He rolled over, propping himself up on both elbows and observed.
“Where are you going?” he called to her. He gradually got to his feet.
She continued her advance as if in a trance, commanded by an unseen force. She came to a dead stop as her toes met the rocks on the edge of the shore. There she remained, still like glass.
“What are you looking at?” he asked her, now standing at her side. If she answered him, he didn’t hear her. He peered across the lake and saw nothing. The water was black as night. Its calm surface was still and quiet. Dark ominous clouds lay out on the horizon. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Then everything went dark.
CHAPTER 15
“I thought you said that he’d be here?”
“He should be. I can try calling him again, honey.”
“No,” Jaden said.
“Maybe he got tied up with something,” Mitchell said.
Detective Paul Mitchell came around the island in their kitchen and took hold of his wife’s hands. They were soft and smooth as silk, her complexion a warm chestnut brown. He pulled her close to him, bundling her in his arms.
“I’m just…disappointed,” she murmured softly in his shoulder. She pulled away and looked up at him. “This was supposed to be a cause for celebration. This is a big deal, Paul. I wanted to meet him.”
He nudged her back into his shoulder and stroked her hair. “I know you do.”
“I didn’t go through all this extra trouble…”
He hated to see her like this. Disappointed and frustrated.
“Tell you what, first thing tomorrow, I’ll get to the bottom of it and tell him what’s what, all right? This ain’t no way to treat someone, especially my girl.”
She pulled away, pointing a finger at him. “You better.” There was a hint of playfulness in her voice. “I ain’t no pushover,” she said, and then smirked.
Mitchell smiled. “Nah, you ain’t any pushover, honey. No way.”
“Mommy?” A small voice said just outside the kitchen.
“Yes, dear?” Jaden asked.
Six-year-old Delanna entered the kitchen, carrying her stuffed doll. “There’s a strange man outside.”
“What?” Jaden asked as she looked to Mitchell, who was already on the move.
Mitchell rushed to the door. He moved to the right, slowly pulling open the curtain with a finger. Delanna was right, there was a man out there. The man paced back and forth across their lawn.
Mitchell started to unlock the door, but his wife called out to him. “Paul, what are you doin’? Don’t you be goin’ out there.”
He looked over his shoulder at her and shushed her with his hand. “Take it easy. I’ll be okay.” He checked the window a second time. The figure continued to stumble around in the dark. Mitchell slowly turned the door handle. He sneaked up on the man, moving as quiet as he could, hoping to surprise him. The figure turned, stopping Mitchell in his tracks. It was Berlin. He was drunk, reeking of alcohol, the stench hitting Mitchell’s nostrils like a ton of bricks.
“Berlin,” Mitchell whispered. “What are you doin’ out here?”
Berlin said nothing.
Mitchell examined the street and the neighboring yards. “How’d you get here?”
“I… I don’t…not sure.” Berlin swayed from side to side and attempted to head to the house.
Mitchell nudged him and began to steer him in the opposite direction. “Oh, no, you don’t. Jaden will kill you and me if we bring you in there like this.”
“The leader… he spoke…to them,” Berlin mumbled.
“What are you babbling about?”
“The leader.”
Mitchell grabbed his partner’s arm and threw it over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure he did.” He had to get him out of here.
Think, Mitch, think.
“Their muted faces,” Berlin continued.
“Quiet,” Mitchell told him. They shuffled across the yard, Mitchell guiding him in the dark with one arm around his waist and the other holding tight to Berlin’s arm on his shoulders. Berlin’s head bobbed up and down, side to side, with their steps.
“Naked.”
Mitchell grimaced. “How much did you have? Come on. I gotta get you out of here before Jaden sees you.”
They moved together in the dark, before settling inside the garage. Mitchell threw Berlin onto a couch that was positioned next to the wall. He went down hard, crashing into the couch, so hard that it rocked back on its feet.
“What are you—” Berlin protested, squirming on the couch like a fish out of water.
“Shut up,” Mitchell said. He left him there and returned a moment later with a large glass of water. “Here, drink up.”
Berlin sat up on the couch, took the large glass, and drank. The liquid dripped from the corners of his mouth and onto his shirt.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Mitchell said. “You stay here.”
Berlin nodded, his eyes half shut.
Mitchell headed back outside and ran across the lawn to his house. She was waiting for him by the back door with her arms folded across her chest. She was obviously displeased. He half expected that. “Is he for real?” she asked him. “Did he just show up here drunk?”
Mitchell hurried past her, saying, “Yeah. Delanna okay?”
“She’s fine, Paul, but—”
“But what, Jade?” He called from their large pantry. “I can’t do anything about it. It is what it is. I gotta—I’ll try and sober ’im up.”
“Unbelievable,” she said, still standing at the door.
Mitchell carried a blanket, some towels, and a case of water back into the kitchen.
“I hope he’s worth it,” she said. “I swear this is no way—”
Mitchell cut short in front of her. He looked out at the garage then said, “He is.”
The truth was that Mitchell had no idea. He hadn’t quite figured out Berlin. He was an enigma.
Mitchell reached the garage door and was about to open it when he heard movement from inside. He set the case of water down beside him, throwing the blanket and towels on top, and peeked inside, pulling the door gently open a crack.
Berlin sat cross-legged in the center of the room, sobbing into his hands. “I…I’m so sorry.”
Mitchell watched him for a few seconds and then closed the door, leaving his partner, so that he could fight his demons on his own.
MONDAY
CHAPTER 16
Berlin awakened in the early hours of Monday morning confused and disoriented, although it took him no more than five minutes for him to hightail it out of Mitchell’s garage and get himself moving.
He found his dark blue Ford Crown Vic parked on the side of the road, down the street from Mitchell’s house. It sat diagonally, its rear end jutting out into the street. A note was attached to his windshield behind the wiper blades. It read, “Nice parking job, asshole.”
Later, Berlin got home and immediately felt regretful about last night’s events. He dropped his keys onto the table near the door, threw his rumpled blazer onto a chair, and headed for the fridge.
His mouth tasted foul, a combination of godawful morning breath and booze. He grabbed the large jug of water from inside the fridge, poured himself a tall glass, and guzzled it all down. The phone on the counter chirped at him, letting him know that there were new messages, so he clicked Play.
“Hello, Detective. This is Dr. Coe. Again. Please do get in touch with my office. Thank you.”
His hand hovered over the Delete button. He knew that she was right. He needed to go see her. Before things got any worse.
What am I gonna do?
Mitchell is going to be pissed, he thought. There’d be no denying it this time. No skirting around the issue. It was time to face facts.
He felt weak.
Ashamed.
He ran his fingers through his dark hair, sat the now empty glass on the counter, and headed for the bathroom.
&
nbsp; Fifteen minutes later Berlin came out, feeling fresh and somewhat rested. The bags under his eyes would be a dead giveaway, though. Puffy and pink. He grabbed the phone and dialed the doctor’s office. Her secretary picked up on the second ring. Berlin told her that he’d come by for a session and to make sure that she was available for him. The secretary put him on hold while she checked the doctor’s schedule. She came back a few moments later and told him that it was fine. He hung up and headed straight for her office.
Let’s just get this over with.
***
“I was starting to get worried about you, Detective.”
“Yeah.”
Dr. Maddie Coe sat in front of him. She was the police psychologist that Berlin had been instructed to meet with on a regular basis. It was part of the agreement for him for the move over to Gardens PD.
She watched him closely. He had trouble, looking at her directly. Her gaze was seductive with those piercing green eyes. Blonde hair flowed freely past her shoulders, awash with a mixture of honey and sandy brown. She smelled like citrus and spice with a hint of ginger.
“Did something happen?” she asked. She then waited for his answer. After realizing that he wasn’t going to speak up, she prompted him again. “Joseph?”
“I…uh…I was supposed to head over to my partner’s place last night.”
She sat up straight in her chair, anticipating the discussion. “Right, a Detective Mitchell. You’ve spoken of him before, I think.”
“Well, the funny thing is—” He laughed nervously, scratching at his nose. “The last thing I remember is hearing your message on my machine.”
“I think we can figure this out together. Walk me through it. You came home, checked your messages, and then what?”
“I grabbed a beer.”
She shook her head. “What have I said about the drinking, Joseph? You need to—”
Berlin shied away from her. “I just had a few. It’s no big deal.”
“But it was, wasn’t it? How can you move forward when you keep reaching for the bottle? What are you hoping to find in there at the bottom of that bottle, Joseph? Salvation?”
There it was again. Salvation. Berlin waited her out.
She leaned back in her seat, staring off into space. She didn’t have to say anything. He knew what was running through her head. Disappointment. He’d let her down.
“What set it off this time?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“When you drink heavily something always triggers it. What was it this time?”
“Trigger? There was no trigger, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This is why she probably makes the big bucks. She had him figured from Day One and there was no getting out of it.
She pursed her lips in frustration while she waited for him to engage her.
“You had another vision, didn’t you?” she asked.
Berlin considered what she said. Should he tell her the truth? Ah, who am I kidding. She probably already knows and that’s why she’s askin’. “Yes.”
She brought a finger to her mouth. “What did you see?”
“I’m not sure that I’d do the story justice.”
“Try me.”
“I was in Port.”
She furrowed her brow. “Port? Where you used to work?”
“That’s right. Before being transferred to the Gardens.”
“Was the box there?”
She didn’t miss a beat. His mind instantly traveled back to the street, the trunk appearing right there in front of him in place of the doctor. The fog swirled into the office from all directions, engulfing him and the trunk in its green haze. The horn sounded in the distance. The light spinning…
“Joseph?”
Berlin closed his eyes, swiping the vision away from his mind. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes. Well, no. Maybe. It was more like a trunk.”
She raised a brow. Berlin sensed that she wasn’t following him.
Berlin gestured with his hands. “Like, one of those old-timey things with the big clasps on it.”
She nodded and said, “Ah, yes.”
“I was at the pier down by the marina. It was covered in this thick green fog, like out of a horror movie, but I couldn’t see anything. There was this light, though.”
“Light? From where?”
“It didn’t make any sense. The light…it moved. Like, it was following me or something. I…it was coming from the lighthouse. Ya gotta understand, that damn thing doesn’t even work anymore.”
She thought on it for a moment, brushing a lock of hair back over her ear. “There must be some significance to this lighthouse. You’ve also found yourself near water before… maybe…”
Berlin hurried the conversation on. “I’m not finished. The trunk—”
“Yes?”
He stared at her intently. “A woman got out of that trunk.”
Her eyes opened wide. “What do you mean, a woman? Who?”
Berlin closed his eyes, picturing the dream in his mind, replaying the woman stepping out of the trunk. “She was naked.”
The doctor moistened her lips. “Naked? Who was she?”
His eyes remained closed as he wandered back to the pier, then to the morgue with Dr. Truby where he first saw her on the table. He was looking down at her. She was so beautiful. He couldn’t understand how someone could hurt someone so beautiful. So fragile and delicate.
By the time he took his eyes away from the table, she was standing next to him in the morgue. Not the same woman. No, a version of her. The one from the pier. The green mist surrounded her. It encircled her, as if alive, running through her fingers, under her arms, between her legs. She slinked to him with an outstretched hand. “Joseph,” she whispered to him.
“Joseph,” Dr. Coe repeated in the present.
Berlin blinked, his mouth agape. “Sorry. They were, uh…the same.”
“The same what? What was the same?” She leaned over and touched Berlin on the top of his thigh. “Berlin, slow down. Come back to me. Who was this woman?”
“She was at the morgue. Lying on the table. Dead.”
“The morgue?”
“Has that always been there?” Berlin asked, suddenly noticing a painting on the wall behind her.
She sat up straight, puzzled. “What? What are you—”
“The painting. Behind you.”
Dr. Coe turned her head to look at the painting on the wall. “Yes, I believe so. Why?”
“Huh.”
“Do you like it?”
He studied the painting. It portrayed a group of survivors on a makeshift raft lost at sea. A nearby ship could be seen, approaching in the distance. An black man stood on a barrel, frantically waving a red and white handkerchief, trying to draw the ship’s attention.
The men were rendered as broken and in utter disrepair. An older man lay in front, holding the corpse of a naked man.
His son? Or a brother?
Bodies littered the foreground, waiting to be swept away by the surrounding waves.
There was a sense of life and hope in the painting even though it used mostly dark and murky colors. The sea was cast in dark greens, the figures were pallid and painted in somber brown pigments. In the background, a light beamed from the rescue ship.
Berlin narrowed his eyes. “I…I think so. What’s it called?”
“The Raft of the Medusa,” she said, not missing a beat. “Can we get back to your vision now—”
“What happened to them? Do you know?”
She sighed. “They ran aground on a sandbank off the West African coast. They had to flee, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone in their frigates. Nearly one hundred and fifty people boarded that raft.” She paused, watching Berlin’s reaction to the story. “By the time they were rescued thirteen days later, only fifteen crew members remained. The others were killed or thrown overboard by their comrades, died of starvation, or threw themselves into the sea. They ate their de
ad and killed the weakest.”
He attempted a smile. “Sounds like a fun ride.”
“You jest, but—”
“I’m not an Art Major, Doctor. It’s just a painting to me. I see…I only see what’s right in front of me.”
“I doubt that,” she said plainly.
What was that? Had he said something wrong? “I don’t understand. Why the jab?”
“Your visions, Joseph. You keep having these terrible dreams, but you say that you see everything that’s in front of you. Evidently, you don’t. Otherwise, we’d be able to make some sense of it.”
Harsh.
Berlin stood and stretched his arms. “Look, I think we’re done here. I didn’t let Mitch know I was gonna be late today. I don’t need him ratting me out to the lieutenant.”
She gazed up at him, not bothering to stand or show him out. “All right, Detective. I had hoped to get to the bottom of these visions of yours, but if that’s the way you want to play this then be my guest. Please see Mary on your way out to set up our next appointment.”
“Yeah, I’ll have to think on that, Doc,” he said, slamming the door on his way out.
CHAPTER 17
“Nice of you to show up, Berlin,” Hamilton said as Berlin entered the Gardens Homicide Squad Room.
“Yeah, yeah,” Berlin muttered in reply. He trudged into the room, his head hanging low, his eyes avoiding everyone. Why is it that whenever you want to avoid attention, it somehow always finds you?
The room was a flurry of activity. People moving around, the phones ringing from every direction. The whole thing made his head hurt. Hamilton was sitting down at his desk, handing his partner Merritt a Danish. Some people just never learn. By the windows, Lesser and Fitzpatrick argued over a basketball game. It sounded to him like someone had lost a bet and wasn’t able to pony up the cash. Montoya, the only female in the squad, was talking with a witness at her desk. The witness was a scraggly looking older woman of about forty years. Montoya winked at Berlin as he went by.
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 8