by K. R. Rowe
He chuckled. “I am the police, sweetheart.”
She shot him a look that’d burn fire from the sun. Fumbling with the large brass handle, she swung the door open and disappeared. The heavy oak slammed, the force rattling the jamb. Lawrence winced at the bone-jarring sound, but her threat and aggression only amused him further. He’d find out what she knew, and he’d have a good time getting it out of her. She’d enjoy it, but if not, he’d take what he wanted and she couldn’t do a damn thing. No one would believe a killer over a cop, and they wouldn’t believe her boyfriend either.
Phillip Chambers made him sick. He was Detective Rush’s golden boy, and the sight of his smug face disgusted Lawrence. The old man had drug that piece of human garbage from the gutters and gave him a job he didn’t deserve. Regardless, Phillip was trapped in a conflict of interest. Emotionally invested in an obvious suspect, he’d do anything to keep the girl out of trouble. Everyone knew it, and Lawrence would do anything to look good for the boss. Soon, he would be the favorite and no way in hell would he go back to a traffic cop job.
If he had to set the girl up, he would.
Maybe if he kept the pressure on, she might try to kill him too. His lips curled into an eager grin. That’d give him an excuse to put his fingers around that pretty little throat. The thought sent a tingle pulsing through his groin. Wasting no time getting back to his car, he slid in and unbuttoned his pants. He cranked up the car and it coughed to life. Steering it toward an alley around the corner, he needed a few minutes alone. He was desperate for release, and if Allie wouldn’t take care of his needs, he’d have to take care of himself.
* * *
The sun painted clouds in the western horizon, but nightfall crept from the darkening heavens, stealing the waning light. Shafts of luminance poured between the buildings, blazing the cobblestones brilliant orange. Allie sat on the stoop in front of her apartment, watching the dust speckled color retreat and darkness push into the haggard gray stones. With her gun tucked in a holster against her side, she tried to relax, but tension saturated her every muscle. Each time she shifted, the grip dug into her ribs, but the familiar pain brought volumes of comfort. Still irritated by the confrontation with Detective Lawrence, she kept alert, watching for him. Her hand hurt from the punch she landed earlier, but it felt good, and she wanted to punch him again.
Hard.
His type gave her the creeps, reminding her of those date rape jocks in high school, believing they were above the law and the women should feel lucky to have their attention. He made her skin crawl, and someone should twist his balls off, but she wondered; if he spent so much time on his perfect appearance, why did he smell like a fart? The thought made her chuckle, but having enough on her mind already, she rubbed her temples to ease her tension and tried to put him out of her thoughts. Maybe he just needed someone to love. She glanced around, taking in her quiet surroundings. She knew she shouldn’t be out here alone, but her mind swirled with a jumble of confused thoughts; her gut twisting with unwanted emotions.
Her mind shifted to Noah, or whatever or whoever it was.
If this thing really thought she was Isabella, then he must have an attachment, or feel some kind of love for her. The romantic idea brought a smile to her lips, and these days, smiles were a rarity. Although she was quite fond of Phillip and they’d shared some intimate moments, he never expressed how he felt. Having learned long ago not to make assumptions, she didn’t trust anyone and she regretted getting close so fast. And if Phillip learned of her past, he probably wouldn’t stick around anyway.
No one had ever cared before until she met her best friend. Zoe knew everything about her, and her family taught Allie that it was possible to love, and she was good enough to be loved, but now because of their friendship, Zoe was gone. Sadness welled in her chest, washing through her in waves. Phillip said it would get better, eventually. He’d lost someone close and knew how it felt, but instead of easing, the quagmire of grief grew wider each day. Some days she wanted to give up and drown. The darkness had settled in, clouding everything, dulling her senses and stealing her motivation. Allie didn’t know if she would ever feel good again, and right now, she didn’t even care. Just sitting here felt like an overwhelming chore. She still didn’t understand what happened, and each time she picked up her phone—she remembered—Zoe would never answer again.
Allie craned her neck, glancing both ways down the street; all was quiet for now. For the past few weeks, law enforcement was a constant presence on the streets, questioning everyone, keeping crime at a minimum, but now, she assumed they had no leads on the murders. Other parts of the city needed their attention; gang violence, liquor store robberies, so the police had moved on. They finally stopped questioning her as well, except Detective Lawrence. Usually good at avoiding him, she’d let her guard down today and he’d spotted her. Shifting once more, she slid her palm around her gun’s cool wooden grip, adjusting its weight on her side. Detective Lawrence disgusted her, and he’d be wise not to touch her again.
She stared into the darkened alleys and corners. Noah was out there. She couldn’t see him, but she knew it, and she waited. Mrs. Michaels was crazy to suggest that she help kill for this thing—for Noah. If anything, she’d love to blow his shadowy ass back to hell for what he’d done to Zoe, but how could she kill something already dead? And how could she do him harm, when she felt this strange connection? Why did she feel like she belonged to him? He was an innocent pawn in this deadly game, and it really wasn’t his fault. Or was it? Glancing down, she studied the cobblestones; some newer and almost perfect, others crumbled into pieces. Why was it like this? The job was half done.
Incomplete.
Mist curled around her feet. Unafraid, she scooted down the steps until the mist swallowed her upper calves. The fog darkened with patches of swirling black. She knew he’d come. Shadows crawled up her legs, like fingers caressing her skin. The same heaviness from before fell over her, but this time it felt like a body, one desperate to be touched. Closing her eyes, her vision went dark.
Until she saw him.
The black behind her lids gave way to a bright cloudless day. The cobalt sky stretched for miles above her, disappearing behind a mountain of dark summer forest. Her gaze shifted away from the soft, smooth sky. Nearby, a stream gurgled around a smattering of stones. The crystal clear water shimmered with flecks of bright warm sunlight, but it was Noah’s smile that warmed her soul. Lying next to her, he picked twigs from the blanket they’d spread near the stream. He leaned toward her, kissing her between the eyes.
“You’re my world, Isabella.”
“And you’re my heart.”
“Are you all packed?” he asked, eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Almost.”
“Have you told your grandmother?”
“I’ll tell her tonight.”
“I promise, you’ll love New York, and with my new job, we’ll make enough to live outside of the city, maybe even enough to start a family.”
“Two babies and a dog?”
He grinned. “How about ten?”
“Ten dogs?”
“No,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I want ten perfect little girls, just like you.”
He tickled her belly and she churned out a raucous laugh.
“Stop! You’ll make me wet myself.”
“Wet or dry,” he said. “You’re still beautiful.”
His lips touched hers but she kept her eyes open, drinking in every second of him. She never wanted him out of her sight, but his heated breath burned like fire on her lips, and she sighed, letting her eyes drift closed. Circling her arms around his neck, she held tight, but she couldn’t hold on to his warmth. His body heat began to cool and her sun-brightened lids faded to black.
“No! Don’t go!”
The weight from his body vanished. Reaching up, she grasped for air, trying to catch hold of him, desperate for him to stay, but he was already gone. She gulped in a startl
ed, sobbing breath, when a flash of cold prickled her skin. Hot tears streaked her cooling cheek and her eyes cracked open to the unwanted night.
Chapter 19
Delusions
Tattered lace curtains danced in the midnight breeze. Despite the cool air Allie waited by the window. A few weeks had passed since Zoe’s death, but time seemed to die as well, dragging each second into a million nightmarish lifetimes. Keeping vigilant watch of the road below, she ignored the burn in her sleepless eyes and the throb in her swollen lids. Shadows moved, swarming the street like angry bees. She watched them scatter; desperate to find their next victim, but no one walked the streets anymore.
The residents were scared.
A reflection in the window drew her attention. Dusty glass muddied the image, and Allie wiped the panes with her sleeve to get a better look. Instead of her own face peering from the darkness, the image of a young woman grew clearer; her smile lighting her bright blue eyes, soft brown hair floating around her plump youthful face.
Isabella?
The young woman pressed her palm against the pane, pushing inward toward Allie, the glass stretching around her fingers. Allie responded, laying her hand against the misshapen window, their palms almost touching, if not for the limpid barrier between them.
“Who are we?” Allie whispered. “Am I you?”
A tear fell from Isabella’s lashes. Her lips parted, but instead of words, a mournful wail rent the silence. The glass cracked, and Allie yanked her hand away, covering her ears. Stumbling backward, she spun to the mirror across the room and caught a glimpse of her own familiar form. Copper hair hung limp around her shoulders, cheeks sunken beneath her dull green eyes. Her body emaciated from lack of an appetite, she turned away, unable to look at herself any longer. Instead, she turned back to the window but the crack was gone, the layer of dust undisturbed, and Isabella had vanished.
“No, wait!” Allie pressed her hand against the glass. “Don’t go yet, please.”
Leaning her forehead against the pane, she waited for Isabella’s return, but only her own weary face reflected atop the starless backdrop of night.
Who am I?
Her gaze drifted down to the street below. The frenzied pace of the shadows slowed and one by one they joined, gathering into a mass beneath her window. Mesmerized, she watched his face push up from the shadows, his form take shape and rise from the stones. The swirling silhouette of a man stood silent beneath her window; his head twisting in quick spasmodic movements, black eyes scouring the streets in search of human flesh.
“Noah,” she whispered.
His head jerked up and pivoted toward her window. Shadows peeled away from him, their excitement increasing, anxious for prey. Her heartbeat quickened with both fright and excitement. She clamped the window frame between her fingers. Would the shadows come if she left it open? Would they pour into her apartment and drag her to the street? Or would Noah’s dark cold inviting fingers crawl up her skin and show her visions of the beautiful life she once had?
She wanted to be Isabella.
She wanted to be with Noah.
Closing her eyes, she willed him to come but the hours slipped away and the night finally disappeared. Dawn’s brilliance warmed the cool damp stones and the shadows scattered with daybreak’s light. Her body weak, exhaustion dulling her sense of reason, Allie continued to wait. Night would soon come again and she knew he’d be out there. Siddous was hungry and Mrs. Michaels was right.
Noah needed her help.
Chapter 20
Better Off
Mrs. Michael’s car drove like a yacht, but having no car of her own, Allie had to borrow it, and it suited her purpose. Leaning over the steering wheel, she watched the homeless old man climb under a bush and roll himself into a thin woolen blanket. The night air crackled with the cold, her breath nearly freezing to her lips. She shook her head wondering what kind of life he had, and was it a life at all? Her thoughts turned to Noah. The visions of him were coming more often and not just at night. They now came during the day, in the store, at work. The flashbacks depicted love in its purest form, and Allie wanted it back. The more she talked with Mrs. Michaels, the more she realized she had been cheated. Her perfect life was stolen, her soulmate taken away, and she was given this worthless existence in return. Starting the car, she crept up the street and stopped in front of the bush where the old man slept.
She rolled down the window. “Hey, mister.”
The man didn’t budge. She checked the area to be sure no one else lurked about, hopped out of the car and eased the door shut. Squatting near the bush, she called again, “Psst. Hey, mister.”
The old man peeked from under his blanket, “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” He yanked the blanket back over his head and rolled to his side. Putting his back to her, he mumbled something about pain in the ass church people.
Allie hesitated, “I’m not from a church, but it’s really cold and I thought maybe—”
“Maybe what?”
She wasn’t sure she could do this, but he would be much better off this way. She cleared her throat and glanced up the street. Moonlight filtered through swaying trees, casting dancing shadows beneath them.
She held her breath. Noah? Staring at the shadows for a moment longer, she spoke again. “I thought maybe you could come and stay with me, just for the night.”
The man rolled over; his gaze raking down her body. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”
* * *
They drove in silence for thirty uncomfortable minutes, before they stopped in front of her apartment building.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll take the car around back, then go through and open the front door.”
He stepped out of the car.
“Oh,” she said. “You might want to wait in the street. The pigeons are a real nuisance near the building—if you know what I mean.”
The man chuckled. “Yeah, I gotcha.”
Nervous tension exploded in her limbs as she walked on shaking legs from her car to the rear entrance. Before she opened the back door, the stench assaulted her nose; the odor drifted around the building, the musty smell of something long dead. The sound soon followed; the faint grinding of stone against stone. Slipping through the door, she ran three flights of stairs to her apartment. She rushed to her window, but stopped short, afraid of what she might see. Finally gathering her courage, she peeked over the sill and stared at the carnage below on the street. The man never screamed; he didn’t have time. Noah was already on him, filling his lungs and stealing his breath, holding him down as an offering to his master. The man’s body crumpled, blood spraying through splits in his bursting skin, clouding the night air with crimson. The demon took him and fed, ending his life the moment he touched the stones.
* * *
In her darkened apartment, Allie stood frozen by the window, entranced by the flattened form on the street. She couldn’t believe she’d done this horrible deed. But she figured he’s much better off, wasn’t he? At least he isn’t cold anymore. He’s not hungry or begging for scraps and spare change to live one more day without his belly cramping from starvation.
A tear slipped down her cheek, remorse for a broken life; one that could have been happy, could have made a difference in the world. A thought occurred that she’d not considered before. Did he have children? Could they have been out searching for him? She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the guilt. At his age, if he had children, they were probably grown with families of their own. They’d likely written him off as a lost cause, and gave up worrying anymore.
Yes, he was better off this way. She’d done a good thing.
She watched the rats climb over one another, vying for a hunk of his corpse, picking at the skin, tearing off chunks and dragging them into the sewers. Then the scream came at dawn. A woman from the apartments across the street discovered the remains, and now, Allie still stood at the window, watching the commotion below. The
knock pried her attention away from the window.
“Just a minute.” She threw on her nightgown and tousled her hair. She hadn’t been to bed all night and still had her clothes on from the day before. She looked through the peephole at the familiar face on the other side. She plastered on an innocent smile and cracked the door.
“Phillip?”
“Sorry to wake you,” he said. “But there’s been another murder.”
Chapter 21
Hollowpoint
Thirteen years prior—Hollowpoint Mental Facility. His heels clicked against the cold, sterile tile; Bret’s body casting a shadowed reflection across its polished surface. Screams and crying muted his footfalls, but he couldn’t hear them anymore. After many years of working in this dump, he’d learned not to care and tuned them out. Glancing down the hallway, he caught sight of a young girl walking the opposite direction; her dull copper hair tangled into knots, her elbow gripped tight by the orderly at her side. He waited until they’d disappeared around the corner before he stopped in front of the old woman’s door. She’d closed it, but privacy here was a luxury, and a luxury that Hollowpoint couldn’t afford to offer.
Mrs. Isabella had been here for decades; too crazy to function in normal society, but sane enough to have limited freedom. She rarely spoke, and if she stayed out of trouble his boss allowed her to help cook in the kitchen or serve dinner to other patients. But if it were left to Bret, he wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him. Her unyielding stare often set him on edge; its dead, empty glower prickling goosebumps across his skin. He’d read her file; knew what she’d done and how they’d found her. She creeped him out, but was too old now to pose a serious threat.