to her right, doing his best to avoid bumping into people as much as possible.

  “Here,” he said, handing her a drink in a red plastic glass. He had a similar one, which he took a long slurp from. “Virgin Jack and Coke, on the rocks.”

  “That’s just Coke with ice,” she laughed, taking just enough to wet her lips. “You sound like a douchebag.”

  He laughed, fizzling cola almost coming out his nose when he did. He brought his sleeve to stop it, the edges of his smile poking up over his arm. “I like it my way. Sounds important.”

  “What do you call an orange juice? A Virgin Screwdriver?”

  “A Virgin Screwdriver is orange juice and 7Up,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “How do you know that?”

  “How do you not know that?” he laughed, holding out a hand to her.

  She rolled her eyes and took it, letting him help her to her feet. There was a short boy trying to dance with a rather tall girl in front of her, and she could see Sara and Xander again over his shoulder.

  Xander was drin
king his cola as though he were searching for the meaning of life at the bottom, wiping the sweat from his free hand onto his jeans as he did.

  She shook her head at them and tisked.

  Mike followed her gaze, then stepped into it to block her view of them. “You know in some cultures, that’s considered rude.”

  “Stop it.” She hummed playfully, bouncing on her heels to see over his shoulders and not even coming close. “I want to see.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” He smiled. “Now stop it.”

  “Ugh,” she huffed, folding her arms and puffing out her cheeks. “Men.”

  “Yes. Men get in the way of the picture show. Men drink of the beer and have of the women.”

  She glared at him, though she couldn’t help herself from smiling. “Idiot.”

  Tommy hoisted his camera quickly and took a shot of Cathy, just as she was smiling at something Mike had said. He examined her image on the screen of his camera, its colour-corrected vibrancy making it look more real than in the dimming light of dusk. He’d caught her just beginning to laugh, in that wonderful and rare moment photographers called a Mona Lisa smile.

  He clicked off a few more rounds in quick succession, examined the latest one on the screen again, then stepped back into the crowd.

  He’d loved cameras ever since he could remember. He’d owned his first one at age four, and currently owned five. This one was a Canon digital-film hybrid with a facefinder feature he found remarkable.

  He brought it to his face again, using the viewfinder to peruse the crowd.

  John Walker was behind Calla McFadden, not so much dancing with her as he was holding her tight and swaying with her to the music. He was sucking on her collar and had left a long line of red blotches from her ear and down her neck before he had arrived there. Her bra was undone, one strap lying loosely over her shoulder.

  -click!-

  Tommy shifted focus, finding Sam Reynolds as she downed the last of a beer. Copious amounts of froth billowed down her cheeks on either side, fluffy and light like clouds.

  “You’re wasting some!” Wes King shouted next to her, pointing at her and pumping his fists radically. “Point goes to me!”

  -click!-

  Tommy turned and came face-to-face with Derek Smith, his boyish face and bushy eyebrows taking up the entire screen.

  -click!-

  “What the hell are you doing?” Derek frowned.

  Tommy took the camera down from his face and smirked wide. “Documenting.”

  “Documenting what?”

  “Everything,” he replied, raising the camera high and snapping a random shot of the crowd. He examined the back of the camera and smiled, then turned to show Derek. “See?”

  It captured half the yard, every face digitized and in perfect focus. The perspective was skewed, the picture taken while the lens had been tilted to the right and making everyone look like they were fighting gravity to stand on a deep slope.

  “Not bad.” Derek hummed, bobbing his head from side to side.

  “Thank you,” Tommy responded sharply, turning the camera back on Calla and John and snapping three quick shots.

  -click click click!-

  “Just don’t aim that thing at me anymore, okay?” Derek grumbled, looking around. He saw Julie Peterson and smiled at her. She waved back.

  “Why not?”

  Derek turned back to him, his face serious for a moment, then grinned. “I’ve seen your room, with all the pictures around. I don’t want you looking at me while you’re stroking your moke.”

  “Fuck you,” Tommy laughed, punching him in the arm.

  Derek punched back, smirking so big that his earlobes moved. He nodded, then turned and started in the direction of the drink cooler.

  Tommy turned and watched him go, then raised his camera and took another shot of him.

  -click!-

  Grendel stood on his balcony with his arms folded across his chest, nodding triumphantly at the amassed students. Sud sat next to him on a plastic lawn chair, his drink balanced precariously between his legs.

  “This is what I wanted,” Grendel said, stretching his arms out to encompass the yard. “This is what this class really needed! This party is going to go down in history!”

  Sud grunted softly in response.

  Grendel turned to look at him, his face drawn tight in a scowl so deep that the folds of his skin looked like cracks in the pavement after an earthquake. He shook his head, then squat down to be face-to-face with Tommy, who had his camera pressed to his face and was waiting for the opportune moment to snap a picture of Julie Peterson.

  “What’s his problem?” he asked, sticking his thumb over his shoulder at Sud.

  “Liz Tyler kicked him in the balls after he got a little too grabby during the last song.”

  Grendel stood up and looked at Sud’s drink, only now noticing that it was filled with ice and had no liquid in it whatsoever.

  “Get up!” he barked, kicking the side of the chair and forcing Sud out of it. “You’re supposed to be helping, not sitting there and licking your wounds like some --”

  He stopped.

  They all had, every person in attendance. Someone had even turned down the music as all eyes turned toward the orange-hued western sky.

  The sun was starting to go down, and that meant one thing. Seven o’clock. They moved the party inside Grendel’s house, where a lot of the first people grabbed couches to sit on.

  Cathy snagged the love seat. Mike was about to sit down next to her, when a voice traveled over the crowd.

  “Hey, Mike!” Sud called, unnecessarily loud. “Come help us with the speaker.”

  Mike’s stomach turned.

  You know that feeling in your side when you know something bad in going to happen? That sickness which ebbs its way up from your bowels and into your throat at the mere mention of a word? Right now, Mike was getting that feeling.

  He turned and looked at Sud, Tommy and Derek from across the hall.

  “Sure. Just a sec,” he drawled, then turned back and looked at Cathy, sitting on the love seat. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, then stood back up and looked at her.

  “I’ll be back in a sec.” He smiled, then walked over to help Sud and the others.

  Somehow he just had to say that. That feeling... the last time he gotten it, it had almost been the last time he had ever seen her. He put his hand to his side and squeezed his stitches a little, wincing in pain.

  It’s just the painkillers kicking in, he assured himself as he walked over and started to pick up a speaker.

  Grendel’s downstairs bathroom was a large step up from the Factory’s, but it was still far from the Ritz.

  It was a half-bath that his father used only to shit and shave in the morning, and was fairly utilitarian. There were no pictures or candles or decorative soaps. There was just a toilet and a sink, crammed in a space so small that most people wouldn’t have used it for a closet.

  Sara sat on the toilet with her arms hugging into her knees. Her jeans were down around her ankles but her underpants were still up, and the toilet lid was down. It was cold against the exposed flesh of her calves and made her shiver fiercely.

  She was crying in big cartoon tears, praying that the music outside was loud enough to drown it out. Every so often she let out a wretched sob, some so powerful that they made her throat feel like it was being stabbed with a large knitting needle.

  She’d come in to use the bathroom, but found that once the door was closed the urge had gone away and was replaced by this new one, which was much more powerful. She could have held her pee, she thought, but the water streaming down her bright red cheeks had come out like a tsunami. She wasn’t even quite sure where it had come from. She hadn’t been thinking about Jamie, at least not when she’d started. She hadn’t been thinking about much at all. Now his image was frozen in front of her, like he was trapped in a bubble in her mind that she couldn’t shake loose.

  “Oh
, God...” she wailed, although if anyone had heard it they wouldn’t have recognized the words.

  She reached down into the crumpled pockets of her jeans pocket with her thumb and forefinger. After a moment of fishing around, she withdrew a small blue tablet with an indentation on one side.

  This time she pushed it past her lips with no reservations, swallowing it back with nothing but saliva. It hurt her throat going down, but then was gone.

  Feeling better almost immediately, she pulled up her pants and examined her face in the mirror. Her eyeliner was miraculously still acceptable, but there were streaks slashed in the foundation on her cheeks that made her look striped. The flesh underneath was red and blotched. She sighed, then reached into her jeans again and withdrew her compact.

  Mike let out a labored breath, his cheeks puffing out comically.

  “I think that’s it for me, guys,” he said, a smooth trail of sweat trickling down his face near his ear.

  Sud looked over his shoulder and saw Cathy, still sitting alone.

  “We’re almost done. It won’t be long now.”

  “Hey Cathy,” Grendel said, sitting down next to her in the love seat. “How you doin’?”

  She giggled at him lightly.

  He smiled at her.

  Sara was standing next to Joseph Townsend, laughing so hard at something he had said that she had to brace herself on the crook of his arm in order to keep herself up. She had a Coke in her other hand. It sloshed over the edges of the red plastic glass and her fingers with every giggle she made.

  She wasn’t standing far from the speakers, and had to lean in close to Joseph to hear him say anything. He smiled every time she got close, smelling the sweetness of her perfume that made his mouth fill with saliva.

  A song by Linkin Park was playing on the stereo, and she was dancing in the barest sense of the word, bouncing on her knees and swaying her hips. She wasn’t dancing to that song, though.