Obsidian Butterfly (ab-9) (7 page)

"So either an organized killer with savage moments of disorganization, or ... or what?" The good doctor was talking very reasonably to me, not angry anymore. I'd either impressed him or at least hadn't disappointed him. Not yet, anyway.

"It could be a pair of killers, an organized killer being the brains of the operation and the disorganized being the follower. It's not that unusual to find killers working in tandem."

"Like the Hillside Strangler or rather Stranglers," he said.

I smiled behind the mask. "There have been a lot more cases than just that one where we had two killers. Sometimes it's two men. Sometimes it's a man and a woman. In that case the man is the dominant personality. Or at least in every case I've ever heard of, except one. Either way one is dominant and the other is to a lesser or greater degree in the control of the other. It can be a near complete domination so that the other person is unable to say no, or it can be more of a partnership. But even in more equal relationships one person is primarily dominant while the other is the follower."

"And you're sure it's a serial mutilator?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"The serial mutilator idea is the most normal solution I can come up with, but it I'm a preternatural expert, Doctor Evans. I'm rarely called in when the answer wears a human face, no matter how monstrous. Someone thinks this wasn't done by human hands, or I wouldn't be here."

"The FBI agent seemed very sure," Doctor Evans said.

I looked at him. "Have I just wasted both our times here? Did the Feds come in and say pretty much what I just said?"

"Pretty much," he said.

"Then you don't need me."

"The FBI is convinced that it's a serial mutilator, a person."

"Sometimes the Feds can be very sure of themselves, and once they've committed themselves, they don't like to be wrong. Policemen in general can be like that. It is usually the easy answer when it comes to crime. If a husband dies, the wife probably did do it. Cops aren't encouraged to complicate a case. They're encouraged to simplify it."

"Why aren't you taking the simple solution?" he asked.

"Several reasons. One, if it was a serial anything, a human, I'd think the police, Feds, whatever would have some clues by now. The level of fear and uncertainty among the men is too high. If they had a clue to what was happening, they'd be less panicked. I don't have a superior to report to. No one's going to slap my hand or demote me in rank if I guess and I'm wrong. My job and income don't depend on pleasing anyone but myself."

"You do have a boss to answer to?" he said.

"Yeah, but I don't have to give regular written reports. He's more a business manager than anything. He doesn't give a rat's ass how I do the job, as long as I do it and don't insult too many people along the way. I raise the dead for a living, Doctor Evans. It's a specialized skill. If my boss gives me too much grief, there are two other animating firms in this country that would take me in a hot minute. I could even go freelance."

"You're that good?" he said.

I nodded. "I seem to be, and that frees me from a lot of the red tape and politics that the police have to mess with. My goal is to keep this from happening to anyone else. If I look a little foolish or indecisive along the way, that's just fine. Though I'll probably get some pressure to make up my mind and pick a bogeyman. Not from my boss, but from the police and the Feds. Solving something like this could make a cop's career. Being wrong and failing to solve it could he the end of a career."

"But if you're wrong, you aren't hurt," Evans said.

I looked at him. "If I'm wrong, then no harm, no foul. If everybody's looking in the wrong direction, me, the cops, the Feds, everybody, then this is going to keep on happening." I looked down at the man on the bed. "That will hurt."

"Why? Why will it hurt you?"

"Because we're the good guys, and whoever or whatever is doing this, is the bad guy. Good is supposed to triumph over evil, Doctor Evans, or what's a Heaven for?"

"You're Christian?"

I nodded.

"I didn't think you could be Christian and raise zombies."

"Surprise," I said.

He nodded, though I wasn't sure what he was agreeing with. "Do you need to see the others, or is this enough?"

"You can cover him back up, but yeah, I should at least look at the others. If I don't, then I'll wonder if I missed something by not looking."

"No one else has made it all the way around the room without having to leave, and that includes me the first time I walked in here." He was walking to the next bed as he spoke. I followed behind, not happy to be there, but feeling better. I could do this if I just concentrated on solving the crime and shoved my empathy in a tight dark box. At that moment sympathy was a luxury I couldn't afford.

The second man was almost identical to the first except for height and eye color. Blue eyes this time, and I had to look away. If I locked gazes with any of them, they'd become people, and I'd run screaming.

The third bed was different. The wounds on the chest seemed different somehow, and when Doctor Evans rolled the sheet over the groin, I realized it was a woman. My gaze went back to her chest where something had ripped away her breasts. Her eyes rolled wildly, mouth opening and closing, making small sounds, and I saw for the first time why no one was talking. The tongue was just a ruined stump, rolling like a butchered worm in that lipless, skinless opening.

Heat washed over me in a rush. The room swam. I couldn't breathe. The mask molded itself to my open, gaping mouth. I turned and went for the doors. I walked slowly. I didn't run, but if I didn't get out of there I was going to lose what little I had on my stomach or maybe faint. Of the two I think I preferred throwing up. Doctor Evans pressed the pad that opened the door without a word. The doors opened, and I went through.

Ben the nurse turned to me, mask hastily held in place with a gloved hand. When the doors shut behind me, he let the mask drop. "You all right?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. I jerked the mask off my face and still couldn't seem to get enough air. It was too quiet in the little room. The only sound the soft hush of the air whooshing in, recycling. The small movement of cloth as Ben moved towards me. I needed noise, human voices. I needed out of there.

I jerked the plastic thingie off my head. My hair fell around my shoulders, brushed my face. I still couldn't get enough air. "I'm sorry," I said, and my voice sounded distant. "I'll be back." I opened the outer door and escaped.

THE HALL FELT COOLER, though I knew it wasn't. I leaned beside the closed door, eyes closed, breathing in great draughts of air. The corridor was full of noise after that silent hissing room. People walking, moving, and Lieutenant Marks' voice, "Not so fucking tough after all, eh, Ms. Blake."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was sitting in the chair that had probably been brought up for the uniform guarding the door. The uniformed officer was nowhere to be seen. Only Edward leaned against the far wall, hands behind his back. He was watching my face, watching me, as if he'd memorize my fear. "I made it through three patients before I had to leave the room. How many did you see before you had to go outside, Marks?"

"I didn't have to leave the fucking room."

"Doctor Evans said that no one has made it through the room, all the way through the room without having to run out. That means you didn't make it either, Marks. So piss off."

He was on his feet now. "You ... you witch." He spat the last word at me as if it were the worst insult he could come up with.

"Don't you mean bitch?" I said. I was feeling better out here in the hallway.

Trading insults with Marks was a cakewalk compared to my other choices.

"I said what I meant."

"If you don't know the difference between a real witch and an animator, no wonder you haven't caught the thing that's doing this."

"What do you mean 'thing'?" he asked.

"Thing, thing, monster."

"The Feds think it's a serial mutilator," he said.

I glanced at Edward. "Nice of someone to tell me what the Feds said."

Edward didn't look guilty in the least. He gave me pleasant, unreadable, and I turned my attention back to Marks. "Then why aren't there any tool marks from the skinning?"

Marks glanced down the corridor where a nurse was pushing a small cart. "We don't discuss an ongoing investigation in the open, where anyone can hear us."

"Fine, then after I've gone back in there and looked at the last three ... bodies, we'll go some place more private and talk about the case."

I think he paled just a bit. "You're going back in there?"

"The victims are the clues, Lieutenant. You know that."

"We can take you to the crime scenes," he said. It was the nicest thing he'd ever said to me.

"Great, and I need to see them, but right this moment we're here and the only possible clues are inside that room." My breathing had returned to normal and the sick sweat had dried on my forehead. Maybe I was a touch pale myself, but I was mobile and felt almost normal.

I walked into the middle of the hall and motioned Edward over to me, as if I had something for his ears alone. He pushed away from the wall and came toward me. When he was close enough, I faked a low kick he looked down for just an instant, reacting to it, and the second, higher kick caught him in the jaw. He went backwards hard. He had his arms up to defend his face. He knew enough to defend the vital areas, and worry about standing later.

My heart was thudding in my chest, not from exertion, but from adrenaline. I'd never used my new-found Kenpo skills in a fight. Trying it out for real for the very first time on Edward was probably not my best idea, but hey, it had worked. Though truthfully, I was a little surprised it had worked that easily. In the back of my head a voice wondered if Edward had let me take him down. The front of my head said that he had too much ego for that. I believed the second voice. I stayed where I was in a modified horse stance. It was pretty much the only stance I knew well enough to go back to once a kick was launched. I had my fists up, waiting, but didn't move in.

When Edward figured out I wasn't going to do anything else, he lowered his arm and stared at me. "What the hell was that?" There was blood on his lower lip.

"I've been taking Kenpo," I said.

"Kenpo?"

"It's sort of like Tae-kwon-do with fewer kicks and more fluid movements, a lot of hand work."

"A black belt in Judo wasn't enough?" he asked, and it was Ted's voice asking.

"Judo's great exercise, but it's not great for self-defense. You have to close with the bad guy and grapple. This way I can stay out of reach and still do damage."

He touched his lip and came away with blood. "I see that. Why?"

"Why did I kick you in the face?" I asked.

He nodded, and I think he winced ever so slightly. Great.

"Why didn't you warn me about the victims? Tell me what I was up against?"

"I walked in on them cold," he said. "I wanted to see how you handled it cold"

"This is not a pissing contest, Edward. Ted. I am not competing with you. I know you're better than me, tougher than me, colder than me. You win, okay? Stop with the macho bullshit."

"I'm not so sure," he said, softly.

"Not sure about what?" I asked.

"Who's tougher. Remember, I didn't make it through the whole room either."

I stared at him. "Fine, you want to go one on one, great, but not now. We are supposed to be solving a case. We are supposed to be making sure that what happened to those people doesn't happen to anyone else. When we're back on our own time, then you can get competitive. Until we solve this, cut it the fuck out, or you are going to seriously piss me off."

Edward got slowly to his feet. I backed away out of reach. I'd never seen him use martial arts before, but I put nothing past him.

A sound made me back up further until I could see Edward and Marks without looking away from Edward. Marks was making a small sniggering sound. It took me a moment to realize he was laughing, laughing so hard his face was purplish and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

Edward and I both stared at him.

When Marks could finally talk, he said, "You kick a man in the face, and that's not seriously pissed off." He straightened, hand to his side like he had a stitch in it. "What the fuck do you call seriously pissed?"

I felt my face going blank, my eyes going empty. For just an instant I let Marks see the gaping hole where my conscience was supposed to be. I didn't really mean to, but I couldn't seem to help it. Maybe I was more shaken up from the room and its survivors than I thought. It's the only excuse I can give.

Marks' face went from fading laughter to something like concern. He gave me cop eyes, but underneath that was an uncertainty that was almost fear.

"Smile, Lieutenant. It's a good day. No one died."

I watched the thought spill through his face. He understood exactly what I meant. You should never even hint to the police that you're willing to kill, but I was tired, and I still had to go back into the room. Fuck it.

Edward spoke in his own voice, low and empty, "And you wonder why I compete with you?"

I turned eyes that I knew were just as dead as his to meet his gaze. I shook my head. "I don't wonder why you compete with me ... Ted. I just told you to stop doing it until the case is solved."

"And then?" he asked.

"Then we'll see, won't we?"

I didn't see fear on Edward's face. I saw anticipation. And that was the difference between us. He enjoyed killing. I didn't. What really scared me was the thought that that might be the only difference between us now. It wasn't enough of a difference for me to throw stones in Edward's direction. I still had more rules than Edward did. There were still things that he would do that I wouldn't, but even that list had been growing shorter of late. There was something close to panic fluttering in my stomach. Not fear of Edward or anything he could do, but wondering when I'd turned the corner and become just another monster. I'd told Doctor Evans we were the good guys, but if Edward and I were on the side of the angels, then what was left to be on the other side?

Something that could skin a person alive without using a tool of any kind. Something that would jerk the penis off a man and the breasts off a woman with its bare hands. As bad as Edward was, as bad as I'd become, there were worse things. And we were about to go hunting one of them.