by Hopkin, Ben
“Aw, suck! That’s what we have to look forward to?”
Now it was the art dealer’s turn to look confused.
“Look forward to?”
Leaving the dealer to her confusion, Trey stepped back into the fray. He thought he might actually know what was going on here.
“So, wait a minute,” Trey said. “This guy’s got a hard-on for paintings?”
That seemed to get Ms. Steinway’s attention, big-time. Her back stiffened up, and Trey could swear he saw the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“A hard-on?”
“No, he’s not painting. He’s re-creating,” Mala stated, her tone certain.
Great. Now Trey was back to being in the dark. Ah, well. Enlightenment had been great for the three seconds it had lasted.
“Wait,” Trey asked. “Did I miss something? Re-creating what?”
But Darc ignored him, answering the doctor instead. “It is why I could not discern it before.”
All right. Trey was used to getting ignored. He wasn’t used to getting ignored for another person. Usually he was just in competition with whatever crazy was going on in Darc’s head. Trey wasn’t sure how he felt about this new development. Time to get back in the loop before he was too far behind to catch up again.
“Discerning what?”
The doctor, unfortunately, was picking up whatever Darc was putting down, because she ignored Trey, too, her eyes locked onto the taller detective. No one seemed to exist outside those two.
“Your mind was trying to force the symbols into Dante’s Inferno.”
“When he was following Aristotle’s Ethos,” Darc affirmed.
“Re-creating them on this plane.” Her eyes glimmered.
Yeah. Trey was done with this shiz. He snapped his fingers between them. “Hey!”
They both turned to look at him. Wow. That had actually worked. Trey hadn’t thought past that. He had their attention. Now, what was he going to do with it? He took a couple of calming breaths and then spoke very slowly, drawing out the words.
“Again. Re-creating what?”
The two shared a look between them. Seriously, what the freak was going on here? Darc turned and directed Trey’s attention back to the prints as he spoke.
“The nine circles of hell.”
Trey looked at the print with the guts raining down on the huddled sinners and suppressed an urge to hurl up his nasty cafeteria lunch.
“Oh. Is that all?”
* * *
Just another day at the slaughterhouse.
They were in a huge, open, warehouse-like space intersected by tracks. Hooks hung down from the tracks, where slaughtered animals could be drained of their blood and then slid along the tracks to wherever you wanted to put them in the room. It was cold enough to raise gooseflesh on Henry’s arms.
After the carcasses were hung up to bleed out, they had to be sliced open and cleaned. Henry and Carl and the new guy had gone from corpse to corpse, hauling out the innards and dumping them into a container to be ground up for who knew what. Hot dogs or something, probably.
Well, most of the insides ended up in the container. The rest ended up landing at their feet, making a nice squish when Henry walked over them in his boots. It was a mess. And that mess had to cleaned up.
And who better to clean up the mess than Henry?
Henry pushed the broom across the floor, shoving one of the hanging carcasses out of his way with his shoulder. The polished concrete was littered with bits and pieces of guts, hearts, and livers from the hog sides they had just cleaned. Now they needed to be swept up.
And Henry was just the guy for the job. Hell, he had volunteered. He was a real favorite with the other guys at the slaughterhouse. He took all the jobs nobody else wanted. Sure, they didn’t ask him out for drinks after work, but Henry had no use for that kind of shit.
He had more important things to do.
Every once in a while, as Henry shoved the broom forward, one of the intestines or liver chunks would catch against a crack in the polish and leave a smear of blood or partially digested food. The streaks swirled around the floor like some kind of freaky street painting.
It was beautiful.
One of the gutted pigs had a string of intestines still poking out from the slit in its belly. Henry moved over and yanked hard, causing the guts to rain down, pelting the floor with blood and bits of flesh.
Beautiful. Just beautiful.
CHAPTER 10
Mala felt a bit sickened yet enervated by their discovery. A man, clearly deluded, had set himself on a course to re-create the nine circles of hell. Equally clearly, he was going to replicate them down to the tiniest degree. The thought of the suffering to come…
She glanced at the paintings. The horror they encompassed. And not a metaphysical horror but a real, tangible, physical horror. Nothing in her professional experience had prepared her for dealing with this kind of rampant carnage.
A psychologist’s life typically consisted of sorting through the rubble of a patient’s disintegrating life. There was carnage, sure, but the damage was of the emotional kind. The actual incident that created the pain, long over. Helping her patients through the existential angst when faced with their own possible death or the passing of a loved one. It did not mean seeing bodies rain down from the sky.
Yet…
Such a large “yet.” She had never felt more engaged then she had standing toe-to-toe with Darc. Sorting through all of the possibilities. Solving the riddle together. She had always said she liked the tough cases. That wasn’t completely true. She loved them. And this was the toughest.
Everything about this case. Janey. Trey. Darc. Hell, the symbols, and the Blake paintings. It was like it was tailored specifically for her. She swept her gaze once more over the reproductions the art dealer had placed on the easel. Mala had studied Blake, of course. You couldn’t even touch the romantic era without bumping into Blake, mostly for his poetry. The juxtaposition of “The Lamb” and “The Tyger” was at least a semester’s study. She had even seen one or two of his incomplete Inferno series.
Nowhere had she heard of the private collection based on Aristotle’s works.
Works that were coming to gruesome life. Mala should be appalled. And she was, she guessed. Maybe. But the biggest feeling was one of mixed determination and…excitement? That couldn’t be right. She had to admit, though, if only to herself, that she hadn’t just gone along to the house for Janey’s sake. Mala had to see Darc in action for herself.
Yet that had been nothing compared with their sparking off one another. Following a madman’s path, clearing the way for his capture.
Ms. Steinway began to take out another print, when Trey stopped her. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “But I think I’ve exceeded my daily allowance for nausea.”
Mala thought ahead to what Darc would need from her. “To respond to these images?” she proposed. “To identify with them? The killer himself must have experienced some serious trauma.”
“Psychotic break,” Darc stated.
Even though it hadn’t sounded like a question, Mala responded. “I can’t imagine anything less.”
Trey waved a hand at the art dealer, who was carefully placing the prints back in her portfolio.
“Okay, whatever his drama…There aren’t many places where you can find body parts just flying around.” When no one responded, Trey continued, “Hello? Slaughterhouses, anyone?”
“That would fit,” Mala answered. Even Darc nodded.
Trey pulled out his phone, flipping it open with a flourish. “I’m putting out the call for a sweep. There’s only three, maybe four, slaughterhouses within driving dista—”
“Don’t bother,” Darc cut him off.
Slamming his phone shut with an audible snap, Trey huffed a breath of air straight up, ruffling his already messy hair further. “Never even gonna let me get a ‘hey, look, Trey actually contributed in some small way,’ are ya?” The shorter detec
tive crossed his arms over his chest, facing off with Darc. That lasted for about as long as you would expect.
“Fine. Whatever,” Trey sighed. “So, are you going to give me an address, or what?”
And then Darc turned to Janey.
No. No. This was not happening again. Not on Mala’s watch. She squared off with Darc.
“Don’t.”
Darc turned that empty stare in her direction. Mala had already gone too far putting Janey’s mental health at stake because Mala wanted a taste of field experience.
“Don’t even think about it, Darc,” Mala said, crossing her arms, although she doubted that Darc would perceive that as determination. “You are not exposing her to a slaughterhouse.”
* * *
Darc stood motionless, the lines of logic snaking around the doctor, trying to get past her to the girl. Why did the doctor continue to act so emotionally? Had she not seen the same paintings as he? Did she not count the lives that would be lost if they delayed? Weighed in the balance, the danger to the girl would be minimal and more than likely temporary.
Perhaps if she understood why the girl was imperative. “I would not be exposing her to anything. We would simply be revisiting.”
The parents had been gutted at a slaughterhouse. Unfortunately, she had seen her parents slaughtered. Which, logically, meant that the girl had seen the slaughterhouse. Just as she had zeroed in on her own home, the girl could rule in or out slaughterhouses far faster than even an entire squad of police checking each one thoroughly.
“Darc, can’t you see that is even worse?” Mala asked.
It was strange to hear his name come out of another woman’s mouth. It was grey, nonsensical, and yet strangely pleasurable. What would it be like for her to say his first name, Robi? So few people spoke it. At times it felt his first name did not even exist. Or that it belonged to someone else.
However, that was a logic path to take another time. For now, he had to follow the strong, bright light. Could the doctor not see that? “She can pinpoint the crime scene.”
“Nice try, but I’m not signing off.”
His job would be accomplished with so much more efficiency if people simply did as Darc suggested. He would not recommend such an action if it were not the most logical path to take. If she could only see the glowing, pulsing light that shone all around the little girl.
Darc extended his hand toward the girl.
The girl took it without hesitation. Now both stared at Mala, who blocked their way.
“No, no, no,” Mala said. “Even I have a line I won’t cross.”
Darc cocked his head. “Like you wouldn’t with Baasim?”
Mala’s stern expression fell in on itself, making her normally pleasing features distorted and impossible for Darc to read. He must have done something that stirred the grey, as Trey reached out for Mala, putting his hands on her shoulders.
“Dude, no,” Trey said, stepping in between the two of them. “Just wrong.”
Even the art dealer, who had seemed to comprehend logic at a level far higher than most people in the creative field, recoiled, putting her hand to her mouth. A signal that something was direly amiss.
That made absolutely no sense. “You would not cross the doctor, your parents, the prosecutor, despite your brother’s wishes.”
“You…” Mala sputtered, “You heard?”
Of course he had heard. He had not had earplugs or other auditory restricting devices on. Did they think him impaired simply because he did not choose to respond to their attempts to get his attention?
“Yes,” Darc answered. The child’s hand, strangely, did not feel out of place. The weight of it felt right. Why was the doctor so resistant to this course? “And how is that different than now?”
Mala’s eyes teared as her lips tightened in a most unappealing manner.
“Rule eleven, man,” Trey said, then repeated, “Rule eleven.”
Darc did not need to remove the laminated card in his pocket to know that rule eleven stated that one should never discuss personal information with a coworker unless explicitly asked to do so. And with chicks? Wave off. Wave. Off.
Trey had a habit of repeating himself. Once this case was over, Darc would ask his partner why.
For now, he needed to get the child to the slaughterhouse.
He looked at Mala. “The patient is always right.” Darc repeated the doctor’s own words. Surely she would understand those. “How is this any different?” The woman still seemed reluctant, despite his excellent use of multiple logic points.
“If she is willing to risk so much,” Darc repeated Mala’s words to remind her of the choice she must make. “Then ‘how about you dig deep and do the same’?” Darc used Mala’s words from before. She had been correct then. She would see that he was correct now.
The doctor did not answer. Or at least not with words. Instead, she stepped aside.
Finally, a logical response.
With a squeeze to the girl’s hand, Darc moved them forward. Not to the slaughterhouse, but to a place. The next place. The next logical place.
* * *
Trey let his arm slide off Mala’s shoulder as she righted herself. “Sorry about that…” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “You just got the ‘full’ Darc experience.”
“It’s all right,” Mala said, seeming to pull herself together. “It only hurts because it is true.”
“No,” Trey stated. “Don’t go down that path.”
Mala gave a weak smile. “We both know that Darc would have walked my brother down to the courthouse and filed the papers himself. Functional or dysfunctional. Right or wrong, Darc would have seen justice done for Baasim.”
Damn if she wasn’t right. That didn’t mean that Darc had to use that as ammunition, though.
“But this isn’t your brother,” Trey reminded her. “It’s Janey.”
“And if I don’t let her go?” Mala asked. “And more people die? What if she can’t live with that? What if that weighs on her soul more than what has already happened to her?”
God, Trey hated these “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” scenarios. His headache cranked up a notch.
Mala turned to the art dealer. “Thank you,” she said curtly, before turning toward the door. When Trey didn’t join, her eyebrow went up. “You coming?”
No matter that this felt wrong down to his very bone. What was he to do, though? Now he was outvoted by two mega-minds. With a mumble to the creepy art chick, Trey followed Mala into the hallway. Ahead of them, Darc and Janey walked with determination.
“Great. Now they’ve formed a vocally challenged superhero team.” He sighed. “We’re so screwed.”
The doctor gave a crooked grin in response. Then Darc veered toward a door off to the right, taking Janey with him. What was going on? Weren’t they going to the slaughterhouse?
“Hey, brainiac, car’s this way.” Trey pointed down the hall to the exit. But Darc just walked through the door, the girl at his side.
Following, Trey pushed the double doors open to find himself in the hospital’s chapel. Yeah, he hadn’t seen this one coming. Not even a little bit.
The chapel was larger than most that you’d find in a hospital, the roof vaulted, with stained-glass windows that allowed light from the late-afternoon sun to filter in, catching the dust in the air. Like most houses of worship found in hospitals, it was nondenominational, while still giving a nod to the predominant religion in the States. Sure didn’t look like a synagogue or a mosque.
The high ceiling and the light gave the chapel a kind of bigness—like, wow, there might actually be something else out there kinda bigness. Looking closer, the total square footage was pretty small. Intimate. Standing at the front, someone speaking wouldn’t have to strain to be heard in the back row.
Trey brushed his hand against one of the pews, feeling the grain of the polished wood that gave way to the embroidered cloth of the padded backing. It had been a while since he’
d been in a church.
“Now what?” He turned to Mala, hoping for an answer. She seemed to be good for those lately. “I just don’t…Did I miss a whole entire explanation?”
But the doctor seemed just as confused as he was. Mala walked up to Darc. “What are you—”
“Elysian Fields,” Darc responded flatly, cutting the doctor off.
Seriously? That was his explanation? Did smart people just talk in code all the time to keep the peasants from rising up against them? Trey was seconds away from looking for a pitchfork.
But it must have made sense to Mala, because she not only stepped back but waved him on toward the altar, where Father John was kneeling in prayer.
“Reverend?” Darc called out to the priest.
Startled, Father John turned to see the group, his eyes misty. He brushed a hand over his face and murmured, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear…With all that’s…” He rose to his feet and came down to join them. “I guess I needed some solace as well.”
Trey and Mala stepped off to the side as Darc and the pastor talked. Trey whispered to the doctor, trying not to interrupt whatever the freak was happening over there. “Is there a word in the English language that means ‘way beyond confused’?”
“Darc is…” Mala’s words floated in the still air. “Do you remember the first circle of hell?”
Aw, great. Now he was getting a quiz on the art history lesson from upstairs. He thought back to the thin-lipped art dealer and her wacked-out paintings.
“That limbo pad?”
Mala nodded. “It’s for virtuous pagans and unbaptized children. Like Janey.”
“I still don’t…” Trey allowed his voice to trail off as the priest started what looked like a baptismal ceremony. Light from outside continued to stream though the chapel’s stained glass, painting the three figures in swaths of colorful illumination. It was kinda pretty.
Mala continued her explanation, her voice pitched to carry to Trey’s ear but not to interrupt what was going on at the altar.
“But if she is baptized…”
Trey clued in. “She wouldn’t be the killer’s type anymore.”
“Or…if she dies…”