Vicarious

by Jon F. Merz

  “Of course, her stalker may not exactly be your average guy.”

  “That’s why we’re going on the offensive.”

  “We?”

  “Too busy?”

  “Got a twenty-one year old kid who decided to celebrate his legal birthday by drinking himself to death in Allston last night. He’s waiting on me.”

  Curran nodded. “You available again later?”

  Kwon rolled his eyes. “Not another stake-out?”

  “Don’t know yet. I have to see how today goes.”

  “Call me, “ said Kwon walking out.

  Curran nodded and kept examining the button.

  ***

  Boston was an antiques town. Between the old blue blood wealthy and the nouveau riche, antique stores by the dozens had sprung up catering to every whim and fancy. Some of them, Curran discovered, kept their storefronts gleaming like giant neon signs. Others preferred a more modest profile.

  Like the one Curran walked into on Charles Street, at the foot of Beacon Hill in the Back Bay section of Boston. Not far from where he and Kwon had swooped in to rescue Lauren last night, he thought absently as the silver bell above the doorway tinkled thrice upon his entrance.

  Thick carpeting immediately hushed his footsteps. The air felt warm against his skin and there seemed a slight scent of incense in the air. Or cleanser. Curran wasn’t sure which.

  He spotted several old dishes set out on wooden shelves close to the door. But he supposed the real pricey stuff must have been contained in the series of glass enclosed counters that ran across the middle of the store, some four feet tall. Curran smiled. It was an effective and subtle fence from the rear of the store.

  And who knew what goodies lay back there.

  Within the glass cases, Curran spotted rows of silverware. Some still tarnished and others gleaming as if recently cleaned. Another shelf held small daggers with some type of script running down the blades. Still another featured an assortment of broaches, clasps, and…buttons.

  Curran’s interest piqued.

  “Can I help you?”

  Curran stood and smiled. The man facing him must have been a few years older, but his age seemed difficult to discern given the inordinate amount of creases around his mouth and eyes. His black hair was streaked with gray and in places, almost pure white.

  Curran flashed his badge. “Detective Curran.”

  The man smiled. “My name is Darius Assiniya. Welcome to my store.” He frowned. “Although I trust if this were merely a shopping trip you wouldn’t have felt the need to divulge your occupation.”

  His voice flowed out in a smooth and even tone. Cultured. Accented. British? No. But maybe he’d been schooled there, Curran decided.

  He grinned. “I wish I only was just shopping. But I’m not.”

  “What do you do for the police, Detective?”

  “Homicide.”

  “Has there been a murder? I heard no such thing in the news this morning.”

  “A few days back. I’ve been investigating. And I came upon something I’ve been looking for some help with.”

  Darius inclined his head. “If I may aid you in any way, please do not hesitate to ask.”

  Curran’s hand closed around the button and he brought it out of his coat pocket. “This was recovered at the crime scene. I’ve been trying to find someone who could possibly identify it and help us get closer to the killer.”

  Darius extended his hand and Curran saw how clawlike it appeared. Tendons and ligaments slithered underneath the thin covering of liver-spotted skin like snakes. Darius turned his hand over and Curran noticed the deep lines scoring his palm.

  “May I?”

  Curran dropped the button into his hand. He felt glad to be rid of the bone button. Somehow it didn’t feel right holding it. Like the button knew it didn’t belong to him.

  Darius slid a pair of spectacle onto the bridge of his nose and peered at the button. “My, my. This is quite something.”

  “We had it carbon-dated this morning.”

  “And what were the results if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “According to the scientist we had look at it, that bone dates back roughly 30,000 years.”

  “Amazing,” said Darius. “This is quite a fine specimen.”

  “You don’t seem so surprised by it. Doesn’t it strike you as strange that someone saw fit to make a button out of it?”

  Darius looked at him and smiled. Christ, he’s got white teeth, thought Curran.

  “I’m no longer amazed by much, Detective. Given my occupation, I see a great many things that have long since dulled my aptness to jump about with such emotion. I am used to seeing things such as this. Whereas others might recoil in horror at the thought of human bones being used for implements like a button, I am not inclined to react thus. I find it intriguing, but not so unusual.”

  “You’ve seen things like this before?”

  Darius peered at the button. “You said almost 30,000 years ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  Darius nodded. “I would think this bone most likely dates back to the Aurignacian period.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s named for an area near the foothills of the Pyrenees in France. In 1860, a group of scientists discovered rock shelters there and evidence nearby suggested that stone and bone tools had been fashioned in the vicinity. Quite fascinating, really.”

  “You think this comes from that period in history?”

  Darius nodded. “Along with the rock shelters, they also found cave paintings in nearby caves. One of them, if I recall my history correctly, rose to almost fifty feet – the cavern that is. On the walls they found crude paintings of animals, man, and a type of weird hybrid man/beast.”

  “Man/beast?”

  Darius smiled. “Well, that’s what the scientists called it. While the tools were also dated to almost 30,000 years old, some of the paintings were supposedly much older than that. And interestingly, some of the paintings had been created using a mixture of paints derived from both plants, and blood – animal and human.”

  Curran shifted. “Fascinating.”

  Darius held the button up. “Now, obviously, Neanderthals or whatever they call the type of fellows running around back then, weren’t familiar with the concept of a button of all things.”

  “Can’t see how they would be.”

  “Which means this,” Darius held up the button to the light overhead, “was probably transformed into a button at a much later date.”

  “That’s what we thought.”

  “Still, it’s an awfully peculiar item to have sort of laying about the house as it were. And one can’t help but wonder what sort of thought goes into making human bone into a button.”

  “I’d like to know.”

  Darius grinned. “I’ll bet I could fetch a large amount for this piece, though, I don’t mind telling you. Any chance I can have it when you’re done with it?”

  Curran smiled. “I don’t know.” He glanced around. “I notice you’ve got a fair assortment of buttons here in the cabinet.”

  “Oh yes. Most of mine are made from other materials. Certainly nothing quite so exotic as human bone. Jade, stone, whale bone, and a few other sorts as well.”

  Curran looked at him. “You’ve been here long?”

  “The store? Actually just over six months.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  “Am I under suspicion of something, detective?”

  “Just trying to get acquainted.”

  Darius smiled but his face told Curran he wasn’t buying it. “I was over in Saudi Arabia for a few years. I’m sure you can appreciate the transient nature of my business. I go where I can find and sell items of age. The products and clients dictate my location.”

  “You do have a very traveled air about you.” Curran pointed to the nearest dagger. “What’s the history of that piece?”
<
br />   “It’s a tanto. Japanese. It dates back to the 1400s, what was known as the Sengoku Jidai – the warring states period. Awfully bloody time to be alive back then. Most of the country was torn apart by civil strife. Feuding families, samurai warriors, all that lot.”

  “You live around here?”

  “No, just the store is here. I bought it at quite a nice price from the previous owner. But I reside elsewhere.”

  Curran said nothing so Darius continued. “In Chestnut Hill.”

  Curran nodded. Chestnut Hill had its fair share of wealth. Not too much, but not exactly the poor section of town, either.

  “Way I figure it,” he said then, “someone must have dropped that button during the crime. I’d sure like to find the owner.”

  Darius smiled. “Presumably, the owner would like to have this button back as well.”

  “Exactly.” Curran pulled out a business card and slid it across the counter. “Do me a favor, will you and keep an eye out for anyone who comes asking for a replacement?”

  “You really think they’ll expect it to turn up in some place like my store?”

  Curran shrugged. “In this business, you never know what to expect. The strangest things happen all the time.”

  Darius handed him back the button. “In that case, consider me your eyes and ears.”

  “Thank you.” Curran turned and started to leave. He stopped. “Mr. Assiniya?”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t have your coat handy by any chance do you?”

  Darius’ teeth flashed again. “I’m getting worried you suspect me of something, detective.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about human bones.”

  “No more so than any other antiques dealer.”

  “Actually, you’re the best so far. I’ve been to fifteen other shops today.”

  “I’m surprised by that.” Darius turned and started for the back room. He stopped and looked back. “It’s all right, is it – if I get my coat for you, I mean?”

  “Sure.”

  He returned a second later with a gray herringbone overcoat that looked like something Sherlock Holmes would have worn. Not the big black overcoat that Lauren had described. And as Curran examined it, he could see it was missing no buttons.

  He handed it back. “Thanks for putting my mind at ease.”

  “Not at all. Good day, detective.”

  Curran nodded and walked out of the shop. Back into the cold November air.

  Back to the hunt.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You understand why it is that I asked you to come in here this morning?”

  Lauren sat in Sister McDewey’s office, although this time, it didn’t seem nearly so cozy as it had on other occasions. Even the nun’s demeanor had changed from tepid to almost hostile. The look she regarded Lauren with almost shook Lauren to her core.

  “You have some questions. I’ll do my best to answer them.”

  Sister McDewey steepled her fingers. “Right now, what concerns us most is the disappearance of not one, but two of our nuns. Sister Donovan, granted, was not long for the earth. But Sister Mary was young. She had years ahead of her. And now both of them have vanished. No trace. No note. Nothing.”

  Lauren tried to keep her face from revealing anything. “You’ve spoken with the police?”

  “They told me there were no bodies at the residence. Despite the fact that you claimed seeing both of them dead.” Sister McDewey sighed. “All of which leaves me feeling very perplexed.” She shifted in her chair. “On one hand, we could endeavor to find some degree of foul play. But without bodies, the police aren’t apt to look into it all that much.”

  “There were bodies,” said Lauren quietly.

  “And yet, you were the last person presumably to inquire about Sister Donovan and her whereabouts. You understand how unusual this whole thing looks?”

  You ought to see it from my perspective, thought Lauren. She nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “So, what I’m asking you right now is to tell me what exactly is going on here.”

  Lauren cleared her throat. “I don’t know exactly.”

  Sister McDewey shook her head. “That’s not the answer I was looking for.”

  “It’s the truth.” She sighed. “My brother was killed a week or so back.”

  “You told me that.”

  “The killer, apparently, is known to a detective on the police force.”

  “Again, I believe we covered this ground already.”

  “I’m getting to the point, Sister,” said Lauren. She wanted to say, now just shut up! “When this detective was with the FBI, he ran into the killer several times. Or I should say, the killer’s handiwork.”

  “He never caught the killer?”

  “No.”

  “Not much of an FBI agent was he?”

  Lauren frowned. She didn’t like hearing dispersions cast about Steve. “I’m sure he worked very hard to find him. But it didn’t pan out.”

  “What does the death of your brother have to do with two missing nuns?”

  “The cases are connected. I feel very strongly about that.”

  “Specifically?”

  Lauren took a breath. “The killer seems to be…supernatural.”

  Sister McDewey’s eyebrows shot up. “Pardon?”

  “Supernatural. I know how crazy that must sound, but it’s true. At least as near as we can figure.”

  “We?”

  “I’ve been working with the detective.”

  Sister McDewey leaned forward. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying right now?”

  “Surely the death of one’s family can take some degree of precedence over academics, even for just a short time.”

  “That’s your decision.”

  “All the victims – “

  “How many are there?”

  “They’ve spanned a number of years across a variety of states.”

  Sister McDewey leaned back. “Go on.”

  “All of the victims were killed in the same manner. But their bodies showed no signs of death – that is to say no signs of foul play. Each one seemed the picture of health, and yet, the were killed.”

  “This is sounding a bit unusual, Lauren.”

  “I agree. It sounds insane. But it’s not. Remember when I visited you earlier this week asking about research material?”

  “You were asking about a reverse laying of hands. I remember that.”

  “I asked you if there was a way to look into it – some kind of special library that might aid me in my search.”

  “And I told you to forget about it.” Sister McDewey’s eyes narrowed. “But I can see it did no good trying to steer you away from that.” She sighed. “You found the library, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know you’re out of your league here?”

  Lauren didn’t think the Devil played by any organized rules, but didn’t say so. “I don’t know that. I know I was able to find out some very interesting things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I read about something called a Soul Eater.”

  “Soul-“ Sister McDewey sighed again. “Lauren, listen to yourself. Don’t you realize that the problem with historical texts is the inability on our part to accurately verify what might be truth and what might have been simply written to help persuade the local populace of the power of Christianity? That’s exactly why I told you not to go nosing around. The babbling of some intoxicated monk writing with ink and quill could very easily distort the logical mind.”

  “So you don’t believe in any of what is stored in that special room within the library?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “I wish I had the courage to disavow it.” Lauren shook her head. “But I know what I read and how I’ve been feeling lately. Something is definitely happening. Whether or not we want to believe it.”

  “You think this
Soul Eater is afoot? Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what purpose? Why would he come back now to wreak havoc? It makes no sense.”

  “How is good able to fathom the evil mind? Just because we can’t see it, that doesn’t mean there isn’t a good reason for this happening now.”

  Sister McDewey leaned back again. “A Soul Eater. He eats the souls of his victims, I take it.”

  “It seems to fit the way the corpses turn up.”

  “And how many has this Soul Eater killed so far in Boston?”

  “Well, that’s another aspect of the problem.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “The homicide detective discovered that all of the other victims all had one thing in common: they were all incredibly evil.”

  Sister McDewey shrugged. “Seems odd a creature of Satan would target the evil. I would think he’d go after the good instead.”

  “That’s a good question. We’re not sure why that’s been happening.” Lauren sighed. “But since coming to Boston, the Soul Eater has killed two evil men, and two good.”

  “Sisters Mary and Donovan.”

  “Yes. He was in the house the other night. I know it. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. His presence. I’ve felt it before.”

  “But he left you alone.”

  “I don’t understand it myself. I can only relate to you what I’ve been going through.” Or at least part of what I’m going through, she thought.

  “You’ve definitely got a lot on your plate right now.” Sister McDewey frowned. “I’m trusting you on this that what you’re telling me is an honest account of what occurred. You understand that?”

  “Yes. And it is.”

  “You also realize that I’m bound to report this to the Bishop and his council.”

  “Is that wise right now?”

  “Child, if there is truly a servant of the Devil afoot here in town then steps must be taken to stop it.”

  “But we don’t even know for what purpose it’s here.”

  “Nor should we delay in finding out what it is. Perhaps some on the council have dealt with such things before.” She shook her head. “I’m the first to admit my own knowledge of the arcane and occult is severely limited. I never had much time for such things. Perhaps that’s my own fault.”