9th Circle

by Carolyn McCray; Ben Hopkin

  Across the front of the store, Janey had written the word “Magic.”

  At that point, a large African American security guard burst into the room, glancing around to see what the issue was. When his eyes lighted on Darc, there was a flash of recognition, followed by a sigh. The doctor called out to the guard.

  “Look, I know he’s a detective, but we need to get him—”

  “Don’t worry,” the guard replied. “Not the first time I kicked him to the curb.” The big man faced off with him. “Come on, Darc. Time to trance your way home.”

  The security guard placed a huge hand on Darc’s shoulder. The detective gave him no resistance. First, because this man did have the weight, leverage, and power to make Darc move, whether or not he complied. Second, because Darc already had what he had come for.

  Another pathway of light.

  This one led right to where the killer was finding and kidnapping his victims. Darc pulled out his cell phone and punched a single speed-dial number. A groggy voice crackled over the connection.

  “You know what? I really hate you.”

  “Wake the captain.” Darc disconnected before his freshly woken partner could protest further.

  The bright light of the logic path in front of him beckoned, moving his limbs forward without any conscious force of will on Darc’s part.

  It was time to find a madman’s hunting ground.

  CHAPTER 4

  Trey struggled to keep his eyes open as his brain adjusted to the call from Darc. You would think that after six years of dealing with this kinda stuff, that he would get used to it.

  Hadn’t happened yet.

  “Good night to you, too,” Trey spoke to the blankness of the cut-off line. He felt a form stir beside him as her voice spoke a one-word question into the night.

  “Darc?” Maggie asked.

  “How’d you guess?”

  Maggie reached out and placed a hand on his arm. It was probably meant to be comforting, but in this context, it just made his guilt worse. Nothing like talking to your partner while lying right next to his ex-wife. A light bloomed as Maggie tapped the touch lamp on the nightstand.

  “You’ve got to go, then?” Her voice tinged with sadness? Recrimination? Which did Trey wish it was?

  “Apparently.” He leaned over her, moving in to kiss her cheek. Maggie shied away from the intimacy, her face a mesh of conflicting thoughts. Trey sighed before speaking.

  “You don’t have to feel guilty, you know.”

  Maggie let her gaze drift up to meet his and gave him a sad half-smile. “Was that for you or for me?”

  She kissed him on the ear, maybe to take the sting out of her words, before rolling over and tapping the light once more to turn it off. And the gesture worked, mostly. The sting was gone, washed away in Maggie’s gentle kiss. All that remained was the dull ache in his gut.

  Because she was right and she was wrong.

  He’d said it for the both of them.

  *

  She was at her new home, and her parents were there. Something about that was weird, but she couldn’t remember what it was. She just knew she was happy to see them. So happy.

  Her daddy reached down and picked her up, rubbing her cheek with his stubble to make her giggle. She squealed, trying to keep the laughter inside, but it burst out of her like it always did. No one else could make her laugh when they tickled her, but her daddy could do it every single time.

  After a minute more of tummy tickling, he finally stopped and gave her a big squeeze. She was getting bigger, she knew, and he didn’t carry her around as much as he used to. That made it so much more nice when he did. She reached up and rubbed his stubble with her hands, feeling the scratchiness against her palms. He always let his beard grow out on the weekends. He put her down, ruffled her hair, and went out back to watch the grill.

  It was Saturday evening, and there were lots of people over for what Mommy had called a housewarming party. Stupid name, since it was summer and they were running the air-conditioning inside. She could hear people splashing around in the pool out back and smell the burgers cooking on the grill. It mixed with the smell of the grass that Daddy had mowed earlier. Cut grass and grilling. The smells of summer vacation. Her stomach started to grumble, and she realized she was hungry.

  She went into the downstairs bathroom to wash her hands. It was a tiny bathroom in the front hall of the house. All it had was a sink and a toilet, but it was okay. The new house still didn’t smell like home yet, but it was pretty cool. She moved her fingers through the water, feeling it beat against her fingers, pushing them down as they went through the stream. Her old bathroom sink didn’t do that. She guessed she liked it all right.

  Turning off the water, she noticed something different. It took her a second or two to figure it out, but all the sounds of the guests were gone. The house was quiet.

  She stepped out of the bathroom to a dark house.

  All the lights were off, and the light of evening had turned into the black of night. A feeling crept up inside her belly, empty like her hunger from before, except now she didn’t want to eat. It was the same feeling she got when the shadows in her room at night turned into monsters. She moved through the house toward the backyard, bumping into the furniture as she went. She still didn’t know where everything was supposed to be in this house.

  After a minute of fumbling around in the dark, she got to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard and pushed it open. She stumbled out toward the pool, the lights from under the surface jumping and dancing with the waves of the water, casting crazy shadows on the ground.

  She stood there, alone by the pool, and was just about to start calling out when a huge yell came from lots of voices behind her.

  “Surprise!”

  From around the sides of the house came all the guests, her parents out in front, carrying a huge cake with burning candles. On top of the cake were loads of pink roses, her favorite. This was the best birthday ever!

  But her birthday was in October.

  She looked into her daddy’s face, confused, but he looked funny. His eyes weren’t smiling at her like they always did. She turned to her mommy, but she was the same. And when she looked back down at the cake, the roses were red. Dark red. They had been pink before. She was sure of it.

  It wasn’t her birthday.

  This was a dream.

  She woke up. All the happiness from the dream drained out of her, leaving behind a cold, numb hole that burned and ached along its edges. Her parents were gone. They weren’t coming back. It had been a dream. She rocked back and forth, looking for something to help stop the pain.

  And as she looked around the bed, she found the pictures the man had drawn for her. The tall man with the shaved head and the dark eyes. She scattered the pages, searching for the one she needed. There it was. The picture of his golden badge. She hugged the picture to her chest.

  The pain didn’t go away, but it hurt a little bit less.

  *

  Trey would describe the atmosphere in the bullpen as acidic. Yeah. That sounded about right. And to be honest, that pretty much worked as an adjective for how he was feeling himself right about now. It was three o’clock in the morning, and they were all here.

  Not that they never got called in at bizarre hours in the morning. That was just part of the job. But they all knew who it was that had made this call. None of the men seemed happy about it.

  Only difference between Trey and the rest of these shmucks was that they were going to be asking him for answers. Answers he didn’t have. Darc, the guy with all of those answers, was right over there in the corner of the room, but he wouldn’t be responding to any of their questions. They’d be lucky if he even glanced at them.

  Dude, Trey was his partner, and Darc wouldn’t answer him half the time. More than half the time. Come to think of it, Darc wouldn’t answer him most of the time.

  What made it all worse was that Trey knew exactly why he had been paired
up with Darc. He knew it. The captain knew it. Half the room knew it. Trey was a screw-up. He didn’t belong here. But…he did have a purpose. He was the Rain Man whisperer. No one else could do what he did. Even if they decided they wanted to give it a try.

  The captain walked through the door, his face showing that even he was not particularly amused at the proceedings here. And when the captain wasn’t happy…He approached Trey, pitching his voice low enough that none of the others could hear.

  “What’s he got for us?”

  Trey continued flipping through the pages and pages of Darc’s hastily scribbled notes, trying to get up to speed before he had to start talking.

  “Yeah, I’m figuring that out now.” He gave a half-grin, half-grimace to his superior.

  The captain gave a nonspecific grunt and moved off to the side. Trey glanced over at Darc, who wore his typical expression that seemed to say, Your concerns are not mine. But in spite of his distant demeanor, Darc had posted the photos of the three sets of murdered parents, the two young girls they hadn’t been able to save, and “Janey.” Hey, that was more involvement than Trey was used to. He’d totally take it.

  The pictures the little girl had drawn were all there as well. In spite of the varying sizes of the photos and the drawings, Darc had managed to post them in such a way that they were all evenly balanced. There was even a Google map of the Magic Mouse Toy Store.

  The captain cleared his throat. “Anytime, Keane.”

  “All right. Let’s get this party…” Trey looked at the gruesome pictures on the board and reconsidered. “Well, get this briefing started.”

  One of the beat cops already had his hand up, ready with a question. Trey rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe the weariness out of it.

  “As always, don’t bother with questions, because I do not know the answer.” The cop’s hand dropped. “The only reason I do these things is because I’m the only one who can read his chicken scratch.”

  Trey moved over to the board, pointing at the three sets of parents. “Now, as everyone is aware, there have been three ritualistic killings involving three families in as many weeks.”

  “Does Darc think the victimology is related or random occurrences?” one of the officers queried.

  Trey fixed him with a steady gaze. “What did I just say?” Again, the slow dropping of the hand. That was better. Trey shook his head, regathered his focus, and continued.

  “As far as we can tell, the parents were killed first, drained of their blood, gutted, and their bodies dumped in a cab.”

  “Has he determined any connection between the cab companies? Or their drivers?” It was a different officer this time, at least.

  “Seriously. I’m here basically to make sure he keeps his fly up.” Speaking of which…Trey glanced over at Darc’s crotch to check. Darc gave him a frown. Yeah, he had that expression down, didn’t he? Trey responded to Darc’s implied criticism with a touch of defensiveness.

  “Dude. You changed clothes. I just had to be sure.”

  Darc gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. Had to give the guy credit. Once you pled your case, if it made sense, he backed off. Trey turned back to the group and clapped his hands in mock excitement.

  “Okay. Back to gruesome. The children are then placed in vats of their own parents’ blood, then sealed into the wall of a pure white room.”

  The first officer raised his hand again. “What’s the significance of the white?”

  Did no one listen? Ever? “Ya know…I passed my detective’s exam by one point. One point, and that was on my third try.” He glared at the officer for a moment, before moving on. “Now, each was found in a separate—”

  “Does the fact that all the barrels came from a company that supplies meatpacking plants have any bearing?” It was the second officer this time.

  Trey was saved from finding yet another way to say that he was an idiot by the entrance of the child psychologist from the hospital. Still, it was one more break in his already fractured briefing session.

  “Great, another interruption,” Trey muttered to himself.

  The captain stepped forward to meet the doctor. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m sorry.” Dr. Charan looked around the room, her eyes settling on Darc. “I just need to speak with Detective Darcmel.”

  “Yeah, babe, get in line,” Trey chuckled, without much humor.

  And then the impossible happened. Darc actually got up. Not only that, but he went over to the doctor to speak with her. The entire room rustled in response to something that none of them had ever seen before.

  Darc was interacting. With someone he didn’t really know. On purpose.

  *

  As Darc moved toward the doctor, the swirling lights in front of him sparked, bouncing off of one another and melding into interesting variations. Whatever information the symmetrical Dr. Charan was bringing, it had the effect of a nexus where all the logic strands came together and collided. Right now, he had no idea which one would emerge on the other side.

  These moments were uncomfortable. Not having a clear vision of the path ahead when so many lives were in jeopardy made him…feel a bit disjointed. As if someone else controlled his limbs. And the doctor had been trying to push him out the door the last time they spoke. That usually meant that he had done something wrong, something in the grey area of nonlogic, and that his partner would end up having a conversation with him about people’s feelings. And apologizing.

  But Darc had not apologized, and here the doctor was. He needed to find out why. He searched through the options before him and settled on a direct question.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Well, she was agitated and started drawing these after you left.” She handed over sheet after sheet of the drawing paper that Darc had left on his last visit. Each one held a symbol. Darc snatched them away from the doctor and examined them. The symbols practically leapt off the page, spinning and whirling. The doctor was still talking.

  “I even sedated her, but she wouldn’t stop. Then we took away the crayons…” Dr. Charan’s voice trailed off as she held up one last picture, its form much rougher and less defined than the others. The doctor took a deep breath before continuing.

  “So on this one, she pulled out her catheter and drew it in her own blood.”

  Trey inhaled sharply. “Is she all right?”

  “Relatively,” the doctor stated. “After that, she actually fell into a sound sleep.”

  Darc realized that there was no further information that he could glean from this conversation. He left the doctor with her mouth half-open, strode over to the board, and yanked off every photo and drawing, tossing them aside on the floor. The new symbols chattered at him as he placed them carefully, in order, in the place of the other, much less useful, evidence.

  Now he would see what lay on the other side of the nexus. The symbols cavorted, shedding bright, gleaming drops of blood as they promised to yield their secrets to him.

  *

  Well, this was a unique experience. Mala found herself talking to thin air after being left in the middle of a sentence. Ah, the joys of working with a savant. But his odd behavior only stoked her curiosity. What did he see in the symbols that she could not?

  Damn, but he intrigued her. Which might not be a good thing. She had a traumatized girl to look after. Her overriding concern had to be Janey’s well-being. Mala was here for that sole purpose. And maybe, if she was being honest, a tiny sliver of the reason was that she wanted to see Darcmel again. To see him in his element. To study him and his smoldering good looks.

  Okay, so maybe that part was more than just a sliver.

  The captain stepped in to fill the void of the detective’s absence. When he spoke, his tone was apologetic. He more than likely had to deal with complaints about Darcmel on a regular basis.

  “I’m sorry, you must be Dr. Charan. You are treating our Jane Doe?”

  “Trying to, yes.”

  The capt
ain smiled at that. “Well, why don’t you stick around in case Darc—uh, Detective Darcmel—has any questions.” The captain seemed to hear what he had just said and did a little course correction. “I doubt it, but would you mind?”

  To be honest, that was exactly what Mala had been about to ask permission to do. Janey was sedated back at the hospital and should be down for several hours.

  “It would be fascinating to see him work.”

  The captain nodded his head, seeming grateful for her willingness to stay. He gave her an appraising look that lingered a little too long for Mala’s comfort, nodded once to himself, and then turned to Darc’s partner and waved him toward the front of the room.

  “Go on, Keane.”

  Detective Trey Keane moved back to a position at the front of the room and took a moment, she guessed to recollect his thoughts, before starting back in.

  “As you can see, after saving this last victim, she was able to communicate through pictures.” Trey gestured to the collection of drawings his partner was working with on the board. He now paused for an even longer moment.

  “First off, we have learned that the children do witness the murder of their parents.”

  The group of police officers moaned their collective distress at the news. Even men and women this hardened felt the blow. It was one thing to know they were going after a serial killer. It was another to understand just how sick this person really was. If these officers were anything like Mala herself, they couldn’t help but think of what Janey had been forced to witness. Keane continued.

  “Luckily, though, it seems they are separated from them before the real butchery. And lastly…” The detective turned toward the board, did a little double take at the damage Darc had done to the board, and then stooped over to sort through the discarded items on the floor. He came back up with the map showing the magic store.