Mind Over Monsters

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Um, hi,” he mumbles as he looks to the side.

  “Jesus Christ, Will, move it,” Irie says, pushing him to the side. How is it her brown skin glows after last night and mine is the color of that dead half-man in medical? So not fair. “Hey Bea, great job last night,” she says on her way to the lab.

  “Thanks.”

  Will steps out of the doorway to let in Carl, Agent Chandler, and Nancy. Carl half smiles as he passes. Please let him have kept his trap shut better than I did. Agent Chandler completely ignores me as he heads toward the conference room.

  “That was pretty intense last night, huh?” Nancy says in her usual enthusiastic manner. “First zombies then a freaking werewolf! Will, she was, like, seconds away from blowing your brains out! It was so—”

  “Nancy,” Will growls, “go.”

  “He’s always grumpy right after a change. You’ll get used to it.” She grins at us both on her way to the lab. A few incredibly long seconds of uncomfortable silence begin when the door closes. He glances everywhere but at me, and I do the same.

  “I—” we both say at the same time. “Sorr—” We both say again. I laugh first but he joins in, running his hand through his hair.

  “God, this is awkward,” he says, still laughing.

  “I know.”

  “I just wanted to say I’m so sorry for … um, everything. I didn’t mean to—I mean, when I’m in that condition, I have very little control of myself.”

  “I know. It’s okay. It was stupid of me to go into the woods in the first place. I’m just glad we both made it out in one piece.” And I didn’t have to shoot you.

  “Me too. And it will never happen again. Ever.”

  “What? You turning into a wolf and chasing me?”

  “No. Well, yes, that won’t happen again either. Just, um, never mind.” He holds out his hand. “Friends?”

  I shake it. “Friends.”

  Then his thumb caresses the top of my hand, and I almost melt. A hot, yummy feeling cascades down my body like warm rain, and I meet his eyes. Oh boy, bad idea. Even after last night, it takes all my willpower not to kiss him until our lips bleed. I wonder what he tastes like. I wonder if he’s as gorgeous out of that suit as he is in it. I—okay, stop there, Bea. What the heck is wrong with me? I quickly pull my hand out of his.

  He looks down at the carpet at the same time I do. “Uh, maybe we should go into the conference room and figure out where the case will go from here.”

  “Yeah. Yes. Good idea. Be right in.”

  I move right to let him pass, but he steps the same way. The same thing happens when we step left. We chuckle but don’t look up from the floor. I don’t move as he passes me. He enters the conference room and the second the door closes, I let out a big sigh and run my hands over my face. Get a grip, Bea; you’re acting like a teenager with a crush. Hormones do not rule your life anymore. And the totally strange thing is he seemed more upset by the licking part than the almost-killing-me part. A werewolf with intimacy issues. I sure can pick ‘em.

  The men are examining the whiteboard when I walk in. “What is this?” Agent Chandler asks.

  “I was just brainstorming.”

  “Do you think there’s a connection we missed?” Will asks.

  “I doubt it, but it can’t hurt to write it out. We really don’t have anything else to go on that I can think of.”

  “What about the husband?” Will asks.

  “As far as we know, he’s still in California,” Agent Chandler says. “Last night I expanded on Irie’s work. We confirmed that he checked in at the airport on the way to California but his return ticket isn’t for a few days. We also confirmed there are no other reservations under his name at any other airline.”

  “What about credit card activity?” Will asks.

  “Nothing since yesterday at the gas station in Sacramento.”

  “Did you check bank statements?” I ask. “He could have paid cash so there wouldn’t be a trail.”

  “Yes. He withdrew five hundred dollars three days ago,” Agent Chandler says.

  “Chandler,” Will says, “get on the horn and have the Bureau send someone to wherever Wayland is staying and see if he’s still there.”

  “Okay.”

  “Alexander, come with me.”

  I follow Will out and down toward the lab. Irie and Nancy look up from their stations as we enter. “What’s up?” Irie asks.

  “Finish what you’re doing and meet us outside.” He shuts the door.

  “What are we doing?” I ask as we walk out the front door and down the stairs.

  “Something we should have done yesterday.” He stops at the SUV. “We wasted all day running down the wrong suspect.”

  “She was a good suspect.”

  “She had an alibi, and we ignored it.”

  “It happens, right? We did find out about the affair, that’s something. But what if Wayland actually is in California? What do we do? Start looking at paranormal mob connections?”

  “I was a policeman for close to twenty years. Nine times out of ten, someone close to the victim is responsible. Occam’s Razor: the simplest explanation is usually the right one.” Must be the team motto.

  Nancy and Irie come out of the trailer, speaking softly to each other. Nancy giggles. “What, Will?” Irie says when she reaches us. “You need three babes to protect you now?”

  “Maybe,” he says completely serious. “Get in the car.”

  Irie and Nancy exchange glances. Nancy rolls her eyes, but they do get in the car. I climb into the back with Nancy. “So where are we going that you think we need so much firepower?” Irie asks.

  “Wayland’s house. Screw the search warrant. If Walter Wayland is there, I don’t want to take any chances after last night.”

  “What? You think he keeps corpses around the house as some sort of security system?” Irie asks.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Will says.

  She shrugs. “Whatever. I’m just glad I’m not analyzing blood. Kicking ass is a hell of a lot more fun.”

  Says you. Give me the microscope over punching today. “Totally,” Nancy chimes in. She faces me. “So, were you, like, terrified last night?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions,” Irie says.

  “What? It was her first fight. I want to know. You should just be happy it wasn’t a family of ogres. They’re the worst. Like, mega big and fast. About a year ago we found some, and they broke, like, every bone in Will’s body, right, Will?”

  Will’s hands tighten around the wheel.

  “It took him, like, three days to heal, and he couldn’t move or change or anything.”

  “Nancy!” Irie barks.

  “What? I’m just saying she should be glad her first fight wasn’t with ogres! God, why are you being so sensitive? Anyways, ogres are the worst, but werewolves are almost as bad. You have no idea how lucky you are Will didn’t eat you. He—”

  “Nancy! Shut the hell up!” Irie shouts.

  “She needs to know these things!”

  “Well, tell her later because we don’t want to hear it.”

  Nancy crosses her arms and thumps back in her seat. So this is what family road trips are like. I’m glad Nana was too lazy to ever take us on one. No one utters another word until we pull up to the Wayland’s two-story red brick house. My eyes take in a few red-cheeked, smiling garden gnomes positioned around the front lawn. These things creep me out with their staring eyes and rosy cheeks. I used to imagine they’d come alive at night and attack me with their tiny tools. Heck, with everything I’ve seen lately, it wouldn’t surprise me.

  “Should we do this without a warrant?” I ask on the way to the door.

  Will hands Nancy his gun, which she clutches to her chest. Giving a teenager a gun, good idea. “Warrant? We don’t need no steenking warrant,” Nancy quotes before disappearing. People come and go so quickly around here. A second later, the lock clicks and the front door opens. “Enter all who dare.�
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  Will grabs his gun out of her hands. “Be serious, please. This could be dangerous.”

  Her smile vanishes. “Sorry. I will be.” We all walk in, and I shut the door.

  Nice house. Homey. Old photographs of Waylands past hang on the walls and sit on various end tables. The entire floor and stairs are covered with beige carpet that matches the walls. Huge blue winter coats with multi-colored scarves hang on wooden pegs. A grandfather clock ticks away.

  “What are we looking for?” Irie asks.

  “Anything you think is important,” Will says. “Proof he knew his wife was cheating, books on necromancy, evidence he’s been here in the last week and a half. You two take the upstairs and we’ll take this level and the basement.”

  “Got it, boss,” Nancy says. “Scream if you need anything.” The women disappear up the stairs, whispering to each other.

  “I’ll take the kitchen,” I say on my way there.

  It’s small and stale like the rest of the house, but the window overlooking the backyard makes the room feel bigger. Dead plants with dropping vines line the shelf of the window. Valerie’s, no doubt. They died right along with her. I bet she liked this spot. I can imagine her standing here doing dishes and watching her daughter swing on the now rusted swing set. Such a shame. I shake my head out of the clouds and start searching. No food in the fridge, only a few frozen casseroles in the freezer. Nice neighbors. I check the rest of the kitchen. Besides a few canned goods, there’s nothing else. No trash in the trash can, either. If Wayland was here, there was no eating going on.

  I join Will in the living room where he’s examining the books above the gray stone fireplace. The living room is furnished in leathers and plaids, offset by sienna-painted walls. “Judging from the kitchen, he hasn’t been here in a while.”

  “He could be staying in a hotel or in his car. I haven’t found out anything either except that someone loves horror books and movies.” He holds up books by Anne Rice and Dean Koontz.

  “Lots of people do,” I say.

  “Still, I don’t think he’s been here. I don’t feel him.”

  “You don’t what?”

  “If he had been here in the past few days, I’d feel him. My skin would be crawling more. It’s a defense mechanism in … people with my condition. So we can prepare for a fight. With the combined psychic power of you, Irie, and the necromancer, it would be unbearable.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “It doesn’t always work. The person has to be very powerful.”

  “Did you get a twinge yesterday, with Carrie?”

  “No, but I didn’t know our necro was as powerful as he is. If I did, I would have ruled her out a lot sooner. That was my fault.”

  “So, she didn’t make your skin crawl, but I do?”

  His mouth opens a little. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just powerful, and I can feel it.”

  “But I make your skin hurt?”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Being around me hurts you?” I stare, dumbfounded. He opens his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. “Whatever. I’m gonna check the basement.” Shaking my head, I step out toward the hallway.

  I can’t believe this. I don’t even touch the guy and I hurt him. Just perfect. I literally make his skin crawl. This is my cosmic punishment for last night with Carrie. I flip on the light switch next to the door and open it. Found the basement on the first try. I walk down the creaky wood steps. I finally meet a gorgeous, relatively stable guy who might actually like me back and my mere presence gives him a rash. Jeez, what would happen if we actually touched? Would he break out in hives? Doomed before we even start. Probably for the best; office relationships are a bad idea. What the hell is that smell? It’s like a pine tree crawled in and died in here.

  The basement is typical: dark, musty, with tons of junk making it hard to move around. The water heater rumbles in the corner making the bike leaning against it rattle. There are mainly boxes, old furniture, a workbench with tools, and a multi-colored patchwork quilt hanging on the wall. It doesn’t fit down here. April’s mom was always making quilts when I went to her house. She’d be impressed by this one: tiny strips of fabric in a spiral pattern, though it’s covered in dust and dirt. Yuck. Okay, stop commenting on the décor and look for clues, Bea. I go through the box closest to me but find only winter clothes.

  “Find anything?” Will asks from the top of the stairs. “Do you smell that?”

  “Like Pine-Sol?”

  “Yeah. Look up.”

  Sherlock Holmes, I am not. About a dozen or more pine tree air-fresheners dangle from the ceiling like a miniature forest. “Now why would he … oh, I’m an idiot.”

  His nose twitches. “It’s faint but I smell a corpse.” He walks down the stairs nose first. “It gets stronger down here.”

  I eye all the boxes, making sure none are moving. “Wouldn’t it have attacked me by now?”

  “Not unless that was what it was ordered to do. Get Irie and Nancy down here.”

  “No problem,” I say running for the stairs before he even finishes the sentence. Trapped in a basement with a zombie? Not this girl. “Nancy! Irie! Come down to the basement. Will smells dead people!” I stay at the top of the stairs watching as Will sniffs a few boxes then moves to the walls. There are footfalls on the stairs. Nancy and Irie come up behind me.

  “He find something?” Irie asks.

  “He’s—” Will bends down with his nose right on the brick, sniffing up the wall. “—looking.”

  When he reaches the quilt, the nose twitches double time as if moving to some unknown beat. He rips the quilt off its pegs and sure enough, there’s a padlocked metal door. I knew there was something off about that quilt. Will presses his ear against it. “I don’t hear anything.”

  The three of us join him by the door. The other two seem calm but my stomach is doing somersaults. I know what’s coming next. I do not want to go in there.

  “We need to go in there,” Will says.

  “No prob,” Nancy says.

  “Nancy, don’t—” Will stops speaking when Nancy disappears. “Shit! Irie, padlock now!”

  Irie stares at the lock. It turns from silver to bright orange in an instant. Better than a blowtorch. Someone screams on the other side of the door and Nancy reappears the millisecond it ceases, panting like a dog. “Oh my God, something totally touched me!” The smoking lock falls to the ground. Will and Irie pull out their guns and aim at the door. I, of course, forgot mine.

  “Alexander, open the door,” Will says. I scoff. Sure, let me be the entrée. I step toward the door. “With your mind, Alexander.” Oh, yeah, I guess that makes more sense. I step back to focus on the knob and pull the door open.

  It’s pitch black in there but the overwhelming smell of pine trees and decay paint a grotesque picture. The red ball rolling out of the darkness, stopping at my feet, tells the rest. As does the tinkling sound of a music box. Oh heck, I remember the important thing I learned last night. “Oh my God, that sick creep.”

  “What?” Will asks, not taking his eyes or gun off the room.

  A tiny figure moves toward us, dragging her left leg. “Jesus Christ,” Irie mutters, “is that—”

  “Emma Wayland,” I finish.

  The seven-year-old—and five-month-dead—Emma shuffles toward us, her twisted leg behind her. Her long black hair is matted and chunks of her scalp show where the hair fell out. Her skin is the same yellowish color as other corpses, but her eyes seem almost normal except they’re glossy and one is crossed. They have to be glass. Her Barbie nightgown is covered in dirt and yellow fluid where she leaks embalming fluid. “He’s been preserving her,” Will says.

  She walks slowly, passing the still armed Will and Irie as if she doesn’t know they’re there. They just watch her, standing like stone. No, she walks toward me. I know what she wants. I pick up the ball at my feet. She passes a disgusted Nancy and stops right in front o
f me. The little girl grunts. And again as if trying to say something. “You want your ball?” She grunts. “Here you go,” I say brushing it against her dry, sallow hand. She takes it with a grunt and smile, revealing black gums and missing teeth. Ball in her small hands, she turns back around and walks past my visibly horrified companions. When she fades back into the darkness, they finally put the guns away.

  “This is totally screwed up,” Nancy says.

  “He must have raised her right after she was buried,” Irie says.

  “He’s kept her locked up all that time? Gross,” Nancy says.

  “He wanted his daughter back,” Will says.

  “That’s why Oliver didn’t sense a body in her grave last night.”

  All eyes turn to me. “You knew about this?” Will asks.

  “I just remembered it now.”

  “How could you forget something so important?”

  I scoff. “He said it right before all heck broke loose. I had other things on my mind!” A loud groan comes from the black room. “Excuse me. I’m going to check on her. We probably scared her to death.”

  “Yeah, she was the scared one,” Nancy mutters.

  I turn on the lights before going in. Besides the brick walls and no windows, the place is perfect for a little girl. A small pink bed, bookcase, white dresser with a menagerie of stuffed animals and Barbies with more on the floor. She even has a television and plastic pink chair with various DVDs near it. The music box finally slows down. She must feel my presence because she jumps off the bed with a Barbie book in her hands. She grunts and thrusts the book at me. “You want me to read to you?” She grunts and I assume this means yes.

  “She likes you,” Will says.

  We both look up. “I taught elementary school for three years, I just give off that vibe.” As opposed to the skin-crawling vibe I give hot werewolves. Emma grunts and pulls at my arm. Dead or alive, children want your undivided attention. “Why don’t we put on a video instead?” I pick up the nearest one and pop it in. Taking her flaking hand in mine, I lead her to the chair and like a good girl she sits without protest. Mickey Mouse pops on the screen and I’m nothing but a memory.