The Blood Gardener (The Dark River Book 2)

by Michael Richan

  He lost track of time as he made several turns and trekked deeper. He remembered when he came through this area with Angela in tow; the woman had pretended to be naïve about the Dark River, deceiving him about her intent. He’d led her to Monkey’s place as they searched for Anna. Angela had been the first person he tracked down after leaving A with Monkey — she was a loose end he couldn’t leave open. When he finally found her, dropped out in a room at the Riverview Motel with a group of friends, he’d given her a massive drug injection that would keep her in a coma well beyond the time needed for the eggs to hatch. Afterward, he suspected he’d find her in Portsmouth, and he was right — she was rolling on the ground with the other rush addicts, unable and unwilling to stop the constant orgasms. He’d seen it before; he knew she’d remain like this until the maggots took her. He just hoped she hadn’t talked to anyone about Monkey’s place before her fate took hold.

  He’d been searching for the woman who had pretended to be Angela’s mother, but he hadn’t been able to locate her. She seemed to have skipped town.

  He left the road and took a much smaller path that led past tall, swaying weeds. He took care to avoid them, wondering how long it would take Monkey and A to find him if he somehow got caught in them, trapped like the other specimens for Monkey’s experiments. Soon he arrived at a patch of scorched earth from a recent firestorm. He felt the dead, burnt vegetation crunch under his feet as he walked.

  He was still fifty feet from the house when he heard A’s voice inside his head.

  Father!

  Feet were running toward him, and within seconds A had buried his face in his stomach, his arms wrapping around him. He grabbed the kid and lifted him up.

  How are you? he thought openly, allowing A to pick up his thoughts.

  I am well, A replied. Monkey has a new theory.

  Monkey always has theories, Derick replied while carrying A to the house. They walked inside and Derick sat A down on the ground. A had grown taller than most monochildren, and weeks ago had maxed out at around four feet.

  He wants to talk to you as soon as you arrive, A said.

  Well, I’m here. Go get him, wherever he is, so we can talk.

  After you talk with Monkey, can we go out and burn up stuff?

  Derick sighed. After killing Yann, A had so many questions about how Derick manipulated the firestorms, he gave A a demonstration. Now all A wanted to do was watch Derick summon and control the fire. It wasn’t something Derick was comfortable doing, knowing that people were hunting for the man who’d killed Yann using that unique ability.

  No, it’s too dangerous, Derick replied. It brings attention, and we need to lay low.

  A looked disappointed, and turned to walk into the deeper rooms of the house, where Monkey had his experiments.

  Derick sunk into a chair in Monkey’s living room, mentally calculating how much time before he needed to leave the Dark River. He’d felt the sting of the fly on his neck back on the road, and he knew the clock was ticking. Returning to the real world would kill the eggs that were now in his system and keep the maggots from hatching. If he were to screw up and allow them to hatch within him, he would have to undergo endless treatments to keep them at bay, like Monkey and most people in the Dark River. The only way to ensure he didn’t become infected was to leave through a portal before they hatched.

  “Derick!” Monkey said, entering the room. “You’re back!”

  “I am,” he said, glancing up at Monkey. He knew he didn’t need to rise to shake the man’s hand; their relationship was well established, especially with Monkey taking care of A. He landed in a chair next to Derick. “I have a theory.”

  “So A mentioned,” Derick replied.

  Monkey turned to A, who was standing next to Derick’s chair. “A, would you allow Derick and me to talk for a moment in private?”

  Is he going to say something about my death? A asked Derick, Monkey unaware of the communication.

  I don’t know, but it’s OK, Derick replied. Whatever he tells me I’ll relay to you.

  Alright, A said, and turned to leave.

  Monkey watched until A was out of earshot, leaning out of his chair to try and see the kid as he walked down a hallway.

  “What’s your theory?” Derick asked, dreading bad news. A was a monochild and was nearing the end of his lifespan. He knew Monkey had been studying A and was afraid the kid’s time had come.

  “It’s about A,” Monkey began. “I’ve been analyzing his DNA. He’s abnormal.”

  “Abnormal for a monochild?” Derick asked. “We already knew that. He can communicate.”

  “We assumed that was because of Eva’s milk,” Monkey replied. “I think that was only part of it. I doubt Eva’s breast milk would have triggered this ability in a regular monochild. There’s something in his makeup that allowed it to happen.”

  “Still,” Derick said. “We knew he was different. This isn’t much of a theory.”

  “I don’t think he’s in any imminent threat of death,” Monkey replied.

  Derick paused, stunned. “How do you know?”

  “I isolated a gene,” Monkey replied. “I tested it on a hybrid fungus I’ve been working with. This particular fungus normally dies within a few hours, which makes it a perfect application for…”

  “Skip to the part about A,” Derick said, knowing Monkey could wax poetic when it came to fungi.

  “It didn’t die,” Monkey replied. “It’s still alive. It should have died three days ago. A has that gene.”

  Derick felt a combination of surprise and relief. “How is that possible? Have you ever heard of such a thing in a monochild?”

  “Never,” Monkey replied. “They normally die after eight to ten weeks. A has been going at least that long now, and shows no signs of slowing or deterioration. I took the DNA sample a couple of weeks ago because I thought it was odd that he wasn’t slowing down. The more I study it, the more unusual it is.”

  “So he’s not going to die?”

  “Not anytime soon, I don’t think.”

  “Are you sure? Can I tell him that? I don’t want to tell him he’s going to be OK and have it turn out to be not true. I need you to be sure.”

  “Well, I can’t give you some kind of iron-clad guarantee,” Monkey replied. “I don’t know if this means he’ll live an extra month, or he’ll live years. It’s all new territory. Who knows, maybe he’ll outlive us all. I can’t say for sure.”

  “But he’s not going to die anytime soon?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Derick nodded. “That’s good news, Monkey. Really good news.”

  “And it’s not just that. I believe there’s other differences, too. I’ve compared it to regular monochild DNA and there’s plenty of genetic abnormalities. I believe there may be all kinds of variances.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Monkey replied. “I’m not exactly an expert on monochildren. I’m more an agriculturalist. I did the research on the gene that involves longevity because I was concerned.”

  “You like him too,” Derick said. “Admit it.”

  Monkey smiled. “He hasn’t been anywhere near the bother I first assumed he might be.”

  “You like having him around. I can tell.”

  Monkey tried to dismiss what Derick was suggesting. “As I was saying, I concentrated on that gene first, but there are plenty more abnormalities. It would take a lot more study to figure them all out.”

  “Are you going to do that?”

  “Well,” Monkey said, rising from his chair, “we know he was fathered by a Raidarchist, whichever one impregnated Anna. I was thinking it’s probably unlikely we’d ever be able to find the exact Raidarchist; you probably burned him to a crisp in your little Valkin undertaking. But it would be really useful if we could get some of his mother’s DNA.”

  “His mother’s?” Derick asked. “Why?”

  “Because, based on what I’m seeing so far in the gene
tic makeup, I think he’s different because of her. If I could study some, I could confirm it.”

  “Anna?” Derick asked. “You think there was something different about her?”

  “I can’t say for certain, but if I could get some of her DNA, it would help rule certain things in or out. There’s a chance she had powers not normal for a gifted. It’s also possible the powers were latent. Some of them are manifesting in A. That’s my current theory. Anna’s DNA would help confirm all that. Do you think you could get some?”

  Derick thought. How could he obtain DNA from Anna? He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Then he remembered her sister, the one he’d met at Anna’s graveside.

  “Maybe,” he said. “There might be a way. There’s no way I’m violating her grave, Monkey. But I might have a connection to her sister.”

  “I don’t want her sister’s DNA,” Monkey said. “I want Anna’s.”

  “Her sister might have something of Anna’s,” Derick said. “There’s a chance.”

  “Please see if you can obtain some,” Monkey said, pacing. “If I can compare her DNA to A’s, I might be able to pin down a few specifics.”

  “I’m surprised DNA reflects this type of thing,” Derick said. “The gifted aspects.”

  “It’s all stored somewhere,” Monkey replied. “You just have to know what you’re looking for. Think of it as a River DNA. Most scientists would never be searching for those kinds of attributes. Bring me a sample with your Haas Box, and I’ll try to analyze the signatures.”

  “How much of this is you wanting to further your own research?”

  Monkey smiled. “Well, it does have interesting applications in a number of areas I’m working on. It might be able to extend how long your face stays changed when you ingest trapweed seeds, for example.”

  Derick thought about how cooperative Monkey had been the last few weeks, housing A and keeping him safe. “I’ll see what I can do,” Derick said. “Do you think it’s safe to tell him? To tell A about this theory? Like I said, I don’t want to if you think there’s a chance you’re wrong.”

  “There’s always a chance,” Monkey replied. “But I think it’s very, very small. I’m pretty sure he’s nowhere near the end of his time.”

  Derick leaned back in his chair, and considered how to give A the news.

  - - -

  The grits stayed firmly formed on his fork, with no sign of dripping as he raised the yellowy goop to his mouth.

  “We shoulda come here years ago,” Derick said, after the warm buttery paste slid down his throat. “I’ve driven past this place a thousand times and we never come here. Their food is ten times better.”

  “We get set in our ways,” Franklin replied. “We don’t like to change.”

  “And it’s cheaper,” Derick said, taking another forkful. “I’m coming here from now on.”

  “I don’t know,” Franklin replied. “The bend of the chair doesn’t cradle my butt cheeks as nicely as the other place.”

  “We all have our priorities. I’m coming here from now on, with or without you.”

  “Fine,” Franklin replied, taking a swig of coffee. “Damn, the coffee’s better too.”

  “You’ll warm up to the chairs. Maybe you can bring along a pad to sit on, like a fucking old person.”

  “So, I talked to Henderson, told him you didn’t get very far with Hauer. He thinks you should try the widow. Name’s Kessig.”

  “Remind me again what happened to her?”

  “Skin cut off the top of her hand.”

  “Why her?”

  “He said she described the force holding her down as the devil.”

  Derick considered this; might work, he thought. She might provide more details if she thinks I’m sympathetic to her perspective. I’m sure the cops who talked to her didn’t entertain the devil angle.

  “You got an address?” he asked.

  “I’ll text it to you,” Franklin answered, pulling out his phone.

  If this one doesn’t pan out, that’s all I’m doing, he thought. I’d love to help Hauer, but I’m not getting wrapped up in this.

  “Huh!” Franklin mumbled, still looking at his phone.

  “What?”

  “Her place is not far from here. Six blocks, to be exact.”

  “Great. I’ll hit her up right after we’re done. Want to come along?”

  Franklin looked surprised that Derick would invite him. “Sure. Why not.”

  “No facial reactions to anything she says. I don’t want her to clam up if she thinks we don’t believe her.”

  “No, no facial reactions. I’ll be as emotionless as a stone statue.”

  - - -

  He showed the woman his badge, trusting her eyes might not catch the red “RETIRED” designation on his ID card. It usually worked; people saw the shiny metal and didn’t bother to look over the plastic ID with lots of little lettering. Much of it was attitude — talking to someone like you had authority. The combination of the two usually convinced most people to treat him exactly like a policeman.

  “Oh, come in!” she replied, her eyes closing as she spoke. She opened the door wide. He saw the white bandage on her hand, and instantly felt sorry for the woman, who looked rather frail.

  Cats scurried out of the living room as she offered them a place to sit. It was a hair-covered couch, and he wondered if the clothes brush he’d be needing after the visit was at his trailer, or still in boxes at the house.

  “I got a telephone call from that nice man, Mister…Mister…oh, I forget his name now.”

  “Henderson?” Franklin offered.

  “Yes, that was it! Henderson. He said you’d be stopping by.”

  “Well, we’re working hard to try and find the person who attacked you, Mrs. Kessig. We had a number of follow-up questions that might help us.”

  “I’ll do anything you need,” she replied, her eyes closing as she spoke. They opened quickly once she finished, landing on Derick expectantly.

  “I know you’ve told the story of what happened to other officers,” Derick began. “I was hoping you’d start from scratch, and tell me the story fresh. Try to remember every detail, no matter how small. Pretend you’ve never explained it before. Would you do that?”

  “Well,” she said, her eyes closing again, “I will certainly try. Let’s see, I had gone to bed like I always do.” Her eyes finally opened. “The other policemen seemed very interested in the pills I take just before bed.” She rose from her chair. “Do you want to see the bottles?”

  “Sure,” Derick answered. “Let’s be thorough.”

  She walked into another room and returned with six amber bottles, handing each one individually to Derick along with an explanation of how many she took throughout the day of that variety. He placed them on the table in front of him, setting them down on top of a copy of Cat Fancy magazine.

  “Do any of these make you drowsy?” he asked, not familiar with a number of them.

  “Well,” she said, her eyes closing again as she spoke, “that’s a good question. I don’t know if they do or not. I’ve taken them for so long, I can’t really say. Some nights I can’t get my mind to stop worrying about my daughter, and it keeps me up. I turn on the shopping channel and that takes my mind off her so I can sleep.”

  She suddenly reached up to her right ear, rubbing at it with her unbandaged hand.

  “Are you alright?” Derick asked.

  “Ooo, nasty pain,” she said, wincing. “I’ve had this itching in my ear that’s been driving me crazy.” She lowered her hand, returning her gaze to Derick. “Pardon me.”

  “That’s quite alright,” he answered. “You’ve been through a lot recently.”

  “Yes, it’s been a rough week.”

  “So, you take your pills and go to bed,” Derick continued. “What happened after that?”

  “Well, I went to sleep pretty quick that night, as I recall,” she said. “Then, in the middle of the night, I woke up. I immediately felt s
omething was wrong.”

  “How did you know something was wrong?” Derick asked. “Can you be more specific?”

  “It was cold,” she replied. “Much colder than I keep the room, and the air was heavy and thick. I remember I was on my back, and I was having trouble breathing. Every time I took a breath, I felt this pressure on my chest pushing down, and I thought I might be having a heart attack or something. I remember trying to rise up on my elbow, but I couldn’t.”

  “You didn’t have the strength?” Franklin asked.

  “No, I couldn’t move my arm at all, it’s like I was frozen in place. I remember raising my head to look around the room, and that’s when I knew evil had entered. Something horribly, horribly evil.”

  Derick heard Franklin audibly gulp. He wasn’t sure if Franklin was trying to contain skepticism, or if he was buying into the woman’s story.

  “How did you know it was evil?” Derick asked.

  “Well,” she said, closing her eyes again, “as a good Christian woman, I know exactly what the presence of the Lord feels like. This was the opposite; the lack of anything warming or good. It was cold and sinister. Makes my hair stand on end just thinking about it now.”

  “Did you have the impression anyone was holding you down?” Derick asked. “As if, perhaps, people had hold of your arms or legs?”

  “No, not like that at all,” she said, and reached again to her ear, rubbing at the cartilage and shaking her head a little. “I didn’t feel any hands or anything like that.” She held a hand up, flat, then pressed her bandaged hand down upon it, to illustrate. “It was an even pressure, across my whole body. At first I thought maybe I’d been paralyzed, but I could move my head, so it couldn’t have been that, right? No, it was the thing in the room. It was pushing down on me, holding me in place.”

  “The thing?” Derick asked, ensuring his tone carried no judgment.

  “It was dark and big,” she said, her eyes closing again. “I remember thinking it looked like a dress I had hanging on a hook inside the door. But it began to move, and it passed over me, moving from my feet to my head, until it was looking right into my eyes. Terrifying! I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything. I just lay there, waiting. I remember it breathed on me.” Her face scrunched into a scowl. “Such a horrible, rotten smell. It was a thick and foul breath. I remembered thinking I’d never be able to scrub the smell from my skin. I could feel it hit my face and run down my cheeks.” She raised a hand to her head as she relived the memory, then rubbed at her ear once again.