Episode 4
029
Sometimes when this place gets kind of empty
Sound of the breath fades with the light
I think about the loveless fascination
Under the Milky Way tonight
Lower the curtain down in Memphis
Lower the curtain down all right
I got no time for private consultation
Under the Milky Way tonight
Wish I knew what you were looking for
Might have known what you would find
- The Church, Under the Milky Way
"I think I would be sick, if I was myself."
"Welcome to my world, kid," Gabe whispered. First day back and I'm up to my neck in nasty.
He surveyed the body, a young man clad in blue jeans and a T-shirt, half-buried in garbage from an over-flowing dumpster. Gabe suppressed a shudder when he looked into the victim's dead eyes. It was always the same. The dry, glazed orbs disturbed him on an instinctual level.
Gabe shook his head. The job didn't have room for that kind of emotionalism. He looked away from the body and scanned the notebook in his hand. On the page was a sketch he had done upon first arriving, noting the relative positions of everything close to the scene. There was little there except for the dumpster behind which the body lay. Gabe scanned the body again. The face showed no outward evidence of trauma. If the eyes had been closed one could have mistaken death for a less permanent slumber.
Even though there would be a thorough photographic record, Gabe made careful note of every detail. The small portion of the T-shirt not stained by blood looked to be a light gray color. There might have been a logo of some kind on the chest, but that, along with a large portion of the flesh beneath, was gone.
Okay kid. Notice that there isn't much blood on the ground around the body? Why do you think that is?
"Uh...vampire?"
Gabe rolled his eyes heavenward. Not everything is caused by dark forces, Mary. There are plenty of plain, old, mortal sickos out there. This poor bastard was killed somewhere else and then dumped here.
"Ooh, nice deduction there, Sherlock."
He grunted at Mary's less than complimentary tone and decided to ignore it. That means something was used to transport the body.
The asphalt paving negated getting a clear tire print. Large amounts of trash spilling from the dumpster also served to confuse the scene.
"Damn! Third one this week!" Chris Ebbing said enthusiastically from directly behind Gabe.
"Ack! Would you stop doing that?!" Gabe's heart slowly crawled back down from his throat.
"Wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so high strung. Maybe you should lay off the coffee?" Chris whipped his camera up and snapped a picture, blinding Gabe in the process.
"God dammit, Chris!" He blinked furiously trying to clear the dancing lights left in the flash's wake.
"I wonder if this one's going to give the coroner a coronary like the other two?"
"Very funny, Chris. Just what the hell are you talking about?"
"Well...see that wound on the chest?"
"Yeah, looks like the poor bastard was shot in the back, pretty typical hollow point exit wound."
Sure does, doesn't it," Chris grinned, "except that if it's like the others, there's no entrance wound"
"Not everything is caused by dark forces, huh?"
****
Becky sat in one of the overstuffed chairs gathered around the hearth in the Sister's study. She slowly rocked back and forth, clutching a wadded up blanket to her chest, cooing softly. Her eyes were locked on the fire burning in the hearth.
"Would you like some tea, dear?" The Sister crossed the room holding a mug effusing rose-peppermint steam. "Come now, this is good for you."
As it had been since Sarah's death, Becky made no response. She just continued to rock slowly, making small noises and cradling the blanket.
"Leac-oighir"
Steam from the mug diminished instantly. The Sister took Becky's hand, carefully placing the now lukewarm mug in it. She took the cup, an automaton mimicking the movement of life. The Sister studied her as she drank the healing potion. Becky gave no indication that she knew what transpired around her. She was inside a fragile shell of her own construction. No physical injury caused Becky's condition. It was something far worse than mere broken bones.
Flames in the hearth jumped about, whipped by a nonexistent wind. The Sister whirled toward the door. She watched for many seconds before it opened.
The woman who entered carried herself with the quiet power of a resting eagle. Long black hair in a single plait hung down her back, ending below her narrow waist. A heavy woolen cloak of intricately interwoven dark grays covered her shoulders, its hood thrown back and the front open revealing a long dress. A number of pouches and undefined artifacts hung from her belt of thickly braided leather, including a long curved knife. Her hand rested lightly on a straight wooden staff, as tall as she, its middle wrapped in leather strips.
"Welcome, Sister!" The Sister crossed the room swiftly, the first smile in many days brightening her face.
"It is good to be back."
"Much has transpired since last we spoke."
"I feared so."
The Sister raised a hand toward Becky. "Rebecca's daughter was called, with such power as I have not seen for a hundred years. She was lost..."
The Traveler looked thoughtfully at the woman numbly holding a now empty mug. "I have seen many portents. Some are now explained, some remain shadowed. I am certain of this, somewhere in this city the old power is growing."
****
Temperatures hovered near the freezing point, creating a treacherous mixture of water and ice. On the trafficked streets cars slid onto the curb and into one another with a rhythmic regularity. The teenage boy, wearing a Cubs jacket and a pair of denim cargo pants several sizes too large for his lanky frame, paid no attention to the distant tinny crunching.
Joshua Foster walked purposefully along one of the many identical streets in southern Chicago lined by tenement buildings. He wondered if these places had ever looked new. Trash littered the street, bits of debris swirling about, carried by a stiff wind blowing off the lake.
He passed a tiny basketball court surrounded by rusty chain-link fence. A pickup game was well under way, boys near his age surged up and down the court, laughing and calling out. Joshua spared them the smallest glance, contempt glistening on his face.
The sounds of the game receded as he pressed on down nearly deserted streets. Few here would venture out alone once the sun had set.
A young man, his face not but sallow skin sagging across bones, slipped behind the boy. The man's limbs twitched with ague, his jaundiced eyes flitted from side to side. A blade glinted in the scant light of the street lamps. Joshua smiled as he heard the man draw near.
" Regnare"
The man froze, his eyes bulged from their sockets. Hands still in his coat pockets, Joshua casually turned around to face him.
"Need a fix?" His smile deepened. "I'll fix you right up."
"Infindo"
The man raised the knife, holding it at arm's length in front of his stomach. Joshua smiled more deeply and leaned forward. The man plunged the knife into his own gut. His mouth opened to scream but no sound issued forth. He ripped the blade to his side, opening a long, gaping wound. Bloody viscera spilled to the pavement.
"Again, I think."
The man pulled the blade to the opposite side, completely opening his abdominal cavity. He stood for three seconds before falling to his knees, then spilled forward into the thickening pool of gore.
"There, all fixed up." Joshua turned and continued on his way, grinning broadly. What a great start to the evening.
© 2003, Austin Hale
