First Born (30 page)

Miller stood motionless in his Tommy Bahama-looking palm leaf swim trunks, the hose still gushing water on to the lawn.
Douchebag.
The woman next to him giggled. At most, she was eighteen.

“I have a few questions for you,” Caldwell said, pointing to the house. It was a direct command. All the color drained from Miller’s face. He took his time turning the hose off then headed toward the door. They both grabbed towels off rusty metal patio furniture before going through a worn door that led to a dated kitchen. Miller reached into a dark wood cabinet to retrieve a glass which he filled up from the tap. He didn’t offer Caldwell or the young woman any water. In fact, he hadn’t met Caldwell’s eyes since he turned off the hose.

Miller sat down in a chair at a round oak table. Caldwell reached across and introduced himself to the woman who offered him a limp handshake. “Detective Caldwell Simms, Atlanta Homicide.”

The woman’s green eyes widened and she swallowed. “Amber Hayes.” She turned her head and looked at Miller, perhaps to catch his eye, but he ignored her. “Ms. Hayes. I’d like a moment with Mr. Miller alone. Then I just have a few questions for you. Perhaps, you could wait in another room.” She looked again to Miller like she needed his direction, but he didn’t give any. With a slight huff, she turned to leave the room. “I’ll be in the basement.” Miller spanked her on the butt as she passed his chair.

Miller’s dark eyes finally focused back on Caldwell.

“You look a lot better, except for the nasty scratch on your chest,” Caldwell said while pulling his notebook out of his pocket.

Miller scratched the stubble on his chin. He looked to be growing a goatee.

“Where were you last Thursday night?”

His smile crept over his features slowly. “Most likely I was with Amber.”

“You have proof of that?” Caldwell asked.

“I’ll see if I can scrounge up a receipt from the movies.”

“What time was this?”

He shrugged which wasn’t a particularly large movement with his thick neck. “Don’t know. Maybe seven.”

“How about that afternoon?”

He sat back in the chair. “I believe I had a doctor’s appointment.”

“I’d like receipts for that afternoon and evening.”

“What’s this about?”

“Someone broke into Seth Moore’s apartment. I thought perhaps since you had it in for his sister, you spread the love to her brother.”

He snorted. “I don’t have any beef with the pretty boy.”

“So you’re just a misogynist. Is that it?”

Miller’s hands fisted on the table as he leaned in. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. That bitch attacked me.”

Caldwell cocked an eyebrow. “Mr. Miller, you have at least a hundred pounds on her. And we found her DNA under your fingernails.”

“She’s a—” Miller paused, pressing his lips together. “It was self-defense.” Caldwell sensed that he wanted to spill it all.

Play it cool.
Caldwell pushed his true feelings aside and switched tactics. “There’s something more here. Isn’t there? And you’re afraid to tell me or they’ll send you back to the shrink.”

Miller squinted.

“What made the scratches on your chest?”

Miller chuckled. “I bet you found similar claw, paw, whatever they are, prints at that retired cop’s place.”

Caldwell swallowed. “What do you know about Li Liu?”

“Nothing. Never heard of the guy until I saw the news.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But I’d bet my wad that you found feathers at his place. Didn’t you, detective?”

Caldwell looked down at the table. “We know about Dr. Hitomi and the steroids.” He knew no such thing. They had no evidence of communication between the two. All they had were cryptic notes and some of the neighbors’ reports of seeing a car in Hitomi’s driveway that could have been Miller’s.

“I don’t do steroids. As for Hitomi, I took one class from her. So you’re going nowhere with this questioning.”

Caldwell waited a while. He took his time to respond. The fridge smelled like something had expired. The hen wallpaper and the linoleum floor could have been from when the house was first built.

“How well did you know Peter Marx?”

Miller’s eyes darted to the side. “I ran across him on campus. We played on the same soccer team in junior high.”

“What about Lily Moore’s neighbor, Mona Sinclair?”

“Old lady who OD’ed?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “Why would I know her?”

Caldwell nodded. “We’re through.” He slid notepaper across the table with the dates of Peter Marx’s death and Mona Sinclair’s written upon it. “Please produce some evidence of where you were on these dates.”

Miller scowled. “I don’t know what you think I did, but you are barking up the wrong tree.”

“Fine. It’s just I wasn’t able to rule you out earlier as a suspect because you had been rendered a lunatic. Remember?”

Miller left and Amber corroborated his whereabouts for the evening Seth Moore’s place was ransacked. She didn’t have a lot more to add. Most of the interview she spent looking at her hands or shrugging. She had only been out with Miller a few times since his attack.

They walked through the living room on the way out. At the door, Caldwell turned. “Your mom at work?”

Miller’s forehead wrinkled a moment than relaxed. “Yeah.”

Caldwell returned to the unmarked. He called Big Lots to check on Barbara Miller.

In her shishi form, Lily ran through the field chasing little white moths that came out at night and flitted just above the grass. She accidentally ate one, but wouldn’t make that mistake again because it was quite bitter. Vigilant yet curious in this form, she found herself wanting to chase or roark at any noise. However, she also sensed the bird in her wanting to bathe in the hot tub or stare at shiny objects for a very long time.

Round items, or things circular in general, were fantastic. Balls fascinated her to the point of distraction. She just never noticed how many things in the world are round—rocks, tops of banisters, tires, the saucer under planters except they don’t make great Frisbees because they shatter between fangs.

Shiny!
She bounded through the hedges of the neighbor’s yard before making her way back to the cabin so Seth wouldn’t worry. She click-clicked up the steps and pried the screen door open with her claw.

Seth sat on the couch reading the neighbor’s paper. He looked at her as she stopped just inside the doorway. She was beyond pleased with herself. Her claws sounded like cleats on the hardwood floor as she made her way over to him with her tail wagging.

“Whoa. Stop right there. Not in the house!”

She froze.
What?
she asked in his head.

“You’re tracking mud all over the house. What...what do you have in your mouth?”

Ball.
As he leaned in, she gave him a little growl.
Mine
.

“Drop it!”

She daintily placed it on the ground so that it wouldn’t break—at least not any more than the four holes from her fangs.

He sighed. “Lily. That’s the neighbor’s gazing ball. It goes in their garden. Geez, you have to be careful. What if they had seen you?”

Killjoy
.

“They’re probably gonna find your massive paw print and tell the authorities there’s a mountain lion loose up here.”

She huffed.

“Whatever, I suppose you’re ready to go?” Tonight she would attempt flying.

After wiping the mud off the floor, Seth walked out to a clearing in the woods with her. He clenched a Bud Light in his hand. He looked to her expectantly. “I think you should take a running start. You know, like a plane taking off. You have a bit of cargo to lift.”

She ran and ran. She flapped and flapped. She was about as adept as a penguin at flying. After a while, she flopped down in the clover and sulked.

“I don’t think you want to fly,” he said.

She lifted her head and growled. “That’s not it. I’m scared. Maybe I can’t do it.”

“You
can
do it!” he said, lifting his beer bottle in a toast. “Wait, Wait. I know what you need.” He set his beer at the base of a white oak tree. A minute later, he was in cat form singing R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly” in his deep baritone.

He was very good.

Her practice flight was not impressive. If you are aviophobic, it’s not such a great idea to have wings. After two hours, they were exhausted, but she had managed to achieve a decent altitude twice without hurtling to the ground in order to puke. She also managed to shift into three forms: Shih Tzu, shishi, and her girl-bird form that Seth termed Bird Light, not to be confused with Bud Light. The last form was just as disturbing as the others were since she sported fangs in her human face, mutated feet, wings, and
sometimes
a soft down on her body. She looked like someone in a bad Halloween costume when covered in the down. Of course, the times she didn’t produce the down she was butt-naked.
Choices, choices.

Despite the nausea, Lily went to sleep feeling as if she had achieved something. For once, she had been in full control of herself and her shifting.

In the middle of the night, her control was gone. She awoke drawing rasping breaths.
Air.
After bounding out of bed and across the room, she threw open the window, tied her nightgown around her neck, and hopped on to the ledge.

Her body was throbbing and feverish. Flames of heat traveled from her eyes down her throat and swirled around her breasts. The path continued to her stomach, then lower. She’d never felt like this before.

Closing her eyes, Lily unfurled her wings in the soothing night air. A refreshing cool balm traveled down her shoulder blades and into the appendages on her back. Other parts remained tingling in an indescribable inferno. She ached.

The night sky was a cool river calling to her burning body. A spinning disorientation overtook her as all sight and sound disappeared from her world, and then she crashed. The cool earth was beneath her as she lay on her side, the wet loam attempting to extinguish the fire that had spread throughout her body.

Pushing up to a sitting position, she took in her surroundings.
I did it again—teleported.
Her arms and back ached. She looked around her to see broken tree branches, blooms and leaves. She had crashed through the canopy above and been lucky to land on the soft loam instead of rock. The Chattahochee River had a pungent smell. She was back in Atlanta. Her nostrils filled with indescribable decay.

She knew the river was polluted, but she was on fire and the water was an irrefutable temptation. Stretching her neck, legs, and arms, Lily determined that everything still worked. There was something else though, a sublime smell that beckoned her, pulling her up the bank, through the trees toward the lights of a building.

In the middle of the night, not all slept in the apartment complex.

Closing her eyes while subduing her breathing, she succeeded in retracting her wings. No one was around as she unrolled her nightgown to cover herself. But various pets growled a low rumble as she crept past windows. Not trusting herself, she repressed any thoughts of wings or travel. Instead, she used her clawed hands and feet to scale a post to the second story and gracefully leapt on to the balcony.

She didn’t know what she had become, but with profound certainty, Lily knew she needed to be
here.
As she drew closer, she saw the vertical blinds partially open. Through the slits, she watched as a man paced a sparse living room strewn with papers and files. The clutter continued from a black leather couch to a tired wooden table that looked to function as a desk. He plopped down on the couch with a groan, his long legs extended. He wore navy running shorts and a Lupus Run for a Cure t-shirt. His disheveled hair curled from the humidity.

Trembling, Lily placed her bare cheek against the cool veil of screen that separated them. His head turned to the door. The scent incapacitated her. She synced in to his breaths, heartbeats, and every subtle movement. She remained bound by his scent; apparently living one of her dreams.

* * *

Rubbing his aching eyes, Caldwell wished that sleep were no longer a stranger. Her hair, her legs, her tortured eyes...the blood. It all haunted him. He knew she must be alive somewhere. He had to find her.

Shaking his head, he laughed at himself.
Damn I’m one obsessed bastard.
He had scoured through his notes, returned to the stupid high school parking lot, and trudged through Piedmont Park. Alone, he jogged the streets around her house at night. He drove by Seth’s place and the Ansley Park home. He was cracking up. He kept seeing the terror she wore on her face that day at Liu’s and in his dreams.

Focus.
Whatever the hell was going on—delusions, fantasies, early dementia, he needed to suck it up and get a fucking grip.
But the dreams...how could anyone be okay after those dreams?
Violent, haunting, erotic as hell.

He felt like a total head case and was physically ill from the conflict inside his body. Lake still questioned whether Lily Moore was one of their key suspects.
This is so screwed up.

He turned toward a noise on the porch. A sound, almost like a trill, had come through the screen. Juiced with adrenaline, he walked to the sliding door and pushed the blinds aside.

Lily?

She stood on the thin railing, the moonbeams setting her skin aglow. Her eyes were illuminated.

Struggling to find his voice, he stepped on to the porch with his hand held up like he was trying to stop a jumper.

“Don’t...move!” His voice hitched. He had meant to sound authoritative. She stood on the railing with her mouth open, panting. Caldwell reached for his gun and got nothing.
Great.
He had left it on the table. He just did not think clearly when it came to her.

She turned to look over her shoulder as if she might just drop backwards.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. He didn’t blink or move. He attempted to focus on other things than the features revealed too explicitly by the thin nightgown.

Tears coursed down her cheeks.