Chapter 9

Over the next several days, one of the two men stalking Catlyn followed her whenever she left her home. Both were big bruisers whose wide shoulders stretched their thin T-shirts. They wore their hair buzzed close to their heads and dark glasses hid their eyes, making them look similar. One had dull blond hair and the other brown. Their only other distinguishing trait was the brown-haired man smoked, and the blond didn’t. They sat in expensive black sedans and watched her every move. After the first time, when the cops couldn’t see them, she didn’t bother calling the police again.

Catlyn tried convincing herself her stalkers were figments of her imagination, but then the stench of Smoker Dude’s cigarette would waft to her. Its unique odor was unlike any other tobacco she’d smelled before. Blond Guy had the habit of whistling an eerie sound and tune whenever she stepped outside. He’d only stop when she raced into the house and slammed the door behind her or jerked her car door shut.

She worried about paying her skyrocketing electrical bill from using her air conditioner so much. Every time she opened a window to let a little air into her tiny apartment, either the cigarette stink or the awful tune filtered inside.

Her cats, Mittens and Boots, had taken to pushing their way behind the living room blinds. They pressed their noses against the glass with their tails swishing in anger. Every few minutes, one or the other would let out a low, hissing growl.

The Sunday after her disastrous date with Karl, Catlyn had a rare free day from the store. She spent the time working on several new jewelry pieces for her Etsy shop. After hours of listening to her cats, she flung down the crystal she’d been trying to create a wire bezel for in irritation.

“Come on, kitties, give me a break.” She crossed to the window. With one knee on the couch, she leaned over and raised the blinds. Smoker Dude leaned against his car, smoking. He glanced up, giving her an evil grin.

A thrill of fear washed through her, sure she’d seen a glimpse of fangs. Gulping, she looked away and stroked Mittens, unsure if she was soothing the cat or herself. The cat continued to glare furiously at Smoker Dude, her tail thumping on the back of the couch. On the other side of Catlyn, her orange tabby, Boots, hissed, then bumped his head against Catlyn’s arm. “At least you two can see them. Why can’t anyone else?”

An idea sparked, and she grabbed her phone, snapping several pictures of Smoker Dude. She’d show them to the police, then they’d do something about her stalkers! But when she scrolled through her camera roll, the only thing on them was the apartment building across the way. She looked out the window again. Smoker Dude threw his head back and evil laughter wrapped around her. Tears of frustration—and fear—coursed down Catlyn’s cheeks as she sank onto the couch. Mittens leaped down and curled up in Catlyn’s lap.

After a while, Catlyn called Jade again. This time, she received a message telling her Jade’s voicemail was full. Still shaken, Catlyn sent a text: Help! I’m scared. Call me, please. She gripped her phone with white knuckles, willing it to ring until the dark shadows of evening blurred the room. Finally, she wandered into the kitchen where she heated a can of spaghetti and meatballs in the microwave—all she had the energy to do for dinner. She tried watching a movie, but the fear that had taken up residence inside of her stayed entrenched.

Before she went to bed, she checked her lunar calendar. The moon was in its final waning stage, only a few days before the dark moon, making it a perfect time for a protection ritual. She lit candles around her bedroom and in the bathroom, then ran hot water into the tub, dumping a handful of bath salts for purification.

After her bath, she pulled on the black dress she reserved for ritual wear. Carefully choosing the symbolic items to represent the elements of earth, air, water, and fire, Catlyn set up her altar. Taking a deep breath, she thought about her intention for the ritual: to be safe and protected.

She cast a circle and called in the directions of east, south, west, north, above, below, and center. Then she stood before her altar. In the center lay a drawing she’d made of a heptacle—a seven-pointed star in a circle. She pointed her crystal wand at the heptacle to call in the seven elements. In addition to the four elements of air, water, fire, and earth, she added the elements of light, shadow, and dark to join her circle. She took it on faith that the energies came to her bidding.

As she called in the air element, a pale-yellow wisp of light floated above the point of her heptacle dedicated to air. Her heart fluttered with excitement. Perhaps she was becoming a real witch and doing actual magic after years of wishing. Awed, she continued calling in the remaining elements of water, fire, and earth. She tamped down her disappointment when nothing else supernatural occurred.

Sitting down, she began the work of her ritual. She prayed to the Goddess Hecate to protect her, telling the Goddess of her need and fear. She concentrated on her faith and her trust in the power of the Goddess. In her mind’s eye, she imagined her home, her car, and herself encased in a magical bubble where nothing could harm her.

Peace wrapped around her. Cerulean-blue eyes in a white face floated before her mind’s eye. “Soon, little one,” she heard the etheric voice say. “I’ll be there soon. You are safe. I’m guarding you.”

Catlyn decided the voice sounded feminine. As the eyes and voice faded away, Catlyn’s loneliness and fear evaporated.

The next day, as Catlyn climbed out of her car, the familiar black Mercedes drove into the Mystical Enchantments’ parking lot. As he passed her, Smoker Dude rolled down his darkened window, lowered his dark glasses, and leered at her.

Catlyn’s heart skipped a beat at his glowing yellow-orange eyes.

“Soon, priestess, it will be your time.” He licked his lips with a forked tongue. He’d never spoken to her before.

His laughter chased her as she ran into the store. Inside, she leaned against the door, panting.

Michelle looked up from where she sat on the floor stocking a shelf with a new shipment of books. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Michelle, I’m so scared. Strange men have been following me for over a week.”

“What men?”

“Haven’t you noticed the black sedan sitting outside all day?”

Michelle frowned and shook her head. She stood, walked to the window, and peered out. “There isn’t a black sedan out there now, just a blue pickup truck.”

Catlyn whirled around. Her stalker’s car crouched next to the truck. “It’s the Mercedes with tinted windows.”

“There isn’t anything there, honey. Are you sure you’re okay? I didn’t think you saw ghosts.”

“I don’t,” Catlyn huffed. “That car and the men in it are as real as you or me. They aren’t ghosts.”

Michelle looked out again, squinting her eyes. “I still don’t see anything other than the blue truck. But if you say someone is following you, then I believe it. Have you talked to the police?”

Catlyn snorted. “I did the first night they followed me. The police couldn’t see anything and thought I was crazy.”

Later that afternoon, Catlyn waited for Amelia to arrive for her healing appointment. The time passed and still Amelia didn’t show up. The heavy Southern California traffic sometimes caused her to be late, but she always let Catlyn know she was on the way. After waiting half an hour, Catlyn called her friend. When Amelia’s perky voice told Catlyn to leave a message, her heart plummeted to her toes, and painful heat washed over her. An image flooded Catlyn’s mind of Amelia blindfolded, bound, and sliced open with a sword, her blood pooling beneath her. She knew with a cold, clear certainty something bad had happened to Amelia.

Maybe I’m being paranoid and Amelia is off somewhere with her rich boyfriend. Catlyn couldn’t shake the awful feeling she had about Amelia or the frightening image. After trying to reach Amelia throughout the evening and the next morning, Catlyn called the police, only telling them that her friend was missing. She didn’t dare tell them anything else. They wouldn’t believe her if she told them she’d seen Amelia’s death in a tarot reading and now saw it as a psychic vision. Her thoughts flew to the cute detective, Sean McLarkin. Would he believe her? Would he help her find her friend? Her hopes sank. She didn’t know what precinct he worked in.

Sean held the photo of Michael’s date by the corner, tapping it on the folder. His job would be much easier if his department had access to the facial recognition software shown so often on television cop shows. He couldn’t use any official resources to research the blond woman, otherwise, his captain would find out he was investigating Michael.

The playboy’s father, Thomas Drogger, had made it clear Sean was to leave his son alone. The billionaire had enough clout to destroy Sean’s career. Sean’s “Granny Vibes” pinged every time he encountered Michael Drogger. Something was off about the guy. He refused to dismiss his intuition’s warning bells simply because Michael had ruined Sean’s relationship with Ginny. He’d tried calling her over the weekend, but someone else had her cellphone number. When he arrived at the office, he searched her name in the missing persons database. Thankfully, it hadn’t appeared. A search of her driver’s license revealed she no longer lived in California.

On Saturday, Sean had driven to the Long Beach marina, the usual berth for Michael’s yacht to find it empty. He spent Sunday afternoon driving down to Newport Beach on the off-chance it was there. No luck. He’d driven to Oceanside to check the San Diego county marinas when his better sense finally grabbed hold of him and shook him back to reality. He could hit every marina between Santa Barbara and Los Cabos at the tip of Baja California and could still miss whatever port Michael had pulled into. Sean didn’t have any cause to call the Coast Guard and ask them to search for the boat.

Sean slid the photo back into the file folder. Pursing his lips, he tapped Catlyn’s business card as he contemplated calling her.

“Hey, Sean! Earth to Sean,” Lourdes called, banging on a clear spot where their desks met. “We have another call. Quit daydreaming about that blond beauty. She’s out of your league.”

Sean scowled in confusion.

“I saw you gazing adoringly at that bombshell’s photo you slipped into your folder.”

“She isn’t my type.”

“Come on, she’s every man’s type.”

“I don’t even know her. She was Michael’s date Friday night.” Sean groaned. He hadn’t meant to let that tidbit slip.

“McLarkin!” Lourdes hissed, then pulled Sean from his chair and dragged him by his elbow down the hall to the elevator. “Are you trying to get fired? What are you doing chasing Drogger? The captain read you the riot act when you accosted Drogger after the last Iron Maiden killing.”

“I keep telling you, Jerry, Drogger is involved.” Sean entered the elevator and leaned his back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. “I can’t prove it, but I know it in my gut.”

“Guts don’t convict people, evidence does. You find the evidence, and I’ll help you nail that bastard.”

Sean relaxed his stance. His partner was a good guy with double the years of Sean’s experience chasing murderers under his belt.

“What’s it this time?”

“Another murder.” Jerry opened the driver’s side door and slid into the car.

Sean grimaced. He preferred to drive. Jerry drove like an old man.

“Thankfully,” Jerry continued, pulling away from the police station, “this one is a straight-up murder, unlike the last dozen cases we’ve dealt with. Someone found a mutilated body by the Double Tree Hotel’s dumpsters.”

Sean whistled. “It’s rare for a homicide to be committed at the upscale hotel.”

“The initial forensics indicate it’s the dump site, not the murder scene.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the hotel’s parking lot and around the back where a slew of police cars, their lights flashing, had taken up temporary residence. They would have arrived ten minutes faster if Sean had been driving. After the first red light, Jerry had hit every one between the station and the hotel.

Sean spotted his forensic buddy, Brian, and made a beeline for him. “What do we have, Brian?” he asked as he surveyed the scene. Body parts lay strewn on the ground, or what remained of them. Something large had chewed on them and ripped huge chunks of flesh from the bones.

“We think the vic was male, based on the shreds of clothing we found.”

“Hey!” a crime tech called from the depths of the dumpster. “I found the head.” The tech emerged from the dumpster, holding aloft a man’s head by his short, dirty blond hair.

“I know that man,” Sean said. He opened his photo app and scrolled through it. He examined the picture and the man’s face, frozen in a terrified scream.

While the crime tech put the severed head in a bag, Lourdes strolled up. His face scrunched. “Isn’t that …”

“David Holcomb. The real David.”

“You were right,” Jerry muttered. “Mrs. Holcomb didn’t kill her husband.”

Sean straightened his back, pleased with the acknowledgment. He turned to Brian. “Is there any way to tell how long he’s been dead?”

“Not here. The coroner will have to do tests to determine that.” Brian examined Sean’s face. “But from the putrefaction, I’d guess it’s been at least two weeks.”

“Thanks, Brian.”

If Brian was right, that meant David Holcomb had been dead before the attack on Carol and her baby. Deep in thought, Sean shuffled back to Lourdes’ car and leaned against it as he flipped through his notes. He found his interview with Joshua, the manager of the Red Orchid. David had acted strange a few days before Carol’s assault. It must have been the impostor.

But who could duplicate another person so well that those that knew him intimately couldn’t tell the difference? Carol hadn’t suspected the man living with her wasn’t her husband until he tried eating their child. Sean flicked to the picture Brian had sent him of the creature’s teeth. There was no denying the creature emulating David Holcomb wasn’t human. Was it an alien? What had it wanted with David or Carol?

Sean knew Michael Drogger was mixed up in this somehow. He needed to find the evidence to prove it. The link between David and Michael may be the missing piece to tie Michael to the Iron Maiden Killer. If Sean could just figure out how it all fit together.