39

THE RED LETTER WAS still damp when the secretary who had fainted, still startled out of her wits, handed it to Jude with eyes that begged for safety. He had taken too long to get to Irons’s office. Being late for an appointment had never resulted in the loss of human life—at least, not before today.

“Finally bought the farm, old man,” Jude murmured. “Maybe, in time, people will find a reason to miss you.” In that snapshot of a moment, he felt a different essence flow through him, the sensation no longer truly foreign to him, his bones, his heart, an essence that bled hatred purely. With new blinks taken, Jude hoped curious ears didn’t pick up the wretched static. He didn’t mean it, did he? He wasn’t that far gone.

Suddenly, the certainty of putting this case to bed was once more shaken. Standing ground crumbling into quicksand. The sweat from his fingertips like clear blood on the back of the page, a horrible symmetry all its own. Fear then a loud ringing in his ears. Then nothing. Then his frail breath collapsing.

A part of him wanted to step out of this skin, rip off this mask that lied to the world about his truer nature. The part Azrael bonded to.

You can feel a piece of his soul inside you, can’t you, sonny? You must see now there is no escaping it. He’s a part of us, and it turns your guts, and makes you feel icky.

“When he kills someone…”

That’s right. The colors blend, sonny. The souls taken feed every vessel. It’s a real trip, ain’t it?

“Get out of my head.” Jude was alone in the office room, but he swore there were other voices, his voices, that invaded every thought and put new ones in. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Maybe you can lie to them. You can lie to yourself. But not to me. You’re losing your edge.

“Shut up,” he said, clawing at his neck.

A breathy, haunting murmur coated his insides. Let me out again, just for a little while.

The door cracked open just then, and in seconds both Rachel and the chief stepped in.

Oh, she’s pretty, yessssir, she is. Can smell every inch of that meat. Mmm. Like it?

“Hey,” she said, brushing up against him. Their eyes walked the space between them, and his pulse spiked.

“Did you catch the waterworks out there?” Jude asked.

“You’d think they’d never seen a horror flick,” Mike said, scratching his back.

“Still gets me queasy,” Rachel admitted.

“Thanks for the extra nail. I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Mike concluded with rolled eyes. After briefly examining the body, he stepped away from it. “Maybe the scared, flighty brat out there had the right idea staying out in the waiting area.”

“C’mon, Chief, there’s an old couple out there that’ll make you feel right at home.”

Mike ignored Jude’s remark and paced the office. “Had a thing for mirrors and bizarre pictures, didn’t he?”

“Turns out he had a thing for a lot more than that.”

“Elaborate.”

Jude shoved a stack of photographs into Mike’s hands. “See for yourself.”

Rachel couldn’t help glancing over Mike’s shoulder to steal a peek. “What are we looking at?”

The two men stared at each other in silence before Mike’s eyes dropped once more to the black and white photographs. A picture of a teary-eyed child came up first, bruises filling out his chest and a number of broken fingers and twisted knuckles. A dark basement landscape tapered out the background and a shot of a significantly younger Dr. Irons kneeling beside a frightened boy. Next came the images of the child’s parents and of their home, the address left blank, state left blank. Documents slipped out of past sessions and notes on the subject’s apparent mental condition. The name of the file: Morgan Baker.

Below one of the many cryptic pages were notes scribbled in.

Morgan Baker. Unstable. Shattered memories. Unprepared for future contact with others his own age. Expresses sudden changes in mood and temperament. Constant treatment recommended.

“It’s like it was taken from the headlines of one of Chase Vallace’s masterpieces.” Mike said with a curse. “Jude, I had no idea. I never would’ve condoned these sessions if I had known.”

A smug smirk lit his mouth. “Too late to look back now, right?”

“I did what I thought was right by you to keep you on my team.”

“We both know none of this was ever for me. This geriatric windbag didn’t help me at all. And apparently, he didn’t help Morgan either.”

“Jude, take it easy,” Rachel tried. “How could the chief have known? These photographs prove that apparently Dr. Irons was as unethical and sleazy as they come. And self-absorbed, and sick.”

“I’m tired of this. I’m tired of chasing something that can’t be caught. Fighting for a cause I don’t believe in.”

“Cut it out! And pull your head out of the sand. Don’t think for a second that this is over. We are going to bring this maniac to justice, one way or another.”

“Now the skeptic sounds so sure.”

Jude could sense new doubts creeping into the chief’s mind, could see them written on his face, engraved—the same doubts he had felt. The doubts he wanted to crush. But the doubts were growing. Like his hatred and his fear. And the craving.

A hush stilled the room until several more crime scene specialists arrived, posting yellow tape around the cadaver to create a perimeter.

Mike spent the next several seconds cracking his knuckles. He wasn’t the kind of man who wore uncertainty well.

Rachel paced the floor, and it sounded like she was humming.

“What are you doing?” Jude asked after a bit.

“Counting my footsteps.” She dropped her gaze, hair shielding her eyes and the cool breeze he imagined existed behind them. “I hate to even say this, but I’m sorta freaking out. Ever since I was young, I’ve been sure of most things. But for the first time…” She stepped closer. “I can’t see how this one ends.”

Jude grinded his teeth.

“He’s better than we are, Jude. He’s faster. He’s powerful. Always three steps ahead of us. I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“We’re kidding ourselves thinking we have a prayer against something this strong. I can’t even believe this is happening, to me.” She paused and started counting again.

“It’s like Mike said, we’ll catch him and bring him to justice.”

“Please. Your voice nearly shook just then. Even you don’t really believe that. You’re strong on the outside, Jude, but on the inside, you’re only human. He’s…something else. A freaking ghost!”

Shut her up. She doesn’t know what she’s babbling about, sonny.

“He wants us to play along. He wants us to relive his pain.”

“I know. I just don’t want to play anymore. You’re right, Rachel. I am not strong enough to face him.”

Good, sonny. Make her believe we’re weak. A slow voice slithered over his bones. Powerless.

“Everything up to this moment has been flawlessly orchestrated. And we’ve fallen into place. Morgan saw to it that I found Victor. He took out Chubb and members of his crew. Most likely got the rest of the cronies on his side. Now, he’s laid his past out here for all the world to see. For us to see. And another one of these too.”

He handed her the note that was left behind, the one he’d kept crushed in his grip since the moment she and the chief entered the room.

I will judge you according to your conduct and repay you for all your vile deeds.

The R in repay was red.

“Add this letter to the list,” she sighed.

A sudden sharp pain shattered Jude’s thoughts. The hypnotic lullaby returned. “Let. Me. Out.” This time, the words had shape as they crept out the worn detective’s dry lips.

“What did you just say?” she asked.

A solitary tear bled down his cheek.

“Oh, Jude, are you okay? You’re bleeding…from your right eye? I think you popped a blood vessel or something. Stress is really getting to you, isn’t it? It’s getting to all of us.”

He quickly rubbed away the stain. Do you think the other little children noticed, sonny? Do you think they trust you anymore? Does she trust you?

Jude’s neck jerked. The sound scratched more loudly beneath the surface. No. One. Can. See. Fly from here. Hide.

“Let’s get lost,” he said to her, lips almost brushing against hers.

“What do you mean? We can’t just…”

Jude stroked her hand softly. “We might not make it past this week at the rate these stiffs are showing up. We could both use a little time to refocus.” He slid a strand of her hair behind her ear just then. “Let’s get outta here.” That’s right. Lure her away from here. Now we’re talking.

Their eyes found each other and lingered. The room had now gone still and silent, the actors in this scene frozen like picture frames, lost somewhere without time.

Jude found his exit easily.

Rachel exhaled slowly. She ducked under the yellow restriction tape and followed him. Mike was too flustered and distracted to notice.

* * *

Father Eliam felt weak. The tired priest’s blood pumped thinly inside struggling veins. Time had been harsh to his old frame. Voices haunted the farthest recesses of the church when he took his next breath. They sounded like lost infants.

His breath bled out shortly and slowly. “Fill me with hope, and grant me peace in this time of darkness. Give me strength. Give him strength, above all things.” He saw the candles flicker, wondered how long before they faded out; wondered if their warmth would be enough.

A new chill slipped inside.

“My God,” he prayed, in tears. “I cannot feel you anymore. Where have you gone?”