by Melinda Colt
Chelsea was silent for long moments, pondering his question. Finally, she answered in a thoughtful manner. “As an educated person I can’t say I believe that. I think humans are energy, and as soon as we cease to exist in one form, we are… recycled, so to speak.”
“Reincarnation?”
“Something like that. I don’t have a definite hypothesis on the subject.” Her brief smile faded slowly. “However, I can understand why people need to believe their loved ones are never truly gone. When you lose someone dear, it’s very difficult to accept they are lost forever. I understand why some people seek to create ways to communicate with the dead, everything from spiritualism to holidays like Halloween.”
Evan detected a trace of painful emotion in her voice. As he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, he saw her face bore a cloak of sadness. He wasn’t sure if he should pry, but if she needed to talk about something, he wanted her to know he was there to listen.
“Have you ever lost anyone dear, Chelsea?”
She moistened her lips before she spoke. “Aye, I did. My mother. She killed herself when I was twelve.”
“I’m so sorry.” Evan cursed himself for opening the subject in the first place. As he stopped for a red light, he gazed at her, wanting to apologize. But she didn’t seem to mind his being nosy.
In fact, she continued to speak, staring out through the windshield, her eyes illuminated by the streetlights.
“She had schizophrenia and was misdiagnosed at first. The doctors gave her some drugs that only altered her condition and pushed her into severe depression. When she didn’t get any better, my father urged her to go to another psychiatrist who changed her medication. After her death, we discovered she hadn’t taken it. She wrote in her diary that she was afraid to take any more pills, in case they might damage her mind even more. She mentioned hearing voices, having hallucinations, losing track of time and forgetting things… Most of all, she was sad because my father neglected her and me. In the end, she couldn’t take it anymore. All she wanted was for the sadness to end. So she ended it.”
The silence in the car was heavy. Even the GPS—SatNav as Evan remembered they called it here—had fallen quiet because they had reached their destination. He parked in front of the club, but didn’t interrupt Chelsea. Now that she had stopped speaking, he wasn’t sure what to say. In the end, he reached out a hand and placed it over hers. Her fingers were ice cold, so he squeezed them harder.
“I’m so sorry, Chelsea.” He paused to choose his words and push aside his own grief. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent, but I imagine it’s worse when it’s their choice.”
Her attempt at a smile wasn’t quite successful. “It’s okay. It’s been a long time since it happened. I can’t say I’ve made peace with it, but I’ve learned to cope.” She squeezed his hand back, then released her seatbelt. “Tonight isn’t for bad memories, and I don’t plan to be lousy company. Come on, let’s have some fun.”
Evan watched as she climbed out of the car. He’d wanted to say something else to comfort her, but he sucked at these things. His relationships with women had always been simple, and this sort of sentimental depth was foreign to him. Maybe the only way to help Chelsea was to be a fun partner tonight and make her forget the bad things, even for one night. Sighing, he climbed out of the car and followed her to the entrance.
The club was a fancy one with private parking, right in the city center, on the shore of the River Liffey. It was an old, two-story brick house that looked majestic and spooky in its Halloween decorations. Lights flashed from the inside, revealing skeletons and ghosts at every window. As they entered, a whirl of smoke and lights enveloped them, along with the bass vibration of pumping music. The space was huge, crammed with people dressed in imaginative costumes, from aliens to vampires, to Catholic school girls and pirates. Some were dancing, some were drinking at the bar, which was decorated with spider webs and fake blood.
“Let’s get drinks,” Evan shouted in Chelsea’s ear.
She nodded, and he placed his hand firmly on the small of her back to guide her toward the bar. Even among all the attractive women—some of which were half-naked—he noticed several men’s gazes were drawn to Chelsea. She looked fantastic, her costume simple but incredibly effective. The tight leather reflected the flashing lights when she moved, outlining her body in a stunning way. As she slid onto a bar stool, the light toyed over her thighs, her hips, her shoulders. Evan realized he was licking his lips.
He blinked several times and focused on the bartender, noticing the young man’s zombie makeup was quite convincing. Chelsea ordered scotch on the rocks, and Evan asked for non-alcoholic beer. He hated the taste, but since he was driving, it was the safe choice.
He turned to Chelsea, only to realize that conversation was impossible because of the music. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He was content just to sit there and observe. He loved the old architecture, which was so well maintained. It was one of the things he liked most about Europe. This building alone was probably older than the United States—their official history as a country anyway. Through the dim light he saw iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and fake witches cleverly made to look as though they were flying around. There was a set of stairs at the other end of the room, and he wondered where they led.
A girl dressed as a belly dancer moved to the bar and as she passed she rubbed her body against him. He didn’t know if it had been deliberate, but he was embarrassed to see the corner of Chelsea’s mouth twitch in amusement. Maybe she felt he needed rescuing because she leaned over and asked, “Wanna dance?”
“Err… Sure.”
He put his beer on the cherry wood bar and followed her toward the thick cloud of smoke and into the sea of dancers. He wasn’t into dancing, had never been comfortable doing it, but the semi-darkness helped his confidence. Besides, it was surprisingly easy to match his movements to Chelsea’s. She seemed very at ease, even happy. He’d never guessed dance was one of her passions; as he watched her move and abandon herself to the music, he realized she loved it. That spurred him on, lifting his mood, boosting his spirits. There was something primitive about dancing, about the mass of bodies moving each in their own rhythm, creating a wave of almost palpable energy.
The music changed and the DJ dedicated the slow version of Santana’s Black Magic Woman to all the ladies in the place. As the exotic guitar filled the air with magic, Chelsea smiled, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back. Evan couldn’t resist. Unthinkingly, he drew her into his arms, moving his body in tune with hers. Their shoulders glided together, their hips undulated close together. The music was like a drug. His hands tightened on her hips, traveled up her back, enjoying the exquisite caress of her hair. Her fingers sunk in the muscles of his chest, clutching handfuls of his shirt. As the music grew more intense, so did their dance, the friction, the heat, the closeness. Evan buried his face in her hair, hoping for solace, finding none. The fresh, spicy scent of her was maddening, promising things beyond his imagination. He didn’t want to want her, but his body burned to touch her, to have her, to possess her. She had a magnetic quality he’d never encountered in any other woman. Maybe because she wasn’t just a babe with a stunning body. She also had a powerful and intriguing mind. She constantly challenged him, and he never backed down from a challenge.
It took several moments for both of them to realize the song had ended, and the DJ was taking a well-deserved break. People returned to their tables for drinks and rest. Evan sensed Chelsea was just as reluctant to let him go. As he stared down into her eyes, he thought they were burning as hot as his, and for the same reasons.
“Do you want to get some air?” he asked, regretfully sliding his hands off her hips.
“I’d love that.”
Once outside, Evan’s ears still rang. He told himself it was from the music, not because dancing with Chelsea had sent his blood pressure through the roof. The night air made their breaths steam, but
he didn’t feel cold. By his side, Chelsea ran her fingers through her tangled hair.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No. I’m actually burning up.” She touched her flushed cheeks, laughing. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. Do you want to go for a walk along the riverside?”
“Sure.”
They headed to the path that ran across the river. A full moon reflected its silvery light in the water, creating the illusion they were walking in a fantasy realm. A bridge crossed the river, its lacy ornate structure in perfect tone with the setting of the historical city center. It seemed everything in Ireland had a history of its own. Chelsea headed toward the bridge, and Evan followed, matching his steps with hers.
“I don’t know how you can walk in those,” he remarked, jutting his chin to point out her ultra-high heels.
She laughed. “Surprisingly easy. I don’t wear heels often now, but when I was in high school and college I only wore high heels.”
“Why?” His tone echoed his genuine lack of understanding for this torture women called fashion.
Chelsea shrugged, amused. “They made me look taller. Besides, my mom loved to wear heels. I don’t think I’d ever seen her in anything else. She was an actress, so she had to look elegant. For her, that came naturally. Even in pajamas she was a perfect lady.”
Evan stuck his hands into his pockets. As much as Chelsea wanted to sound casual, he could hear the pain in her voice when she talked about her mother.
“I’m sure she would be proud of the lady you’ve become,” he said finally, feeling just a bit foolish.
They were in the middle of the bridge now. Chelsea stopped, propping her hands on the balustrade. Then she turned to look at him.
“Thank you. It’s very kind of you to say that. I always wanted to be like her, and then… I didn’t.” She shook her head, taking a deep breath as though to fortify herself for what she was going to say next. “I’ve always feared I would inherit her illness. Schizophrenia can be hereditary. I’ve watched my mental health obsessively. Over the years I’ve let my guard down some, since it’s an illness that usually debuts between sixteen and thirty years of age. But lately, I’m not sure… I do things I don’t remember doing, I forget things…”
Evan stepped toward her and took her face between his palms. Her cheeks had grown cold, her eyes were huge as she looked up at him. A trace of fear sparkled in them.
“You don’t have any mental illness,” Evan said, his thumbs moving soothingly over her cheekbones, his fingers buried in her hair. “Everyone forgets things. Hell, I don’t remember what I did this morning,” he added, happy to see she returned his faint smile. “It’s because we have so much on our minds, we have demanding jobs. We need to forget stuff so we can store new stuff. I don’t need to explain to you how this works.”
She smiled, and the color shimmered back in her cheeks. She covered her palms with his.
“Thanks for this, Evan. You really made me feel better.”
As he gazed down at her red luscious lips, his voice was dead serious. “Don’t thank me, Chelsea. My intentions are… less than honorable.”
Her eyes drilled into his, and he saw she understood, even reciprocated his feelings. He didn’t move, waited for a sign. She moistened her lips and rested her hands on his shoulders. A heartbeat later their lips met in a scorching kiss. Evan pulled her into his arms, thrilled to feel her body molding against him at last, her mouth just as hungry for his as his was for hers. Desire made him dizzy. No matter how deeply he kissed her, how hard he pressed her body against his, he couldn’t get enough of her. Feeling the way she responded to him was both agony and ecstasy. He couldn’t stop, but he sure as hell couldn’t do what he wanted to do right here and now.
Forcefully calming his breath, he ended the kiss and lowered his forehead against hers. He imagined the cloud of heat surrounding them was visible even from space. Chelsea’s breath was just as choppy. She was still gripping his shoulders. Slowly, she unclenched her fingers and placed them on his chest, as though to capture each beat of his heart. The gesture touched him to the core.
He cupped her chin between his fingers and lifted her face to his. “Should I apologize?”
“Do you want to?”
“Hell no.”
“Then don’t. I loved it.”
Sighing, he drew her in his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. “So did I. I’ve been wanting to do this from the moment I first saw you.”
“I’m glad you finally did it.”
He felt her smile against his collarbone. His head hadn’t completely cooled off, not by a long shot, but he started to feel the chill of the night. He stared at the water below them, gilded by shimmering moonlight.
Suddenly, his vision sharpened, and he let go of Chelsea to lean over the bridge railing. As he stared down his blood chilled. A shape floated face down in the dark, cold waters. The moonlight reflected off a mop of wet, long, tangled hair.
Evan reacted instinctively. Within seconds he kicked off his shoes and discarded his jacket.
“What’s going on?” Chelsea asked, bending over the bridge so she could see what he saw.
“There’s a body in the water. Call for backup.”
With that, he climbed over the bridge’s railing and jumped. As he hit the water, he thought that hell wasn’t hot. In fact, it was freezing cold, liquid, and darker than the deepest nightmares.
Chapter Eleven
It had been hours since he’d dragged the body out of the river, but Evan hadn’t quite stopped shaking. Chelsea had called for an ambulance and a police cruiser, and within twenty minutes they were certain the woman’s death hadn’t been accidental. She had been murdered.
“Same MO as Shannon Brody. Hit hard on the back of the head, then strangled and tossed into the river. She was already dead by then, that’s why she didn’t sink, because her lungs didn’t fill with water,” Siobhan said. She was still kneeling next to the body, collecting all the evidence she could.
Evan knew the body had been compromised, so the evidence would be sparse. It was still hard for him to believe he had another victim, and why his instinct hadn’t warned him before that he might be dealing with a serial killer. His stomach knotted tighter as he wondered if someone else would be killed, and how soon.
“How are you doing, lad?”
John pressed a large hand on his shoulder, and Evan found the gesture absurdly comforting. At Chelsea’s request, John had brought him a pair of jeans, a sweater, and a towel. Evan had changed out of his wet clothes in his car. Soon, Nóirín had arrived with her forensics team. God bless her, she’d brought hot coffee. Evan suspected Chelsea had made that request as well. Whatever the case, he was grateful for the searing liquid that partially helped warm him. Still, a shiver shook him now and again. The fucking water had been freezing. He prayed he wouldn’t catch cold. These cases demanded his full attention, and getting pneumonia was the last thing he needed.
“Well, doing the job keeps me busy,” he answered John’s question. “We found the victim’s purse only a few yards away from here. It appears she was murdered right there. God, how could this happen so quickly, without anyone seeing anything?” He rubbed his wet hair vigorously with the towel. All of tonight seemed surreal. What had started out like a dream had turned into a nightmare.
“Anyway…” He struggled back into the moment. “Her name is Jenny Williams, she was thirty, lived in Dublin, and her business card shows she worked as art director at an advertising agency. I did a search, and she is single, never been married, no children. Her only next of kin is her brother. Both parents are deceased.”
“We have to notify the brother,” John said, staring down at his shoes.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll go with you,” Chelsea said.
She had been standing by quietly, hugging herself as though for warmth. As he glanced at her, Evan noticed she looked very pale in her black leather costume. She’d tied
her hair back, probably so it wouldn’t get in the way. Her eyes were huge dark pools amidst deep circles of fatigue and shock. Instinctively, Evan drew her toward him and rubbed her arms up and down, keeping her close.
“Are you okay? Let’s find a blanket for you. You’re cold as—”
He stopped himself from saying it. Death was too present in their lives lately—around them, in conversations, even in dreams.
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m fine. That hot coffee helped a lot,” she said, her smile weak, nestling closer to him, seeking the warmth of his body and offering hers.
Evan pretended not to notice the flicker of curiosity in John’s eyes as he saw this intimacy. They all had more important things to do now. Giving Chelsea’s shoulders one last squeeze, he moved toward the forensic team. Nóirín was scouting the area, her flashlight moving constantly, her latex gloves muddy. As she lifted her eyes toward him, Evan noticed how tired she looked. Her breath huffed out in a cloud.
“Bad doings tonight, Yank. All Hollow’s Eve should be a night for bringing back lost life, not taking it. I don’t know what’s going on in this city, but you have to stop it. We can’t have any more lassies killed and discarded like rag dolls.”
Though he understood her pain and frustration weren’t directed at him, her words stung.
“You’re telling me?” Evan snapped. “It’s the second time I stumble over a dead body in a fucking month. What are the odds for that?”
Nóirín stared at him for a few seconds, then she turned away and instructed her team to set up the tent to preserve the crime scene. Evan cursed himself for shouting at her. It was hard not to feel responsible, and it was dangerous to do so. He couldn’t have known there would be a new victim, of course, but that was no excuse. And it just struck him the odds were indeed incredible. No detective he’d ever known had ever had this sort of experience, finding two bodies by accident. In a paranoid way it felt like this killer was taunting him personally, tossing dead women in his path.