Body Box: Adult Paranormal Romance (Supernatural Thriller) (Dark Suspense) (The Smoke & Fire Series Book 2)

by Michele Wesley

  Yala setup a camera to capture the moment, while the doctor aligned the two boxes.

  Dr. Hughes slid box two in place using meticulously slow movements. The boxes fit together perfectly, and as soon as the second box was shoved far enough into the first, a distinct click echoed.

  Yala, as well as Dr. Hughes, was mystified by the sudden connection. Not only had the boxes connected, so had two body parts.

  She and the doctor glanced at each other, confused. They hadn’t seen any magic happen, nor had they seen any sudden movements. She at least expected to see the flesh magically pulling itself back together. Her mouth fell open and close a few times.

  Dumbstruck, Yala released a breath of frustration.

  “I don’t get it. What am I missing?”

  The doctor stared at the box with his mouth slightly agape, not uttering a word as he studied it.

  Yala fingered the small section that joined the two boxes together and found the surface smooth. It was glass. There was nothing special hidden there, and no detectable energy signatures. The glass panes that once separated the body was gone.

  Where? Was it ever there? Was the wood bottom the key? Had the extra glass slid into a secret compartment?

  The only thing they knew for certain was the man’s torso and lower body were reconnected. The only thing they needed to complete the puzzle was the victim’s head.

  A thought occurred to Yala.

  “If we pull this box apart, will it kill this man or simply make him two parts again?”

  Dr. Hughes shook his head.

  “It’s not a chance I’m willing to take. The bigger question is, if and when we receive the head, will this man live? By live, I mean, will he be functional? Brain dead? Paralyzed?”

  Over the years, she’d managed to find ways to become useful and efficient; but Yala was at a loss.

  The fingerprints she’d found, hoping to identify a suspect, hadn’t turned up anything. The SUV on the surveillance footage was untraceable without a license plate. The suspect was in the wind and untouchable because he still had the victim's head. This case was puzzling, to say the least. It wasn’t every day she was presented with something that left no clues or trails to follow.

  She may need help and considered calling her agent friend—Sori.

  Sori was knowledgeable about these types of cases, and one of a few people she looked up to. She’d discovered that Sori was a good person, once she'd gotten past her deadly gaze and her propensity for leaving a trail of bodies in her wake. Since their initial meeting a few years ago, they had been as close to friends as one could be in the secret agent world.

  The fact that Top put her on this case, alone, spoke volumes about her credibility as an agent, so Yala decided she’d use that fact as a source of motivation. She'd somehow find a way to solve this case. For now, though, she decided to hold off on calling for help.

  Chapter 4

  Curious James

  Finally allowing himself a break, Dr. Hughes stepped out to get something to eat, from the only diner open at three in the morning. Driving back to his office, time unfolded and released a rainstorm. The doctor hardly heard the thump of raindrops pelting his car or the screech of the wiper blades because the anticipation of receiving the third part of box flooded his thoughts.

  As he drove into the parking lot, he noticed his assistant’s car, parked and running. The doctor squinted and pushed his glare through the sheets of rain because there appeared to be someone sitting in the passenger’s seat.

  James was likely picking up something he’d forgotten in his office. It was the only explanation for him being at the office at this unholy hour. The doctor knew his assistant well. James harbored a weakness for attractive and available men. His weekends were spent at grungy clubs, seeking out men willing to indulge in one-night stands.

  Dr. Hughes endured James’s stories and was often forced to warn his assistant that he was oversharing. He had given James a week of administrative time off, in an attempt to keep him away from the office and away from the locked exam room.

  Dr. Hughes nearly dropped his chicken-fried steak breakfast, as he attempted to enter the door and dodge the pouring rain. Once inside, he shook off the raindrops. He intended to stop at James’s office, but the cracked exam room door drew his immediate attention. He’d locked that door.

  Dropping his breakfast, along with his umbrella and his heart, Dr. Hughes ran towards the room, screaming at the top of his lungs, “DON’T OPEN THE BOX! DON’T OPEN THE BOX! DON’T OPEN THE BOX!”

  The doctor tore through the door, breathless, still yelling. The thud of his heartbeat, mixed with his shrieking yell, could have been a hook for a heavy metal song. He stood at the door, stopped cold. His glare was glued to James’s hand, holding the box open. Horror seized the doctor, its strong hold stopped his speech and his motor functions.

  The top of the box slammed shut as James jerked his trembling hand away from the latch. Dr. Hughes and James stood frozen as the headless man started to convulse. His legs and arms thrashed about, threatening to break the glass. The stub of his neck rose and fell with sharp jerking motions as if he were being electrocuted.

  Dr. Hughes slammed his eyes shut at the realization that there was nothing he could do to save this man. He reached out a hand and took a few gut-wrenching steps forward. His legs jelled and stalled, moving him sporadically. The doctor possessed the makings of a cheesy actor, acting out a badly written melodrama in a B-movie.

  He gathered his composure by taking a few deep breaths, before walking the rest of the way to the box.

  James remained unmoved and in shock, his face ghost white. His hand thrashed against his chest when he snapped out of his trance. His other hand covered his mouth, as he stared at the convulsing, headless body.

  James was so busy dealing with shock, he hadn’t noticed he’d dropped his black box and spilled its explicit contents all over the floor. He’d been there to pick up something—the box of sex toys he’d forgotten there a week ago.

  Dr. Hughes nearly slipped on a dildo as he melodramatically, still in character, made his way towards the convulsing body in the box. The doctor’s mind was so focused on the Body Box, he hadn’t paid attention to what decorated the floor. His foot swiped a set of ass beads, sending them under the exam table, as he made an effort to get to a victim he knew he couldn’t save.

  By the time the doctor cleared a path through the impressive sex toy collection, the section where the victim’s head should have been had exploded. Blood squirted to the top of the glass and a pool made its way around the victim’s shoulders, covering the bottom of the box.

  James’s body remained still; but his head swiveled, back and forth, between the box and his boss as his hand continued to beat against his chest.

  The victim’s body ceased moving; but every few seconds, the legs would jerk, fighting to hang on to the last strands of life. Each pump of the victim’s heart sent squirts of blood from the arteries in his neck and shot it against the glass like squirts of thick dark ketchup.

  Shock kept James from being embarrassed about his toys displayed all over the floor. He may have been inclined to faint where he stood, if he didn’t work with bodies and body parts on a regular basis.

  His shaky voice inched out of his mouth.

  “Dr. Hughes, I…I…I’m so sorry. I stopped in to get my box. What’s going on? What have I done?”

  Words escaped the doctor. He didn’t know what to do. He took out his phone and dialed Yala.

  ***

  Yala had just climbed into bed when Dr. Hughes called. She’d spent most of the evening harassing the team of mail delivery workers. She’d conducted a thorough search of their facility, which sent her chasing dead-end leads. After she hung up from the doctor's frantic call, she threw on a pair of jeans, a turtleneck, and stumbled out the door as she tugged on her tennis shoe.

  She raced back to the medical examiner’s office, pushing her rental car over the speed limit. S
he shot around to the side of the hospital, like a bat straight from hell. Dr. Hughes’s disturbing call had her stressed.

  When she entered the exam room, her foot swiped a purple ring-like object with spikes on it that seemed oddly out of place. The stench of death coated the air, and she did the last thing she needed to do; take a deep breath. The rest of the scene hit her in the face: the grief-stricken assistant, the sick expression on Dr. Hughes’s face, the black velvet box at the assistant’s feet, and the bloody headless body inside the Body Box.

  Yala had met James a few times when he'd stop in periodically to check on Dr. Hughes. His flamboyant personality was a welcomed distraction given that they worked with death on a daily basis. The sight of James’s personal business, thrown about the floor, aided in a conclusion about what likely happened. This was what she’d feared most—someone, somehow, finding a way into the exam room.

  She took the long way around the room and stood between Dr. Hughes and James.

  There wasn’t much to say. They’d screwed up, and the victim had lost his life.

  Her heart sank, as she fought to appear strong when all she felt was helpless.

  She’d chased ghosts since the day she'd walked into Dr. Hughes’s office.

  Yala was sure, her and the doctor’s reactions drove up James’s anxiety. She swipe at the raindrops that dotted her face and spoke in a calm subdued voice, as if speaking to a child.

  “James, none of this is your fault. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong. This situation is out of our control. We’re at the mercy of a demented killer and all we have left is to examine the evidence. We studied this body in an attempt to figure out what had been done to it.”

  She had no idea how to calm James while hiding the unbelievable truth about the headless body in the box.

  James wrinkled his brow, likely not fully believing what she fed him. The hint of fear hidden behind his glare conveyed he was afraid to know the whole truth. James touched Dr. Hughes’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Doc. I didn’t mean to mess up anything.”

  After he’d gathered his toys, James stood with hunched shoulders and a lowered head.

  “What should I do? I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to open the box. I had an extra spare key and thought it would be okay to run in and get my things. I usually keep this stuff in my car, but when I let my sister use my car last week...oh, God. I feel horrible. I don’t know what I just did. I don’t know what this is all about.”

  Yala reminded him, “Your date is waiting for you. Go home and enjoy your time off. Doctor Hughes and I will take care of this.”

  Dr. Hughes forced words through his barely unclenched jaw.

  “It’s okay, James. Agent Lawrence is right. This situation is out of our control. I’ll call you when you can return to work.”

  James handed Dr. Hughes the spare key and ran from the room, clutching his box of toys.

  Despondent, Dr. Hughes dropped his head and kept it down.

  Yala understood the doctor’s position. He shouldered a mountain of responsibility. He was the person others ran to when they didn’t know how to explain situations like this; therefore, he desperately wanted to save this man. This loss added pressure to an already crushing situation for the doctor.

  Yala felt like a complete failure. She hadn’t tracked any suspects, nor had she secured any promising leads.

  She glared at the victim's bloody body and swallowed a mixture of grief and regret.

  “Identifying him is most important at this point. If we can figure out what his life was like, we may be able to piece this puzzle together and find answers.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the doctor.

  “Do you think the lunatic doing this will send the head? If your theory is correct, Doc, our suspect just became a murderer and is in possession of a lifeless head.”

  Breaking out of his trance, the doctor placed his hand against the side of his neck to stretch it. Yala could hear the cracks and pops of the doctor's tension being released.

  “Let’s hope we receive the head; it may be the only way we can identify this man.”

  Yala phoned in an update to her Top contact. Things had taken a turn; undoubtedly, a turn for worse.

  Chapter 5

  Cause of Death

  The team had spent the last four-and-a-half days fighting to figure out the impossible. Yala and Dr. Hughes were disheartened and disappointed. Damn D-words. What little shred of hope they’d clung to had died with the victim.

  Before removing the body from the box, Dr. Hughes wanted to ensure the man was definitely dead. To Yala, the large amount of blood that had spilled into the box was a clear indication. If this man wasn’t dead before, he was surely dead now.

  It had only been a few hours since James opened the box, but the body had already gone ghost-white and dispelled the odor that marked the beginning of decay.

  Yala assisted the doctor in removing the body from the box. They found, and photographed, an impressive collage of tattoos on the man’s back. After running numerous tests on the body, they found they couldn’t dig deep enough to find the logic that tied the victim's life and death to the box.

  Yala attempted to take the box apart, but it wouldn’t budge. It was fully connected, as if it had never been apart. She and Dr. Hughes scanned every corner of the inside—and the outside—of the mysterious box, and they found nothing more than glass and wood. Whatever made the box special was either gone or had never been there.

  Yala studied the doctor’s movements as he positioned his hands and prepared to make the Y incision on their headless John Doe. It was obvious the doctor had done this on many occasions, only this time it would be on a headless man who’d been alive in his exam room for four-and-a-half days.

  Her eyes squinted, in thought.

  “Doc, what if we’re looking at this all wrong?”

  He cut through the dead skin, like he was making art.

  “How so? This man was alive and didn’t die until that despicable box was opened, like the note stated.”

  She probed around the area where the box was reconnected.

  “What if the magic was never in the box? What if the magic came from the person who made the box? What if this box was all an illusion to keep our suspicions amiss?”

  Doctor Hughes peeled back and pinned a large flap of skin from the man’s chest.

  “If that theory is true, it would be like saying I could bring back the people who land on my table, using my own brand of magic and science.”

  He pinned the second flap of skin open, exposing most of the man’s tissue and chest plate.

  “Yala, I believe in science. I don’t believe in what can’t be explained. Just because I haven’t figured this out yet, doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

  “I understand, Doc, and neither am I.”

  She pointed at the box, shaking her finger at it.

  “The person doing this is a monster. He wants us to know what he can do. He would like nothing more than to be found out, but he isn’t willing to risk what he’s been doing or what he intends to accomplish. He has discovered a unique talent and is hiding behind those boxes. God forbid he does this to someone else.”

  Lost in her own thoughts, Yala paced as she talked.

  “Would the victim have lived, if we had gotten his head reattached to his body? I don’t know, but I don’t believe the magic or science that held him together and kept him alive is in that box.”

  Yala stood, frozen, her mind adrift. She answered the doctor, after finally realizing he’d been calling her name.

  “Yes, Doc.”

  “I can see that you're just as determined as I am to solve this thing.”

  She inclined her head, but her gaze was locked on the box.

  “This has been one of my most difficult cases. It’s also the first time I've had to be an investigator, so it’s a bit of a challenge.”

  She tapped her fingers against her hip.

  �
��I think I have been sending my energy in the wrong direction. Instead of chasing who it is that dropped off the box, I need to look into the kind of person who can pull this off.”

  She started to pace again.

  “I’m willing to bet it’s someone in the medical field. He knows the ins and outs of a human body and knows how much he can put a body through before it goes into shock.”

  Dr. Hughes cut into the man’s chest and checked out his lungs and other parts.

  He paused, scalpel ready to do its job.

  “You’re thinking a doctor did this?”

  Watching the doctor perform an autopsy was not as bad as enduring the scent. Yala cleared her throat and swallowed her nausea. The mask the doctor had given her to wear wasn’t working.

  “Yes. Identifying this victim and researching his ties to doctors or medical personnel could lead us directly to our killer.”

  Dr. Hughes’s lips tilted into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I agree. I can't see anyone without a medical background pulling this off.”

  The victim's official cause of death was decapitation. A sharp blade had passed through the meaty parts of the man’s neck. The scrapings on his bones confirmed that someone had taken the time to saw through them. Further scientific examining proved the man’s parts had been sliced, cut, and sawed. The fact that he’d lived for four-and-a-half days in such a state was a mystery the doctor couldn’t explain. The only thing they considered a fact was as long as that box remained closed the victim remained alive, just like the note stated.

  ***

  While Yala made her rounds, interviewing the hospital staff, Dr. Hughes called to let her know he’d received the victim’s head.

  Yala observed her current interviewee, a doctor so old he probably wrote his prescriptions on parchment paper. Dr. Cox may have been about 150 years old, but his glare was locked on Yala’s chest. She mostly wore conservative clothes; but that didn’t stop wandering eyes, especially not Dr. Cox’s.