Possessed

by Stephanie Doyle

  Not that one.

  “Not that one,” Cass called to him. He scowled, but she shrugged it off. “Pick again.”

  Blue.

  “Something blue,” she added.

  He pulled out a soft, periwinkle dress that was light and whimsical. The perfect dress for a practicing witch who regularly purchased fairies.

  Perfect.

  “Perfect,” Cass told him.

  “Is that you talking or…” He stopped himself before he could finish the thought.

  “Both.”

  He sighed. “Right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Chapter 7

  “I don’t get it,” Dougie began after they sat down in a back booth in a downtown Philadelphia bar near Penn’s Landing. “After the way he spoke to you, why would you agree to go anywhere with McDonough?”

  Cass had called Dougie as soon as she’d gotten home and told him everything. Malcolm’s visit, the message from Lauren, the ticket. Everything but the near strangling attempt. She knew Dougie would go macho on her, and she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on why she should avoid Malcolm McDonough.

  Reaching up she brushed her neck with her fingers, sliding them over the sensitive skin. That tingle of sensation she’d felt when he had touched her had stayed with her all afternoon, had even followed her into her sleep when she had tried to make up for the rest she’d lost the previous night.

  Even now, several hours later, it still bothered her.

  Something had happened when he’d touched her. Some feeling or energy had been transmitted. Cass had no vocabulary to explain it, only that it had happened and that it was related to Lauren.

  When he’d dropped her off at her place, he’d again performed the ritual of opening her car door for her and she’d paused for a moment. The temptation to ask him if he’d felt anything…odd…when they’d touched had been palpable, but, in the end, the words wouldn’t come out. Besides, with his reluctance to rehash the incident, she’d doubted he would have told her the truth anyway.

  “Worried he might kill me?”

  “Not really. Worried he might make you feel bad though.”

  “He didn’t. He has enough regrets as it is. He says they weren’t close, but they were in the ways that count. He loved her and she loved him, or the connection wouldn’t be as strong.”

  “Is that true? It’s stronger when…”

  She knew where he was going and nodded. “When the connection between the two people is strong in life, that seems to follow after death. At least, it’s easier to hear the person speaking and understand what they’re saying. Lauren was loud and clear and pretty insistent.”

  “You never told me that.”

  No, because it invited the inevitable question, which she now had to answer. “When I hear Claire, she’s very clear.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Okay.” Cass reached into her purse and extracted the Ziploc bag containing what could be evidence. She slid it across the table toward him.

  Dougie smiled as he held up the Baggie. “Worried about contamination?”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “It’s doubtful we’ll get prints off of it, but we’ll see. You ever had a voice tell you about a clue before?”

  “No, but keep in mind it might not be a clue to her murder.”

  He scrunched up his face. “Huh? Why point you to something unless it could help solve her murder?”

  “Sometimes the dead aren’t very interested in the means of their death. When they make contact, it’s typically because they want resolution. That ticket could be about anything, really. Her relationship with her brother, with someone else. It’s not necessarily tied to her killer.”

  “So you’re telling me even the dead make lousy witnesses.”

  “To their own murders? Yep. It’s not as if they’re casual observers.”

  “Yeah, but you went over there for this. My guess is you think this is related.”

  It was a gut hunch. Nothing more. Cass nodded. “I think it might be.”

  Dougie held the bag up and studied the ticket a little more closely. “I can’t believe our guys missed it.”

  “It was stuffed in the pages of a magazine. The magazine was dusted for prints, but I don’t think anyone not specifically looking for it would have found it.”

  “Baltimore,” he murmured. “Early a.m. That’s a huge commuter train; it’s going to be tough to pin down.”

  They were interrupted by the appearance of their young waitress. “Wings and beer to start?” he asked Cass.

  Wings and beer: that was seduction, Philadelphia-style.

  “Sure,” Cass answered carefully, wondering if this had just turned into a dinner date. Doug had insisted on meeting her for dinner when she’d told him about the ticket. When she’d hesitated, he’d pointed out that either she needed to come to his place to drop it off or he was coming to her to get it, so unless she wanted to cook for him, her only other option was to meet him out.

  Cass could only really cook eggs. The choice was obvious.

  The waitress took the order and left. Dougie nonchalantly pocketed the Baggie in his coat.

  “You’re not going to lose it?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve got two dead women in two days, with their tongues missing, and you think I’m going to lose what might be my biggest break. Hello, do you know me? I’m Doug Brody. I’ve been a detective for ten years.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I guess I’m nervous.”

  “Yeah and I know why. You ready to talk about what brought you outside this morning?”

  “What was her name?” Cass interjected in an obvious attempt to move him off the subject. “The dead woman from this morning?”

  “Silvia, Silvia Biagi. She lived in the apartment where you found her. Made a meager living with tarot cards, palm readings, tea leaves. Whatever. Also seems she did some late-night telemarketing. The way it looks, our guy came in for a reading and then he attacked her. They fought. There was definitely evidence of a struggle. We found some hair that wasn’t hers. Short and dark colored. We also got some skin from under her fingernails, but so far no matches. Then our guy stabbed her and took the tongue. Only this time, he did it while she was still alive. He ran out and left the door open. She was crawling outside to get help. We think she was hoping to get up to the sidewalk where someone would find her, but she bled out before that happened.”

  Cass wrapped her arms around herself to keep away the sudden chill that descended on her. She’d still been alive. What possessed a person to commit such a brutal act?

  A memory of the monster flashed behind her eyes. Maybe there were more of them out there than she knew.

  “The coroner is still working on it, but he puts her death at sometime around four in the morning,” Dougie finished.

  Cass processed the information. A psychic. Was it possible that it wasn’t a coincidence? “Did you know Lauren was a witch?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “We saw the ‘woowoo’ stuff all over her apartment. Our first thought was that it might be some kind of ritual killing.”

  “‘Woowoo stuff,’” she repeated. “People who practice Wicca aren’t by definition ‘woowoo’ or ritual killers. Open your mind, Dougie.”

  “It’s about as open as it can be when it comes to you. All I’m saying is we saw the stuff and know what she’s about. Has it escaped our notice that the two victims were both into practices considered outside the norm? No. Has it escaped my notice that you’re connected to both…no.”

  But Cass shook her head. “The only reason I’m connected to Lauren is because you brought me in to consult.”

  “I was talking about the fact that you also live on Addison, relatively close to both victims, you are also a woman, and that you are also…”

  “Outside of the norm.”

  “Yeah.”

  The waitress served them their wings with extra plates and lots of wet wipes and put two pints down in
front of them. Forgetting the case for a moment, they concentrated on the food and beer in front of them, using one to quench the fire of the other. With a final swig, Dougie pushed his empty glass aside.

  “I’m officially worried about you, Cass. I want to know what the hell you were doing at the crime scene this morning. Don’t put me off. If for no other reason, any other possible connection you might have with these women could be important.”

  “I don’t have a connection with the women.” She had it with a monster. A monster that was trying to connect to someone. She reasoned if the killer was close enough-Silvia Biagi lived only a block and a half away-that could have triggered the incident. She’d never connected over such a distance before, but if the killer had at some point passed by her door…

  “Another beer?”

  Disrupted from her thoughts, Cass looked at the nearly empty glass in front of her; she ran a finger up and down the smooth, cold surface of the glass. She still needed to get home and, besides that, she wasn’t sure she had enough cash to cover her half of what they’d already had. If she let him pay, what should have been basically a working dinner would definitely become a date.

  “I’ll pass.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll have some fun?”

  She raised her chin defiantly. “Detective, are you encouraging someone who is at the legal limit to go beyond that and still drive her motorbike home?”

  “No,” he said irritably. “I saw you doing the math in your head, and I know you’re thinking about your half of the bill. I’m picking up the tab and I’m putting your bike in my truck. Then I’m dropping you off at home. Now do you want another beer or not?”

  His normally easygoing countenance had shifted. She’d annoyed him, but she didn’t care. “Dougie…you can’t do this. You can’t take care of me.”

  “What if I want to take care of you?” he returned. He leaned forward across the table with purpose. “What is it, Cass? Why do you keep running away from what happened that night? Was it not good for you? What?”

  She pulled away from him, pressing herself against the back of the wooden booth.

  “Dougie, don’t go there,” she pleaded.

  It wasn’t that the sex hadn’t been good; it was that everything else about that night had been wrong. She’d been distraught when he’d come over. Alone like she’d never been before, not even during her days of confinement in the asylum. He’d still been struggling with Claire’s death, probably had felt equally alone in the world, and so he had offered her a deal. They could make each other feel good for a time. No strings, just sex and relief.

  It had started out easy, but then his touch had triggered a wave of pain, and before Cass could block her out, Claire was beyond the door. She had looked on as her husband had made love to another woman. Cass had felt caught between them, but by the time she tried to pull away it had been too late-Dougie was inside her, and Cass could only ride out the storm.

  When it was over, guilt had mingled with shame even though she’d tried to tell herself she’d done nothing wrong. Cass had fled to the shower, and when she’d come out he was gone. Since then, she’d done everything she could to distance herself from him. She hadn’t counted on his persistence.

  Calls, unexpected visits. He’d bombarded her with platonic companionship and he’d never pressed her again to resume the physical aspect of their relationship. He just insisted he wasn’t losing her as a friend.

  Which made sense. How else could she pass along messages from Claire occasionally?

  Cass hated the skepticism that was so much a part of her makeup now, and for a time she’d been able to shelve it where Dougie was concerned. Mostly because she needed a friend and he was a good one. But there was no way she could ever have any kind of intimate relationship with him. Not knowing Claire was watching.

  “I want to go there. I want to know why you won’t let me back in.”

  “You know why not. Your wife.”

  “My wife is dead,” he stated as coldly as he possibly could. “She’s not coming back. I’m moving on.”

  “I think that’s good. I would be truly happy for you if you could do that, but the last person in this world you can ‘move on’ with is me. Ask me. Go ahead. You’ve wanted to since the second I sat down. Ask me.”

  “No,” he refused, looking away from her. “I’m done with that.”

  “But you’re not. You’re certainly not done with her and maybe you never will be, but at least with someone else, you might have a chance to move forward. With me, it would always be about the past. Because of what I do, what I am, she’ll always be with us.”

  “I care about you, Cass. You.”

  His words were sincere-she didn’t doubt them-but the resignation in his voice was telling. Feeling safer, she reached for his hand and when he pulled back, she stretched farther to take it. Holding it tightly, she met his gaze directly. “I know you do. And your friendship means the world to me. You have to know that. You’re all I have.”

  “That’s all you want?”

  “That’s all I can have.” Cass’s eyes dropped to the hands that were linked on the table. She saw their fingers intertwined.

  Skin to skin. She felt nothing. But she also wasn’t connected to Claire. A year ago she had been.

  “What? Is she saying something? Are you listening to her now?”

  Cass refocused her attention on that night a year ago. She’d been drinking, but wasn’t drunk or else Dougie wouldn’t have touched her. Her senses definitely had been dulled, though. Then there had been the pure grief over the death of her grandfather and the guilt about what she hadn’t done. It had all been raging inside of her ready to spill over.

  All she’d wanted was some kind of relief from it, a temporary cessation from the pain, and Dougie had given it to her. Cataloging each moment of the experience hadn’t been a priority. But now a vague memory came back. A memory she knew she had intentionally kept at bay.

  It was the way he had held her. Not like a man held a woman in comfort, and certainly not like a man engaged in a meaningless one-night stand. Claire had been gone for only a few months. Dougie was still fighting to cope with her death. They were supposed to be two people looking for some comfort in a world full of pain.

  But the way he’d held her…almost as if she had been his dead wife come back from the grave.

  In the here and now, Cass watched his eyes focus intently on the point of contact between them. Almost like he was willing something to happen. When he glanced up and discovered she was studying him, his face flushed with what could only be guilt. Slowly, she pulled her hands back and crossed them over her body.

  “Oh, my God. You can feel her through me. Can’t you? Oh, my God.”

  “What? Cass? Don’t be crazy.”

  “Don’t call me crazy,” she snapped. “I didn’t figure it out before. I don’t touch many people, never really have. But you. You touch me all the time. A hug, a pat on the back, a shoulder rub. You do it all to get to her.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. Maybe I don’t have a problem with physical intimacy like you do.”

  She saw his lips thin and it only made her angrier. “Do not attempt to blame me for this. You felt her that night. I was connected to her. I couldn’t keep her out. I was horrified afterward. I tried not to let you know, but you did know. Somehow you knew she was there. You weren’t fucking me. You were trying to make love to your dead wife.”

  “Cass, don’t do this. Don’t go there.”

  Exactly what she’d asked him not to do, but he did it anyway. “I felt something today. McDonough, when he touched me, there was definitely something. I saw it in his eyes. It was as if someone had slapped him, he reacted so abruptly. I thought about how long it had been since I’d touched someone, and I realized the last time was that night with you. There’s a reason why I avoid contact. Subconsciously, I must have sensed that this thing that I have, this gift, it’s chan
ging. It explains everything. How you were with me, how I felt the next morning.”

  “And how did you feel?” he asked angrily.

  “I felt used,” she stated coldly. “But I’d thought that Claire had been the one using me.” She grabbed her purse. “I’m going to be sick. You have your ticket. If you need anything else from me have one of the other officers contact me.”

  Cass pushed herself out of the booth and scrambled for the front door. Not quick enough. She felt Dougie wrapping his hand around her arm, pulling her back. She tugged but couldn’t shake off his hold. It infuriated her. Turning to face him, she gritted her teeth and tried to give the appearance of a woman who was about to pitch a major fit in a public place.

  “Just settle down and talk to me, Cass. It’s not what you think, okay. Yeah, maybe sometimes I can feel…I don’t know…whatever, but that has nothing to do with us.”

  “How can you say that? Don’t you see, you’re no better than someone who rents a girl off the streets and makes her tell you her name is Claire.”

  “That’s not true,” he said tightly. “It isn’t like that. It’s not dirty. It’s me and Claire together and there was nothing ever dirty about that.”

  “You’re wrong. It is dirty. As sullied as it would have been to invite me into your bedroom when she was still alive. Now let go.”

  “What are you going to do if I don’t,” he taunted.

  Cass practically snarled at him. “I’m so sick to death of being bullied by men today. Get your damn hand off me or I will bring this place down around your ears and you will be explaining to your superiors why you felt the need to accost a woman on your free time.”

  Her determination must have shown through her eyes because after a second he released her arm.

  She shrugged it out of his open grasp and bolted for the door. Outside in the fresh air, she leaned against the brick building and tried to rein herself in. The sudden burst of nausea she’d felt at the realization of what had actually happened that night had dissipated, but in its place were loss and humiliation. Neither of which were going anywhere.