The Forsaken (6 page)

But then, as she slowly eased past the accident to her left, it became a little clearer. What she saw was a car flipped over, blood matting the webbed windshield and crunched front hood. Distraught faces screamed into the dusk, and she wondered if anyone really heard the screams but her. There was such distortion then, such dissonance, even on the side of the highway.

Paramedics were still arriving on the scene, trying to help.
Trying
, that was classic. They wheeled two people away on stretchers while one person lay sprawled on the pavement, unmoving. The person looked dead. Still, there was something else moving on the highway. Apathy. Indifference. Slow, agonizingly slow, and almost painful. Nothing could stop a city’s heart from beating, not really.

“You knew you couldn’t save it, but you tried anyway,” she muttered, wondering if her father could hear the sound of
her
heart beating.

8

THE DARKNESS MET JUDE
Foster while he was parked on a city corner. He sat in his car most nights. Not a cruiser or a blatant lookout but an old Chevelle. It was beat-up, and corrosion had consumed almost the entire rear end of the vehicle, but it wasn’t dead yet. The car was a kind of gun-metal gray that showed well at night, blending with streetlight reflection and the otherwise complacent glow of the unknown blocks that often hosted it.

He liked to sit and wait, forget about the time, and simply watch what these street corners and drug-infested homes had created over the years. The fractured lives he saw day after day would make most people sick, but without them, there was no purpose for men like him.

Jude was eyeing his rearview, noticing a group of punks contemplating whether they’d find pleasure in keying his car, when Mike called him.

He turned the key in the ignition, and the Chevelle grunted to life. “This is Foster,” he said.

“You all right?” Mike kept asking, like he was waiting for some form of response.

“It’s almost eleven, and I’ve spent the last four and a half hours buried in paperwork. I’m just peachy.”

“We found a body. I’m at the crime scene now. A unit’s on their way, but I think you might want to take a look at this.”

“I can always make time for the dead,” Jude said in a hurry, peeling out of his spot and chuckling at the kids who caught a lung full of smoke. “Text me the address.”

“Yup. The house is by the old factory. The one the state wanted to shut down a few years back; you know the place. I’ll send you the exact address in a second.”

“Be there soon.” Jude ended the call.

***

When Jude arrived, he scanned the perimeter before parking. The three-family house was isolated from homes on either side. In the distance, he could see the factory he and his friends used to ride to whenever they got bored during freshman year. There weren’t many legal things for teenagers to do on Saturday nights, so Jude and the gang he hung with tended to find the places that brought the best thrill. He watched the smoke stacks pump out black mist into the air. Time had passed, but nothing about this area had truly changed.

He ducked underneath surveillance tape and brushed by a Crown Victoria with flashing lights cornered on what should’ve been a front lawn, if it weren’t for the snow left over from the last storm.

Jude skulked through the entrance, ignoring many of the faces. There was a foul smell that seemed to be filtering out of the house.

“Foster,” Mike called out from the other room. “In here!”

Jude followed him into a purple room with neon lights flickering on the walls. Grotesque, hardcore-band posters blanketed the ceiling, and in the center of the posters was a half-naked, tattooed fairy. A number of violent threats and obscene sexual phrases were inscribed in the wooden bed frame and some scratched into the closet doors.

Jude read one of them aloud. “
‘I will bathe in the blood of the damned, for his dark will shall vindicate me.’
” He studied several more. “And they say
I
need therapy.”

“You’re like a skeleton,” Mike said. “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”

“Haven’t been all that hungry.”

“You look tired too.”

“Did you call me down here to give me a physical?”

The chief folded his arms. “Our circus freak was found this morning.”

“Why’d you wait so long to let me in on this?”

“Because I’ve been going back and forth with my better self for the last sixteen hours. Wasn’t sure telling you was a good idea. Whitney thinks I’m a madman.”

“That’s because he’s a degenerate. Why you keep him around is beyond me.”

“Detective Whitney was one of my hardest working officers during your rehabilitation. And besides, I don’t recall asking for your opinion. So you’re aware, I had forensics hold off on the nitty-gritty until you got here. Cut me some slack. You haven’t exactly been all there as of late.”

“I made…a slight error in judgment a few nights ago. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.”

“I did more than I needed to get you here. Now, just relax and stay cool, no matter what you see.”

Jude thought it strange to hear Mike’s warning. He gave no reply.

Cameras flashed around them. Forensic personnel had arrived moments earlier and had begun gathering data. He saw Whitney and one other person from the department consoling a jittery, twenty-something girl in the hallway. He assumed she was either related to the deceased or romantically involved.

Jude was the first to approach the body—a pallid, misshapen creature. He glared into bloodshot eyes then down at a gaping, crooked jaw. A chunk of the victim’s tongue was shriveled up on the urine-stained rug.

“Caucasian in his mid-twenties,” Mike said. “Freddy Carmichael. He was a street hustler, like his cousin.”

Jude’s nostrils crunched, but the stink didn’t dissipate. “No bullet holes, no lacerations, How did he check out?”

“One theory is that it was some kind of virus, but the doll in the hallway claims he was alive and well less than twenty-four hours ago.”

“Overdose?”

“Could be. But do you know of any narcotic this side of hell that’ll leave you like this?”

“Looks like the life was sucked pure out of him.”

Mike handed Jude a pair of gloves. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Jude arched his eyebrows. “You don’t think—”

“I don’t know what to think yet. Check under his chin.”

Jude slipped on a glove and lifted the corpse’s head. A scar was imprinted on the victim’s throat. Careful scrutiny of the imprint told Jude it was a broken crucifix. The design was seared into the man’s flesh, as if tattooed.

Jude gasped, kneeling back. A very real fear got comfortable inside his skin. “This is new.”

“I friggin’ hate new.”

“Maybe some religious fanatic who wanted to get a point across,” Jude said in a hush. “But why go after a penny hustler like Carmichael? There are hundreds in the city. What makes this low-life so important?”

“Deal gone south. Happens all the time. You know that. Bet that broad belonged to somebody else. A gangster doesn’t need all that many excuses to kill.”

“Hmm.” Jude focused on the hysterical young woman being consoled several feet away from them. “I don’t want to be the heretic in the room here, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Jude sighed, knowing he had to give the idea a few minutes to work on the chief. “Has she spilled anything specific yet?”

“She’s about as helpful as a blind man at home plate.” Mike licked his lips. “We’ve tried bleeding her for info, but she’s already started to go to her
happy place
, I think. Not to mention, I’m not too sure how legit her testimony will be.”

“Classic needle and haystack. Feels like the good ol’ days.”

“You’re demented,” the chief whispered. “This is like some kind of unnatural, voodoo crap. It still doesn’t make any sense to me. I know I’ve seen it before, but how in the name of God is something like this even possible?”

“Gotta have a little faith, Mike,” Jude said smugly. “First thing you taught me when I joined was to start at the bottom then slowly climb my way up. That’s what we need to do. Unnatural or not.” Jude got up close to Mike. “I want information on all his dealings with any neighborhood scum. I need his dealer’s name, gangs, associations, last hooker he screwed, whatever we got. If there’s a connection somehow, we’ll find it.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you, Foster. Who said I was assigning you to this case?”

Jude raised his shoulders a bit. “Why’d you call me here?”

Mike hesitated. “Because I was
considering
it. The thought crossed my half-cocked mind. Didn’t say you had it yet.”

“Give me a chance,” Jude replied quickly. “I need this.”

“Do you? Why? What makes you want it so badly?”

Jude stood rigidly, his eyes shifting away from the corpse and from Mike for a moment. “I need to finish this.”

The chief appeared crestfallen. “Now see, that is exactly why you shouldn’t have it. You’re just not ready to deal with this, are you?”

“Look at that body, Mike. It’s got Victor written all over it. I was so close last time.”

“You mean, you and
Morgan
were close to catching him. Morgan, the one who led us along like a couple of children while he murdered countless victims behind out backs! Forced you to act like some brainless vigilante and ultimately left you for dead! Your definition of close and mine obviously differ from one another.”

“But you’ve at least toyed with it, haven’t you? That’s the real reason you called me and not Whitney. You’re just afraid I might screw up again.”

Mike took a deep breath, glanced at the corpse then back at Jude. “Careful the kind of tone you use with me, Detective. I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit.” Mike scratched the back of his neck. “You really think I don’t want to bring Victor down as much as you? I lost more sleep over that case than any other, you bet your sorry butt that’s the truth. But to say I’m afraid….To hell with it, maybe I am. Afraid that you might lose yourself again. Maybe for good. Afraid that it might mess with you too much.”

“I’ve dealt with this before.”

Mike shook his head. “You can say it as adamantly as you like, but it doesn’t change a thing. I need proof that you can handle this, and I haven’t exactly gotten it lately.”

“With all due respect, Chief, you haven’t given me a chance to prove it. Okay, I acted to rashly the other night, but apart from that, I’ve been working with a clean slate since my accident.”

A moment spread between them.

“Do you really think it’s Victor?” the chief asked.

“I’m open to other suggestions. But no one else could kill the way he did. It’s like he literally sucks the soul out of you or something.”

“Give me your gut feeling,” Mike requested.

“Gut feeling? I think it’s him, yeah.”

“Dear God, you sound deluded. A lot like an old fool used to sound.”

“You were less of a skeptic back then. That’s why I know you’re hiding behind the concrete stuff, hoping it might all pan out. But sometimes we have to rely on more than strict logic to put the pieces together.”

“I thought we were done with this. I really did,” Mike said. “You realize you and your ex-partner were the only ones to ever even see that psychopath face to face.”

Jude nodded. “But you’ve seen what he’s capable of. God knows the way he left his victims wasn’t normal. And this one looks all-too-familiar.”

“Ask anybody, and they’d tell you you’re insane.”

“Not my problem if some of your units refuse to accept the truth. We’ve seen the bodies with our own eyes.”

“You and Morgan? What a twisted carousel this is. But what about that symbol? It isn’t Victor’s mark.”

Jude rubbed his forehead.
Give me something hard, Mike
, he gloated on the inside. “Serial killers have been known to adapt. Change their M.O. It still could be him.”

“We’re really gonna run with this hocus-pocus theory, aren’t we?”

“At this point, it makes the most sense.” Jude chuckled at the irony of that statement.

“So if it is Victor, we’re back to motive. Guy’s been missing for years. For all we know, he could’ve died. But even if he didn’t, why would he risk his safety in hiding for a quick thrill in the city that sought to crucify him?”

“Because he can,” came Jude’s reply. “Victor killed without a weapon of any kind. He didn’t even have to use his hands. He was like a ghost. A master artist.”

“So now you admire him, do you?” “I understand him a little more than most. Spent months tracking him, remember?” Jude glanced down at the body once more, soaking in the cryptic scene. “Victor found a way to slay his victims without ever touching them. It got him off, killing like that. He was powerful. Morgan and I never figured out how he did it. But he was so consumed by his twisted ability that he truly believed he was invincible.”

“And we proved him right, didn’t we? The sick vulture got away.”