Blood of the Sixth

by K. R. Rowe

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Griggs said. “The old woman was a real witch, with spells and chants and such. She didn’t bother hiding it either. After the fifth murder, the rumor was, she killed that boy Noah and cursed him to serve a demon they called Siddous.”

  Phillip scribbled notes in his pad. “This demon—he lives under the street?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Griggs said. “And she wrote things on the walls with that poor boy’s blood.”

  “What did she write?

  “Blood of the sixth. It was everywhere.”

  “What did that mean?”

  “At the time, I had no idea. But as the months went by, I heard more and more gossip. It seemed, in order to curse this boy, this earth demon had to feed five times. Noah was the sixth, but a ritual had to be performed first while the young man still lived. After the curse was complete and she killed him, he would take the place of the jackal before him, setting the other spirit free. The ritual needed the blood of a live sixth victim.”

  Phillip mumbled, “The blood of the sixth.”

  “Now, the old woman was riled about the two marrying, but rumors spread that she may have been trying to free someone else from the curse.”

  “Someone else? You mean like a lover, husband, brother, father?”

  “Seems to make sense,” Mr. Griggs said. “I’ve thought about it for years now. Why else go through all the trouble?”

  “She could have just killed him and be done with it.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “So she might have had two reasons to kill Noah then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So this curse has been going on for years? Someone cursed her loved one to free someone else?”

  “I know,” Mr. Griggs said. “Sounds crazy, but I’m just repeating what the old women in the building carried on about. They’d talk among themselves and to others in the building, but when the police asked questions, they wouldn’t say a word. I was a kid, so the women paid me no attention. They talked freely in front of me, and I heard a lot. I suspect half of them were witches too. Bunch of old heifers.”

  Phillip chuckled.

  “I don’t really know if this curse worked or not because that was the end of the killings.”

  “Maybe the demon was sated?”

  “I reckon, I don’t know, but they said it would happen again—the killings I mean. The demon in the street would get hungry again.”

  “And this Noah kid would now find his victims?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What happened to the grandmother?” Phillip asked. “Was she charged with Noah’s murder?”

  The old man leaned forward. “Now this is where it gets really weird.”

  Phillip chuckled to himself. It’s really weird already.

  “Isabella walked in on the kill room, where the grandmother murdered Noah. When she realized what her grandmother had done, she went into a rage, killing Mrs. Hoffius. Cut her head clean off. They found the girl a few days later, still holding her grandmother’s head.”

  “Was the grandmother reported missing?”

  “No, but the whole building stunk, and someone called the police.”

  Phillip turned the page of his writing pad and jotted down a few notes. “Did Isabella stand trial?”

  “Yes, sir, she did, but instead of prison, they put her in Hollowpoint.”

  “The mental institution?”

  “That’s the one, down by the river. I’m not real sure what happened to her. Last I heard she was practicing witchcraft, just like her grandma. I’d suppose she’d be over a hundred by now, if she’s not dead. I’d have gone crazy too if I were her; seeing her murdered husband and all, not to mention the blood.”

  “I’d imagine there was a lot of it,” Phillip said.

  “Between the old woman and Noah, there was so much blood; it seeped from the third floor plumb through to the first. The apartments below were empty, so no one really noticed until it started to stink.”

  Phillip looked up. “The murders happened on the third floor?”

  “Yup,” the old man said. “Apartment thirty four. They say the boy Noah haunts the place. Old lady Hoffius too I don’t doubt. Haunted or not, with two murders, I wouldn’t want to live there. I reckon no one would unless they were either desperate or didn’t know.”

  “Thirty four? Are you sure?” A cold chill pricked Phillip’s skin. That was Allie’s apartment.

  “Positive,” the old man said. “Such a shame too. That Isabella Michaels sure was a looker.”

  “Michaels? It wasn’t Hoffius?”

  “Pretty sure it was Michaels. It was Hoffius until she married young Noah.”

  Nausea churned in Phillip’s stomach. Could this be the same Mrs. Michaels in Allie’s building? His phone buzzed and he dug into his pocket, pulling it out. Tom Rush’s name flashed across the screen.

  “Can you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  He stood, hurried down the steps, and answered a few yards away.

  “Hey, Tom, what’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Nathan Griggs’s place, the witness from the original Brentwood murders.”

  “Is he there this time?”

  “Yes, sir. And I got some interesting stuff.”

  “Can you do me a favor?” Rush asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Go sit in your car. We need to talk in private.”

  Phillip headed to his car, trepidation growing with each step. Two murders in Allie’s apartment? Could the old woman across the hall be the same woman that hacked off her grandmother’s head over ninety years ago? Something else was going on, and he couldn’t quite fit the pieces together. Why was this old woman befriending Allie? He slid into his car and closed the door.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m here, what’s going on?”

  “I just got a call from Rob Lawrence.”

  Phillip rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to hear about that little shit. What could Lawrence want that was so important? Still shaken from his conversation with Mr. Griggs, he took a deep breath, calming himself, and hoped this would be nothing. Since his colleague had died a few blocks away, he had only spoken to Allie twice, each time begging her to come home with him, but she refused. Now, he had no time to waste and needed to get Allie away from that apartment.

  “What’s wrong with Lawrence? Did someone fart on his notepad?”

  Rush didn’t laugh like he usually would, and Phillip knew something was wrong.

  “Phillip, how much do you know about the young woman you’ve been seeing?”

  “What?” His anger flared, dulling his apprehension. “Has that little prick been harassing Allie again?”

  “Hang on now, calm down just a bit. I know he can be a pain in the ass, but this time he’s dug up something I think you should know.”

  Phillip pushed out an irritated breath, hoping to speed this along. “Well, I did a background check on her. I know she’s had an abusive upbringing, according to Zoe’s parents. She’s been in and out of treatment centers, but that doesn’t make her a killer. What else could there be?”

  “About thirteen years ago, she spent some time in a psychiatric hospital.”

  Phillip shook his head, not seeing the importance. “Well, with the way she’s been treated, I can understand why she might have had problems.”

  “It’s more than that, son. When she was nine, her mother, father, and younger brother were killed.”

  “Holy shit,” Phillip said. “Did she see it happen? Did she know who did it?”

  “She knew,” Rush said, releasing a heavy sigh. “She killed them.”

  Phillip felt the blood drain from his face. “Wait, what? No that can’t be right. That little prick is lying.”

  “It’s true, I checked out his story. Because she was a minor, it didn’t show up on a standard background check, so I contacted the state protective services. A few years after her parent’s deaths, A
llie was placed with foster parents who specialized in children with emotional disorders, but they dropped off the state’s radar, disappearing, and Allie fell through the cracks. No one has even been looking for her.”

  Phillip swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “How did it happen? I mean—”

  “She used a steak knife,” Rush said. “Bludgeoned them to death, cleaned up, and went to school for a week, like nothing happened—said the spirits told her to do it. They confined her to Hollowpoint until she was fourteen, then she was released into specialized foster care.”

  Hollowpoint? Phillip’s guts twisted, his stomach churned, and he opened his door and puked in the street. He could hear Rush’s concerned voice on the other end.

  “Are you okay?”

  He wiped his mouth, holding back the urge to retch again. “Tom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many murders have there been?”

  “Let’s see, six total.”

  “I mean, how many have been, you know, unexplained?”

  “Oh, that’d be five unexplained. The other was clearly stabbed.”

  Phillip felt dizzy. Blood of the sixth.

  “I need to get over to Allie’s apartment. I think she’s in danger.”

  “She’s in danger?” Rush asked. “Are you sure? Lawrence swore that she’s the dangerous one.”

  “Where’s Lawrence? Is he over there now?”

  “No, he had to go home,” Detective Rush said.

  “Why?”

  “He shit his pants.”

  Chapter 27

  Ritual

  Her door rattled on its hinges each time Phillip’s knuckles hammered against the wood, but like her phone, it had gone unanswered. No matter how hard he knocked, the chanting inside Allie’s apartment continued. It didn’t stop, but instead, became faster and more intense. Having worked eighteen hours a day for two weeks, his exhaustion gave way to desperation, and the more he knocked the thicker his panic became. He loved her, should have told her weeks ago, but now he feared it might be too late.

  This was unlike her. She always answered, even in the middle of the night, when he’d been on duty and decided to stop by to check on her. When he had no other reason, and just needed to say hello; she always opened her door to him and always picked up the phone.

  When he’d first ran through the doors of Allie’s building, he’d taken the stairs three at a time, but before he’d made it to her door, Mrs. Michael’s apartment had stopped him first. A stench oozed from the cracks around the door, but instead of repelling him, the foul odor drew him in. Death wafted on the warm stale air, and his hand trembled on the knob, praying he wouldn’t find Allie’s body in the rancid apartment. Turing the handle, it clicked, and the door cracked open. The place reeked, but it remained unchanged since he’d last been inside. A thin layer of dust covered the book he’d dropped on the table; still open to the same page where he’d left it. Glancing around the small room, he couldn’t find the source of the odor, and the place looked abandoned.

  Had the woman been here at all? Had she been with Allie this entire time?

  A cold rush of fear surged through Phillip. If Mrs. Michaels was Isabella, then the woman was a killer and he had to get Allie away from her, if it wasn’t already too late.

  He’d left the apartment terrified, and now stood outside of Allie’s door, his knock becoming more desperate by the second. Like a crazed madman, his fists slammed against the timber; his stomach in his throat, gut twisting into knots.

  “Allie!”

  Overwhelmed with frustration, he scraped his fingers through his hair, unsure of what to do. Mind spinning, his options were running out as well as his time.

  “Fuck it,” he said. “Let ‘em suspend me.”

  He backed up and slammed his foot into the rigid oak. He didn’t care if his boss chewed his ass for entry without a warrant, he didn’t care if he lost his job—Allie was in danger. The blow rattled the door, cracking the jamb, but it held firm. He took another step back to get leverage, and gave it a second hard kick. The frame splintered and the door flew open, crashing against the apartment wall.

  The old woman looked up, her chant going silent, her piercing blue eye glaring at Phillip.

  “Get out!” she demanded.

  He ignored her and stepped further into the room. Making his way to Allie, he pushed the old woman aside and leaned over her. Allie lay nude and prone on an old folding table, a jagged crimson line carved across her abdomen. Glistening black in the candlelight, a trail of blood traversed her side, rolling under her back and pooling on the table beneath her. It dripped in slow rivulets from the table’s edge, splashing crimson into a bucket positioned below the table.

  “Oh God, Allie?” Candles flickered from the floor around the table, their feeble light glinting from an object in his peripheral vision. What the hell?

  He turned, catching sight of the blood stained blade in the old woman’s fist. Before he could stop her, she attacked. A searing pain flashed through his shoulder but he managed to push her away. Staring down at the warm red stain spreading across his shirt, he had no time to react, before she charged again. Catching hold of the old woman’s wrist, Phillip twisted her arm and pried the knife from her hand.

  “You can’t stop it!” Mrs. Michaels shouted. “It’s already begun.”

  She lunged for the knife, but Phillip blocked her, shoving her backward. Losing her balance, Mrs. Michaels fell, her head thudding against the old wood stove. Her body crumpled, as she slid to the floor and fell silent.

  Allie’s eyes opened, a dazed whisper passed through her lips. “What are you doing here?”

  Leaning over her, he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Allie, baby, are you okay?” Shooting a quick glance toward the woman on the floor, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his boss. He pressed his lips to her cheek before he straightened and yanked off his jacket to cover her. “Lie still,” he said. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  The phone connected and he heard Rush’s voice. “Yeah?”

  “I need someone over here,” Phillip said. “Allie’s been hurt, and we have an incapacitated lunatic.”

  “On our way.”

  “Get out!” The old woman hissed from the floor behind him. She struggled, trying to get to her feet. “She belongs to Siddous.”

  “This is over!” Phillip shouted. “She belongs to no one! Not to you, not to me, and for damned sure not to that thing outside!” Taking a step away from the table, he kicked the candles across the room. They smacked against the wall, splashing the plaster with wax and extinguishing their flames.

  “Phillip no!” Allie said. “She’s not finished with the ritual.” Sliding from the table, she got to her feet. Her body swayed, but she grabbed the table’s edge and caught her balance.

  “Allie she’s drugged you,” he said, dropping the knife on the table, and steadying her. “You don’t know what you’re saying. She was going to kill you.”

  Allie shook her head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. We’re trying to bring Noah back.”

  “She’s been lying to you,” Phillip said. “His body is long gone and you can’t bring him back.”

  “It’s not true!”

  Phillip took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Allie, you’re not Isabella.” He nodded toward the old woman. “She is.”

  “No, stop!” Allie shook her head and covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear you anymore.”

  “She’s been trying to release his spirit,” he said. “That’s all she can do, but she needs a sixth living victim for the ritual—she needs live blood.”

  “I’m not a victim! I want to do this. We’ll be together.”

  “No you won’t!” he said. “And there’s only one way to set his spirit free.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  “Are you willing to take his place?”

  Allie shook her head, confusion distorting her beautifu
l face.

  Leaning close, he cupped her chin in his hands, “Listen to me Allie. I know about Hollowpoint. I know what you did. I know about your family.” He glanced over his shoulder at the woman still trying to get to her feet. “She knows it too, she was there, and somehow she lured you here and followed. She’s brainwashed you, Allie. She knows you see spirits and knows you’re vulnerable. She’s using you.” He pulled the newspaper clipping from his wallet and dropped it on the table in front of her. “Look, here’s proof. I found this in her apartment.”

  Allie stared at her younger self in the photo.

  “She kept track of your story,” he said, “from the very beginning. You’re Allie Kent, not Isabella.”

  “You’re lying!” she yelled. “I am Isabella!

  “No you’re not!”

  “You’re just jealous of Noah; you don’t want him to have me.” Pulling away from Phillip, she snatched the knife from the table and backed away. “He needs me.”

  Phillip took a step back, hands in the air, keeping his distance, afraid to provoke her further. Before he could stop her, she spun and fled the apartment, slamming the splintered door behind her.

  “Allie!”

  He started after her, but something caught hold of his ankle, tripping him. Losing his balance, he crashed to the floor, his forehead smacking hard against the table’s edge. Dazed for a moment, he cursed and stared down at the old woman’s boney fingers clamped around his ankle. She let go, and pushed her herself up to stand.

  “It’s too late,” she said.

  His vision blurred and his head throbbed with pain. “Shit!”

  Blood trickled from his brow and into his eye but he wiped it away and staggered to his feet. Before he took a step, the stairway door slammed. Three quick paces took him out of the apartment and into the hallway. He pushed through the stairwell door and into a darkened abyss. The short three flights took only a minute, but felt like an endless descent into hell. He burst from the stairwell and into the lobby yelling for Allie, but she wasn’t in the main foyer. The front door stood ajar and he hoped he hadn’t lost her in the maze of narrow streets outside. He pushed through the front entrance, ran down the stoop and slid to a stop.