by Hopkin, Ben
Mala had that look on her face right now.
But Popeye hadn’t done anything this time. At least that’s what he said. And for once, Janey believed him. She and Popeye hadn’t argued once today. Well, except for that one time when they were talking about grilled cheese. Janey said cheddar was better, but Popeye insisted that it was American, all the way.
Silly bear. American cheese tasted like plastic.
Anyway, Janey was pretty sure she knew why Mala was stressed out. Darc was in trouble, and Mala didn’t know what to do about it. Mala loved Darc, even if she didn’t really know it right now.
Janey was worried too, but not as much as Mala. She wasn’t as worried because she knew something that Mala didn’t know. Just like she had known something that Darc hadn’t known. Sometimes kids knew things. Especially kids like Janey.
What Mala didn’t know was that Darc wasn’t really in danger. Oh, it would be scary and he might get a little hurt, but he would be okay. The streams of light had said so, and she was learning to always trust the light. The threads of different color wrapped themselves around her, like shoestrings that were tying themselves into a really tough double knot. Double knots were nice, because they didn’t come untied and then make you trip on the laces. The lights were like that. Safe.
But there was a color that was running through the strands that was dark red. Janey didn’t like that strand. She tried to avoid it, to keep from seeing what it was trying to tell her, but she couldn’t. The other threads kept her in place. Tied down.
There was something else here that she already knew about. Something that she had tried to make herself forget. But she had put it in the drawing.
She thought about the picture. Darc and Trey. Trey and Darc. Lots of red everywhere around them. Both of them.
Darc was going to be okay. That was true. She knew it.
But what about Trey?
The lights swirled around her, telling her things she didn’t want to know. Trey wasn’t safe. Not at all.
It wasn’t just that he might get hurt. He might end up like Mommy and Daddy. And Janey wasn’t sure she could handle that.
She glanced over to the side of the car and saw herself reflected in the side mirror. Her expression was familiar. It was the same as Mala’s.
Janey was stressed out.
* * *
Darc pushed the massive metal door open. Just beyond the entryway was a cramped aisle created by conveyor belts right next to one another. The belts had been turned on, and chunks of twisted metal streamed past them on their way to the nonexistent workers in the other room.
There was only room for them to do single file into the space, which stayed narrow there below, but was open above them. The ceiling was high enough that Darc could not make it out in the darkness. It gave the space an infinite feel, and the lines of logic danced in the black non-light surrounding them. Here, there was not even the glow from the metal and the fires to give them illumination. Instead, they had to rely on what they could see with their night vision only.
Creeping forward step by step, Darc felt the presence of the glowing strands of light around him. They led him, guided him, and yet…
There was something he was not seeing here. Some piece of this puzzle that was undiscovered by the threads of light. All the variables seemed to be accounted for, but there was an empty hole where a pathway should be.
A blind spot that Darc’s preternatural intellect could not penetrate.
What was it?
He was missing something.
Things of a logical nature rarely escaped his notice. Something was escaping his notice. Therefore, what was missing was more than likely something that was not of a logical nature.
It was something that had to do with motivations, personalities or emotions. One of those empty dark places in Darc’s inner landscape that remained so terribly impenetrable to his senses.
And it could very well get them both killed.
A dripping noise, soft but steady, filtered in through the other stimuli he was taking in. Each individual color, scent, pattern and sound making a distinct thread of a different intensity and shade of light and color. What was that? And from where was it originating? The pathways of light triangulated and told him. From above.
Was it a leak in the roof? Was it now raining outside? The streams replied an emphatic no. The viscosity was unlike that of water. It was something else. Something thicker. Something…
Darc continued to inch his way forward, doing what he could to use the illumination from the other threads to light the dark area. Find a way to penetrate the darkness with the only light he could find and use.
But the threads shed so very little. The information they held was applicable only to itself. Together they could find connections and correlations, but not to anything that didn’t fit the logical parameters by which those pathways worked.
There was no light for them to give.
Darc felt, more than saw, the switch that was hidden along the side of the conveyor belt. He was pressing up against it as he moved forward, his motion forcing the switch forward with him.
Light flooded the warehouse space, illuminating the air around them, reflecting off of a huge hoop of flattened, shining metal suspended above them. Inside the circle, a body was stretched, head downward, wrists and ankles attached to the circumference. Blood dripped from a gaping wound in the figure’s breast, from which protruded a sword.
Darc received the information in a millisecond thrust of data fed to him by the overactive strands. And in that moment, the dark space burst into clarity.
The trap was for Trey.
Rushing back and pushing with all his strength, Darc shoved Trey onto the conveyor belt, using the force of the push to propel himself onto the opposing one. They both ended up sprawled on the moving belts, shards of metal poking into their backs.
It was not a moment too soon.
From above, there was a crack, and the hoop detached from the ceiling, speeding down towards the space that Trey had occupied a brief moment before. The sharp edge of the metal disk landed with a thud in the ground between them, the force of the impact wedging the circular blade deep in the concrete of the floor.
If Trey had been there still, he would have been bisected from head to groin.
CHAPTER 9
Trey had spent the last few minutes hugging everyone he could get his hands on. Nothing like almost getting killed by a falling metal circle-corpse-holder-blade-thingy to make you appreciate who your friends really were. Even if you hadn’t met them quite yet.
He and Darc had emerged from the warehouse to find the place surrounded. Police cars, ambulances, the CSI team including Cody. Even Mala and Janey were there.
“How…? What…?” Trey gibbered, blinking at the sun, which had apparently decided to come back out from behind the clouds again now that they were no longer in the dark warehouse of exploding, slicing and dicing metal. Seriously, it was like that giant ball of gas was just messing with him.
Janey came forward and gave him a huge hug. Wait. Janey was hugging him first? Before Darc? That never happened.
“Hey, kiddo. I’m okay.” Trey winced as he tried to hug her back. That shoulder was going to have to be looked at. He swept his gaze over the scene, looking for Mala. She brightened when she spotted him.
“Trey, I’m so glad you’re…” She stopped, staring at his shoulder. “What happened?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Exploding tanks of noxious gas, flying shards of red-hot metal, falling disc blades with corpses inside. Nothing to write home about,” Trey said in what he thought was his best nonchalant tone. The effect was soured somewhat by his knees giving out on him right at that point.
Mala rushed to his side to prop him up, and he leaned on her with gratitude. Janey had made her way off to greet her favorite autistic detective. Ah, well. The attention had been nice while it had lasted. The little girl looked like she was handing Darc something. Another picture, pos
sibly?
And then, from around the corner of the coroner’s wagon, came someone that Trey was certain he did not want to see. Mr. APA himself, Carson Speer. He was grinning, and it was all Trey could do to keep himself from leaping up and taking a swing at him. Stupid lawyer with his stupid smiling face.
“Detective Keane!” the man called out, oblivious to the scowl Trey was directing at him. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He got closer, saw the blood on Trey’s shoulder and stopped dead in his tracks. “You are okay, right?”
“Who invited you here?” Trey ground out through gritted teeth.
“Trey!” Mala reproached him. “Mr. Speer was the one who helped us find you. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t have these paramedics here to help you.” Trey’s expression must not have shown the proper amount of gratitude, as she added, with emphasis, “And the nice pain meds that came along with them.”
“Right,” Trey growled. “He’s just luring us into a false sense of security.” He turned to face the APA. “Don’t think I won’t slap the handcuffs on you just because there are women and children here. I’ve done it once; I’ll do it again.”
The attorney backed up, raising his hands in defense. Mala stepped forward, whispering.
“I know you’re gun shy after Bryce, but are you sure this is the right way to handle things?”
“Hey,” Trey fired back. “There’s the right way, and then there’s my way.” Okay, that had sounded a lot cooler in his head. “Whatever.” He faced off with the lawyer again. “I’ve got my eye on you.”
Carson cleared his throat and seemed to be trying to put his smile back on his face. Nice try, buddy. Go somewhere else and peddle your serial killer wares. The APA began talking again. Man, that guy’s voice got on his nerves. It was a total nice-guy voice. Which clearly pointed to the guy being their suspect.
“Detective Keane, I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here. I really respect what you and your team do, and—”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Trey stopped him. “Flattery. Already been tried. By your predecessor. Did I mention that he was a cold-blooded mass murderer?”
The lawyer threw his hands up in frustration. “I really am just trying to help.”
That sparked another thought in Trey’s head. It might just be the adrenaline that was pumping through his veins, but Trey was on fire today.
“Yeah, let’s talk about that ‘help,’”, Trey said, using air quotes. Well sort of. He only could use the one hand, which really lessened the impact. “How did you know where we were? We didn’t tell you.”
“Dispatch tracked the LoJack on your car,” he replied. Dammit. Slick bastard had a response for everything.
“Okay, smart guy. But how did you know to track us in the first place?”
“Because,” he said, after letting out a long breath. Good. Looked like Trey was getting to him. “Dr. Charan called in saying that she was worried about you. Something that the little girl had drawn made her think you were in trouble.”
“Oh.” There was nothing there for Trey to work with. Maybe it was time for a tactical retreat. He did need to get his shoulder looked at, after all. “Fine. But don’t think you’ve got me fooled. I’m all over you like a cheap suit. Baggy where you don’t want it, and tight in the crotch.”
Again, that didn’t come out quite how it had sounded in his head.
As Trey grabbed one of the paramedics to look at his shoulder, Carson stepped past him, moving toward Darc, holding his hand out for a shake. Darc seemed to contemplate the man’s hand for a moment before joining in with the social ritual. Traitor.
“Detective Darcmel, I’m so glad you’re both safe,” the lawyer enthused. “Any new developments in the case? I mean, other than almost getting killed,” he modified.
“Don’t tell him anything, Darc,” Trey called out from where he was getting attended to by the paramedics. Sometimes it felt like he spent most of his life sitting next to an ambulance getting poked and prodded. “The man’s shady.”
Darc stared at his partner a long moment before turning back to the APA. Double traitor. “The pentagram led us to investigate the Satanists here in Seattle. They have a monthly meeting on the ferry.”
“Oh, I love the ferry!” the attorney gushed. “It’s so beautiful and peaceful out there.”
“See?” Trey inserted. “More proof. Who loves the ferry? Seriously. That thing is evil.”
“Well, I guess with all the scheduling stuff I can see why—” he began.
“No. Nope. Stop right there,” Trey cut him off. “Agreeing with me is not going to help.”
The lawyer seemed to be right at the point of exploding, when he took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to handle this.”
“You hear that?” Trey pointed at the APA. “He’s modulating! Serial killers modulate!”
“Trey,” Mala stepped in. “It does seem like no matter what he does it sets you off.” She patted his arm, the one that wasn’t hurt. “And, I’m sorry, you do seem a little crazy right now. Just saying.”
Well, this was not going at all the way he had envisioned it. Escaping from a burning building of death should afford him a little more respect than this.
“So you think it might be the Satanists?” Carson continued with Darc.
“It is a possibility. The main High Priest has no alibi, and there are markers of Satanic ritualism about the murders.”
“I’ll say,” the lawyer agreed.
“Although,” Mala said, “it’s possible that Edward… he’s the Satanist High Priest,” she explained in an aside to Carson, “could have been thumbing his nose at us. It had that energy about it.”
“That is one of the variables we are taking into consideration,” Darc added.
“Why aren’t we talking about Mr. APA here,” Trey forced in again. He felt they were getting off topic. “What’s his alibi?”
“Um… I was at work?” he replied without looking at Trey. Coward.
“Doesn’t mean anything. This could’ve all been automated. Or done by remote.” Trey looked over at Darc. “And what’s with the fact that there was no pentagram this time?”
“There was,” his partner answered.
“No, I mean the star thingy in the middle.”
“The body was the star. The head, the arms and both legs created the five-pointed star. Did you note how the head was facing down?”
“No,” Trey replied. “Too busy trying not to get sliced in half. What does that mean?”
“The downward facing pentagram is typically associated with left-handed paths. Satanism of varying types.”
“Right.”
“Was there anything else?” Carson asked.
“More symbols. The salient mark at the head was 1211.” Darc paused for a moment. “I have no idea what that means.”
Trey mulled that over. It had to be hard for his partner to admit that he couldn’t figure out symbols. That was what he did. And Trey had never seen him fight with meanings like that before. He might get tripped up on other things. But letters and numbers? Never, that Trey had observed.
Plus, there was something else here. Those numbers sounded funny. Like there was some meaning there that he should know but couldn’t quite remember. He thought about it for a minute, then pushed it out of his head. If Darc couldn’t figure it out, there was no way that Trey could.
“Well, keep me updated on your progress,” the APA said, turning away from Darc. He caught a glimpse of Trey and turned back. “Maybe it should be you that contacts me. You know, just for now.”
Darc nodded.
Trey sat there, seething at the retreating back of the lawyer. There was something up with that guy. No one else believed it, but Trey knew it was true. No alibis for any of the killings. Way too nice for his own good.
Trey knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t about to get suckered a second time.
Turning his thoughts to something more pleasant, Trey called out t
o Darc and Mala.
“We still on for that double date?”
He might be hurting, but damned if he didn’t feel like celebrating.
* * *
Mala drove back home, her mind lingering on the circumstances surrounding the crime scene at the metal fabricating warehouse. There were some harsh truths that she was staring straight in the face, and she found she didn’t like them. At all.
Her reaction to Janey’s drawing, her calls to the precinct, her mad dash for the crime scene… all of them had to do with Darc. She cared about Trey, of course. Imagining her life without the shorter detective’s unique blend of humor and bullheadedness was a bleak thought indeed.
But what had sent her into a tailspin was the idea that Darc was in jeopardy. To the point that she was willing to take herself and a little girl into what could have been a dangerous situation in order to try to do something about it.
Maybe Richard was right. Maybe she wasn’t a fit parent.
The self-accusations wormed their way into her mind, taking up residence there and multiplying. On some level, she understood that this was a reaction to an extreme set of circumstances.
She even knew that part of what she was thinking was untrue. Janey had demonstrated over and over again how capable she was and how little danger bothered her. Childhood itself was inherently dangerous, even when parents smothered their children. There was no way to adequately spare children the ravages of life, especially when they seemed determined, like Janey, to approach it head on.
And then there was the simple fairness of the act. How many times had Darc saved Janey and Mala? How often had he been the one to rescue them from imminent danger? And yet that information didn’t seem to fully compute.
That rational, levelheaded voice was being drowned out by the much louder chorus of negativity that was harmonizing to devastating effect. And no amount of rationalization seemed to help. Mala wasn’t being honest with herself. Or with Darc.
Maggie had it right, but she hadn’t gone far enough. Mala was scared of a relationship with Darc. Absolutely. And Mala herself had thought that the issues revolved around Darc’s disability. It was even partially true.