Monstrous (Blood of Cain Book 1)

by J. L. Murray

  “Oh, fuck me.”

  I heard movement outside, a creaking on the porch, the squeal of the screen door hinges. A man called out and I froze.

  “Frankie?”

  Dekker walked into the room, his eyes widening as took in the scene, resting on me, covered in blood and holding a knife. He raised his eyebrows.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “This is not what it looks like,” I said.

  “It looks like you killed two people.”

  “There are dead horses outside, too.”

  “Did you kill them?” he said.

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t kill horses.”

  He frowned. “The people, Frankie.”

  “Oh.” I looked back at Lucy and her husband. “Only one of them. But it wasn’t my fault. Well, it was, but not how you’d think.”

  “How about you tell me what happened,” he said.

  To my surprise, Dekker insisted I go back to my cabin after I told him what happened. When we got inside, he closed the door behind us and looked through the curtains.

  “No one else is here,” I said.

  He turned and looked at me, dark eyes flashing.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “Dekker, this is no time for–”

  “Just listen for once,” he said. “We’re exposed. Now take off your goddamn clothes.”

  I pulled my sticky shirt off, my fingers slipping off the button of my jeans. I dropped them both into a sloppy pile in the sink, along with my still-bloody knife.

  “All your clothes,” he said, nodding to my underwear and bra.

  “They’re not even bloody,” I said.

  “Can’t be too careful,” he said, a glint in his eyes telling me he wasn’t completely irritated. Part of him was enjoying this.

  “Jesus Christ.” I removed my remaining clothes and added them to the pile. His eyes lingered on my abdomen, traveling up and down the grisly scar that started at my shoulders and disappeared into the mound of curly blonde hair below my pelvis. He met my eyes.

  “You get a good look?” I said, narrowing my eyes.

  His mouth curled up on one side into that half smile he had, one dimple appearing. He stepped toward me, reaching his hand out, touching my scar with the tips of his fingers. I closed my eyes, trying to suppress a shudder. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. When I opened them again, Dekker was watching my face, his eyes burning into me. His fingers had stopped moving, but rested gently against my stomach. I could see the pulse in his throat jumping.

  “What’s going to happen, Frankie?” he said.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said. “You should go, I think. You shouldn’t have come. I’m not a good person. I kill people because it’s what they tell me to do, yes. But it’s not just that. I’m good at it. I even almost like it sometimes. Hitching your wagon to me isn’t going to end well for you.”

  “If I wanted a good person,” said Dekker, “I wouldn’t have taken you back to my room that night.”

  “Like you had a choice in the matter.”

  He smiled again. “There’s something you should know, too.”

  “What?”

  His hand moved to wrap around my hip. “I’m not a good person either.” He pulled me in roughly, flattening me against the front of him. His lips were hot when they touched mine, his tongue hotter.

  “I’m covered in blood,” I gasped, Dekker’s hands all over me.

  “You say the sweetest things.”

  “Fair’s fair then,” I said, lifting his shirt up. He lifted his arms and I threw the shirt across the room, flattening my hands over his chest and sliding them down to unbutton his pants. I barely got them down to his knees though, when Dekker gave a groan and lifted me up, crushing me against the wall. I could feel him throbbing against me as Dekker kissed me hard, his hands lifting me up onto him. I cried out, but he buried my shouts with his mouth on mine as he thrusted harder and harder into me, each thrust feeling like he was touching something deep inside of me that had never been touched before. I felt the orgasm coming and I screamed into Dekker’s mouth. I felt like I was being consumed by him, his mouth was merciless against my lips as I came, and I felt him give a deep, ragged grunt as he succumbed, falling against me, pinning me to the wall, his knees giving way for just a moment before he caught himself.

  Panting, he stood up, grasping me against him with a muscled arm around my waist and fell backward onto the bottom bunk. I rolled away from him, dizzy and disconcerted. He was looking at me again in that way he had. His eyes scared me. I felt like I could get lost in those deep, dark eyes, and I had to tear my own eyes away, forcing them to look above instead, at the underside of the top bunk.

  “Frankie Mourning, you’re a witch,” he said, his voice hoarse. “That’s the only explanation.”

  “I try not to think too hard about explanations,” I said, trying to steady myself. What was wrong with me? Why did Dekker make me feel so peculiar? But he did, as if I was just off-kilter, standing on the edge of a building, teetering just the littlest bit. One small push, and I could fall...

  “You’ve got blood in your hair,” he said.

  “What?” He was sitting up, looking around for his clothes.

  “We’ve got things to do,” he said. “You’d better shower.”

  His pants and boxers were still around his ankles and he pulled them up, buttoning his jeans. He walked over and picked up his shirt, glancing at me.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said.

  “We have to do something about these bodies. I’m sorry...” He trailed off, then seemed to give up and pulled his shirt over his head. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. It’s the wrong time and place.”

  “I was sort of a willing participant,” I said, irritated.

  “I just...I want to get this done. You know, so we don’t end up in prison.”

  “We’ve already done enough to land us in prison.”

  “Then so we don’t get caught for something stupid. Let’s just finish this. Then we’ll...” he licked his lips, looking at me. “Then we’ll talk.”

  He gathered up the pile of bloody clothes from the sink and, holding them at arm’s length, took them outside, kicking the door closed behind him.

  He had a point. No one was going to believe I’d accidentally stabbed a woman in the throat after she jumped out of the mirror into Lucy’s body. If anyone could get away with murder it was Dekker, so I’d just have to trust him. I got into the shower.

  When I got out, Dekker was outside burning my clothes in the campfire pit and drinking out of a cheap whiskey bottle. I grabbed the bottle and took a swig, watching the acrid smoke rise into the air.

  “You know, those were my good pants.”

  “You’ll get another pair,” he said.

  “So it’s a cover up, then. That’s fun. Usually I’m two states away by now.”

  “This isn’t your normal gig, though, is it?” he said. “Is that how it usually is? Just kill and split town?”

  “Drive until you can’t drive any more, find a place for a drink.”

  “Is that what I was? Just an opportunity for a drink and a place to sleep?”

  I looked at him. He was staring into the embers with a strange expression on his face.

  “You’re burning my bloody clothes and you want to talk about the basis of our relationship?”

  “So it’s a relationship now.”

  “I don’t know the hell it is,” I said. “You’re the one who stalked me here.”

  “After you stole my car and my wallet.”

  “Now you’re just being romantic.”

  “I’m about to lie to the cops for you, Frankie. I at least want to know you’re not going to screw me over.” He met my eyes. “Again.”

  “Why would you talk to the cops?” I said, straightening. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “What else are we supposed to do? Someone’s going to notice the rotting corpses eventually. And it’s pre
tty well-known you’re staying here. Everyone in the bar knows, right?”

  “Just burn it down,” I said. “Case closed.”

  “Burn it down. And then what?”

  “Then nothing. Walk away.”

  “Looks pretty suspicious, a house burning down and the only renter just disappearing. What are you going to do with the horses?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know,” I said, irritated at his tone. “Shove them in the barn and burn that, too. What does it matter?”

  “It’s your life, Frankie. Don’t you care?” He was watching me.

  “So you don’t want me to run,” I said, “and you don’t want me to solve the problem.”

  “Burning the house down is not solving the problem.”

  “Says you.”

  “We have to call it in,” he said. “It’s the only way I can see out of this.”

  “Goddammit, Dekker,” I said, taking a good long swig off the bottle. The whiskey was terrible. I didn’t even recognize the brand name. He took it from my hand, his eyes narrowed, and drank deeply. When he lowered the bottle he made a face, shuddering.

  “That is vile,” he said. “Frankie, you’ve got to trust me. I can help you. You helped me, now let me help you.”

  “When did I help you? Are you talking about sex?”

  “The car and the body are gone. And you’ve...told me things. The mirrors. Things about yourself. I don’t think you’ve ever told anyone.”

  “Fine. Call the cops. I don’t care. Death row was like a vacation compared to this shit.” I took the bottle from Dekker and drank until I felt my stomach turn. When I gave it back, half the bottle was gone and I was finally feeling more relaxed.

  “Already called them. But put your shit in the trunk of your car. Just in case.”

  “Goddammit.”

  “You got somewhere else to be?”

  I thought about the lake, about Rebecca warning me not to go there. Lucy saying the monster only wanted me from the very start. That the deaths were going to get worse. So I had to get to the lake. But I had to do this first.

  “No,” I said. “Nowhere at all.”

  chapter eleven

  T

  he cop car rolled in without flashing lights or siren at around ten in the morning. It cruised in, crunching gravel, and a short, round man with a receding hairline got slowly out of the car. He scanned the area, moving his eyes around the campsite, where they landed on the main house. He hitched up his pants. I knew him.

  Sheriff Joe Davis lived in Helmsville since before I was born. He’d been a friend of my father’s, but they had fallen out of touch when things had gotten so bad at home. Joe brought me back to my mother three times after I’d run away, after my dad died. He picked me up once on the freeway trying to hitchhike, once trying to board the Greyhound that stopped in St. Thomas, and the third time he pulled me out of Shawn’s father’s house kicking and screaming. It was years ago, of course, and I wasn’t the raven-haired teenage rebel I used to be. I wasn’t worried about him recognizing me.

  “Showtime,” said Dekker.

  Dekker walked out of the cabin, a sober look on his face. I watched from the door as he thrust a hand out, which the sheriff looked at dubiously before grasping it with his own and shaking it.

  “Ron Fisher,” I heard Dekker say confidently. “Nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

  “You the one who found them?” said Sheriff Davis. He pulled a battered pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and knocked one out, bringing it to his lips, fishing in his pants pocket for a light and finding one.

  “No, my wife,” said Dekker, nodding towards me. I raised a hand in a wave, resisting the urge to walk over and knock the cigarette out of Davis’s lips just to see the smarmy look disappear from his face.

  “Sorry you had to see that, ma’am,” he said. “Not a sight any lady should have to witness.”

  I covered the laugh with a cough and, recovering, said, “Yeah, I’m sure not going to get that sight out of my poor little head for some time. I nearly fainted. I had to loosen my corsets.”

  Dekker glared at me, but the sheriff didn’t even seem to hear what I said. He was looking out at the main house, blowing out cheap cigarette smoke through his nostrils.

  “You folks just passing through?”

  “Vacation,” said Dekker, smiling.

  “Vacation?” Davis smiled, interested.

  “It’s our first anniversary,” I said, coming out and looking at Dekker adoringly. “He’s a big fisherman, so he’s out all day playing with his worms.”

  “Fishing, huh?” said Davis. “I could take you to some spots no one knows about, if the lady will let you out of her sight.” He winked at me. “Caught some nice trout over by Riverbend last weekend.”

  “That so?” said Dekker. “So these dead bodies...”

  “Ah, right. Down to business,” The sheriff wrinkled his nose as if annoyed. He ground his cigarette out on the gravel. “So there’s been an accident, huh?”

  “The wife here found them,” said Dekker, throwing an arm around my shoulders and nearly bowling me over. I elbowed him in the rib cage as I reluctantly put my arm around his waist.

  “I’m real shook up,” I told the sheriff.

  “Well, with these matters, your health is what you should be concerned about right now.” He nodded at me sagely. “Why don’t you folks go grab a drink and a meal down at the Pinecrest. I’ll look into this matter. Don’t want the little miss getting sick now, do we?” He smiled with gray teeth.

  “You want us to leave the crime scene?” said Dekker, letting his mask slip. I felt him tense up under my arm. I nudged him with my hip.

  “We’ll do that, Sheriff,” I said. “I am feeling peckish.”

  “Don’t you want our identifications?” said Dekker, a hardness in his voice. “I’m no detective, but that house looked like things got pretty messy.”

  “These things are rarely homicide,” said the sheriff, shaking his head and smiling. “People watch all these crime shows these days, think everything’s murder. Probably just an accident, is all. It’s like you said, Mr. Fisher, you’re no detective. You seem like good folks, I don’t want to ruin your anniversary. Go celebrate. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  Dekker was staring at the man and I could practically feel the anger coming off of him. I gave him a push toward the car and he looked down at me like he’d forgotten I was there.

  “Come on, honey,” I said between gritted teeth. “You heard the nice policeman.”

  “It’s Sheriff, ma’am,” Davis said. “But with a pretty face like that, you can call me whatever you like.” He winked at Dekker, as if in congratulations.

  “Isn’t that sweet,” I said, my stomach turning. I’d gotten Dekker to move his feet, and he woodenly walked to the Challenger. “We’ll just talk to you later then, Sheriff.” I turned to Dekker, glaring at him when our backs were to the sheriff. “What is wrong with you? Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “What the hell is going on in this town?” he hissed back. “He’s just letting us go? He didn’t even ask your name.”

  “Do you want to go to prison, Dekker? Get moving.”

  “There a problem, folks?” We turned to see the sheriff smiling at us. “Little lover’s spat? Well, let me tell you what worked for the wife and me. Don’t go to bed angry. Twenty-two years that’s been working for us.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” I said. “But going to bed angry is how we like it. Spices things up if you know what I mean.” I winked at him this time and watched as his face turned red. He turned away, muttering under his breath as he walked toward the main house.

  I got into the driver’s seat and felt Dekker’s eyes on me. I started the car, then looked at him. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just, you’re amazing.”

  “I grew up with assholes like him. Nothing they hate more than a modern woman.”

  “Something’s wro
ng here, Frankie,” he said. “That sheriff. I call in a homicide and the sheriff comes? Alone?”

  “He’s local,” I said. “It’s always him out here. It always has been.”

  “Alone?”

  “I usually avoid the law. Unless I’m plying them with alcohol and getting them to tell me what I need to know.”

  “Real sentimental type.”

  “I get the job done,” I said, shifting into third. “It’s not a life I chose, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  Dekker was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “I know.”

  I needed to get to the lake. I needed to find the Kroger twins. I needed to talk to Beatrice to ask her if she’d learned anything else. I needed a lot of things. But right now, I wanted a drink and an actual meal. I’d been subsisting on dusty granola bars I’d picked up at a gas station. My last hot meal had been the pork rinds Roo had served me.

  “Let’s get drunk,” I said.

  “Really.” Dekker frowned at me. “That’s the best thing we can do with our time right now?”

  “I’m not really good at time management,” I said. “Besides, we need to figure out this shit.”

  “Nothing better than alcohol to untangle a twisted web of supernatural homicide.”

  “Okay, Negative Nancy,” I said. “At least we can eat. I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” he admitted. “Okay. A drink and a meal.”

  “Besides, we’re going to need the sustenance. I have the feeling this is just getting started.”

  I pulled into the Pinecrest and parked the car. The day was heating up, the sky a brilliant blue, but all I wanted to do was sleep. There was a shiny green Cadillac with its engine running in front of the bar. Someone was leaning over, talking to whoever was inside. As the person stood up, I recognized Roo’s spiky hair. I got out of the car and she looked over and waved. She leaned down and said something to the driver, and the Cadillac’s headlights came on, wheels spinning on the gravel as the car swerved away at top speed. Roo smiled widely, walking over, but when Dekker got out of the car, the smile slid from her face.