The Awakening s-1 Page 8

  Luther met Ann's commiserating gaze. "Yeah, well, somehow I think we're talking about two different things. But thanks anyway."

  Irked at their ignorance, Gary retrieved his mail and stalked away to finish his intern duties.

  "Crazy kids these days." Ann swung one foot. "You're a detective, Luther. If you want to know what sort of disease someone has, just ask."

  He had—and got a foul-mouthed reply instead of an answer. "Most people would be irked at that kind of nosiness."

  "Maybe. So ask someone who knows the person." Ann lifted herself off his desk. "But whatever it is, it sounds horrid, and unlike anything I've ever heard of."

  Watching Ann leave, Luther admired her curves in a detached yet automatic way. He'd known her a long time, but he wasn't an idiot so he kept work and his social life separate.

  Except that he'd slipped up with Gaby.

  He still couldn't believe he'd copped a feel. And of what? The woman barely had any curves to speak of, and what she did have she kept protected beneath of a lot of poisonous thorns.

  Yet he hadn't been able to help himself. It was a part of his personality he'd never encountered before. He always kept his head, always controlled himself.

  Fuck,

  After running a hand through his hair, Luther looked at the not-quite-finished reports and made a fast decision. He'd come back to them later.

  He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pen and made himself a list.

  Background check on Mort. He'd start with a face-to-face and see what he could find out just through chatting.

  Investigate morphing. God, that word sucked, but he couldn't think of one better, not to describe the way Gaby had altered right in front of his eyes.

  Check into her mother's death. One of the few times he felt Gaby had been straight-up honest was when she mentioned her mother.

  Luther started to fold the list, and on impulse scrawled, Cancer in background. The mutilated man had a strange sort of cancer. Yet when he'd told Gaby, she kept such a stony expression that he couldn't read her at all. Perhaps cancer had touched her life in some way. Maybe it even had something to do with the odd way she changed appearance.

  Tucking the note into his pants pocket, Luther left his desk.

  He'd start finding answers now by first visiting with Mort. And maybe when he finished that, he'd visit with Gaby again, too. The woman had secrets that might, or might not, be related to the grisly murder of an old man consumed with cancer.

  Until he found out, Luther knew he wouldn't be able to get her out of his mind.

  Gaby pushed her lank hair away from her face and realized it now hung an inch or so below her shoulders. Time to cut it off again. She got out her shears, big and sharp enough to be lethal, and in one fist, gathered the hair together at the back of her neck. Doing it this way wouldn't make an even cut, but who gave a flip?

  She didn't.

  She eased the blades around the hank of hair and was just about to hack it off in one big chunk when a strange sensation crawled over her. She went rigid, jerked back, and the point of the scissors gouged her in the top of the shoulder. A single drop of crimson blood trailed over her pale skin and down to her collarbone.

  The evil was back.

  Dropping the scissors into the sink, Gaby strode to the window and looked out. At late afternoon, the sun held high in the sky, casting tree shadows around the surrounding area. Kids of all ages scuttled around the playground, shrieking, jumping, creating a boisterous sonance of laughter and ephemeral happiness.

  Gaby tuned them out to listen for other sounds, baser sounds. Besides the kids, nothing stirred, not even a breeze, and yet, she felt it. Hot.

  Sticky.

  Calculating.

  Close to the innocent children. But uninterested in them.

  By rote, Gaby reached behind her and fingered her knife, safe in its sheath beneath her baggy T-shirt. She inhaled slow and deep, once, again, a third time. Her senses sharpened, but not by God's will.

  No, this was mere human instinct, pathetic in comparison, but all she had at her disposal.

  So the evil didn't plan anything. Yet. It only watched her. But why?

  And what difference did that make? One way or another, she had to destroy it. She felt it studying her so she knew it was close. She sensed it lurked just beyond the playground, so it had dared to come within reach. It wanted to hide, but that wouldn't do.

  Gaby would go to it, force a confrontation, and then demolish it.

  Turning away from the window, she strode to the side of her bed and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. Key in her pocket, she went out the door and rushed in silent haste down the steps.

  Thankfully, Mort didn't appear. She didn't want any interruptions that might give the evil an opportunity to escape.

  Keeping half her attention on avoiding Mort, Gaby shoved open the entry door—and almost Collided with Luther Cross.

  They didn't make actual contact, so he had no reason to grasp her arms. But he did anyway.

  "Well, well. Going out for another stroll. Gaby?"

  Sensations exploded. Thoughts of Luther had plagued her all through the long, lonely nights, until she concluded that she'd have to get rid of him.

  Permanently.

  Other than the possession of her knife, he had no solid reason to suspect her of anything.

  That meant, as aberrant as it might be, his interest came from a different source.

  Strange bastard. Didn't he know that put him on a level with goofy Mort? Surely, he couldn't want that.

  Cold with deliberate and somewhat feigned disdain, Gaby looked down at his hands on her arms. "Let go."

  He stupidly ignored that. "You're cut." Using his hold, he tilted her to the side and examined the bead of blood on her pale skin. "What happened?"

  "I'm fine. Now let go."

  "Cut yourself shaving?"

  His attempt at humor only incensed her further. "I said. Let. Go."

  Dark lashes lowered over narrowed eyes. "You're in one hell of a hurry, you look pissed, and you have blood on your neck. I think I have good cause to ask a few—"

  This time Gaby gave him no warning, and for some odd reason, he wasn't as prepared as he'd been during their first scuffle. Her bony knee slugged hard against the inside of his thigh. She hit high up, close to his groin, hard enough to cause him to cringe not only with pain, but with inborn defense of his jewels.

  When he lurched forward trying to cover himself, Gaby brought her elbow up and in, and then shot it back into his jaw in a clean strike. His head snapped back, his arms flailed, and his foot landed just beyond the top step. He tumbled backward in an awkward heap.

  Gaby jumped down around him, sprinted across the street, and scaled the chain-link fence around the playground—all before Luther had picked himself up off the steps. After that one quick glance back, Gaby kept her attention focused forward. Somehow she knew he wouldn't follow her, but even if he did, once she'd wound her way in and out of alleys, he'd have a hell of a time finding her again.

  The children at play paid her no attention at all. It would have been disgustingly easy for her to harm any of them—if she'd had that intent. Still at a fast pace, she went over the fence again, this time toward the back, then beyond the empty school.

  When her lungs burned and sweat smothered her skin, Gaby drew to a pause. She'd allowed herself to run freely, trusting a sixth sense developed through pain and purpose, to guide her in pursuit of the archfiend haunting her.

  When she perused her surroundings, she found herself in front of a hospital, facing the entrance for the emergency room.

  Abhorrence overtook her. Her detestation of all things medical squeezed her throat in a viselike grip, making deep breaths problematic. Chills chased away the sweat. Revulsion churned in her belly.

  She remembered being here—not at this specific hospital, but to her wounded psyche they were all the same. Misery hung heavy in the air. Fear, desolation, and anxiety wafte
d in and around the human cattle. As many security guards as medical personnel mingled through the masses.

  Through constantly breached doors, Gaby detected the voices, elevated in both pain and anger. A hacking, wheezing body bumped her as it passed, making slow, stooped progress into the unit. Ambulances came and went; people of all sorts talked, ate chips or cookies, and swilled caffeinated adrenaline.

  It should have been chaos, but to Gaby's jaundiced eye, it appeared more like frigid, choreographed efficiency.

  She stood there, taking it all in, letting it stir her memories until it became a part of her.

  And hurt her. Again.

  Gathering her wits, she studied the ambulance drivers talking as they replaced a gurney, then the nurse in her tidy white uniform, sharing amicable conversation with a woman in a suit. Her impulses tightened. Her stomach knotted in dread. She curled her hands into fists.

  Then she went in to find the fiend who'd led her here.

  Chapter Seven

  Angry black clouds filled his vision. When he got his hands on her, he'd throttle her. Twice.

  Luther tried for a calming breath, but calm remained well out of reach. Gaby had done him in, and it hadn't even taken much effort on her part.

  Where the hell was she going in such a hurry? And how had she gotten cut?

  "Son of a bitch."

  Cursing didn't make him feel any better, and in fact, it only served to bring Morty Vance scuttling out of his cubbyhole.

  The scrawny landlord gaped down at Luther in disbelief. "Detective Cross. What are you doing on my stoop?"

  Luther sat up and dusted off his hands. His leg hurt. His head pounded. Trying not to growl, he said, "Taking survey."

  Mort looked around the dark, deserted streets and along the dirty sidewalk in confusion. The baking sun amplified the rancid scents of God-knew-what. Discontent buzzed in the air. "Survey of what?"

  "My bones. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think they're all in one piece still." Had Gaby missed his crotch on purpose, or did she have faulty aim? Somehow he doubted the gangling barbarian ever missed unless she meant to.

  Luther worked his jaw, tamped down on his blistering temper, and got off his ass. "Gaby leveled me."

  Mort's mouth drooped open, then snapped shut. "She did what?"

  Nodding toward the uneven doorframe where Mort hovered in trepidation, he said, "She came barreling out of the building, damn near ran into me, then laid me low. All without so much as a how-do-you-do."

  "But…" As if seeking explanations, or looking for Gaby, Mort rubbernecked around. Finding nothing but the same old dirty surroundings, he shifted his bony shoulders. "Well, I'd say that doesn't sound like Gaby, but I guess it does. She's not much for small talk."

  "You don't say." A dirt stain marred the front of his gray slacks. "She was bleeding." He looked at Mort. "From the throat."

  His curled hand pressed to his mouth. "Much?"

  "What?"

  "Was she bleeding much?"

  Luther wanted to punch a hole in something. "You're not surprised that she was bleeding? You just want to know how much? Does that mean you're the one who hurt her?"

  "No!"

  Crossing his arms, Luther waited. Silence had a way of making small-minded people spew their innermost thoughts. He doubted it'd work with Gaby. No, she'd just stride away. But Mort…

  "I would never hurt her. I swear, I wouldn't. She's a friend."

  "Then who did?" He looked beyond Mort to the shadowy entrance. He could see the peeling paint on the battered walls, the chipped wooden floor. "Is there someone else in your building?"

  "No way." Mort shook his head in surety. "Gaby never has anyone over."

  "Never?" That was a pretty long time. But it didn't surprise him.

  "Not since I've known her. Not even once."

  "Hmmm." Pondering that, Luther said aloud, "I suppose she could have done it to herself. Hopefully an accident. It didn't look too serious—"

  "Thank God."

  Luther drew back, perplexed at Mort's reaction. Had he been in an agony of suspense, not knowing how badly hurt Gaby was when she fled the building? But why assume such a thing anyway? "Why all the relief, Mort? You've seen her hurt worse, have you?"

  Showing some belated spine, Mort straightened. "No. And why are you bothering Gaby? What did she ever do to you?"

  Luther did an abrupt and unplanned about-face. "I'm not bothering her. Actually, I came to see you."

  "Me?" Astonishment and worry muted his pleasure. "But… why?"

  "You've lived in this area for a long time, right?"

  Excitement made his voice stronger. "About a decade now. My mom used to own the building and I lived with her." He realized how that sounded and cleared his throat. "I took care of her, made sure she had what she needed…"

  "Yeah, I get it. That's real noble of you." Putting an arm around Mort's shoulders, Luther led him inside and toward his apartment. With a slow groan of rusty hinges, the entry door crept shut behind them. "Where's your mom now?"

  "'She passed away about five years ago."

  "Two years before Gaby moved in?"

  Nodding, Mort stepped to the side and allowed Luther to enter his apartment. Everything looked the same as it had two days ago: cluttered, meager, and impoverished. "I'm sorry about your mother."

  "Thanks." Mort ran his hands up and down denim-covered thighs. "Why d' you care how long I've been here?"

  "There's been some trouble in the area and I figured you had to know people, right? I thought maybe you could lend me a hand."

  "You want my help?"

  "Sure, why not? The police can always use a little outside assistance. Given your proximity to things, you're a good candidate to help now." Luther stared right at him while telling the lie. "I can trust you, right?"

  "Yeah, I mean, sure. I'm glad to help however I can." Shifting in nervous ebullience, he stirred the air, sending the odor of unwashed skin to Luther's nose. "You want something to drink, maybe?"

  After a discreet cough, Luther nodded. "If you make it strong, coffee would be good."

  Mort's thin face lifted. "Cool. Let's go in the kitchen."

  Rushing ahead, he emptied dirty clothes off a chair and piled them in the corner, then began clearing the tabletop of comic books and unpaid bills. Luther sat down and, trying to be subtle, asked, "You said Gaby keeps to herself, but you don't get much company here either, do you?"

  "Nah, but it's okay. When I have the store open, I stay plenty busy."

  Luther pictured the ramshackle store that abutted the two-family structure. Enough filth marred the windows to impede a view beyond the bent, stained, and faded signs crookedly hung. Handwritten messages pronounced the sale of comic books and other fan magazines. "You own the connecting building, too?"

  "Yeah. I inherited both this place and the comic book store from my mom. But I didn't feel like opening the store today."

  "Under the weather?" When Mort glanced at him in edgy suspicion, Luther said, "I noticed you had some allergy problems or something with your eyes. It hits a lot of people this time of year."

  "Yeah." He turned away to fix the coffee. "So you wanted to ask me some stuff about the area?"

  Absently, Luther picked up one of the comics on the top of the pile. He thumbed the edges, making the pages flip. "You heard there was a murder?"

  "There always is." After he finished the coffee preparations, Mort turned to face Luther. "It's sad, but around here, we're used to it."

  Very true. "Lots of hookers getting killed, the occasional robbery gone wrong."

  Mort nodded.

  "This one was different, Mort. A man was mutilated."

  Mort said nothing, but his Adam's apple bobbed in his scrawny throat.

  "He was so hacked up, body bits were everywhere."

  "Hacked up, huh?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I heard some stuff… people around here talk. I guess it was pretty bad?"

  "He was nearly decapitated. Almost ev
ery bone broken. Ribs sawed through. His guts spilled out." Luther watched Mort. "Pretty macabre stuff."

  Both hands covered Mort's mouth. "That's…"

  "Disturbing. I know. And then you had that mutilated critter hung in your foyer." Luther tossed the comic aside and picked up another. "I wonder how someone got in there to do that, without you hearing or seeing anything."

  "I was in bed a lot that day, and Gaby wasn't here."

  "Where was she?"

  "I already told you I don't know." He paced away. "I don't know how I didn't hear it."

  Probably because he'd been crying too hard, the poor schmuck.

  Fear overtook Mort's expression. "You think the two things are related?"

  "In this neighborhood, who can say?" Luther lifted his shoulders. "I do know that Gaby shouldn't be out alone at night—like she was a few nights ago." He waited a second or two, "She was alone, wasn't she, Mort?"

  "I don't know." He almost wailed that. "Gaby doesn't tell me anything. I wasn't lying about that. She's real private."

  "She's been here three years. You must know something about her."

  The second the coffee machine quieted, Mort took out the carafe and filled two mugs. As a type of warning, he said, "I know she keeps to herself and doesn't like questions."

  "How does she support herself?" When Mort again glared at him in suspicion, Luther tapped the comic book against the tabletop. "I'm just asking because I'm worried about her. It doesn't seem she works during the day, but if she has a night job somewhere, she could be at risk. Until we catch the lunatic who committed the murder, no woman should be out alone at night."

  Mort grunted. "Yeah, well, you try telling Gaby that." He held out a mug of coffee, and Luther started to toss the comic away.

  That's when he noticed the cover.

  Servant slashed across the front in a scratchy font above the depiction of a tall woman, her hair blowing back in the wind, her eyes narrowed in what appeared to be pain and resolution.