Mysterious Blood Relatives (Obscure Blood Book 3)

by Christopher Leonidas

  Lucinda giggled again. He loved that sound.

  “I thought I was supposed to be the horny one,” she said, entwining her leg around his waist.

  Octa smirked. “Oh, this is just sympathy horniness. I’m trying to feel the same way you would be at the moment.” He slipped a hand in hers and pulled her against him, kissing her. He felt her warm body languidly stretch as the kiss deepened and at that moment, even with all the things that had happened in his life, Octa knew that this was the moment where everything was going to be fine.

  ***

  Octa woke with a start. He’d never had this dream before. He slapped his hands against his eyes and took a deep breath. He could almost felt Lucinda’s body against him as in the dream. He’d felt her skin under his as she’d stretched across him, but now he was awake, and she wasn’t here. It wasn’t just a dream though. This had been seven months before Christina was born. Her face flashed before his eyes. He had pushed all the memories of his beloved daughter down after she had been killed, but now with Lucinda gone too, he felt his mind starting to go haywire. Reaching for the clock on the nightstand, Octa blinked hard, trying to see what the time was. It read ten past one in the morning.

  He had been asleep for quite a long time. Taking a deep breath, Octa got up. He went down to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator, pulled out some mac and cheese he had made a few days ago. Octa shook his head. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, he thought as he dropped onto the couch in the living room and ate. As he contemplated showing up at the precinct in the morning and to talk to John, his train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

  Octa got up, opened the door, and John entered, looking the worse for wear. In the night light’s faint glow, John’s face looked even older than he actually was, the pale light enhancing all the stress lines. The man who had probably solved more homicides and seen more blood and madness than Octa ever would.

  They both walked to the living room. Octa then finished his bowl of week-old, cold mac and cheese.

  “So this is the life of the glamorous?” John asked gruffly, sitting down in an armchair beside Octa.

  Octa smiled lightly. “In all its glory.”

  “Your aunt’s worried about yo,” John said as he looked around the dim living room.

  “How is she? Seems like you guys got out okay.”

  “We did,” John said, turning to Octa. “I also know you went back to the warehouse and had some fun of your own. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You can’t think that I wouldn’t find out about it. This might have been a regular case had the bodies not been disposed of.”

  Octa felt a lump in his throat. “I didn’t do it.”

  John glared. “What?”

  Octa felt the familiar anger rising up in his belly. “I didn’t kill anyone. Well, at least not after you guys were gone. I went back, but I knew I was outnumbered.”

  John’s glare remained steady. “So what exactly happened?”

  “I went back and waited for them to leave so I could get my car. After they left, there were only two of them who stayed back to bring my car along, but they couldn’t open it. That’s when I disarmed them. I wanted to hear their side of the story, why they wanted to kill me. I knew they’d be able to tell me about Don,” Octa emphasized. “I was interrogating them about him when they were shot. I didn’t shoot them. I didn’t do it.” Octa repeated. He had still not been able to register properly how exactly the other night had transpired, but whoever had shot the two men obviously wanted to keep Octa out of trouble while making sure that Don was safe as well.

  “After they were shot, I stayed for a while, trying to see where the shot had come from but I couldn’t find anything. I thought that the person had probably left,” Octa continued as John snorted. “This whole situation is getting too confusing, John. If the shooter killed those two men, then why not kill me? I easily could have been shot too.”

  John leaned back, resting his head against the cushion, “Whoever it was, was probably trying to save your ass while keeping Don safe too.”

  “That’s what I thought. But why? With me dead, Don wouldn’t have to worry about a thing,” Octa said.

  “Maybe Don wants to kill you himself. Or maybe you have a guardian angel,” John chuckled.

  “Wielding a sniper rifle? I don’t think so.” Octa frowned and reached for his cold bowl of pasta, not caring what John thought.

  “So what are you gonna do now?” John asked, raising his eyebrows.

  Octa shrugged. “I’ll find Don and take him into custody.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” John grumbled. “If I were you, I’d remember to follow procedure unless you want to spend eternity in jail.”

  “I know, but John…” Octa’s mind jumbled for the right words. “I need to do this. This man took everything from me. He ruined my family. He took my father, my mother.”

  “And what about Juan?” John asked unexpectedly.

  Octa paused.

  “From what I had in mind, I thought you and Juan were going to kill each other. After all, he did kill your wife,” John stated.

  “So you know about the case?” Octa asked quietly.

  “It was a high-profile murder investigation that evolved in a high-speed car chase down a busy freeway which then ended up with a fiery crash with Juan burnt to a crisp. I think it’s safe to say that the whole district knows about this case,” John snapped.

  “Yeah, but does everyone know that it was my brother?” Octa persisted.

  The older detective’s face softened by a fraction. “Well, since it’s related to a member of the precinct, the chief is keeping the information on the down-low for a while before the statement is released to the press. For now, you’re safe, but you need to realize that because you kept all of this information a secret, you’re headed for a real shit storm.”

  Octa sighed and nodded. In hindsight, he should have known that all the secrecy was going to catch up with him.

  “So, what’s going to happen now?” John asked.

  Octa closed his eyes. “I’m going to do what I was originally going to do. Juan is dead so I can’t do any more for him, but I will search for the child he kept talking about, his son. Then I’m going to search for Don and then I’ll kill him. Expose his whole messed up methods to the world.”

  John rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you’ll have time for that. Besides, with so much attention on you, the press will dig up your relatively exciting history of bloodshed itself.”

  Octa stiffened. “What does that mean?

  “Your folks, your family and your partner, Bob. They’re all either dead or missing, and the only thing they have in common is you,” John said, pointing a finger at Octa.

  Octa was outraged. “But I was the one who lost all of them!”

  “Like the press will care about your loss. To them, you will only be another trigger-happy, anti-social loner who’s surrounded by death. They’ll want to have a deeper look at you, and I’m sure that when the DA hears about you keeping information regarding a case, he’ll be more than happy to throw the book at you to get some extra publicity points for his future political career,” John said bluntly.

  Octa stood up and slammed the bowl back on the table. He would not be insulted this way in his own house. “John, why are you telling me all this?” he asked irritably. “Why are you here?”

  John sighed. “Because, I want you to be cautious. You’re a good egg, but you’re just going into a deeper hole.”

  “It’s not like I dug it,” Octa almost shouted.

  “Didn’t you?” John asked simply.

  Octa stared. “Why did you help my aunt escape? You can’t just be doing this now. You can’t just be sitting here, wasting my time and telling me my future, if you don’t have a reason. Why?”

  John sighed and stood up. “I was the first person on-scene when your mother was murdered. Your aunt saw me as someone who could help. I kept her name out of the files. I h
elped her in every way I could. Same as I am doing for you now.”

  John made his way to the foyer as Octa fumed.

  “Don’t kill yourself, Octa. You’ve made a home on the dark path and now you’re happy staying there, but you need to remember that you shouldn’t be. Sometimes, when you’re faced with troubles, you feel like you have no other option. You make choices, none of which are really good, but you do so because you think they might help you, or someone else. You need to understand that you will lose yourself if you carry on. You’ve already crossed the line when it comes to knowing who’s right and who’s wrong, but with this, you’ll just dive into a much darker place, one where you can’t escape.”

  John looked down. “This guy, Don, this is what he does. He knows how to manipulate a person’s weakness and turn it into a weapon for himself. He thinks of himself as a Messiah who will push people to a more enlightened future. He makes people think that the choices they are making are right. Even though they’re horrible, and he takes them to a point where they lose their own balance. They stay weak. And Octa, you might not think it this way, but this man has shaped you into who you are now. Your whole life is the way it is because of him, and I see it. That’s why I want to help you, because I want you to get out of the darkness. You won’t fully come back, but at least, in the end, you won’t feel like a puppet whose strings are tightly held in Don’s hands. This is what I did for your aunt. I did the right thing to help her in any way I could, and she’s still alive. I want to be able to say the same for you in ten years’ time.”

  Octa felt his lungs screaming and he realized that he was holding his breath.

  “I’ve seen a lot of stuff over the years so the line between right and wrong has kind of blurred for me. But I don’t want the same to happen to you. Whatever you do, remember that you can get away, that even though this may seem like an end-game, it isn’t.” John shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked up. “Food for thought.”

  He smiled gently, and opening the front door, he disappeared down the steps.

  Octa stepped back and leaned with his hands against the back of the couch, his head spinning.

  Chapter Eight

  Octa closed the car door quietly and started edging toward the police precinct. There probably weren’t going to be a lot of detectives on the night shift, but Octa had to be careful. After John left, Octa got to work on finding this Don Swanson.

  A simple Google search had revealed quite a bit about the man, but it had nothing on his supposed cult-leader alter ego. According to the internet, he was a quiet businessman who worked in product merchandising. He was well-educated and rich now, but was actually a self-made man as he’d had a poor childhood. He didn’t have a family, though. His mother had died when he was a boy and his father was out of the picture even before Don was born. The man didn’t have wife, kids or even friends. He was a quiet person who liked to do business without creating too much fuss. To the normal eye, Don Swanson was just a normal businessman, but Octa could see beyond it.

  Google had also supplied him with a picture of Don. Although not the best shot of him, the picture had given Octa all he needed. The shot was of Don talking with the mayor at some gala or benefit. The mayor leaned toward Don, his body language submissive and his eyes down. To a normal eye, the picture would have seemed like the mayor was only listening to the businessman intently, but Octa saw the way Don towered over the mayor. He enjoyed the position of being in control of some of the most powerful people in the city.

  Octa took a deep breath entered the station. The place was quiet and for the few who were still at their desks, the detectives looked haggard and didn’t even notice as Octa slipped past them to his desk. Octa quickly slid into his chair and fired up his computer to search for Don Swanson’s address and possible associations with any crime.

  The database did have an entry for Don Swanson, but it was short. He had done a year in jail for assault with a deadly weapon. The man who had lodged the complaint had stated that Don had assaulted his son with a knife on Halloween, even though it wasn’t real. Don was let go after eight months in jail after his son had come out and stated that he’d known the knife was fake and he just wanted to teach Don a lesson for trying to talk to his girlfriend.

  Bad enough to make that kid get a severe beating, but it wasn’t bad enough to turn Don into a psychopath, Octa thought as he scrolled down for Don’s address. Noting the location for both his business and home, Octa quickly shut down his computer and sneaked out the front door. He was sure no one had seen him, and since it was four in the morning, it wasn’t likely that anyone would even be paying attention.

  Octa hopped in his car and drove off, straight to Don’s office. It was on the other side of town so it took a while for Octa to spot the four-story, grey building at the corner that said “Swansons & Co.” Octa was surprised to see the top floor of the building dimly lit. He slowed down and parked a bit further away so that he wasn’t in direct view of the building.

  “Burning the midnight oil, are we?” he whispered as the shadows of a few homeless people loomed in and out of sight. Octa reached back and felt for the gun stashed on his side. Octa had bought this gun for emergencies, but with the situation completely out of hand, he didn’t care if the bullets would later match up to his personal weapon, as he was going to make sure that Don Swanson would die from his bullets.

  Octa got out of the car and made his way to the back of the building, making sure to stay low and out of sight if someone was to look out. He got to the back door and slowly tried the backdoor lock, but it didn’t budge.

  Of course it wouldn’t, you idiot, Octa thought as he searched for another way in and espied a small, basement window. Pressing his fingers into the grooves, Octa pulled and it popped open. The window frame was snug fit, but Octa managed to slide through. The basement was dark, damp and humid, but he could see well enough. He soon found the stairs and opening the door, he peeked out. Weird that the window didn’t have an alarm attached to it, he thought.

  He didn’t see any guards in his line of site, and pushed the door open a bit more. He looked in the other direction, but there was no one at the guards’ station. Maybe the guard is in the bathroom, Octa thought as he sneaked into the hallway, closing the basement door gently behind him. Drawing his gun, he cocked it to make sure he was ready in case there was a surprise around the corner for him.

  There were no sounds–absolutely nothing, not even the sound of a clock. It creeped Octa out. It felt like climbing the steps to the fourth floor took ages, but finally Octa reached the top step and looked out cautiously. There was an office at the end of the room. There was a light on inside, but the door was closed. This is weird, he thought. Usually this office exits onto a hallway, not a room. Rows of desks lined the room, each decked with different memorabilia belonging to Don’s different employees. Octa took a deep breath. It was now or never.

  Marching up to the office, Octa was just about to open the door when he stopped. He noticed a small window, and approached it cautiously. He counted the shadows from the outside. Four people, all walking around. He felt for his other guns at the back of his jeans and patted the extra bullets and magazines he had in his back pockets. Still there.

  Gripping the door knob, he twisted it and raised his gun at the first person he saw.

  His aunt stared back at him. Her gun was aimed at his passed-out father’s temple. The old man sat in a chair, bloodied, his head dropping forward. John Intel held the man by the shoulders to make sure he didn’t fall off the chair, and Don Swanson, the man himself, sat in his chair behind his large desk, shrouded by darkness.

  Octa felt all the blood drain out of him. “What the hell?”

  “Now is that really necessary?” his aunt said with disapproval.

  Chapter Nine

  Octa couldn’t believe it. What the hell was this? His eyes whizzed from his aunt to John to his father, who wasn’t moving. John looked pained, but he didn’t move as
Chelsea huffed.

  “Octa, put the gun down. There’s no need for this. We’re just taking care of business,” she said, having the audacity to seem angry at him. That snapped Octa back to reality.

  “What the is this? What the hell are you two doing?” Octa growled with a low voice. He felt his arm shiver as his chest contracted, but he forced himself to stay steady. A deep voice broke the tension.

  “Octa, I believe I should explain this. It’s the least I can do.”

  Don Swanson stood up, came around his desk, and walked up to Octa. He extended his hand as if Octa was a business buddy, and not someone who was hell bent on killing him. Octa took in the man’s appearance. Octa was tall enough, but this man towered over him. He didn’t look like a man who had lived off the streets during his childhood, and age had been kind to him. His salt-and-pepper hair, grey eyes and laugh lines around his eyes and mouth made him look like a kind dad, when in reality he was a monster who just knew how to dress well.

  Don paused and pulled back, sighing as leaned his back against his desk. “Octa, if you could put that gun down, I’d be really grateful.”

  Octa stared menacingly. “Grateful? I’d be grateful if you’d allow me to put a bullet in your head. Then I’ll gladly put down my gun.”

  His aunt shook his head. She still had her gun aimed at his father’s temple. “Octa, calm down. All can be explained.”

  Octa turned to look at her. “Alright. I’m all ears.”

  Chelsea looked back at Don, who shrugged.

  “Octa, you know your father was making trouble. We found him two days ago, after we had gotten away from the warehouse,” she stated.

  “Yeah, where he tried to kill us all by sending his goons. Or is that something you don’t remember?” he spat at Don, who remained passive, his arms crossed across his chest.

  Chelsea looked ashamed. “That was my fault. I should have told Don I was going to meet you. If I had died, it would have been the right thing. I shouldn’t have gone behind his back.”