Grave Measures (The Grave Report, Book 2)

by R. R. Virdi

  Something didn’t add up. I had encountered the doctor earlier and left him behind. Doctor Cartwright must’ve been several halls behind me when I heard the scream. It was muffled for me. There was no way he could have heard it. He also arrived far too quickly. Just after the creature left through the grate in fact. It was a stretch to believe he could fit through the vents, but then I wasn’t so sure about that either. I didn’t see the creature go through it.

  It was genius really, operating under the guise of an asylum doctor. The creature could move around without suspicion. It could visit any patient at anytime. That God-awful pressure returned. A hive of insects swarmed my mind.

  I lunged. The pale creature struggled beneath me. I snarled, sending my fist arcing toward its ugly head. I connected with its jaw. It struggled beneath my weight, not putting up much of a fight. My fingers dug into the doctor’s clothing as I tried to keep it from wriggling away from me. “No, you don’t!” My lips peeled back.

  The force of a linebacker threw me off the creature and sent me rolling across the floor. The fair-skinned, pill-popping orderly advanced toward me.

  “The hell are you doing?” I shouted. “Are you blind or just that stupid?” I pointed to the creature. The giant freak of a man grabbed me in an unbreakable grip. Well, not so unbreakable. I was sure I was going to break if he kept it up. My legs kicked against his, trying to find his shin, or even his groin.

  There are no cheap shots in a fight.

  “Don’t let him loose!” ordered the monstrous doctor.

  “Fuck that!” I thrashed. “Let me go!”

  The creature approached me. There was a narrow glint of silver in its hand. Something slipped into my arm, but I shook and fought it. My vision clouded. The creature took several cautious steps back, regarding me carefully. My body felt too heavy. My vision dimmed further.

  Blackness followed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Something tugged me awake. Well, awake was the wrong word. Sluggish consciousness maybe. My head felt like it had been filled with wet sand—muddy. Something itched at the back of my mind. Dim lights swam before me.

  Another tug, sharper this time.

  I let my head flop to the side. Whatever they had injected me with was powerful. Drugs don’t have the greatest of effects on me. They’re not tailored for souls. That doesn’t mean they can’t knock me out.

  “You okay?” The face attached to the voice was a blurry mess.

  “I get knocked down,” I sang off-key and drunkenly. “I get back up again,” I slurred. “You’re never gonna keep me down.”

  “He’s fine,” proclaimed another voice.

  My vision cleared from the slew of pharmaceutical whatsits in my system. I was able to make out a tawny young face. Large almond colored eyes peered at me with childlike curiosity.

  A roughness rubbed its way across the skin of my wrist. Lizzie tugged on a heavy-duty saddle-brown strap of leather.

  “Why,” I breathed, trying to speak slow and clear, “Am I strapped. To. A. Bed?”

  “Because you attacked Doctor Cartwright, genius.” The other voice was now discernible.

  “Ortiz?” I groaned.

  “Who else would come rescue you?”

  I mumbled something incoherent about not needing a rescue.

  Lizzie fiddled with the straps holding me in place. I developed an immense dislike of whoever put me in these situations. The easy answer was to blame Church. I awoke in a straitjacket the first time and was now tied to a bed. Whoever orchestrated this must’ve had a BDSM fetish they needed to work out.

  “Here, let me.” Ortiz nudged the struggling Lizzie aside.

  Everything snapped into clarity as my body worked its way through the suppressing effects of the drugs. I almost wished it hadn’t.

  I had lost two hours. Seventeen left. No pressure.

  Ortiz pulled harder than Lizzie had. A sliver of metal slipped out of a hole with a clink, striking the belt buckle and freeing my arm. Ortiz unfastened the ones around my waist and my other arm before tackling the pair at my ankles.

  It was a struggle to right myself. Luckily, I didn’t have to do it alone. Lizzie and Ortiz were there, helping me up. I didn’t know how to react. I’m rarely at a loss for words, but that simple action did the trick. I still wasn’t used to working with people. Six months prior, Ortiz had been the first person I had worked with in a long time.

  It changed a lot. Working with her through that case reminded why I did what I did, aside from the bit about having no choice in the matter. I did it to help people. To save them from the nasties out of stories. I learned I could count on people—trust them, lean on them if I needed to.

  Now here was another person, Lizzie, a girl around the age of eleven, helping me. I tried to swallow, but a series of dry coughs racked my throat. I waved Lizzie away as she stepped forward to help me. I let the coughs finish their bout. Clearing my throat with as much force as I could muster, I felt the saliva work its way down.

  “Thanks,” I said, finally able to speak with ease.

  I thought about having now dragged another person into my work. Guilt filled me. Lizzie had her whole life ahead of her. I couldn’t guarantee what would happen to her. And, yet, a portion of me was relieved to have someone else watching my back.

  “So, what happened?”

  “What happened what, Ortiz? You already know I attacked the doc.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Would you believe me if I said he was a monster? At least, I think he is.” I shook my head. There was just a hint of medicinal cobwebs left.

  “Are you…sure about that?” I understood her hesitance. Doctor Cartwright was the head doc in the asylum. He was responsible for helping many of the hospital’s patients recover. It was likely he worked with Ortiz as well. She already had trust issues because of our last case together. Casting doubt upon the doctor helping her was probably a hard thing to accept.

  “I’m sure of what I saw.” I kept my tone neutral.

  White teeth flashed as Ortiz’s lower lip folded back. She chewed on it.

  The ever-curious Lizzie leaned on the bed. “What did you see?”

  “It was after I left you two back in your room.” I nodded to Lizzie. “Bumped into Gus first. Had a talk—an argument really and—”

  “Who’s Gus?” Ortiz’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

  I described him.

  Ortiz gave Lizzie a questioning look. “You know him?”

  Lizzie shook her head.

  “Huh?” I eyed the pair of them. It was a big place. I shouldn’t have been surprised they didn’t know every last patient.

  “Keep going.” Ortiz rolled her hand for me to continue.

  “Uh, yeah, after that I went back to my room, tried to think about what could be doing the killings. I left to get a drink, and that’s when I heard a scream.”

  “Yeah,” Ortiz whispered. “We heard there was another death.”

  “Another heart attack.” I scowled. “I saw the thing feeding on him—”

  “Wait, you saw it?” Ortiz’s eyes went wide and she stared.

  I waggled my hand. “I saw bits of it. Whatever it is, it’s chalk white. Fast, slender and has weird appendages.”

  “Define weird.”

  “I don’t know, Ortiz—weird! It’s a monster. Something wrapped around my leg. Sure as hell wasn’t an arm!”

  “A tentacle?” Lizzie leaned closer.

  “Uh, yeah, maybe. Wait, how do you know?”

  “What you said.” Lizzie sounded as if everything were obvious.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “It sounds like a Narrowman.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

  Ortiz and I responded simultaneously. “A what?”

  “A Narrowman.” Lizzie stared at us as if we should’ve known. “They’re tall, thin, have tentacles on their arms. They can turn invisible, but kids can see them. They wear suits—”

  “T
hat freak wasn’t wearing a suit. Trust me, Lizzie. I—”

  “Their skin is really white,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “They make the air smell funny and they can make you see things.”

  “Hold on, Lizzie. How much do you know about this thing?”

  “A lot.”

  I shook my head. The sludge slid from side to side within my skull, trying to settle. “’Kay,” I huffed, hopping off the bed. “Let’s head back to my room. I have something to show you.”

  “Just...be discreet, okay?” Ortiz eyed me. “You attacked the head psychiatrist—again.”

  I had almost forgotten about that. Charles had attacked the doctor before. I pored over what info I could as we walked. He must’ve believed the doctor was some sort of monster, if not the monster.

  But that didn’t fit. If Cartwright was a monster, why didn’t he kill Charles for finding out? Although, it was possible that he did kill Charles. I still didn’t know the exact circumstances of his death.

  Something was off though. The doc didn’t seem surprised by “Charles’” return. Nor did the doctor attempt to kill me the many times he’d seen me. He had me alone in Charles’ room at one point. That was a perfect opportunity.

  The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t seem to fit. He wouldn’t have needed an orderly to subdue me if he were a monster. Hell, he could’ve killed me then and there, scoring a two-for-one meal ticket. None of that ruled out the doc as a monster one hundred percent. All it meant was that he might—might—not have been a monster. That...or he was exceptionally clever at concealing his identity.

  But I had learned over the case that there were some things you couldn’t hide from in the asylum.

  “Hey, Lizzie.” She turned her head to regard me. “Is there any chance you could get your ghost buddies to do me a favor?”

  Almond pools quaked.

  “Not your sister,” I added quickly.

  That didn’t do much to placate her.

  “Look, I know the ghosts have been through a lot. They’ve helped us a bunch. I’m grateful. I really am. But…” I paused, feeling sick at the hand I was about to play. “But, Ortiz and I helped them out too. Is there any chance, please, they can do something for me?”

  She stared at me for what was probably seconds but definitely could’ve passed for hours. When she spoke, her voice sounded heavy. “I can ask.” She sounded like it was the last thing she wanted to do.

  My stomach twisted, nauseous from having manipulated a child like that. But it needed to be done. Lives were at stake. Maybe if I kept telling myself that I wouldn’t feel so bad about it. “Thanks.”

  Lizzie turned her head without reply.

  I led the way in silence. It took us minutes to get back to Charles’ room. Fortunately, I didn’t draw any attention to myself. The last thing I needed was to be restrained again and lose more time.

  “Close the door.” I gestured to Ortiz.

  She shut it and turned to the markings I had brought to life through the power of Crayola. She smiled. “Ever think of taking art up as a profession?”

  Because I’m a mature paranormal investigator who would never stoop to petty remarks—I stuck my tongue out at her.

  “That’s a Narrowman.” Lizzie pointed to the wall.

  We followed her finger to the coloring of a rather slender figure. Looking at the markings Charles had made, I recalled all that Lizzie had said. Gears slotted and clicked into place. “What do you make of that, Ortiz?” I pointed to Charles’ cryptic message from earlier.

  She shrugged.

  I grimaced. “We’re not dealing with a Narrowman.”

  “What?” Ortiz stared at me in uncertainty.

  “How do you know?” Lizzie eyed me in the same manner as Ortiz.

  “Trust me. I think I know what’s behind this and, man, do I hope I’m wrong.”

  “Yeah?” She arched a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Yeah. Just how good are you with dead bodies?”

  Her eyebrow rose higher.

  I eased my way into the morgue. Ortiz followed and—despite our objections—Lizzie as well.

  The kid was nothing if not obstinate.

  At first I thought there might have been ghosts lurking about. My breath was visible as I exhaled. My teeth weren’t clacking together yet, but the air nipped at my bare arms. It wasn’t the temperature that made it feel cold. Not entirely. I think it had more to do with the notion of being in a room for the dead.

  A morgue isn’t solely a place where dead bodies are carved up, analyzed and shipped off from. It’s not just a room where the temperatures are chilling. It’s a home, no matter how temporary, for the dead. At least until they are given a more permanent form of rest—burial, cremation, whatever. There was a little bell going off in my head reminding me that we were trespassing in a place reserved for the dead. Knowing all of that is what made the cold feel so prominent.

  And yes, because the thermostat was also set to Gravescicle.

  Ortiz pointed to a nearby examination table. “Who’s that?”

  My eyes tightened as I tried to recall his name. “Andre?” His skin had already lost its color. His features suggested that he might have been several shades darker, like a rich stained wood. Someone had done him the politeness of shutting his eyes. Hair fell down to his ears, losing none of its black polish-like luster.

  Ortiz edged closer and pulled the sheet off his body. An unremarkable, average build greeted us. It was without marks of any kind. Ortiz made a puzzled face. “Whatever killed him did it without a trace,” she mumbled more to herself than the rest of us. I didn’t know what prompted her to lean closer. “Well...” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Autopsy? I’m assuming that’s why we’re here?”

  I nodded.

  “If we’re caught…” Ortiz eyed me askance.

  “I know.” I dragged my thumb across my neckline.

  Ortiz gave me a look, then cast a quick glance to Lizzie before settling upon me again. I took the hint.

  “Hey, Lizzie, you sure you don’t want to—”

  “No,” she interjected. Her answer might as well have been written in stone.

  Obstinate.

  I didn’t want to expose a kid to someone being sliced open, but then again, she had seen worse. I don’t know if that made it any better, or if it made me a terrible person. The world I work in isn’t kind to people, especially children. As much as I wanted to shelter her from whatever I could, at the end of the day, I wasn’t her father. I had no right to tell Lizzie what she could and couldn’t do.

  So I slipped my hands under her arms, picked her up without asking, and carried her to the door. Her legs kicked out. One of them glanced my ribs. Kids can kick. I dropped her outside the room and shut the door behind me, locking it as I did.

  Ortiz stared. I answered it with an exaggerated flourish of hands. “Proceed, Bones.”

  “Damnit, Jim, I’m an agent, not a doctor!” she growled. A light smile touched her lips.

  I snorted.

  She moved around the morgue, picking up implements and laying them atop a metal cart. “I don’t know if I should do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well for starters, won’t it be odd if a physician walks in and finds an autopsy already done? Especially when there’s no record of it being completed.”

  I shrugged. “So forge the record.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “It’s not our problem. We’re trying to save lives.”

  “And that means you can break the rules?” There was a dangerous undertone in her voice. Ortiz was a Fed. The law—rules and order—meant a lot to her. She didn’t see things my way, and I didn’t expect her to.

  “If it means helping people, then yes.” I set my jaw to let her know where I stood.

  She turned her head without responding. I knew she was weighing things. I left her to it. A moment later, she picked up a scalpel and pressed it to Andre’s chest. A V-like incision appe
ared seconds later. She made a simple linear motion, creating the full Y and stopping at his navel.

  Poor Andre opened like an oyster. Having been around too many dead bodies to count, I’ve developed a detachment when it comes to looking at them. I’ve also gotten used to the smell. Something pungent, meat-like, tickled my nose. Despite it, I watched quietly, trying to take note of whatever I could. There was no trauma from what I could see, but then I wasn’t the one with a medical background.

  There was a chorus of noise like breaking bone and sinews tearing. I buried the sounds and focused on what was important.

  “Anything?” I arched a brow and waited for her answer.

  Ortiz, engrossed in her examination, ignored me.

  “Anything?” I peered closer trying to figure things out for myself.

  “Nothing.” Her eyes never moved away from Andre’s body. “What I saw looked fine.” Her face furrowed. “In fact, everything looks fine, but I never finished med school so I could be missing something. I also don’t have a handbook on how monsters kill.” She gave me a look.

  Holy shit. I wondered if Ortiz had found my journals. Was it possible she knew? When she didn’t say anything further, I exhaled through my nose as silently as possible.

  She put the scalpel aside and stood there like she was wrought from stone.

  “The young woman before—she died of a heart attack, right?”

  “According to what I found and what you said, Charles, yes.” Ortiz shook her head in agreement.

  “How could you tell?”

  “Well, you suggested what it might be, not to mention what we saw—”

  “We saw a monster.” I gave her a level stare.

  “Yes, but there were no other signs of trauma. When that happens, most people rule it as a sudden heart attack.”

  “Any other signs?” I hoped something would turn up.

  Her eyes turned to the floor. She brought her thumb and forefinger to her chin as she thought. “There were some hemorrhagic areas. The heart wasn’t only stressed, but looked bruised.”

  “Anything else?” I needed more.

  “Yeah.” Her eyes widened for a second and she swore.