Scarlet Rain Part 6

"This job is nothing but running here and running there in ugly flat shoes and this bag outfit. I should have gone into cutting hairs like mis hermanas," Veronica grumbled as she disappeared into the house.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think this was an episode of The Bachelor and not an active crime scene. Especially not one where a victim's face had practically exploded. Now, do you want to take a look at the vic or should I get the old man to come down instead?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"I don't know. You really mean exploded? As in, from the inside out?"

Pierce nodded. "Come take a look." She lifted the cloth covering Tyson's body and folded it down over his chest.

James gritted his teeth. "It is worse than upstairs."

"Told you it would be. We should've made that bet."

Pulp bloomed from Tyson's face. His jaw hung loose and rested on the ground next to his ear. And his eyes.... James looked toward the bloodstained house, not wanting the bulging, red-veined orbs to put down roots in his memory.

"Blood must have shot up pretty high for there to be such a large spray radius around the body," James said, taking in the expanse of crimson surrounding the corpse. "Could the fall have done that?"

"Not likely. I'd say it was whatever caused the detached mandible. I'm going to head upstairs and take a look at the female. I'll have more information for you once we get them transported back to the lab, and I can get him cleaned up and run some tests. Looking at this kind of stuff, it's rough. Take care of yourself while you figure this one out." She smiled gently and walked back into the house.

James ambled to the edge of the large patio and looked around while he slipped off his gloves, thankful he hadn't had to use them. Several small cameras glared at him from the yard next door. He stuffed the blue gloves into his pocket and walked to the tall privacy fence.

"Can I help you?" a delicate, shaky voice asked.

"Yes, hi, I'm Detective Graham," he introduced himself as he peered over the top of the stained wood. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but where are you?"

"Down here." A pet.i.te, sun-spotted hand entered James's view, and he pushed himself up on his tiptoes for a better vantage point. "Hang on a second. I have a step stool inside." The back door slid open and closed again, and James resumed studying the cameras set up in the yard.

Each slim, black camera was attached to a tall pole and placed in a random part of the yard. In total, James counted six cameras, and one of them pointed straight toward the crime scene.

The door opened again and the shaky voice returned. "It takes me awhile sometimes, but I eventually get to where I'm trying to go." Something heavy plopped on the ground, and her perfectly coiffed white hair popped into view. "That's better. It's lovely to meet you, Detective Graham. Although I'm sure sorry about the circ.u.mstances."

"You know about what happened over here?"

"Only what's been going around the neighborhood. That Tyson and Monica were found dead by that vulture Robyn Jenkins." Her crepe-paper eyelids sagged as she spoke.

"It doesn't sound like you're one of Ms. Jenkins's top supporters," James said.

"Well, I'm not saying not to believe what she says, but don't believe her if you want to keep hold of your money. That woman will rattle off any bunch of nonsense if she thinks it'll get you to write a check. She and Monica were the same in that regard," she said matter-of-factly.

"How well did you know Mrs. Carroll?" James asked.

"I was cordial to her, but I'd have to say that was about it. We hadn't really spoken ever since Tyson helped me install my video recorders." She motioned over her shoulder to one of the many cameras.

"And why is that?" James asked.

"She claimed they pointed straight at her backyard. In truth, only one gets it in the picture, but it wasn't set up that way intentionally. Her husband put them in, for crying out loud. But trying to convince Monica they weren't directed at her was pointless. She even had Tyson put up this eyesore of a fence. Then she went so far as to send a letter to the homeowner's a.s.sociation about my cameras. Said I was spying on her. Like I would want to watch any of their funny business," she huffed.

"What exactly are the cameras for? Your personal protection?"

"Heavens, no. If anyone wants to steal my things, they're welcome to them. I have the cameras so I can monitor the migration of my jays. Although I mostly pick up fat, ornery squirrels." She let out a short, deliberate puff of air before continuing. "Everything the recorders see is immediately sent over to the computer. I tried showing the videos to Monica to prove it wasn't about her, but she wasn't interested."

"Ma'am, do you mind if I come over and take a look at the footage?"

"Not at all. I'll put on some coffee and meet you at the front door. You might want to give me a minute, though."

"Of course. Take your time." James slipped out of the backyard through the open gate, and walked through the soft gra.s.s to the neighbor's driveway. He lingered on the porch for a few minutes.

"I'll be right there, Detective!" the small voice called from inside.

A strong floral odor rushed to greet him as she opened the door. James followed her slow, shuffling steps further into the house. His eyes watered from the biting perfume in the air, and he stifled a sneeze. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, silly me." She laughed and opened beautiful etched-gla.s.s doors that led into a bright, cheery sunroom. "It's these blood pressure pills they've got me on. They make me all kinds of forgetful. Name's Phyllis Ladd." She turned and offered him her hand. "You are quite handsome when you're not being shielded by a fence."

"Thank you, Mrs. Ladd." He gently shook her withered hand. "I'm sure your camera footage will a.s.sist with our investigation."

"Anything I can do to help. Monica may have been a handful, but that Tyson.... He was a gentleman." She ushered him into the enclosed porch and toward the computer station in the corner of the room. "I wasn't sure where to put this monstrosity. I'm not one who keeps up with technology and such things. Just bring me my paper and a good Regency romance, and I'm happy as a clam." Her smile revealed straight, pearly teeth too young to match her weathered face.

James pulled out the dining room chair stuffed under the small desk, and jiggled the mouse. The dark computer screen slowly faded, and the desktop image took its place. Six blue folders, labeled Camera One to Camera Six, rested in a column on the screen. "Do you know which camera is facing your neighbor's backyard?"

"That would be camera six. It was the last one Tyson installed."

James opened the folder and hundreds of video files popped up on screen.

"There's no need to worry, Detective. Everything caught on yesterday's reel will be in the first one of those movie b.u.t.tons."

He hovered the pointer over the first file before clicking on it. "This one?"

She nodded. "And the cameras are motion activated, and go to sleep once the sun sets. Those are the only two things I asked Tyson to make sure of. I don't want to spend the rest of the short time I have left on this earth sorting videos of my birds from those of gra.s.s growing or hours of nothing but night sky."

James clicked on the file, but hesitated before pressing play. "Ma'am, this video may contain some disturbing images of the crime."

She held her wrinkled hands up in front of her chest. "Say no more, Detective. I'll make my way into the kitchen and fix that coffee I promised. Cream and sugar?"

"Both. Thank you."

He waited until she'd left, then pressed play. The camera's position was perfect, with a clear view of Monica's back patio. Minutes went by, and several small birds floated in and out of view before James. .h.i.t fast forward. Birds flapped their wings wildly, and squirrels twitched rapidly. Shadows stretched as the sun began to fade, and James released the b.u.t.ton. A fat blue jay sat on the fence, ruffling his feathers and blinking sleepily in the setting sun.

"This is a complete bust," he muttered, stretching his arms overhead.

Just then, a flailing figure came crashing into the picture. The blue jay sprang from the fence, leaving James with an un.o.bstructed view of Tyson's corpse. James leaned forward, inches from the computer screen. Tyson's body lay still for several moments, and then it began shaking violently. James cringed as he watched it flop around on the stone before quieting again. Suddenly, Tyson's chest surged up, but his hips and head stayed pinned to the ground. A geyser of red exploded from his mouth and rained down around his body. Then his head lolled to the side. His jaw rested on the ground, inches away from its intended location.

"What the f.u.c.k was that?" James whispered. His mouth remained open as his eyes locked on the pulsing scarlet cloud hovering above the dead man. "It has to be some kind of shadow. It can't be-" the cloud rippled over Tyson's carca.s.s, swirling from his head to his toes-"alive?"

"It may not be that Starbucks your generation is so fond of, but it is freshly ground."

James jerked so violently he nearly toppled over backwards.

"Oh, I startled you there, didn't I?" She carefully set the tray on the pet.i.te coffee table in the center of the room. "You must have found something worth your while then."

He pulled up the Internet browser and quickly typed in the information for his private e-mail account. The page loaded, and he logged in and attached the video to an e-mail to himself. "Actually, the file was corrupted." He moved the video to the computer's trash bin, and emptied it before standing. "I spent my time trying to figure out how to recover it, but no luck."

She shakily handed him a hot mug. "Well, isn't that a shame."

"Yeah, uh, you didn't hear anything coming from next door anytime yesterday evening, did you?" He took a sip of the creamy, overly sweetened mixture before setting the cup back on the tray.

"Well, let's see." She paused and studied the ceiling as she gathered her thoughts. "Yesterday Howard and I were out all afternoon and evening. Howard is my Bichon, though he's really more like a son. He's out with the dog walker now. A lovely little girl who lives a few streets over. But where was I? Oh, yes, we went to the groomer, then out to lunch with my daughter. She comes by a few times a week to pick us up. I can drive just fine, but she won't hear of it. And then we went to-"

"I'm so sorry to cut you off there, Mrs. Ladd, but I really have to get back over to the scene."

"Of course. I don't know where my head's at today. You have a big important job, what with finding out who's behind the tragedy next door." She led him back out into the foyer and opened the front door. "I hope you do catch him quickly. It will really help me to sleep better."

"It's all very routine," James lied. "My partner and I will get it handled quickly. No need to worry. Thank you for the coffee and everything, ma'am." He stepped off the porch and immediately downloaded the attachment from his e-mail. "First Eva, and now some killer blood cloud. This circus s.h.i.t is not what I signed up for."

Nine.

Cal fought the restraints. Her flesh tore with each wild motion. "Off! Off!" she bellowed, unable to fit the word into a sentence.

Darnell flinched as he wrestled with Cal's thrashing arms. "Calista, calm down and tell me what's going on. I can't help you if you continue to fight me."

Terror knotted itself in her stomach as the realization that she was fighting for control of her body set in.

"Megan, ETA!" Darnell shouted toward the front of the rig.

"Less than two minutes," the driver called over her shoulder.

Cal opened her mouth to scream for help, but no words left her throat. The battle had ended in defeat. She could no longer form coherent thoughts. Overlapping, fragmented voices took hold of her and unlocked a long buried, primal, animalistic section of her psyche.

You will not win. Mortals never win. We bring your species to its knees. We cannot remember much... yet. But we remember bodies. Perfect piles of bodies. Brought down by our creations. Our-the voices plaguing Cal's thoughts paused, collectively searching their expanding vocabulary for an appropriate description-infections.

But we are broken. Pieces are missing. She is missing. We need more power, more strength, more energy to transport Her from Her prison. You are not the last, Calista. We will hunt again, and She will not stay caged for long. When we are whole, this realm will once again be enslaved to the Nosoi.

Cal surrendered to the wave of calm as the true Calista Rowland faded into nothing, digested by the infection boiling within her. Her appendages twitched with new life, and an unremitting buzzing coated the inside of her ears. Pain, fear, and joy no longer registered. She was of one emotion: rage.

Ten.

Eva inspected the half-dollar-sized burn healing on her palm. "Did you see that?" She looked up at Maiden. "That spark? There's some really horrible static electricity going on down here."

"May I?" Maiden motioned toward Eva's hand.

Eva extended her palm face up. "It happened in the room, too. Right after I woke up, and again in your closet. This time was definitely the worst though. Does that kind of thing happen a lot down here?"

Maiden shook her head and studied Eva's hand. Concern wrinkled her forehead. She hastily led Eva to the door. "We must find Crone."

Eva rubbed at her new pink skin. "Wait. Why? You're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Your wound is similar to those you sustained when you entered our realm." Maiden made an abrupt turn and quickened her pace.

"From all the extra energy that was created," Eva recited from memory.

"Yes, but this energy does not belong here."

Eva lengthened her stride to keep up with Maiden. "If it doesn't belong here, what is it doing zapping the c.r.a.p out of my hands?"

"That is why we must locate my eldest sister. She is more experienced with such things and will know what to do."

They again entered the large hall where Mother sat silently reading in the candlelight.

"Where is Crone?" Maiden asked brusquely. "I must locate her immediately."

"I believe she has gone to the Galazoneri to use its waters to contact the Fates," Mother said without looking up from her scroll. "Why the haste in finding her?"

"Eva, take Mother's hand," Maiden instructed.

Eva let her fingers hover above Mother's palm. "I'm sorry if this hurts you," she said, before squeezing her eyes shut and poking Mother with her index finger.

"And how might that cause me pain?" Mother asked.

Eva opened her eyes. "Huh. It's gone. We don't have to worry about the whole energy thing. It must have been some kind of coincidence. Three things don't necessarily make a pattern, you know. And my hands." She held them both out for Maiden to see. "They're totally fine." She clapped them together, and a firework of sparks shot out. Pain dug into her palms and face as orange embers landed on her cheeks. "Oh my G.o.d! Oh my G.o.d!" Eva's eyes went wide as she flapped her sizzling hands through the air. "What's happening to me?" she cried.

"Go to Crone. Now!" Mother commanded, pushing Eva to follow in Maiden's quickening footsteps.

"I touched Alek," Eva puffed. "Will he be okay?"

"I will check on him. You follow Maiden. Quickly!"

Eva sucked back her tears and ran to catch up with the youngest Fury.

"Hurry," Maiden shouted down the corridor, before vanishing into the dark hall that housed the Galazoneri.

Eva rushed through the opening, almost colliding with Maiden's back.

"Crone," Maiden called out, "I am sorry to have disturbed you, however, we are desperately in need of your advice. The energy-"

"I know, sister. I have felt it." Crone's gaze settled on Eva. "The energy you carry does not belong in this realm. Tartarus will not be able to shield itself against its effects much longer."

"Okay, what does that mean?" Eva asked, fanning her throbbing hands.

"We must return you to the Mortal Realm, and quickly," Crone said.