First to Die (2 page)

"Jason sent me to collect you."

"I'm not surprised. He's been hunting me down like a debt collector for the past week."

"Block his number like I do," he laughed.

"Trust me, he'd find another way."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Please tell me this is a hallucination."

"Nope, it's a shit show," He said while sucking on a cigarette.

"Fuck." I laughed nervously and reached up to press the remote that wasn't there. "Automatic reflex," I said before he busted me for my hereditary psychosis. "Have you been in there yet?" I pulled my jacket closed in a half-assed effort to cover myself from the shit that was coming our way. It was hotter than hell out, but I could feel an icy chill move across my body.

"Yep, not good." He hopped out of the car and walked up to the keypad, punched in the code and closed the door. I reached over, took a cigarette from his open pack sitting on the dashboard and switched the radio back to channel 1 to listen to all traffic.

"Didn't you quit?" he snarled at me as he slid into the black vinyl seat. "Put it back." He reached in my direction, trying to grab it from my hand.

"Knock it off,” I said. “I'm not going to smoke it." I slapped his thieving hands away and put it behind my ear. "Just in case."

"Okay, Baretta." He mimicked the sound of the devil with his wicked laugh.

"Yeah, well, if I were Baretta, I'd already have this case solved, smart-ass." I smacked him on his arm.

"No argument here." He shook his head in agreement. "You're looking pretty ratty. You still carving out figure eights in the floor?"

I jerked my head back and gave him the look. "Shit, I've advanced to crop circles." I pulled the white tube of nicotine from my ear, ran it under my nose and took a big whiff of the tobacco. I felt the power of my old addiction pull me in. "July's the month I like to avoid, completely. Too many reminders and now all this to add to the list."

"Yeah, kiddo, I know." He paused to take another hit on the cigarette, looking down and shaking his head. "Sam, I don't think I’ve ever seen anything like this. His hand moved across his brow to wipe the sweat.

"I've seen too much. You can check me right into the Funny Farm after tonight." I’d witnessed too much violence in a short time in this town. It was out growing its charm faster than I could keep up with it. I wasn't sure if I had any kind of normal left in me. It does something awful to you, the kind of awful that takes you by the hand and pulls you down, screaming and kicking, into the deepest parts of hell. Monsters, lock ‘em all up. Better yet, put them on an island out in the middle of the ocean as far away from society as possible, with no means of escape, and let the fuckers kill each other.

"I'm going with you. We can request adjoining rooms." He smacked his hand on the dashboard. "I think that's our only way out of here."

"Are you going to take your foot off the brake anytime soon?"

Neville put the vehicle in reverse and spun the wheels on the asphalt. They squealed as he turned out of my driveway and headed east toward Church Street.

"Who called it in?" I couldn't imagine anyone stumbling into that kind of fright in the middle of the night.

"Cole, running on a welfare check." He looked over at me. "He found the body and Billy Randall."

"What the hell do you mean, Billy Randall?" I started to shake from the shock treatment.

"Thought he'd make a pit stop and lift some shit on his way home from a party down by the river. Swears the back window was already open when Cole caught him crawling out of it."

"Oh, come on!" My hands flew in the air. I liked Billy. In fact, I was pretty sure that I was the only one at the department that did. He needed help. My spare time involved bailing him out of all the shit he got himself into. I wondered if this kid was ever going to learn. This little trick was going to land him right in front of Judge Ramsey again.

"Fell right on her when he was sneaking in." Neville had a short fuse when it came to Billy and he was at the top of his list for dumb-ass of the year. Funny thing, he reminded me a lot of Neville. Always had himself in some kind of mess on a weekly basis.

"Shit, this just gets better. Nothing like having a contaminated scene."

"Yeah, he pissed himself," he said, circling his hand around his face, trying to push down the upward curve that was forming around his mouth.

"You're such a prick."

"But, you love me."

"I'll never admit it," I said in the scariest voice I could muster up. "Where's he at now? I'm surprised he didn't run."

"Yeah, really. At the station. Cole is babysitting and waiting for his parents to show." The poor kid would probably be spending the rest of the night there. We had better odds of finding a clean pipe in a crack house. "I'm really starting to hate this job."

"Nah, it's in your blood. Now, that brother of yours, that's another story. There's something tainted running through those veins of his." He shook his head and pointing toward the place we call the Junkyard on the west side of town. "Can't figure it out."

"Seriously? Pull over." I reached for the latch. "Let me out."

"Simmer down," he said, yanking on my jacket.

"You think Ben had something to do with this?" Ben was bad. The worst criminal on the street, but he didn't mess with shit like this.

"Hell, no, he doesn't operate that way." He looked at me like I was the crazy one that had suggested it. "Still trying to figure out how the two of you came from the same gene pool."

"You've been sneaking shit from the evidence room again, haven't you?" I cocked my head to the side and lifted my brow. "He's no different than you and me. We're all a little tainted." I turned up the volume of the radio to block his latest DNA analysis of the Kelly clan.

He paid no attention and talked over it. "Chief Kelly's little girl, all grown up and following in his footsteps. Your dad would be proud of you. He was your biggest fan, ya know." He reached over and patted my arm. He didn't go there. He knew better.

I missed my dad every day. Ten years this month. I felt like a part of me had been ripped away when he died. The most important part. Sometimes I was okay with it and other times, I would burst into tears for no reason at all. I don't think I ever cried for myself. I cried his tears. I felt his pain. It was an overwhelming sadness and it had a power all its own. I was getting better as the years passed, but it was as unpredictable as the weather. I held the flood gates as best as I could and stared out the window into the dark haze.

Everything was in slow motion and the distant glow lingering beyond the clouds was casting shadows in doorsteps and windows. I knew the creatures that were hiding in the crevices, waiting for the dawn to break over the landscape, bringing the promise of a new day and to ease their worries. "Not tonight," I said to the pair of eyes I saw glancing from the window. It was eerie and unsettling, and for the first time in many years, I was afraid.

Chapter 3

I
t was the dark hours of Sunday morning and every clock in city was set to awaken the designated chefs for the annual Summer Festival, each of them frantically rising at the hour of dawn to prepare their secret recipe for a grueling gathering of food and verbal assaults.

Locals and patrons from far and wide would be automatically programmed to rise and dress themselves in the traditional navy and red attire for the downtown parade and festivities. Massive traffic jams and minor road-rage would be on the morning agenda. Everyone would be dressed to perfection and feasting on the traditional chaos. I, on the other hand, had planned to make my peace-keeping rounds, head home and barter with the devil for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. I erased the thought from my mind as I watched the glow of the lights getting closer.

We raced up the hill on Church Street, made a sharp right onto Main and passed River Lawn Cemetery's massive wrought iron gates, the kind of gates that instinctively activates a warning signal to the living.
You don't belong here.
My heart pounded faster and I forced out a long, calculated exhale when I knew the entrance was somewhere behind me in a cloud of dust. I had unwillingly visited River Lawn on a many occasions. Most of my family was beneath the uncompromising collection of stone and ash and I’d never felt comfortable when I was near it.

The immediate glare of lights jolted the reality of the situation back into my consciousness. Neville was sucking on another cigarette and repeating the rest of the details that he knew. His voice was muffled by the wind howling in the open windows and the car slid in the gravel toward a cluster of blue statues huddled in a rigid circle outside the house. I braced myself for the impact, but we managed to skirt past, producing a cloud of dust and shooting the loose rocks and dirt into the crowd. "Nice." I glared at Neville. "I'm driving back."

He crinkled his face and shook his head back and forth. "I don't think so."

The passenger door flew open before I could grab the inside latch. "What took you so long?" Jason leaned in. His dark eyes sparkled like black diamonds in the blazing lights. It was always best to avoid his penetrating laser beams. Their melting capability is one of his best features. Once he'd gotten you locked in a stare, the outcome was always fatal.

"I knew you'd be here." I raised my eyebrow. Wise cracks and laughter had become my coping mechanisms throughout the years, especially if Jason was involved. No one was safe when he turned on his charm. I had a hard time resisting it.

"Is that any way to talk to your partner?" He reached in and swooped me out of the car. He had a habit of dragging me around like a rag doll. For some reason, he didn't think I was capable of walking on my own. Ever.

"It is when you roll me over in the middle of the night with a stiff and you don't know what to do with it." I tried to break loose of his grip and hold the eruption of laughter that was rumbling its way to the top.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "You have a dirty mouth."

"You've never complained before."

"I never do." He winked and I felt his soft lips to my ear again. "You know I like it." He tightened the pressure on my arm. "Did Neville fill you in?" I heard the thump of the door slamming behind me.

"As best he could. How bad is it?" I knew the answer, but small talk seemed to make it a little bit easier to deal with. The last one had kicked me in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I was hoping he would tell me something different, but I knew what I was walking into. A double feature horror fest without the popcorn.

"Just like the last one." I walked effortlessly with the guidance of Jason's vice grip cutting my circulation off. He weaved me through the blue uniforms to the front of the line where Officer Norman Mitchell was cataloging the willing participants.

"Here comes the fun part," I said, and managed to pulled my arm free and slide through the front door. The small house was lit up like Main Street on a Saturday night. The continuous winding noise and clicking sound of the cameras reminded me of the Mason scene. It was exactly the same.

In front of us was a small house, inviting and warm until you stumbled your way to the bedroom and found the remains of a young woman lying on the bed. As we approached the body, the wretched smell knocked the breath from me. The dense suffocating stench of rotting flesh. A distinct odor all its own. A smell you never forgot once you experience the first projectile urge to heave your innards as it assaults your senses. I felt my stomach tighten, sending the signal that demanded a purge, but I wasn't giving in to it. I put my hand on my stomach, pressed it back down and cupped my other hand over my nose and mouth until I acclimated to the sickening aroma.

I grabbed a pair of latex gloves from my coat pocket and wedged them on my hands. I slipped my booties on, and I stood there for a few minutes to get a good visual of the scene. I walked around the room, looking for anything that might look out of place. Anything that might be missing. Nothing was overturned or in disarray. No struggle. It was immaculate, as if nothing had ever happened. Like a cleaning crew had come in and bleached the place. The only hair and fibers that we were going to find were going to be from our circus act.

I leaned over her for a better look. I stayed there staring at the rip in her left ear lobe. He’d taken an earring for a souvenir and it wasn't in a nice way. The color had drained from her eyes and looked like it had filled her lips with a brownish-blue tint that blended with her gray skin, but the dark red lipstick painted on before he threaded her lips masked the true color of death. The same type of white flower that was planted on Stephanie Mason was placed in her hair, and it looked like it had wilted away around the same time she’d taken her last breath.

Her eyes were forced open with the same black thread so she could watch the horrific ritual and her mouth savagely stitched shut so he wouldn't hear her scream. I imagined her screams as the blade carved her flesh. Another face to add to my collection of friends. A thin sheet covered her body but I already knew what was underneath. Jason and Neville were correct. It couldn't get any worse than this.

I've never been afraid of the dead. It was the living that scared me—the horrific things that they were capable of doing to each other, and this edged its way to the top of the disturbing list. A special young lady, not only to the people who loved her, but also to the sick fuck that did this to her.