by Evie Rhodes
He pulled Raven to her feet, pulling her into a tight embrace. Slowly they twined their bodies, content to just hold each other.
Raven nibbled on Micah’s ear. “If you keep this up I might forgive you for not giving me a definite answer.”
Micah laughed. “I’m giving you candlelight, firelight, champagne and love. What more do you want?”
Raven looked up at him wistfully. “That’s easy. I want you Micah, all of you. And when the time comes, a baby. I’d name him Micah Jordan-Wells Jr. It has a nice ring to it. Doesn’t it?”
The distinct cry of a baby rang out at the mention of her words. Both of them stopped in their tracks. “Was that you?” Raven said. She had heard the rumors of Micah’s ventriloquist days in the police academy. Back when he had thought it was funny to imitate the voices of different criminals.
“It wasn’t me.” The hair stood up on his arms. He released Raven, looking around the room. He went to the window and looked out. There was nothing.
The cry rang out once again.
Raven grabbed her midsection as a sharp, knifelike pain stabbed through her stomach muscles. Upon hearing the cry something in her womb had jumped. It knocked the breath out of her. In an instant it was gone.
“Micah. Something’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on. Forget it, Raven.” He didn’t want her getting spooked, but he definitely didn’t like the happenings. “Maybe we just had too much champagne.” They both looked at the barely touched bottle.
“Just forget about it.” Micah lay down on the rug. “Come over here.” Raven shrugged off the feeling. She didn’t want the night to be ruined by what probably amounted to some stranger’s baby crying. But what about the stomach pains? She sighed, pushing the thought from her mind.
Micah laughed. “I never figured you for the barefoot and pregnant type.”
Raven gave him an indignant look. “If it’s draped in contemporary dignity I could be. Yes.”
They both giggled, releasing the tension. “I love you Raven. One day you’re going to have it all. I’m going to see to that. Just give it a little more time. Okay?”
Raven nodded her surrender. She pulled Micah’s face to hers for the sweetness of his kiss.
“Besides, I need time to gather a little more change so I can buy you that big rock I’ve been thinking of.”
Raven pushed Micah back against the rug. She grinned. “Just how big of a rock are we talking about here?”
Micah shook his head not giving an inch. “It’s a man’s prerogative. I’ll never tell. Big enough so your girlfriends don’t miss it.”
Raven laughed. “You are such an ego-tripper.”
“You know you love it.”
“Yeah. I do. Give me the rock!”
Micah smiled. The telephone rang. A look of annoyance flashed across Raven’s face. “Micah do not answer it. Please.”
Micah sat up. “I have to. You know that.”
“No, you don’t.”
He winked at Raven but she would not be placated. She turned her head away, pouting like a petulant child.
The telephone continued to ring. He lifted the receiver. “Micah Jordan-Wells here.”
He listened intently to the voice on the line. A closed mask instantly settled itself over Micah’s features.
As Raven watched an enigmatic energy seeped from Micah’s pores. It bounced off the walls in the room. She watched in a state of disbelief as Micah slammed the phone down. He raced from the room without a second thought.
From in between the beams of the walls Quentin gave a satisfied smile. With that he was gone.
Raven ran after Micah. When she caught up with him, she wheeled him around to face her. “Where are you going? Come on, Micah. Not tonight. All I ever do is wait for you. I’m tired of waiting. We never have any time together. It’s always the job. You have to make some time for you and me. We need a life.”
Micah briefly caught her face between his hands. “And we’ll have one. I promise. But right now I have to go. I’m sorry Raven. I’ll make it up to you.” He dropped a distracted kiss on her cheek. Before she could say another word, he was gone.
Tears of frustration rolled down Raven’s cheeks. She went into the bedroom. Looking at the bottle of champagne, she picked it up. Angry frustration sizzled through her body. She hurled the champagne into the fireplace.
She was always sitting on eternal wait for Micah. She was always worried about him. She was scared that one day he wouldn’t return. No matter what she said to him she knew she was not getting through. He was obsessed with chasing monsters.
Raven went home to her own apartment. Her roommate and business partner in the boutique, Brandi, looked up from the television as Raven walked through the door.
One look at Raven’s face and Brandi knew the title of this song. “Cancelled again, huh? When are you going to get a life, Raven, and stop waiting for the crumbs from Micah’s life?”
Raven turned on Brandi in white-hot fury. “Mind your own damn business, Brandi. Micah is my business. I’ll wait for him as long as I damned well please. Okay? For once, just mind your own business.”
Raven walked into her bedroom. She slammed the door so hard the walls shook.
Brandi turned back to the TV and her bowl of popcorn. “Sister girl’s got a bad case,” she uttered to the empty room.
Chapter 9
Micah careened through the dark Newark streets to the homicide department. He screeched into a parking space. Jumping out of the car he left the door wide open. He raced up the steps. Just as he reached the door, Nugent opened it.
“Micah, this one is really bad. Wolfgang is waiting for you.” Nugent hurried to keep pace with Micah as he ran to Wolfgang’s office.
As they passed through the corridors, Micah could see the detectives and police officers were in high gear. A storm was definitely brewing.
Several officers looked up as Micah ran by with Nugent at his heels. Reaching Wolfgang’s office, he pushed open the door without waiting for an invitation.
The big man was standing and waiting to greet him. Immediately upon Micah’s entrance, Wolfgang said, “I’m sorry about interrupting your evening, Micah, but I need you on this.”
Wolfgang ran a weary hand through his hair.
Micah waved the statement away irritably. “Forget it, Wolfgang. What’s up?”
Nugent and Wolfgang exchanged looks. The air bristled with an electric current. Micah placed one hand on Wolfgang’s desk and the other on his hip, exuding arrogance and anger in one swift move. “What’s going down?”
Wolfgang walked over to the window. He looked out over the city of Newark. He had decided to bring Micah to the office rather than the crime scene so he could brief him and they could ride together to the scene.
Micah waited. Nugent watched them both through half-closed eyes.
“We need to take a ride. Someone is killing our children.”
A hollow pain ripped through Micah’s gut. “Then let’s go.”
Micah, Wolfgang, and Nugent sped to the crime scene on Clinton Avenue. They pulled into the driveway just beyond where the police had cordoned off the scene. The area was crowded with policemen. Micah jumped out before the car came to a halt.
He walked up to Sidney Bowden, the charge officer. “Nobody touched anything here. Right?”
Sidney shook his head. “No one has touched a thing, sir. We’ve been waiting for you. Once you’re done, we’ll go to work.” Micah nodded his approval.
Sidney pointed to a nearby Dumpster. “In there,” he said. Micah gave him a look that could fry bacon. Then he walked over to the Dumpster. A vivid red thick substance was splattered across the Dumpster. It read “‘X’ was here.” Micah blinked.
He climbed a small plastic-covered step stool that had been placed near the Dumpster. He turned around and Nugent handed him latex gloves before he could ask the question. Micah nodded his thanks.
He leaned over and peered into the Dumpster
. An awful evil stared back at him. Micah was unprepared for what he saw. The nude body of a six-year-old boy lay in the Dumpster. The child lay in his own urine and feces. The boy’s body was drenched in blood. The carving of an “X” had split open the middle of his chest.
His eyes stared at the twilight of the sky. They were filmed over with a glaze that only enhanced the petrified look in them.
Rigid eternity glared at Micah. The child’s last expression was one of scathing, horrid fear. The fear was so cloying that even after death it hung in the air. Micah could feel it.
The nails in the child’s body were rusty, ragged and much too large for the size of the child’s hands and legs. They had torn and ripped the skin, leaving a trail of ragged, jagged skin, ripped and torn with blood trailing out.
A foamy, white, creamy substance streamed from the boy’s lips. The child’s mouth was thrown open as though a desperate plea were trying to escape it and it had gotten strangled in the creamy substance.
Micah had dealt with more homicides than he could count during his career. Some were of a caliber that he would never forget. This homicide carried a level of its own. It was a clear breach. Micah was staring at depravity at its highest level. He choked back the bile that rose in his throat.
One hand stroked his chin. His eyes were glued to the contents inside the Dumpster. He opened his mouth to speak, but discovered that only air hissed out; no words had come forth.
And then he saw her from the corner of his eye. Weeping Willow. She was standing at the rim of the garbage Dumpster; her arms were outstretched reaching out to him. Tears streamed in a steady cascade down her cheeks.
Her hair blew out behind her. She looked down on the child in the garbage can. When her eyes met Micah’s they were filled with despair. Her tears continued to flow.
Micah felt a cold draft. He was chilled to the bone. Weeping Willow hadn’t uttered a single word. She never did. As Micah watched, she disappeared into the mist of the night.
He knew it was useless to ask if anyone else had seen her. If they had they would have spoken because she had no right to be inside the crime scene.
Micah hadn’t seen her since his eighteenth birthday. Now, here she was back again. To make matters worse, a child lay in front of him, split open to the gills, with the same mark that continually haunted him.
He turned to look at Wolfgang and Nugent. He tried again to form the words. They finally came out of his mouth sounding short and clipped. “The boy looks to be about six years old. He’s been sliced. An ‘X’ is branded into his forehead.”
Micah leaned over the boy’s body. He read the blood-splattered note that was nailed in his neck. The note was printed in the flowing script of a computer: “What Is The Tie That Binds?”
Micah climbed down from the Dumpster. He mentally ordered his legs to follow his commands because suddenly his legs were operating like jelly. He was shaky and weak, as a tremor rode through his arms and legs.
There were few things in life that had ever truly riled Micah. Nothing had ever rendered him immobile. But seeing this slaughtered child, thrown away like so much garbage was one of them.
Only years of discipline, training, and professionalism held back the fit that was brewing just below his surface. He wanted to hurt somebody.
Micah yelled to Sidney, “Get this boy out of the garbage and be careful with him. I need to know if there has been any sexual contact.” Micah walked away from the scene to get into the car.
Wolfgang pushed him a step farther into the dark abyss he was about to enter. “There’s another one. They’re holding the scene on Hawthorne Avenue for us.”
Micah didn’t respond. He slid into the passenger seat. They raced off to the next scene.
When Micah, Wolfgang, and Nugent walked in the door on Hawthorne Avenue they were immediately assaulted with the horrific nature that left no respect for human life.
Splashed haphazardly in blood across the walls was the question, “What Is The Tie That Binds?” The sign of the “X” beckoned. “‘X’ was here” completed the message.
Micah crossed the room to a small bundle that lay on the floor. He looked down, observing the same age and pattern as that of the boy on Clinton Avenue. This time there was no Weeping Willow.
Micah’s mind raced, reviewing the pattern of the killer. Creating a profile for him. Thinking out loud, he said, “These murders have Silky’s signature on them. We might be dealing with a copycat.”
A scream shattered and penetrated the insulated world inside the apartment. Nakisha Thompson stood in the doorway. She was the mother of the six-year-old victim.
She stared at the body of her son on the floor. A high-pitched wail flew from her lips, “Rasheem! Oh my God! Rasheem! That’s my baby. Rasheem, get up. Rasheem! Get up baby, get up now!”
Nakisha stepped forward. The shock etched on her face turned it into a porcelain vision. She trembled. Then she collapsed. One of the uniformed policemen caught her as she fell. She slumped in his arms.
Micah stared at the boy’s mother. Violent rage swept through him at her pain. His heart thumped. But he managed to hold himself in rigid control.
A sudden movement outside the window caught Micah’s eye. There was someone out on the fire escape. His face was painted white. His eyes were circled in red and black paint. So was his nose. His head was covered in a black skullcap. He was totally outfitted in black. And he was peering in the window.
“What the—? Is that a mime?” Micah was bugging. Hell no. Who the hell was outside on the fire escape of his murder scene? What the hell? Did they think this was some kind of game?
The face disappeared from the window as Micah approached. Momentarily it appeared again. The mime pulled long eyes and a sad face at Micah.
That was it. Micah lunged in the direction of the windowsill. He saw the mime’s black-clad legs race past the window.
He shot a quick glance at Nugent. “I want him. Block off everything in the area, including the sewers.”
Nugent barked orders at the officers in the room. Micah leaped out the window onto the fire escape in time to see the mime jump off the bottom of the fire escape. He followed at a rapid speed. The chase was on.
The mime whizzed through alleyways knocking over everything in his way. Micah was right on his heels.
He raced ahead only to find a solid wall of cement blocking his path. He had run into a dead end.
He looked around, wildly searching for an out. Finding no escape, he frantically turned to face the wrath that was Micah Jordan-Wells.
He looked at Micah’s enraged features. The gun was pointed at his forehead. “Halt! Don’t move!” Micah shouted. He saw Micah’s lips moving. He was shouting at him. But, he couldn’t hear a word Micah said.
A sound like that of a wounded animal rose out of the mime’s lips. He shrank to the wall. He raised his hands in the air. He looked sadly at Micah. Tears spilled out from his painted eyes.
Chapter 10
Later that night in the interrogation room of the homicide department, Micah stood watching the mime. He was sitting forlornly in a chair. He sipped nervously from a glass of water.
The door burst open. Nugent raced up to Micah with the investigative information. “Micah, this is Ronnie Schaefer. He is the Thompson boy’s neighbor.”
Micah didn’t budge or remove his gaze from Ronnie. Nugent continued. “Nakisha Thompson confirmed his identity. He’s a deaf mute, Micah. He can’t hear or speak. Ronnie Schaefer is nineteen years old. He’s a friend of Rasheem and Nakisha’s. He’s dressed as a mime for a neighborhood Halloween party. We’ve checked. Everything is in order. There’s no way he committed the murder.”
Micah continued to watch Ronnie while processing Nugent’s information. “He saw the murderer. He knows who he is. He knows who killed Rasheem Thompson. He’s not leaving until I know who killed Rasheem.”
Nugent sputtered, “Micah, even the babysitter doesn’t know . . . she—”
Mica
h brusquely cut Nugent off. “I said he knows. I can see it in his eyes. Get me an interpreter and the police sketch artist.”
Micah didn’t care about the distraught babysitter, who had carelessly left a six-year-old child alone in the apartment, while she flirted with her boyfriend in front of the building. She couldn’t provide a clue to this insanity. She’d walked back into the apartment to find the child had been slaughtered in her absence. On Halloween night, like a scene from some grotesque movie.
Ronnie Schaefer was a different story. He had seen the killer. There was no doubt. Micah knew he had seen him. How to carefully craft it out of him was the only question. The reflection of something haunting and terror-stricken was mirrored in the pools of Ronnie Schaefer’s eyes.
Ronnie looked at Micah who never took his eyes off of him. He suddenly jumped up from his seat. He signed wildly at Nugent. He ran up to Nugent and grabbed him desperately.
He appeared to want to be away from Micah. He gestured wildly at Nugent. His eyes begged Nugent to understand.
Nugent looked at Micah—whom he knew was seething. Micah was about to blow. He glanced briefly at Ronnie Schaefer who definitely was not helping matters and said, “Why don’t you take a break man. Let me try. Just take a break for a minute. Okay?”
Micah stalked to the door without another word. He flung it open leaving the room. He slammed it shut behind him. He should not have. On the other side of the door, the dead boy who had been lying in the Dumpster the last time Micah had seen him was walking through the hall. He turned his head to look at Micah.
A sharp gasp of air flew upwards from Micah’s insides. A loud voice boomed through the hall saying, “Dead boy walking. Dead boy walking.”
The child suddenly stopped walking. He turned to face Micah, a full frontal impact. Micah stood stock-still. A force blew the child against the wall. His body was turned upside down. Ragged nails flew into every inch of his body, nailing him to the wall.
Blood literally flew out of the body of the splayed child. A multitude of the ragged nails carved the boy’s flesh into the illustration of an “X.” The “X” turned into a flaming inferno before Micah’s eyes. And then, there was laughter.