by K. R. Rowe
Her friend didn’t answer and wouldn’t look up. A white hot flash cracked with the thunder, killing the light but illuminating a presence on the couch next to Zoe.
Allie called out in the dark, “Zoe?” But still no response. “Zoe, please say something—wake up.” A terrified tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s—” She swallowed hard, trying to push the sound through her trembling lips. “It’s sitting next to you.”
It’s here.
Allie grabbed for her phone, fumbled with the light, and shined it toward her friend, but Zoe had moved. Like a vulture, she squatted atop the arm of the couch, staring at Allie.
Oh God! “Zoe?”
Her hands shook as she dialed Phillip’s number.
“Hello?” he answered. “Allie, are you okay? It’s late.”
Allie forced out a whisper, “Please come, hurry, something’s wrong with Zoe.”
“Is she hurt? Did you call an ambulance?”
“No, she’s not hurt,” she whispered. “It’s here again.”
“Did you turn on the lights?”
“The power’s out.”
“I’m on my way.”
The phone disconnected. Allie stared in Zoe’s direction, searching the darkness, until a silent lightning strike brightened the room. Her friend was gone. The lights flickered, popping in flashes of yellow-white, and Zoe stood at the end of the bed; her body contorted, bent backwards at the waist, her head twisted to one side glaring toward Allie.
“Zoe? Are you okay?” Allie scooted backward on the bed, pressing her shoulders against the headboard. “Come on, stop, you’re freaking me out.”
Her phone slipped from her hand, bouncing off of the mattress and disappearing under the bed. The power failed again, and darkness claimed the room. Her eyes were slow to adjust, but her lack of vision amplified every sound. Low raspy breathing moved around the room. It came from everywhere, but nowhere. Slow shuffling footfalls, creaked over the old hardwood, moving closer with each step. Allie leaned over the side of the bed. Fumbling beneath it, her fingers crawled across the floor, finding her phone. Snatching it from the beneath the bed, she clicked it on, relieved to have light.
But relief turned to terror. Zoe hovered above her, inches away, her eyes alive with swirling pools of black and gray. Her mouth twisted, a rivulet of spit stretching from her lip. A deep male sinister laugh erupted, unlike anything Allie had ever heard from Zoe.
And then the voice came. “You know who you are.”
“Oh God.” She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to shut out the nightmare in front of her, but the rasping breath burned hot on her face and her limbs froze in terror. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.”
The rain picked up again, cracking hard against the window, the curtain flapped, its snapping sound echoing in the room. The breathing went silent and Allie’s face cooled in the crisp evening air. She opened her eyes to a pitch-black room but the outside light flickered to life.
Her friend had vanished.
Allie slid from the bed and through the open apartment door, to find Zoe. She peeked into the hallway and jumped when the stairwell door slammed closed. Running barefoot down the hall, she opened the door and eased into the stairway. She backed against the wall and inched down the stairs until the darkness swallowed everything.
“Zoe?”
A response never came. Allie felt her way down the lightless void, taking care with each step, but the only other sound was the echo of her own unsteady breathing and a rasping breath seeping up from the lower floors. A door slammed and Allie picked up her pace, maneuvering the last few flights, reaching the first floor. Exiting the stairwell, she made her way to the front doors. Water had pooled in the building’s entrance, and Allie hiked up her pajamas and waded through the ankle deep water. Rain fell in a torrent, flattening her hair to her head.
Squinting, trying to see through the downpour, she called out for her friend in the storm. “Zoe!”
Allie saw her in the distance. A single flickering lamppost illuminated Zoe’s slender form. She stood in the middle of the road, arms dangling at her side. The road buckled around her, stones pushing up against one another, then settling. The street was alive, its surface swelling around her. Dark mist gathered at her friend’s feet, its whirling vortex spinning with black patches, rising, climbing her limbs, painting her body in solid black.
Zoe swayed, her legs giving way and buckling beneath her. Dropping to her knees, her hands went to her throat but only a silent plea escaped her lips before her body was forced to the ground. Her torso writhing against the stones, bones popping through her skin, blood spraying, mixing with the rain, her body folded in on itself, and then flattened against the cobbles.
“No!” Allie screamed.
She took a few steps into the street, but the stones buckled, sucking her feet to their surface. An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her backward onto the sidewalk.
“Allie, no!” Phillip’s voice came from behind her. “Something’s out there.”
Holding her tight, he pulled her face against his chest, not letting her look and not letting go. She leaned into him, giving up her struggle to get to Zoe and choked on the terror of what she’d witnessed. Phillip’s voice shook and his words sent a shiver rolling down her spine.
“What the hell is that thing?”
Allie raised her head and glanced into the street. A few feet from them, the stones lightened, their changing hue moving toward them. She backed away, pushing Phillip against the building, but the wave of color stopped in front of her. The flickering light above Zoe’s body brightened to a warm yellow glow, its dingy cracked glass, transforming into a perfect clear globe.
Phillip’s radio crackled to life when he keyed up the mic. “This is Officer Chambers,” he said. “I need backup, now! There’s something out here.”
Chapter 17
Answers
Phillip stood in the living room of the old two-story Tudor and watched his colleagues speak with Zoe’s parents. Shifting his weight, he rubbed his aching back and leaned against the heavy wood bookcase lining the wall of the main room. Polished oak floors ran the length of the house and creaked with each restless movement. He glanced around the room; high vaulted ceiling, expensive furniture, fine art.
Old money.
Zoe’s mother, a heavyset woman, cried into her tissue, barely able to speak, while her husband, in his early sixties, held her close, offering frail but soothing comfort. The detective was gentle, of course. They hated to do this but the questions were standard procedure. Was Zoe depressed? Did she have a recent breakup with a boyfriend? Were the parents getting divorced? These were customary questions in a suicide case.
But it wasn’t suicide.
They’d asked Zoe’s parents about Allie, but they insisted she was a good girl, like a daughter, and they loved her. But the stories they told of her abusive childhood aroused suspicion. They questioned Allie as well, about the events leading up to Zoe’s death. Phillip’s colleagues didn’t believe the bizarre story, especially Detective Lawrence, the little brown-nosing asshole. He’d put Allie in cuffs at the scene, and Phillip had lost it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Phillip grabbed Lawrence by the collar and snarled in his face. “She’s not a suspect here.”
“She’s the only suspect.”
Phillip curled his hand tighter into the man’s crisp white shirt and shoved him against the stucco wall.
“Uncuff her now or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Lawrence sneered. “She moved in right before the first murder, shows up on the crime scene, and coincidentally just witnessed the latest murder.”
“She’s no killer.”
“You’re thinking with your dick, but I guess I would too. Is it good Chambers? I bet it is.”
“You little son of a—”
Before Phillip landed a punch, Tom Rush grabbed his arm, pulling him away.
Rush scowled at young Lawrence.
“Take those things off. She’s not a suspect.” The older man turned to Phillip and led him a few feet away, “Watch your temper, son. Control it. Never let it control you.”
A young go-getter, Rob Lawrence had perfect hair, every stitch of clothing in order, questioned everyone and their grandma about everything, recorded every word, either on his tablet or in a notepad, but for all his drive and determination, he was dumber than a rock and couldn’t quite put two and two together. Usually, he was way off the mark. The female officers avoided him, and Phillip understood why. His constant leering and offensive remarks were hard to ignore. Lawrence had one more chance to pass this year’s evaluation, and if he didn’t, he’d be back to traffic cop duties. He was desperate to make a good impression but as always, he had no leads, and Allie was the only suspect he had.
Phillip knew Allie wasn’t a killer. Why would she kill her best friend? He didn’t see what actually happened to Zoe, just the end results, but he’d been questioned multiple times. Fortunate for Allie, a witness saw her exit the building and stop yards away from where Zoe died, but she couldn’t see what happened to Zoe from her vantage point. The indisputable evidence was right there on the street. Allie was nowhere near her. She would have been drenched in blood and there’s no way she could have done those things to Zoe.
No human could have.
* * *
Small but comfortable, Phillip’s apartment contained one bedroom, a dining area, living room, and small kitchen. He didn’t need much space. During his bout with alcohol, he’d lost nearly everything, and it was nice to have a place, other than the sidewalk, to call home.
“I know it’s not much but—”
“It’s beautiful,” Allie said.
Although her smile was faint, he thought he saw a sparkle in her troubled green eyes. He took in every detail of her face, unable to pull his gaze away.
What a gorgeous smile.
He peeled his eyes from Allie and focused his attention on the boring white walls and plain tan carpet. The updated kitchen had stainless steel appliances, granite counter tops; nothing fancy, but nice enough. Not quite what he would call beautiful but compared to her apartment, she probably thought it was. Maybe he could convince her to stay for a while; help him decorate, add a little color and character to the place.
He reached for her bags. “I’ll put your things in the bedroom for now.”
“Wait!” She dug into her purse, but not finding what she was searching for, she patted her jacket pockets. “I have to go back to my apartment. I forgot something.”
“You don’t need your gun. You’re safe here.”
She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to register his words. “You know?”
“Yes, I know.”
Relief flooded her face. “I have a permit—”
He smiled. “I know that too.”
“Wow, you know a lot.”
Phillip chuckled. “I’m a detective. It’s my job.”
She handed him her things. “It’s really sweet that you’re worried, and you want me to stay here, but honestly, I’m fine.”
“You shouldn’t be alone after what happened. No one should. Depression can set in and you won’t even realize it.” He shouldered her bag. “Self-destructive thoughts will creep in, one thing will lead to another, and it’ll all go downhill. I see it all the time and I don’t want that to happen. Humor me and stay here, for just a little while. A few days, and that’s it. I promise.”
Allie nodded, giving in. “Okay, just a few days.”
He led her into the bedroom and put her things in the closet. “The bed is yours,” he said. “I’ll take the couch.”
* * *
The daisy filled meadow stretched in front of her. The speckled sea of yellow and white rolled into the smooth cobalt horizon. Allie stood in its center, eyes closed, face toward the warm Southern sun. From behind, strong arms wrapped around her. Like warm smooth honey, whispered sweet nothings poured into her ears. She sighed, pulling the arms tighter around her shoulders and snuggled closer. So comfortable. So alive.
Soft soothing words heated her neck. “I love you, Isabella.”
Isabella?
Allie stiffened. Warmth fled and the arms around her turned cold. The sun disappeared and the wind picked up, churning the sky into a dark gray gyre. She glanced down at the arms circled around her. Skin hung loose and shredded from the bone; the rotted flesh coated with dark crimson slime. The stench of decay assaulted her lungs and stuck to her skin like sweat. Burning bile crawled up her gullet and she held her breath, suppressing the urge to vomit. Horror splashed through her veins, and she spun away, stumbling backward. The battered remains of a young man stood before her, a leather helmet and broken goggles on the ground at his feet.
Noah.
Garbled words bubbled from his throat. “Help me.”
He stood a few feet away, his chest cavity split and laid open, his ribs sawed away leaving nothing more than his backbone. Viscera spilled from the gaping hole in his abdomen, hanging in mutilated chunks to his knees.
His soft blue eyes brimmed with terror. “Don’t leave me, Isabella.”
“I’m not Isabella!”
Shadows swirled around his feet. He reached for her, his distorted words filled with desperation. “Please! Don’t let him take me.”
Pain swelled in her chest, a longing sadness, almost a physical ache. Her stomach lurched, but not from the sickness twisting her gut. Her mind reeled away to the sweet loving Noah; down on one knee, a ring in his hand, the bright midday sun kissing his handsome face. His only crime—his love for Isabella—and he deserved better than this. Compassion welled inside of her, along with something else.
Consuming warmth spread through her limbs. Whether she felt Isabella’s love or something inside of her own heart, she didn’t know, but she had to do something. Allie reached out to take his hand, to pull him to her, but the shadows wrapped around his legs, forcing him backward. She took a step toward him, but when their fingers touched, her hand sliced through his palm like a knife through mist. Shadows curled around his body, pulling him further out of her reach. No matter how many steps she took toward him, they pulled him further away, until finally, he disappeared into a churning black void.
The goggles crunched beneath her feet and she startled awake. Her heart drummed against her ribs, and it took a minute to realize she was still in Phillip’s apartment. She lay in his arms, his warm sweet breath tickling the back of her neck. Trying not to wake him, she turned toward him, pressing her cheek against his chest, she snuggled closer. Without his knowledge, his closeness soothed her trembling body and his presence calmed her soul. The couch-bed arrangement only lasted one night, and she wanted to stay here forever, but she couldn’t. These dreams wouldn’t stop and Allie wanted answers.
It was time to go home.
Chapter 18
Good and Evil
The seat clunked, its worn leather groaning in protest. Detective Lawrence leaned back, trying to get comfortable in the heap of junk they called an unmarked car. He’d barely finished his lunch before his stomach gurgled. Shifting his weight, he eased out a long, silent gastric cloud.
He coughed. Shit!
Fumbling with the window, he rolled it down, but the stench clung to the back of his throat. He took a deep breath of fresh air but hacked one last time. That’s the end of the garlic and onions for lunch. He knew a thousand good ways to get out of work, but shitting his pants was not one of them. The thought made him cringe. Jumping off a ten story building would be far less scary than crapping his brand new Dockers in public. What a nightmare. Pulling down his visor, he checked his reflection in the mirror; hair perfect, teeth white and straight, no gunk between them. Tilting his head back, he checked up his nose; no bats in the cave.
Damn I look good.
He shifted in his seat, easing the discomfort of his growing arousal. Winking at himself in the mirror, he almost believed that he’d turned himself on
, but he’d been there for over two hours thinking about Allie. She was pretty and tough; just what he liked. Tired of waiting, he almost gave up his stakeout when she finally turned up. Allie stood in front of her building, oblivious to the world around her, searching her purse for God knows what.
He rolled his eyes. Women.
They were only good for one thing. Well, maybe two if blow jobs counted, but that didn’t take much skill. He opened his door and slid out of the car, trying to keep his presence unnoticed. Crossing the street in a few long strides, he stopped behind her and took hold of her elbow. She spun, her fist swinging, connecting with the side of his head. He grabbed her wrist before the second punch landed.
“Easy there.” The blow sent pain slicing through his temple but he rubbed his head and smiled. Red on the head means fire in the bed.
“You scared me!”
“You’re assaulting an officer.”
She yanked her arm from his grasp, her lips curling back into an irritated snarl. “What do you want? I’ve told you everything. If you don’t stop harassing me, I’m going to—”
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I’m just here to apologize.”
“So that’s why you’ve been stalking me? To apologize?”
“Of course.”
“Bullshit.”
Lawrence chuckled. “I love your spunk.” He stepped closer, backing her against the stairway railing. “But you’re too smart for your own good. You know something, and I will find out what it is.” Trailing his finger down her cheek, he took a deep breath, pulling in the scent of her sweat. His hand dropped to his crotch, brushing across his straining erection. “But now that I think about it, maybe there is something you can do to get me off your back.” He licked his lips at the thought. And maybe you on yours.
“Stay away from me!” Shoving him backward, she slipped around him and climbed a few steps toward the door. “If I see you again, I’ll call the police.”