Maggie stepped forward. Multiple someones required their help, and no matter how crazy the scene might be, she and Roger would do what they’d been trained to do. Harding’s voice halted her before she could go any further.
“I saw the end of what happened in there, and I still don’t believe it. It… it couldn’t have been real,” he muttered.
He removed his hat to run a hand through his hair. It startled her to see the shine on the top of Harding’s head; she’d never seen him without a hat before. The few times she’d gone to watch Roger and some of her other coworkers bowl, Harding had always worn a Red Sox hat. Somehow, seeing him without one made him seem vulnerable in an odd way, and made what waited for them more unnerving.
Harding shoved his hat back on and assumed his usual brusque attitude of business. It helped to embolden her.
“This way,” Harding said in the crisp voice she recognized well. “There’s one or two still alive.”
She exchanged a look with Roger, who shrugged and followed Harding into the alley. Maggie spotted two bodies on the ground, with police officers standing beside them and more yellow tape marking off the area. Maggie tried to ascertain if the victims were alive or not as Harding led them past.
“They’re dead,” Harding said, as if he’d been reading her thoughts.
“Are you sure?” Roger asked.
“One was stabbed in the heart, and the other had his heart torn out, so yes, I’m sure,” Harding retorted.
“Did you say he had his heart torn out?” Maggie blurted.
“Yes.”
“As in out of his chest?”
“Yes.”
“What happened here?” Roger asked as Maggie’s skin crawled.
“I don’t know,” Harding replied.
Maggie gazed around the macabre scene. The blue strobes of the police vehicles flashing over the blood-splattered walls and the river of red beneath her feet reminded her of a grisly Pollock painting.
Nothing could have survived what happened here, yet Harding continued leading them toward a body lying prone on the ground. As they neared, she realized the victim was a man from his short black hair and the width of his broad shoulders and the size of his large body. His arms, still inside a black trench coat, were spread over his head.
Two police officers stood guard beside him, and on the other side of the alley, two more officers knelt beside another victim. Maggie blinked and stumbled when she spotted the slimy trail of intestines poking out from under that victim.
“We don’t think that one has a chance,” Harding muttered and waved at the eviscerated man. “This one might have a chance, but….” His voice trailed off.
Despite the icy air, a fresh sheen of sweat beaded Harding’s face. He pulled a white, handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped the sweat away before shoving the cloth back inside. Maggie’s sick feeling grew when half the handkerchief remained dangling from Harding’s pocket. He’d always been fastidious about his appearance, and a ball buster to any of the officers who slacked in that department.
“Are they all stabbing victims?” Roger asked, trying to learn what they were dealing with here.
“No knives present,” Harding said in a clipped tone, and Maggie suspected he was trying not to vomit.
Not much in life unnerved her, but she felt like she was having some strange out-of-body experience as she surveyed the surreal scene. Drying blood streaked sections of bricks, and it had slid down to puddle on the asphalt. She searched for any weapon or drugs left behind, but she didn’t see any.
“Gunshot wounds?” Roger asked incredulously as he gazed at the intestines lying on the ground.
“I haven’t seen any bullet wounds in any of the bodies, but I haven’t done a close inspection of them. We’ve found no weapons at all, but there were others here when we arrived. They grabbed some things before fleeing.”
“There were other people here?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, seven of them. We shot at them. I know I hit at least one, and I saw a few others get hit, but they all ran off.”
Maggie’s head rose at Harding’s reply. “They ran off after being shot?”
“They did. I don’t know what kind of drugs they’re on, but being shot didn’t slow them down.” Harding stopped beside the prone man in the trench coat. “I don’t think he has much of a chance, but his vitals were stronger than the other victim.”
It didn’t matter which one of the live victims were more likely to survive anymore as her coworkers, Glenn and Walt, had also arrived. They were making their way toward the eviscerated man.
When they stopped next to him, Maggie focused her attention on the man lying before her. Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the flesh of the man’s back had been peeled back like some fucked-up banana.
“Is that his spine?” Roger demanded.
Harding gulped and lifted his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. “You would know better than me.”
They all knew what it was; it was impossible not to know. A kid could recognize the white, curving bone of someone’s spine. What had been able to do that, who had done it, and why?
Maggie shuddered. The only thing that ever bothered her about this job were the calls involving children, but this… well, this was pure torture.
A pool of blood spread out from beneath the man. Within the coppery tang of his blood, she detected a hint of clove too. It made her stomach turn that she found the aroma almost pleasant when any rational human would find everything about this repulsive. Yet, she couldn’t deny she wanted to get closer to the man. Her fingers tingled with the urge to brush his hair back so she could see his face.
The face of a dead man, she realized.
Harding or one of the other officers had to have made a mistake about this guy being alive. She didn’t fault them for their error, didn’t care she’d missed dinner because of it. This whole scene was disturbing, and for the first time in her life, she was grateful she hadn’t had a chance to eat.
Harding settled his hat back into place. “I took his pulse myself. He’s alive, or he was alive before you arrived.”
“Fine.” Roger nodded to her, and together they set their equipment down, careful to keep it out of the blood.
She knew Roger was placating Harding; this victim had to be dead. Not even Superman could lose that much blood and survive. Roger knelt beside the body and took hold of the man’s wrist.
When fingers gripped his wrist, Aiden’s bones felt as if they were fracturing into pieces. He gritted his teeth as he tried to recall what had happened to him and what was going on now. Was someone taking his pulse?
Lights flashed across his closed lids, voices sounded around him, but he couldn’t separate one from the other.
Maggie studied the alley as Roger continued to check for a pulse. The officers stood further than normal away from the two dead victims. Three feet away from her, and near the hand of one of the dead, Maggie spotted what looked like a smooshed tomato. It took her a second to realize it was the brutalized remains of a human heart.
She was never eating again after this, and she may never come out of the shower she planned to take as soon as her shift ended. She would give anything to be somewhere else.
In the side of the brick building to her right was a metal door. Blood streaked the door, there was no knob, and nothing indicated what lay beyond. Near the door, Walt and Glenn were talking to each other as they set to work on their victim.
“Shit,” Roger breathed beside her. “He is alive.”