The Acceptance s-2

by L. L. Foster

  Through the distortion of her ability, her gift, she saw nothing amiss. Clouds rolled in. The rippling surface of the river turned silver.

  Her pain receded—and under the circumstances, that wasn’t good at all.

  Fresh alarm replaced the hurt; only two things ever caused Gaby’s suffering to abate: Luther’s close proximity, or a missed opportunity.

  Breath catching and knife in hand, Gaby jerked around in her seat, looking out the rear window, searching the landscape, the prickling of scrub brush and dead trees. She saw wide-open spaces. There was no way for Luther to be nearby without her seeing him.

  Relief turned her spine to jelly and she slumped almost boneless in her seat. She didn’t want Luther to see her like this—ugly, murderous.

  More capable than any human being should be or could be.

  The abnormal effect Luther had on her would always leave her agitated. He got physically close, and despite the veil of God’s emphatic instructions, she saw more clearly.

  Rather than the evil within, she saw the human side of her target.

  She saw the destruction she wreaked.

  She saw her own vulnerability.

  Luther affected her as no one ever had. He softened her, robbing her of a crucial edge.

  During weaker moments, Gaby wanted to thank him for that. But when reality crashed around her, she knew it was far too dangerous to let him disturb her vantage over iniquity.

  Shaking her head to clear Luther from her thoughts, Gaby opened her car door and stepped out. Her knees still felt weak, but a humid breeze struck her, thick with the foul odors of the river, and that motivated her.

  As if it had never been, her pain evaporated altogether, leaving her sick at heart and muddled in spirit.

  Raw with regret.

  She was too late—but how could that be? It had never happened before.

  She was always on time. Tonight, she hadn’t even struggled with the summons. The whores hadn’t let her. They were there, observing her, leaving her no choice but to give in and comply before they saw more than they could ever comprehend.

  So . . . what did it mean?

  Had God given her a unique directive? Perhaps, this time, He wanted something aberrant, something other than a total destruction of evil about to corrupt.

  As silent as a wraith, Gaby walked away from the car toward the riverbank, awaiting guidance with each step. The heels of her boots sank into the loamy soil. Weeds prickled her ankles. Mosquitoes thought her a feast and dined on her flesh with gusto.

  Gaby searched the riverbank, the rocks, the washed-up tree limbs, swirling moss and reeds . . .

  Oh God. She went stock-still. She’d seen plenty of dead, massacred bodies.

  She’d done the massacring herself.

  But this . . . this was different.

  The body—a bloated, waterlogged sponge on the shoreline—wasn’t dead by her hand. Someone had killed, and dumped the body, and God sent her to . . . what?

  Find a murderer?

  Maybe before more murders took place?

  Okay, fine. But then, why the awful, wracking pain? Why the urgency?

  From a distance, Gaby could tell that the body had been in the river for the better part of a day. There was nothing urgent in a rotting corpse.

  Unless it was someone she’d recognize.

  Vision narrowing, Gaby stared at the white body while a litany raced around her mind. Please, don’t let it be Luther. Please, don’t let it be Mort.

  She calmed herself and studied what she could see—a rounded hip, a mutilated breast.

  Not a man, but a woman.

  The stench of decayed fish and humid refuse burned Gaby’s nostrils as she inhaled, exhaled, breathed in again.

  Feet leaden with dread, Gaby crept closer. Long slimy fingers of green sea moss teased over the carious body, impelled on each lapping wave, tickling, receding, rolling in and over it again, and again.

  Trepidation took a toll. Gaby forced the approach, and the human form became more distinguishable. Arms. Legs.

  Open, unseeing eyes.

  The torso and thighs were badly cut. All over. Long, thin slices made with a very sharp blade.

  A blade not unlike her own.

  Carver? Was the bastard sending her a message? Had he killed an innocent woman because he couldn’t kill Gaby?

  Mottled bruises almost disguised the features of the deceased, but Gaby recognized her.

  Not just any woman, but a woman she knew.

  One of the hookers.

  An . . . acquaintance, but not really a friend.

  Blinking hard and fast, Gaby forced herself to stay there, to take it all in.

  Could Carver have done this?

  And if so, why?

  If not Carver, then . . . the problem multiplied exponentially.

  Long bleached hair swam on the constantly moving surface of the river, catching on reeds, hiding tiny fish that pecked at the rotting flesh.

  Gaby sniffed, remembering how the other hookers had told the woman that her hair was over-bleached, that it felt like straw. Now, floating around the victim, the hair looked so soft.

  A cloudy film covered the open eyes, but Gaby could see that they were dark brown. It was an odd combination, one she wouldn’t forget.

  She sniffed again, tasting the atrocity of the scene before her. Lucy. Poor, poor Lucy. Her death had been gruesome. Given the shape of the corpse, she’d suffered, a lot.

  Gaby went from gasping in upset, to straightening tall and strong with restorative outrage. Somehow, some way, she’d find out who did this, and regardless if it was Carver or not, she would avenge Lucy.

  That’s why God had sent her here, she was sure. To let her know. To make her aware.

  To put her on guard and to prepare her to act.

  Gaby said a final farewell to the woman she hadn’t known well, but had pitied all the same. She didn’t touch the body. She didn’t dare.

  Her insides clenched and her guts gnarled. She looked around, but this particular section of river was far from picturesque. There were no riverboats, no fancy hotels or restaurants.

  Along the shore, remnants of fishing excursions remained: rotted carp heads, a broken reel, foam cups, and a broken lawn chair. Farther out, empty railroad tracks led to nowhere that she could see. In the distance, tall stacks from a factory billowed thick white smoke in the darkening sky.

  There was no place for someone to hide, but then, at this deserted location, secrecy wouldn’t be necessary.

  Had the body been dumped here, or had it floated here?

  For one of the very few times in her life, Gaby wished for the impossible—she wished for company.

  She wanted Luther. He’d know what to do.

  That made her snort. Luther would take her into custody first, and ask questions later.

  Mind made up, Gaby backed away from the grisly scene. Hating herself and her necessary choices that, at this particular moment, felt cowardly, she went to her car. Sitting inside the open door, she removed her boots and checked the soles for any evidence of dirt or debris.

  Once they were clean, she started the engine and drove in the opposite direction from the motel where she resided. It’d be safer for her to take care of business in a different part of town.

  She found a self-serve carwash and took infinite care in cleaning her shambles of a vehicle, making sure all river mud or indigenous weeds had been removed. There was no one around to see her, no one to later identify her.

  The moon crowned the black sky, again reminding her that she was supposed to meet Luther. Now, there was no reason to rush. He’d be too busy to concern himself with her.

  On a dark, dangerous stretch of road, Gaby stopped at a pay phone. She called the police station and reported the body, giving the sparest of details, and disguising her voice.

  When the officer started to ask questions, she hung up and quickly drove away. Taking her time, she coasted through the slums, making note of children
still at play, drug exchanges, a few fights.

  By the time she parked the Falcon in the lot, the night dwellers had crawled out like cockroaches, crowding every corner, watching every movement for an advantage over another.

  During Gaby’s walk toward the motel, a tall black man hailed her, offering her pills, needles, or whatever else she might need.

  Burning with hatred, sick over Lucy’s fate, Gaby fixed her gaze on his, letting him feel what she felt. He backed up several steps, spewed a few vicious insults her way, and loped off. Someone laughed. Another person screamed.

  Gaby kept walking. There were people who deserved to suffer, and she sensed this was one of those people.

  Dreading it, steeped in guilt, Gaby approached the front of the motel. She had lost one of them when she’d made it her duty to keep them safe. She’d failed.

  And Lucy had suffered because of it.

  As one set of whores exited the motel, several others went in. They stayed busy hustling for johns, harassing those who turned them down, all in all faking an enjoyment that Gaby knew they couldn’t feel.

  With little conversation, she started to go up to her room. Bliss stopped her. “Gaby?”

  She turned, saw Bliss’s upset, and jumped on the opportunity to indulge in destruction. “What’s the matter?” Gaby stomped toward her. “Did someone do something to you?”

  Bliss blinked at her ferocity before twittering a laugh. “No, silly, it’s nothing like that. I’ve had a good night.”

  Meaning she’d made an adequate amount of cash. Gaby’s guts burned. “Then what is it?”

  Reaching out to touch Gaby’s shoulder, Bliss said, “I just wanted to ask about you. If you’re okay.”

  Gaby reared back. What the hell? “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I dunno. You looked pretty sick before and now you look kinda sad. It’s not like you.”

  Looking beyond Bliss, Gaby saw Jimbo standing alone, taking in the exchange with suspicion. Overall, Jimbo treated the women no differently than they expected. Gaby had yet to see him cross the proverbial line, to do anything to engage her wrath.

  Wrapping her fingers around Bliss’s upper arm, Gaby pulled her farther away from the bright streetlamp and into the dark shadows of a door overhang. An outraged cat screeched and vaulted away.

  Jerking in startled surprise, Bliss screeched, too. “Ohmigod. That poor l’il kitty scared me half to death.” She knelt down and made kissing noises. “Here, kitty, kitty. I won’t hurt you.”

  Impatient, Gaby said, “The cat’s gone, Bliss.”

  “Did it look hungry to you?” she asked as she straightened.

  Compassion got a stranglehold on Gaby, all because Bliss was worried about the animal. Not for herself. Not for a lifestyle that put her in peril against nutcases and disease alike. But for a stray cat.

  Another small piece of her heart warmed, melted, and turned to mush. Taking Bliss’s arm to regain her attention, Gaby said, “I need to know something, Bliss.” She cleared her throat, and her mind, and got right to the point. “When’s the last time you saw Lucy?”

  Chapter 5

  Nervously twining a long lock of her brown hair around her fingertips, Bliss said, “I dunno.” She stared up at Gaby. “Why? Are you mad at her for something?”

  Frowning over that bit of absurdity, Gaby asked, “Why the hell would I be mad at Lucy?”

  Bliss’s rounded shoulders lifted. “I dunno. But you look pretty pissed right now.” She licked her lips. “And you’re kinda hurtin’ my arm.”

  Gaby dropped her hand so fast that Bliss stumbled back. Until then, she hadn’t even noted how the girl strained against her hold.

  “I’m not mad,” Gaby repeated evenly, trying to prove it through a moderate tone and temperate disposition. “It’s just that I need to talk to her, but I can’t find her. That’s all.”

  Bliss frowned in thought. “It’s been a couple of days, I think.” She reached out and removed a cobweb from Gaby’s hair.

  Grooming her? Great. Just fucking great.

  Teeth sawing together, but expression as affable as she could manage, Gaby said, “Try to remember, Bliss. It’s important.”

  Lowering her head, Bliss concentrated, and finally said, “You know, I haven’t seen her since the first of the week. Do you think—?”

  Rather than let Bliss’s mind start wandering down the wrong path, Gaby interrupted. “What was she doing when you last saw her?”

  “Workin’, as usual.” Her blue eyes studied Gaby’s hair. “Well, sort of.” Distracted and far too familiar, Bliss urged Gaby to sit on a step, then she went behind her and, after retrieving a tie from her pocket, began finger-combing Gaby’s hair back into a ponytail.

  It was the oddest thing to have another woman touching her, but the hookers were a familiar lot, free with physical contact. They did each other’s hair and makeup, modeled clothes for one another, gave advice, and all in all, grossly intruded into Gaby’s personal space.

  Gaby would never get used to it, but she had learned to tolerate it.

  Sort of working? “What does that mean?” She tried to twist around to see Bliss, but enrapt in her chore, Bliss didn’t release her hair, and Gaby gave up. “Who was she with? Can you describe the guy?”

  “Actually . . .” Bliss put the tie in, securing the short ponytail. “It wasn’t a guy. Lucy was talking to a girl.”

  Whoa. Okay, Gaby knew some of the ladies did whatever, and whoever, for cash. But she hadn’t known Lucy to favor other females.

  It seemed more likely that she’d made an incorrect assumption. She turned toward Bliss. “For business? Or was she maybe chatting with another hooker?”

  “Neither.” Bliss laughed, reached out, and tugged a few strands of hair loose over Gaby’s ears. “There,” she said. “That’s real pretty.”

  Pretty would never be a word ascribed to Gaby. The compliment left her prickly with embarrassment. “Then who was she?”

  “I dunno. I’d never seen her before. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t from around here.” Bliss licked her thumb and wiped a spot on Gaby’s forehead.

  Swatting her hand away, Gaby asked, “Why do you say that?”

  “She was young. Not really pretty, but . . . sort of refined-like.”

  “Dressed fancy, you mean?”

  “No. She was dressed real plain.” Bliss smoothed a wrinkle out of Gaby’s shirt. “The reason I noticed is because—” Suddenly Bliss’s eyes widened and she looked beyond Gaby.

  Gaby stiffened, waited.

  “Gaby.”

  And there it was, that voice she’d never forget, the one she sometimes heard in her dreams, and in her daydreams.

  The voice that made her stomach punchy and her breath short.

  How the hell had Luther gotten so close without her knowing it?

  Bliss met Gaby’s gaze, giggled at her expression, and rolled her eyes. She stood and smiled widely. “Hey there, Luther.”

  “Hello, Bliss. How are you?”

  “Fine, thank you.” She smiled over the formality, which was surely foreign to her.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you two girls during such a fascinating exchange—of words and deeds.”

  Bliss giggled again. “I was jus’ fixin’ her hair.” Around Luther, Bliss’s lack of good grammar became more apparent than ever.

  “You did a beautiful job.”

  Beaming, Bliss asked, “You’re on the wrong side of town, ain’t ya?”

  “For a reason.” Luther’s big hands settled on Gaby’s shoulders with warm weight and outlandish possession. “I’m sorry, Bliss, but would you mind if I had a moment alone with Gaby?”

  Gaby, who still hadn’t turned to face him, couldn’t seem to get her vocal cords to work. How much had he heard? How much had he seen?

  A tidal wave of heat washed through her. Insane! Since when did she give a shit what others thought of her?

  Since Luther, that’s when.

  Before
Gaby could object, the decision was taken away from her.

  “Be my guest.” To Gaby, Bliss said, “We can talk later.” She gave a fingertip wave and headed off.

  Gaby watched as Bliss made an almost immediate assignation with a young man who appeared to be waiting specifically for her. Then she felt Luther’s fingers gliding over her ponytail and she shot to her feet.

  Jerking around to face him, she scowled. “What the hell do you want now?”

  His hand fell from her hair to her cheek and lingered there. Looking at her mouth, now set in hard lines, he said simply, “You.”

  For a nanosecond, Gaby’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Bliss’s presumptuous way of primping her hair was disconcerting enough. For Luther to continually state a sexual desire for her rocked her very foundation.

  Ill humor combusting, Gaby shoved Luther away from her. “Hands off, cop. I’m pissed at you.”

  “You always are.” He smiled and sighed. “So what’s the problem this time?”

  Grumbling, because she couldn’t dare admit to missing him, maybe even needing him, Gaby said, “I doubt you want to hear it, and it’s for certain I don’t want to hear your solution for it, so forget it.”

  “Not this time.” He caught her hand and pressed money, wrapped around a note, into her palm.

  “What’s this?” Gaby started to separate the cash from the slip of paper, but Luther’s hand curved over hers.

  Leaning close, he breathed into her ear, “You’re in disguise as a hooker, if you’ll remember. Well, I’m just keeping up appearances.” His hand tightened. “You should do the same.”

  Heady with the richness of his scent in her nostrils, Gaby took a moment to gather her defenses against his effect. When Luther separated from her again, she looked at his face, and saw too much.

  No one could call her a dummy. Aware of Luther’s urgency, Gaby smiled. “Sure thing.” She stuck the cash and the note in her pocket. “Let’s walk.”

  His body didn’t budge. “I thought maybe we’d go to your room.”

  “You thought wrong.” Her eyes narrowed. “And the next time you go poking around up there, I’ll have something to say about it.”