What Hides Within

by Jason Parent

  “Why’d you call me down here, Dr. Hawthorne?”

  “Do you know him?” The medical examiner smiled.

  “Should I? If his dick weren’t hanging out like that, I wouldn’t even have known it was a him. Where’s the rest of him? I don’t recall any acid accidents coming through our precinct.”

  “Take a look.” Dr. Hawthorne handed Reilly a case folder. “Derek LeRoux” was written on its tab. The autopsy was finished. Dr. Hawthorne’s report was complete, but Reilly couldn’t understand the conclusion the medical examiner had drawn.

  “LeRoux was brought in Wednesday,” Hawthorne said, seemingly eager to explain her results. “He was found like this in his bed that morning, although much more intact, mind you. His time of death was estimated at around 4:40 a.m., Sunday morning.”

  “Yeah, I remember him. But he looked less decomposed when we brought him in. What happened to his skin? Bad reaction to formaldehyde or something?”

  “I didn’t do this to him, Detective. We initially determined his cause of death to be asphyxiation. All signs seemed to suggest it, although we weren’t sure how or why. By the time I got to him, though, his flesh had already been decomposing, much like you see here. Only, his rate of decomposition is at least thirty times faster than normal. On closer examination, one can easily see that his flesh isn’t decomposing at all. It’s liquefying.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When I cut into him, large portions of his body, his epidermal cells, his internal organs… basically everything in him except bone had turned to mush. On top of that, his body temperature has actually increased. It’s grotesquely high for us living persons, never mind a dead man. Trying to do an autopsy on him was like cutting into warm pudding. It’s like he rotted from the inside out, his skin last to go. It’s a good thing you found him when you did, or you’d be investigating a stew.”

  “Sounds appetizing. I’m assuming you’re coming to some point?”

  “Yes. After some initial testing, I assumed some chemical compound must be causing this drastic breakdown in tissue structure. With that in mind, I ran more tests. Believe me, even with the effects being so drastic, it wasn’t easy to discover his ailment.”

  “And that would be? Other than death, of course.”

  “It turns out that his body has been taken over by a trace amount of a complex protein polypeptide, alpha-Latrotoxin combined with Guanosine, Adenosine—”

  “Doctor, please. In English, if you would?”

  “Basically, our victim here is loaded with a neurotoxin and some sort of digestive enzyme. The neurotoxin seems the most probable cause of death, binding to his presynaptic cholinergic receptors and causing permanent blockage of the nerve synapse.”

  “Doctor—”

  “Sorry. The end result of the neurotoxin’s imposition into the body was complete paralysis of the victim’s diaphragm, making it impossible for him to breathe.”

  “So, if I understand you correctly, you’re saying this man was poisoned?”

  “Not poison. Venom. The strongest venom I’ve ever seen or read about. And what’s worse, now he’s being digested.”

  Considering Reilly’s fear of flesh-eating parasites, that description hit too close to home. She took a step back, covering her mouth and nose with her hand.

  “Don’t worry, Detective. You won’t contract anything from him, although I would recommend that you don’t touch him.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Reilly relaxed a little but maintained her distance. “Is it your conclusion that this man was murdered?”

  “All I can do is give you the facts. I’ve cross-referenced the neurotoxin against known venoms from all animals found in our database. Its chemical makeup, together with the digestive enzymes and the fact that so little of the substance is actually present in the bloodstream, correlate this man’s symptoms with those bitten by black widow spiders. You see, when widow spiders feed, they paralyze their prey with their venom and liquefy its flesh with digestive enzymes spit up from their intestinal tract. Basically, it dissolves the food source like battery acid on skin.”

  “You called me down here for a spider bite? Why don’t you just alert the CDC or whoever deals with that crap and be done with it?”

  “That’s just it, Detective. Let’s assume he was bitten by a black widow. Normally, a healthy adult wouldn’t die from it. The spider’s venom is toxic, but one bite injects so little of it that only young children, the infirm, or the elderly are susceptible to serious harm. This man has the toxicity of a victim of a hundred or more simultaneous widow bites… or one giant spider whose stomach acids are unprecedentedly strong enough to digest human prey.”

  “That kind of thing only happens in science fiction movies.” Reilly didn’t appreciate her time being wasted with ridiculous theories. She frowned and crossed her arms.

  “My thoughts exactly. That’s why I called you, Detective. I’ve examined every inch of the body. There are no spider bites on this man. Had it been some enormous movie spider or even lots of little ones, we’d certainly find a bite. The point of injection of the venom in this man was likely around the head or neck. It’s impossible to pinpoint exactly where since his head has largely been digested. When I opened his skull, his brain poured out like gravy.”

  Reilly could see the delight on Dr. Hawthorne’s face as she relayed her corpse-cutting stories to her captive and captivated, though disgusted, audience. This is why I hate coming down here.

  “Anyway,” the doctor continued, “the toxicity of the substance and the nature of its injection into the body suggest this man’s death was, at the least, suicide. No spider venom is this potent without human tampering. And unless this man was some sort of advanced chemistry major with access to insane amounts of spider venom, he was probably murdered, perhaps by needle.”

  “And if he didn’t have his advanced chemistry degree, I’m looking for some pharmaceutical madman who works with antivenin on a daily basis?”

  “In a matter of speaking, yes. Should be easy enough to find. You’re welcome, Detective.”

  “Nothing’s ever that easy, Doctor. And unless you can provide me something more solid than what seems like a lot of conjecture on your part, or at least name me someone who can replicate this so-called venom in a lab, find someone else to entertain with your theories. As for me, I’m sticking with allergic reaction as the most likely cause of Mr. Pudding Pop here.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “O

  uch!”

  “Hold still,” Morgan said, “and you won’t get stuck. You’re such a baby sometimes.”

  “Are you even supposed to be in here?” Clive laughed. “I’m down to my boxers.”

  “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Morgan blushed, and she looked away.

  The tailor stared at her as though he were trying to silently let her know he was still there.

  “I guess I’ll let you two boys finish up. I’ll be outside.” Morgan giggled and exited the Macy’s fitting room. Clive smiled, thinking about how far he and Morgan had come in a short time. Derek had been dead only a week. They had known about it for even less than that. Yet Clive was happy. He had started the week as Morgan’s friend and ended it as her lover. He was surprised to realize it was what she’d always wanted. Clive had let his affection and love for Morgan out of its protective casing.

  “How do I look?” Clive jumped out of the fitting area in a dapper black pinstriped suit. It was by no means Armani, but he allowed himself to splurge a bit. He figured he’d stopped growing a long time ago, and his one all-purpose suit was worn and out of style. It was time to get a new one, even if he’d only wear it once.

  “You look fantastic! I’ve never seen you in a suit. You clean up nicely.”

  “Thanks, babe. You ain’t too bad yourself. Keep it up with those compliments, and I’ll let you take this thing off me later.”

  “Sounds like a deal.”

  Clive looked at the $320 price tag sticking out
of his sleeve. With shoes, tie, socks, and a shirt, he’d easily spend over four hundred dollars. He didn’t have the money. He’d have to charge it, but it didn’t matter. After all, he looked good. It wasn’t like he spent money on suits every day.

  After settling the bill with the cashier and forgetting to tip the tailor, he and Morgan decided to walk the mall. It wasn’t often that Clive got up to Providence Place. Most of the shops sucked, and the restaurants were adequate at best. Morgan loved the Cheesecake Factory, though, so he knew he’d be dropping another sixty dollars, minimum, on an overpriced dinner for two.

  Saturday at the mall was packed. The two waddled from store to store. Clive held the bag containing his suit and the four bags of clothing Morgan had bought. He felt like he was balancing the scales of justice. One more bag on either arm, and he’d tip. He needed a break.

  “Can we eat now?” Clive asked as they approached a Johnny Rockets. The smell of greasy burgers and chopped onion made his stomach speak in nonhuman tongues.

  “Aw. Is widdle Clive hungwy?”

  “Very funny. But yes, I am hungry.”

  “Where do you want to eat?”

  “There’s always Dave & Buster’s.”

  “Nah. Let’s go someplace a little nicer,” Morgan said.

  “Fire and Ice? Uno’s?” Clive knew Morgan’s game. He knew where she wanted to go. But if she wanted to go there, she was going to have to say so. He wasn’t about to suggest it.

  “Actually, I was thinking the Cheesecake Factory.”

  “You were, were you? With all these places around us, you want to walk all the way to the end of the mall, go down three escalators, and wait for a table for forty-five minutes?”

  “I like the Cheesecake Factory,” she said.

  “You don’t say?” Clive knew he was venturing into a battle he couldn’t win. He decided to retreat. “Cheesecake Factory it is.”

  Morgan leaned in to kiss him. “I love you,” she whispered, her eyes alight like a child’s on Christmas morning.

  A smile breached Clive’s face despite his efforts to hold it back. He took her hand in his before he realized he still had all her bags to carry. When the realization came, the smile and the hand-holding stopped. He picked up their bags and headed across the food court. He plopped down the bags a second time when he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

  “Is that my roommate?” Clive stopped short. A few tables away, a young man sat fidgeting and staring intently at his hands. At his feet, he had a green backpack. One of its straps was wrapped around his calf.

  “Where?” Morgan chicken-headed her gaze over the mall crowd in the direction Clive was looking. “I don’t see him.”

  “Over there.” He pointed. “Looks like he’s all by himself.”

  “Now, Clive, I know what you’re thinking—”

  “What kind of guy hangs out at the mall all by himself? He’s either a pedophile or lonely. We should invite him to have dinner with us.”

  “God, you’re predictable. And you’re assuming he’s lonely and not a pedophile.” Morgan sighed. “Can’t we have a nice, quiet dinner by ourselves?”

  “It’s just dinner, Morgan.”

  “You have no sense of romance. Besides, didn’t you tell me the detective thought Kevin might be involved with the bombings? That guy gives me the creeps.”

  “Look at him, Morgan. He’s a puss. I live with the guy, for Christ’s sake. I know him well enough to know that he’s no bomber.”

  “You never know,” she said. “People can surprise you sometimes.” She smiled and nudged him in the side.

  “It would be the right thing to do, Morgan. He’ll probably say no anyway.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Come on. Let’s ask him.”

  As they approached Kevin, he was bouncing in his seat. He shifted when he noticed Clive, dragging the backpack farther underneath him. He met Clive’s stare with the sullen eyes of a dog that had been beaten into submission. But something in him changed. His eyebrows slashed downward. His jaw clenched. He no longer shook from apprehension but from rage. Something about Clive made him rabid.

  “You! You’ve been doing this to me? You prick! I’ll fucking kill you!”

  Clive took a step back, but the threat sparked his own aggression. “Slow down, jerkoff. I just came over here to see if you wanted to get dinner with us.”

  “Cut the crap. I know it’s you. I don’t know how you found out, but it makes sense. I’m around you more than anyone else. It’s not surprising that you might have seen something.”

  “Clive,” Morgan said, stepping between the roommates. “What’s going on?”

  “Apparently, Kevin has a problem with me.”

  “Yeah, keep playing dumb in front of your whore girlfriend, asshole. I came here to end this thing, so let’s end it.”

  Clive seethed. He stood tall, spurred by a chauvinistic sense of honor—the need to defend one’s girlfriend from insult. “Kev, I don’t know what your fucking problem is, but you’d better lay off, or I’ll kick the living shit out of you.”

  Morgan stepped closer to Clive. “Maybe we should just leave.”

  Clive shoved her out of his way. He would speak his piece. “No, Morgan. Fuck this guy. I come over here to do something nice, and he insults us. That’s the thanks I get. You’re fucked-up, Kevin. I’m out of here.” He turned to leave. “Let’s go, Morgan.”

  “Not again!” Kevin shouted. “You’re not going to keep doing this shit to me.”

  Kevin lunged from his seat. He grabbed the back of Clive’s coat and yanked, knocking him off balance. Clive stumbled, slinging the bags from his arms as he flailed. Morgan’s new, but no longer secret, Victoria’s Secret underwear lay strewn about on the dirty floor. With a shriek, she rushed to gather her belongings.

  Clive hit the ground ass first. His tailbone bruised all flesh between it and the hard floor. Already, a crowd was gathering. Clive got up quickly, his face red from a combination of rage and humiliation. He charged at Kevin like a bull at a matador.

  Kevin threw up his arms in defense. The wild haymaker Clive threw connected with his ear and sent him crashing to the ground.

  With Kevin down and the commotion growing around him, Clive backed off. The police serving details at the mall would likely be on their way. It was time to go. He grabbed his bags and his girlfriend and once again turned to leave. The gasp of the crowd made him turn full circle.

  Kevin had pulled something from his bag—some sort of cheap souvenir knife, undoubtedly mass-produced in Taiwan. With a fake ivory handle and a rust-stained blade, it looked old or used. Used or not, it was sharp. It could still kill.

  Morgan clung to Clive’s arm like a leech. But Clive was too pissed off to be cautious. “What do you plan on doing with that thing, asshole?”

  “You wanted this so badly, well, here it is, Clive!” Kevin yelled. Spit sprang from his mouth as he spoke through his tears. “I just wanted it to go away. But you wouldn’t let it. Why? Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I don’t have any clue what you’re talking about. And now you pull a knife on me? At the mall? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  “I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch. I did it before, and I can do it again. Only something tells me that you’ll be much easier.”

  The point of the knife aimed at Clive, Kevin crept closer. Clive was no fighter. He certainly had never had to dodge a knife attack before. By the look on Kevin’s face, he knew there was a first time for everything.

  “Hey! Hey you!” a voice shouted over the violence-hungry crowd. “Stay where you are!”

  Clive obeyed the stranger’s command but only because he was being held at knifepoint. Kevin seemed to come to his senses, hearing the voice and seeing the horrified yet enthralled expressions of mall-going families breaking in their Saturday shopping sprees for some R-rated entertainment. Someone was coming. Whether it was Providence Police or mall security, he didn’t stick around t
o find out. He vanished through the crowd, not a single person lending his pursuers a hand.

  Clive and Morgan also left. All eyes were on the man with the knife. Clive’s part had already been forgotten. He used Kevin’s flight as an opportunity to make his own escape.

  They walked to the parking garage and quickly drove away. Clive thought he’d call Detective Reilly later to tell her what had happened. Morgan was shaking. He’d stay with her for a while.

  He looked at her and smiled reassuringly. Everything was okay. Well, almost everything. He still owed Morgan some cheesecake.

  CHAPTER 32

  T he silent drip of the morphine in her saline bag matched the slow beat of her heart. She had lost so much weight in the last few days as her body ate away at itself. More hair lay in matted clumps on her pillow than was left on her head. A blessed remission had extended her time in this world. It had been good time, well spent. Time enough to ensure that her affairs were in order before she relapsed.

  Rachel slept deeply. The cancer had withered her body, yet she felt calm, full of a strong inner peace. She had been through countless treatments, some worthwhile and others a waste. Additional chemotherapy would have been futile. She had exhausted all pharmaceutical and surgical remedies. She’d even tried some of the more alternative forms of treatment before she’d come to grips with the inevitable. The cancer wouldn’t be stopped. It seized most of her organs like an invading army.

  Through understanding and acquiescence, Rachel came to accept death. With all the mental and physical anguish she’d endured, she embraced it. She no longer worried for herself but only for those she left behind. It wasn’t that she’d given up. Rather, she recognized that the fight was no longer winnable. She would die. She was ready.