by J J Andrews
Revenge is kind of my thing. I shouldn’t have to punish my lover—who is my creation! Why, he wouldn’t exist if not for me. I played a real-life game of Sims and it was awesome. Fool should be nothing but grateful to me. He’ll figure it out. When his life gets terribly complicated…he’ll be back.
She approached that very drawer with hesitation boarding on reverence. In the dragon-fire melted remnants of her former brothel, she’d found two things. What she believed was a metatarsal of her one-time partner in crime and long-lived Salem witch, Mary Estey, and the hands of Melinoë from a much larger bronze, now scrap. Corazon took out the weighty black parcel and held it to her chest. Is it time to remind Officer Tom who is boss? A low hum came from within the fabric. “Oh, Mary! It is you.” She kissed the cloth. “Old friends, never parted.”
How much ceremony do I need to enact a little mayhem? I’ve not uttered words of power for over a year, much less kept up an altar and offerings. Dare I recite a bit of Hellenic verse? She took a deep breath, and using the sparks of magic still stirring in her belly, spoke.
“I call upon Melinoë, saffron-cloaked nymph of the earth; A specter who drives mortals to madness with her airy apparitionsas she appears in weird shapes and strange forms, now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness—all this in unnerving attacks in the gloom of night. O goddess, O queen of those below, I beseech youto banish the soul’s frenzy to the ends of the Earthand, please…fuck Tom up.”
Paraphrased a bit, but the goddesses don’t mind a little improvisation when it comes to invocation. I’m afraid I am in love with my puppet, who has grown into a real-life boy. What needs to be done to return him to my arms and bed…let it be done. Oh, and, Mary…since I know you’re listening in the ethers, please feel free to mess with Officer Najarah. You have my blessing, in fact.
Satisfied, she replaced the remnants to their underwear drawer altar and put aside thoughts of love to get ready for the stream of needy customers in need of punishment.
* * * *
In between the raindrops, riding the mists and ethers of the cosmos, Melinoë heard the prayer. She’d been resting since losing her foothold to the ravenous appetite of the damned Norse dragon when he’d destroyed…everything. She didn’t like Officer Wolfson. She didn’t like Officer Najarah. She barely tolerated Corazon. And she hated Old Town. It had been overrun with the wrong kind of people. Folkish fools. Racists. But she liked Mary Estey. Like her tether to the world, Mary was gone. She laughed. The sound was foreign to her. She paused to listen to the echo of her own voice.
She said into the heavens, aloud and vigorously, “Time to raise the dead.”
* * * *
Far away, in a distance of time and space, Mary’s bone, stashed neatly away in Corazon’s underwear drawer, stirred. From ashes and dust, life sparked. This would be her third existence. Salem came first. First in life and first in death. I was too ornery to stay dead. Vengeance is a sweet motivator. Took long enough to find the blood of the hangman, only to have that opportunity ripped away. Burned away. My idiot son didn’t do a damned thing to help me. I should have never resurrected him with my dying breath. Ale-guzzling fool. She took her first breath of her third lifetime. Constables Wolfson and Najarah…I’m back.
* * * *
Tom felt a twinge of uneasiness as he rode the elevator from the penthouse to the underground parking garage. The building, itself, was a far cry from where she’d started out—in Old Town—the no-man’s land across the bridge. She is now running the highest grossing “punishment café” in Sealth. And I am her sometimes lover, sometimes arresting officer, and always…a product of her magic. And now, she’s angry. It’s not good for anyone when Cora is angry. Especially me. I’ll offer a bullet to the fae for protection. They still hang around Old Town. The dark goddesses haven’t driven them away. Of course, they don’t always help in the way I’d like them to, either. He quoted a line from the movie, Legend, “Bloomin’ fairies.”
It took him thirty minutes to get across the bridge and back to his beat. He’d silenced his radio when making love to Corazon, even when he knew he was supposed to maintain radio awareness on a lunch break or at a dentist appointment during his shift. Something about her made him want to give her his full attention. And then there was Ali—Aliyah Najarah, his friend, partner, and unwitting victim of the very curse that had created him. Sometimes he wanted to fuck her until they were blind. All the time, he knew better. The incredible focus and sense of duty she had was like a cold shower to his fantasies. They’d had a tryst during the mass confusion of Hell Night. It had been awesome, satisfying. And sometimes he thought he was in love with her. Consensus was, however, that a partner was to have your back, not have you on your back.
He spied her talking to an old man in front of a boarded-up storefront. Ali is good at social stops. He pulled up. “Sorry it’s not an interceptor today. The old cruiser will have to do.”
Ali hopped into the old-school police cruiser. “It’s time they retire this relic. Dental appointment go well?” she asked. “I’d like to remind you we don’t go to appointments in uniform, nor do we take our vehicles. Next time, change and take your truck.”
She knows I didn’t see the dentist. “You’re right.”
“I’m glad, even with your promotion, that you’ll still be on patrol with me. I’d miss your sass, Tommy.”
He chuckled. “I have sass?”
“Well, yes. Considering everything you’ve been through—you’re still smiling. Your blue eyes still twinkle.” Ali paused. “It’s been quiet all day, though. I’m waiting for the sky to fall.”
“Again?” Tom laughed. He winced and pressed his belly. There was moisture on his brow, and he used the back of his hand to wipe it away. He shifted in his seat as a twinge of pain stabbed him in the gut.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just a pulled muscle or something. I’m fine.”
They rolled slowly up the main drag into the area of boarded-up buildings and shops on the verge of closing. A small Asian woman flagged them down.
Tom pulled to the curb, and Ali rolled down her window. “Hello, Mrs. Feng.”
“Bad smell in my building. Very bad. Like death.” Mrs. Feng pinched her nose to display the degree of odor. “You go look inside. Here keys.”
“All right, we’ll have a look.” Ali used the car’s radio. “Paul-90 being flagged down at Feng’s.” She exited the car and waited for Tom to catch up with her. She took the keys from Mrs. Feng. “How long has this been empty?”
“Long time. I try to sell but no buyers. I think maybe a bum off’d himself inside. After that night, they think streets no longer safe. Not stick around for worse.”
Tom withheld a chuckle at Mrs. Feng’s comment. Sometimes we all feel that way, madam. Jeez, this has been shut up for a long time.
“Is there a back door? Something not nailed shut?” Ali asked as she ran her hand over the two by fours boarding up the main entrance.
“Yes. Back door. Come now. Smell is worse in alley.”
They followed the building owner to the back of the store and paused as the odor hit them. “Oh, God.” Ali reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves and a paper mask. “Decomp.”
Tom nodded. “No doubt. Mrs. Feng, you wait out here. You might be right. Something has died inside.”
Ali turned on her bodycam and radioed in. “540, show me out with an investigation of a bad smell coming out of Feng’s. RP is building owner.” She slowly opened the door, leaving the key in the lock. “Do you have a mask, Tom? The odor is pervasive.”
He shook his head. “Not on me. Probably in my war bag.” He paused at the door and slipped his hand under his vest on the right side. “I don’t know what I ate that is causing me so much trouble.”
“Go to the doctor.” She stopped dead in her tracks, reeling from the unescapable, sick odor. “This is bad. This is foulness like no other.” Ali braved the stench of rotting
meat sprinkled with cheap perfume; of a thousand trapped rats who starved to death. “This isn’t a raccoon or stray cat. We’re dealing with something much larger here.”
“That’s human. I can smell what was once sentience through the thick stink. Follow the flies. It’s too late for this uniform. No way to get out the odor once it gets its hooks into the fabric. Let’s go deeper.”
Ali crept farther inside. “Storeroom. Staff lounge.”
“I give my employees all their breaks!” Mrs. Feng called. “Staff room is top of the line.”
Tom stopped just behind Ali. She hasn‘t had an employee here in years. “Mrs. Feng—please do not come in right now. Officer Najarah, do you hear that? It’s a running toilet.” He patted the side of an old dust-covered cigarette machine. “How long has this been empty? Cigarettes in the break room. Wow.”
“Sounds like the title of a bad mystery novel.” She waved her flashlight at a door. “Over there. The restroom.”
Through a layer of undisturbed dust, their footprints the first signs of humanity in several years, Ali and Tom made their way carefully across the floor to the restroom.
Tom gagged and buckled. He held his side and winced.
“That is not a sore muscle,” Ali said. “Will you get checked out?”
He righted himself. “Yeah.”
“The air is so thick it feels like an overcoat. The odor is stronger here. I can smell it clearly through camphor and a mask.”
Tom wiped sweat from his brow. “I’m going to gag, vomit, and contaminate what may be a crime scene.”
Without knocking, she turned the doorknob and pushed her way past an obstruction. Legs. Legs were blocking the door. “Tommy, we’ve got a body here.”
Tom held his hand over his nose and glanced inward. “Christ.”
Ali cautiously surveyed the large, handicap, all-gender restroom. “He crapped himself to death. I see prolapsed intestines and dried feces on the toilet and covering his thighs.” She depressed her radio. “540. I need the medical examiner to the alley behind Feng’s for body removal.” She took some snapshots. “His eyes are a cloudy red. His balls are the size of grapefruit and dark purple. Everywhere that hasn’t been covered by clothing is black and…”
Dispatch replied in the background.
Tom interjected. “Squishy.”
“Jesus. This smell. Like putrefying warm cheese. Mixed with excrement and copper. I noticed several empty cases of Bud near the entrance. This guy must have a key. There’s no sign of a break in, and oddly, our footprints are the only ones I see. Think he’s a former employee? There are pieces of paper scattered around in here too. Looks like torn pages from a paperback. Maybe he was going to use them as toilet paper.” Ali paused and appeared to calm the urge to vomit.
Tom pointed at the man’s outstretched hand. “I don’t know how long the accumulation of dust takes in a derelict building to wipe out footprints, but ours are the only ones. I don’t even see the telltale pitter patter of the rats we have in this neighborhood.” He paused and mopped his face with his sleeve. “What’s that? He’s got a literal death grip on it.”
Ali could barely get around the body. The swollen, blackened, putrefying corpse took up the entire space. She took a half step in and looked closer at the small box under the man’s outstretched hand. “Maybe it’s a ghost. A ghost would leave no trace. And I say this with true suspension of disbelief.” The deceased’s fingers were shaped around it like claws, and like the floor, the item was covered with the waters of decomposition. “It says it’s magic dust. Very clearly scrawled atop.”
“It didn’t help,” Tom said. He grew very warm and perspired. “I’m going to be sick, Ali.”
“Don’t throw up here. Go outside.”
“Ali, I’m in trouble.” He doubled over in pain, holding his gut, then dropped to one knee, then the floor. A cloud of dust wafted up. It clung to his dark blue uniform far more noticeably than the stank of the decomp.
Ali depressed her radio button. “540. I need a medical unit to my location. Officer ill.” She kneeled beside Tom. “Let’s get you out of here.”
He curled up into a fetal position and cried out. “Something is ripping me in half.”
“Medics are on their way, Tommy. Can you at least let me help you onto your left side?”
“Get me out of here. The medics—don't let the evidence eradication team in here.”
“I’m going to need your duty belt and vest when the medics get here.”
“Whatever. Take everything.”
*
A few moments later, an alarmed Mrs. Feng showed the ambulance crew and police backup unit into the staff lounge area of her defunct business.
“Tom’s sick. I need him transported now,” Ali said.
One of the medics coughed. “Wolfson, you stink, man.” He turned to Ali as he helped roll Tom onto a sheet. “Ali, why are you hanging out with this smelly guy. I shower every day.”
“Not now, Pete. You can flirt later. Just help him, all right?”
“I got him. Don’t you worry. We’ll take him. The medical examiner’s SUV is on the way.” The medics lifted the sheet at its four corners and placed Tom onto a scissor-style stretcher.
"Let me get his service weapon, belt, and vest off,” Ali said. She removed Tom’s Glock and released the magazine. She pulled the slide and cleared the chamber before slipping it into her cargo pants’ pocket. She unfastened the Velco of his vest and then carefully pulled it off. “I’ll have to lock this up in the trunk. He’s had abdominal pain. He’s been perspiring. It came on suddenly unless he’s been hiding it.”
The medic took a quick ear temp on Tom. “There’s no hiding this. He’s got a fever of 104. We need to start an IV and transport him. Follow us to St. Anthony’s. The odor in this place can’t be doing him any favors.”
Ali followed the medics out into the fresh air. She cast a wistful glance at the completely fucked up probable crime scene, then looked around for a superior officer. The sticky odor of death followed her. “Sir,” she said, spying Sgt. Snyder—her acting shift supervisor. “Sir, I’d like to accompany Tom to the hospital.” She made an initial report to him. “Officer Wolfson and I discovered a decomp in the restroom of Feng’s after responding to a complaint of a foul odor.”
Mrs. Feng interjected. “Some bum died.”
“I don’t think it was a vagrant. There’s no sign of break-in. Perhaps it is a former employee. Someone with a key. I’m afraid the scene is going to be quite a mess after Officer Wolfson became very ill. I wasn’t able to move him. Medics entered and there must be dozens of new footprints around the place of demise—though when Wolfson and I entered, ours were the only tracks.”
“Officer Najarah, follow your partner to the hospital. We can secure this scene. Upload your footage and notes.” The sergeant paused. “And, Ali, call me when you know how Tom is.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. The deceased did have one odd item with him. A box labeled magic dust.”
Ali had never followed an ambulance into the emergency bay, accompanying someone she loved before. I love Tom. I really do. He’s my partner, my best friend.
Several medical staff met the ambulance. Ali slid into the law-enforcement parking spot and then met the gurney as it was routed into triage. She rooted through her war bag for any kind of fragrance—anything to cover the smell of death clinging to her uniform. She had a perfume towelette from a bar restroom she’d picked up while grabbing a sandwich. She tore it open and ran it over her vest. Eau de gens d'armes.
“We got the call officer down. At first, we thought Tom had been shot.” The medic paused, then in a very commanding voice, called above the din, “Officer Wolfson, abdominal pain and high fever. IV’s started.”
“I got it from here.” The head nurse wheeled Tom into the ER triage area and recorded his vitals. “You’re not allowed to get sick and die on my watch, Officer Casanova.”
Tom coughed.
The n
urse continued, directing her questions toward Ali. “When did this begin?”
“This morning.” Ali took Tom’s hand.
*
He tried to choke out words. His mouth was dry. “I feel like crap. I think it’s my appendix. The pain is localized on the right side between my navel and lower abdomen.” Tom turned his head. “I’m going to vomit.”
The nurse passed him an emesis bag. “We’ll get you into a gown and a doctor should be right in. Other than an intoxicated person a few suites down, we’re not busy tonight. Yet.”
“There’s a blessing.” Tom would know. He’d been a hospital cop for years. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and accepted a small cup of water. “Ali, would you take my uniform to the station and bring back my street clothes?” He settled into the gurney.
Cops were always attended to first—no matter what else was going on in the ER. I’ll be in and out in no time.
She nodded. “Let the nurse help you into a gown. Just pass me everything. I’ll lock it up for you.”
The ER physician walked in, took a look at Tom, and made a plan. “Get some blood work drawn. White count. And send for the portable ultrasound. Officer Wolfson, I believe you may be correct in your diagnosis. Ready for a little surgery this afternoon?”
“Fuck, no.”
Ali depressed her call button. “540.”
“Go ahead, 540.”
“Show me out for the remainder of my shift. I’m staying with my partner. He’s going into surgery.”
Ali caught Tom as he spasmed. He doubled over into a fetal position, not caring that part of his ass was exposed.
“Start a morphine drip. Get me his labs now,” the doctor said.