by Angie Sandro
Okay, the joke’s gone too far. “How the hell do you expect me to believe that? You said I was almost dead when brought in. How did I heal?”
Gabriella grabs my arm and shoves up the sleeve. “Look, you can barely see the scratch, and it’s only been four days.”
I stare at the fading mark, remembering the sound of the knife as it scraped against bone. My hand touches my chest. The scar from the knife wound can be felt through my sweatshirt. “I’ve always been a quick healer,” I argue, but only because I don’t want to admit out loud that I’ve turned into a freak of nature.
Charles rolls his eyes. “Not this fast, Dena. According to your chart, given the amount of blood loss you suffered, your wounds were much deeper than scratches.”
He laughs, but it has a hysterical quality to it. I guess learning his ex-girlfriend has turned into a mutant, like the superheroes from his X-Men comics, would be hard to process, but he works through it. “I bet the doctor is salivating at the idea of finding a way to reproduce this chemical. He could make a lot of money patenting a miracle cure.”
The word “salivating” reminds me of the licking man. My wounds tingled as he licked them, and I sucked on his tongue, letting his saliva roll down my throat. My body heats with the memory. Lord have mercy, what did he do to me?
I rub the perspiration off my forehead before taking a deep, calming breath. “Why didn’t Dr. Estrada tell me about my super-healing ability and the mystery element when I was in the hospital?”
Charles studies my face, scowling as if he doesn’t like what he sees. “I don’t think the lab reports were back yet. I’m pretty sure, yeah.” He pauses, reading the report. “Dr. Estrada shared his suspicion with Anders, but until he had proof, it was just a theory to explain how quickly you healed. You were released from the hospital less than twenty-four hours after being stabbed, Dena. That should’ve told you something. Plus, I doubt any of this is known to anyone not working on this case, meaning only the doctor, lab technicians, Anders, and now us.”
I take a deep breath. “Damn, I feel like I’m on The X-Files.”
Gabriella grins. “I’m Mulder and you’re obviously Scully—since you can’t see what’s staring you right in the face. So now what? Do you remember how you came in contact with the special juice?”
My cheeks heat, and I duck my head. I wondered if I’d been saved by accident—a case of being in the right place at the right time. I guess I’ve got my answer. The guy put a lot of effort into healing my wounds. He licked special juice all over my body. Yum.
“Lucky, I guess.” I avoid my friends’ eyes, feeling guilty for deceiving them. As much as I want to share my experience, I can’t betray him without betraying myself. “At least I know more than I did before and that’s because of you, Charles. I really appreciate your willingness to help me, especially after I burned all your Battlestar Galactica DVDs.”
Charles glances away in embarrassment, or more likely, anger. He loved those DVDs more than he loved me. It had crushed him to find out they were gone, as intended. I don’t know why I brought them up. Maybe subconsciously I still want to hurt him. Or I’m a bit sadistic and enjoy watching him squirm. He did cheat on me.
I lay my hand on top of his and squeeze. “Thank you.” Next paycheck, I’ll buy him the complete BSG series to pay him back.
His cell phone goes off. I pull my hand away and hide my snicker at the ring-tone—the chirp of a phaser. From the one-sided conversation, I gather that Vanessa’s displeased about coming home to an empty house and orders him to return.
Gabriella walks him to the door while I remain seated at the table with the open file. I plan to spend the night reading through it. Maybe I’ll find some clue to explain why I keep murdering people in my dreams. And I’ve no intention of falling asleep and having a recurrence of the previous evening’s midnight stroll. Good thing I’m stocked up on my coffee supply.
Gabriella returns, takes one look at me, and slaps the laptop closed. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not spending all night on this. The reason I moved in is to keep an eye on you.” She pulls a bell, dangling from a pink ribbon, from her pocket. “I’m a light sleeper. If you open your bedroom door, I’ll hear this ring. I’ll keep you from leaving the house, even if I have to sit on you.”
I stare at the bell. “Uh, I don’t know. Are you sure about this? ’Cause really…I have coffee. I’m sure I’ll be able to stay awake.”
“Sleep is what you need and what you will get. Though just in case, I suggest you wear warm clothes to bed. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
* * *
I wake up crying and stuff the pillow in my mouth so I won’t disturb Gabriella. Sweat soaks my entire body and bedding. My skin feels hot to the touch, as if cooking from the inside out, like the men from my dreams, and horror fills me. Not just the horror of the dreams themselves, but the horror of the spirit’s existence. With each dream, we become more connected. Each night I catch a ride in his thoughts and drown in the power of his desperation. At first, our thoughts tangled with no separation. Over time, I’ve learned to tell the difference between the spirit’s thoughts and my own.
But sometimes a third element intrudes that makes it even more confusing. Those dreams are full of rage, nothing but seething hate. When trapped in that dream, I can’t think because he doesn’t think or reason. In those dreams, chaos rules, and only primitive thoughts of hunting, killing, and feeding prevail. He exists on pure instinct.
Knowing his identity and how we became connected, I can’t help but be terrified…for him. Little by little, he loses his battle to control his hunger. If he loses completely, no one will be safe. He’ll rage without restraint, and I don’t know how to stop him.
In tonight’s dream, he remembered me. The memory of the alley crystallized in his mind. So he’ll be searching for me. I’ll have to act fast to save him. Not that I’ve got any idea of what I’ll do once I find him. What does one do with an avenging spirit of death…worse, a slightly insane spirit of death? Invite him home for tea and cookies? Not likely. Gabriella would throw a fit.
I sigh and roll out of bed. First, I need to find him. I wore sweats to bed. No more nightgowns, especially when at risk of being discovered by a sexy but annoying detective. I throw on tennis shoes and a turquoise raincoat. My fingers freeze inches above the doorknob when I remember the blasted bell.
“Fantastic,” I whisper, turning in a full circle like a bloodhound searching for an elusive trail. The streetlight outside my window casts an orange glow over the room. “This is the worst idea—ever.”
Yet, I eye the window. It’s not that high. If I fall, I probably won’t break any bones. I slide the window up and lean out. The ground’s a million miles away.
“This is an incredibly stupid idea…” With a deep breath, I climb onto the ledge. My body shakes so badly that I almost tumble out headfirst. After a couple of deep breaths, I grip the window ledge and twist around. I walk my feet down the side of the house. Too bad I can’t stick to the wall like Spiderman.
I realize a bit late that I didn’t plan further than me hanging from the ledge like a drunken bat. My feet dangle over empty air, and my fingertips ache from gripping the window ledge. I can’t let go ’cause I really will land on my head, which upon reflection might knock some sense into me. I order my fingers to unlock, but they’ve got a mind of their own. It isn’t until I lose all feeling in them that they release, and I fall.
I slam into something hard, but softer than the ground. Arms wrap around my back and a hand presses my face against a firm chest, protecting me as we tumble down a slight incline. We come to a halt with me stretched down the length of a muscular body I know even in the dark.
“Anders?” I touch his squared jawline with my fingertips and then trace the contours of his sharp cheekbones to brush across his sealed eyelids. “Are you hurt?”
I try to roll off him, but his arms tighten around me. He’s hugging me again. My nose rests between the
crease between his neck and shoulder. My mouth begins to water as each inhalation brings his scent, a mix of spice and chocolate. Does he taste as good as he smells? I want to know. One lick. The tip of my tongue flicks across his velvety smooth skin. It’s the tiniest of tastes, barely noticeable, but he stiffens beneath me. Not just his upper body, but…Oh God, I feel him. All of him. His lengthening shaft presses against the pulsing heat between my legs. I squirm with embarrassment, but rubbing against him only drives home the fact that Anders is the perfect fit. He can unlock a part of me which I’ve kept sealed off for a very long time. Holy hell, what is he doing to me?
I ball my hands into fists, struggling not to unzip his jeans. My fingers itch to caress him. My heart races in the silence. It dawns on me that Anders has released his hold around my waist. I wiggle, inching upward until I’m straddling him. He sucks in a deep breath, and my thighs clench. Dumb, dumb move, Dena.
Anders’s hands still cup my butt cheeks, searing the imprint of his palms through the thin cotton. “Can you get your ass off of me? I can’t breathe,” he mutters, with a tortured groan that’s like a slap to the face. Jerk. I don’t weigh that much. But the way he’s carrying on, you’d think a Mack truck fell on him. Nobody asked him to catch said ass. He’s the one who copped a feel first, but now he’s playing the innocent victim. Well, fine. If he wants to pretend like he doesn’t feel the spark between us, then I can ignore it, too.
With a curse, I roll onto the ground. “What the hell, Anders. I could’ve broken your back.” I rise up on my knees and brush the dirt off my sweatpants. “What are you doing in my yard? Stalking me?”
“No, I thought I was saving you,” he says, still lying prone. He makes no effort to get up. “Mind telling me why you were climbing out of a two-story window? Don’t you have a front door?”
“It’s called sneaking out. Not that it’s your business. Do you plan on lying there for the rest of the night or should I call an ambulance?” I pull out my cell phone and shine the light across his face. Oh dear, he doesn’t look well. Maybe I did take advantage of his incapacity. “Are you okay, Anders?”
He lies there blinking up at me with a glazed look to his eyes, and then, suddenly, he grins. “You really are insane. I never know what you’re going to do.”
“Glad you find me amusing. Look, do you want to come in for a bit and recover?”
Please say no! Please say no!
“I’m on duty tonight.”
Relief flows through me.
Anders must not appreciate whatever expression crosses my face because he scowls, saying, “But I can come in long enough for you to explain where you were going. And how you knew I was watching your house.”
I jump to my feet. “You really were watching my house?” The house in question brightens as a light comes on in the kitchen window. “Great, you woke Gabriella. You’re in trouble now, buddy. She’s gonna be pissed to find out you’re staking out our home.”
“I bet she’ll be more upset when she learns you snuck out. I assume you have a good reason for that. Hmm…no? I didn’t think so. Maybe we should keep this between ourselves and leave Gabriella out of it.”
“Fine,” I whisper. “We’ll discuss this later!”
The back door opens, and the porch light comes on to illuminate the yard in its bright glow. Gabriella stands at the door, staring at us with a dumbfounded expression on her pixie-like face. “What the heck’s going on?”
“Midnight tryst,” Anders says with a grin. He slaps me on the bottom and laughs when I yelp in surprise. “Babe, help me up? Please?”
Babe? Gah, how cheesy.
I can’t pull this off. And knowing how much I despise Anders, Gabriella will never believe such an obvious lie anyway.
Gabriella giggles. “I knew it. I knew you had the hots for each other. All those insults and smoldering glances. I thought you guys would set each other on fire…Oops,” —She slaps a hand over her mouth— “well, not literally. Dena cannot set fires with the power of her lustful thoughts.”
I grit my teeth. “Detective Anders dropped by to make sure I wasn’t out murdering anyone in my sleep. As you can both see, I’m wide awake and in perfect control of my faculties. So I’ll bid everyone good night.”
“Dena?” They say in unison with the exact same tone of exasperation.
“I said good night!”
I sweep into the house, trying not to cry. Time is slipping through my fingers. I had a specific plan for this evening. My continuing mission, a matter of life or death. If I don’t boldly go…I trail off with a sigh. Star Trek won’t help me get past Anders and Gabriella. I can’t just beam myself out of the house. If I don’t find the spirit soon, someone will die, and I’ll be connected to him when he kills. I can’t handle seeing another man murdered.
CHAPTER 8
Charbroiled Squirrel
Since Gabriella and Anders appear content to remain in the backyard, I leave through the front. I can’t take my truck without Anders hearing the engine so I run, although I’m not sure at first where to go. I move on pure instinct, but after some time I realize I know exactly where the spirit hides. He sings to me, and something buried deep and primal in my body answers. Tense expectation fills me at the prospect of being with him again and feeling that intense euphoria I associate with his touch. My skin feels so tight that it burns with anticipation.
Pockets of mist obscure the road as I head toward the outskirts of town. I’m so focused on where I’m going, I don’t see the two men standing beneath muted street light until a low voice calls out to me. Fear washes away my desire, and I stumble back. The men look like gangbangers. Who else would be lurking about on a street corner in the middle of the night with bulges beneath their jackets and danger oozing from their pores?
I hold up my hand to ward them off, like that will deter them. “Look,” I say, “I don’t want any problems. I’ve been attacked once already this week, and I can’t afford another trip to the hospital. So do me a favor and find someone else to mess with.”
The little guy with the pencil-thin mustache has the nerve to laugh. “Why don’t you do us a favor, come on over and show us some respect?”
“No, thanks.” My shaky smile shows I’m friendly, but not that friendly. “You’re probably all kinds of charming, and that knife in your hand is pretty impressive. If I wasn’t meeting someone, I’d be all over that. But I’ve got to go.”
“He gonna be as good to you as we will, beautiful?” He slinks toward me, like he stalks prey on the African Savanna.
“Well, I’m pretty sure his plan doesn’t involve rape and murder.” I glance around for help. The empty street has me wishing Anders would magically appear for one of his impeccably timed rescues. “Look, I’m warning you—I know karate. I learned it from The Karate Kid. Really, I don’t feel like kicking anyone’s ass today. But I will go Kung Fu Panda on yours if you keep heading in my direction!”
The bigger of the two guys bursts out with a laugh, leaning against the wall. “Leave her alone, Squirrel. I don’t feel like getting my ass handed to me by a little girl,” he says in a deep French Creole accent. He shakes his dark, bald head and motions for his friend to follow.
Squirrel doesn’t seem to be as impressed by the power of my threat. The two men square up, face to face. Their eyes battle in a silent clash of wills. My heart races, and I rise onto the balls of my feet, ready to sprint if things get dicey. I’d be running already if I wasn’t afraid it would trigger the little guy into giving chase. It’s doubtful I can outrun him. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Squirrel breaks eye contact first. The big guy wins, but when his gaze meets mine, I can tell it was a close call. I got very lucky.
Squirrel rubs a hand over his crotch like a demented mini-Michael J. “For sure, some other night.”
The men almost reach the end of the street when the big guy turns back with a warning. “I know you’re tough and all, but there’s some strange shit going on. People dying. You should ge
t off the street. There’s a mission down on E Street that takes in girls. I bet they have a bed open.”
I blink at him. What about my outfit screams homeless chick? “Thanks for the tip. Uh…be safe.”
He waves over his shoulder, then disappears into the fog. My earlier urgency to find my shadow man fades with my adrenaline rush. I turn in a circle, trying to figure out where I am. I’ve never spent much time in town. And never in this part of Paradise Pointe.
Goose bumps break out on my arms from the sweat drying on my skin. The sharp, ozone scent of rain fills the air. Beneath those scents hangs the sulfuric taint of stagnant water. The bayou. Home.
I want to go home. Not to Pepper’s house, but back to my piece of swamp. If all this craziness has to happen, I’d rather deal with it on my own turf. I’m a swamp girl, not a townie. Never will be. Yet here I am, without a real plan, trying to find a murderous spirit based on the feelings invoked by a nightmare? I should have my head examined.
With a sigh, I turn and trudge back the way I think I came, kicking myself for being so stupid.
Then I hear screams.
Most people, those with common sense and the instinct for self-preservation, would run in the opposite direction of blood-curdling cries. I’ve heard screams like this before, and I know what makes them—a man being immolated—and worse, I recognize his voice.
When I arrive, the little gangster’s still smoking like a rack of baby back ribs, right beneath the arched gateway to the cemetery.
The big guy crouches next to his friend’s body. “It went right past.” He stares up at me with wide eyes. “As if I wasn’t standing right here. It went past to get Squirrel. Like…it didn’t even see me.”
I walk over to him. The stench forces me to breathe through my mouth, but even that is disgusting. Charbroiled Squirrel coats my tongue. I concentrate on forcing my stomach to settle down. “What’s your name?”