Devour (Twisted Metamorphosis #1)

Chapter Nineteen

“Grace Kim? FBI!” I called out, pushing open the front door that was cracked open.

A quiet calm settled over me as I felt my body shift to work mode. Helena was outside, and I was instantly distracted; all I could think about was Helena. I had to protect her; I had to.

Before stepping into Grace’s home, I quickly glanced back at Helena, so my mind would know she was alright. She had her back to me and looked to be lost in thought.

I wonder what’s on her mind and—

No! Focus! Possible crime scene!

Forcing Helena out of my mind, I pushed open the front door just enough for me to slip through. Immediately turning to my left to clear the corner, I took a deep breath and glanced around the space to get an idea of the layout. The floor was all a white marble tile which would make it easy to see any blood or imperfections.

Upon entering through the front door, there was a small coat closet immediately to the left and the wide open living area to the right. Carefully making my way around the corner of the coat closet, I was in the dining area with an attached kitchen. This space was huge, and I probably should have backup.

“Grace? This is Agent Sullivan with the FBI!” I called out again to the seemingly empty house while backing away toward the front door.

Keeping my gun aimed in front of me, I dropped one hand to pull out my cell phone and dialed Erik Nichols.

“Heya, Cam. You good? Anton sent me over to meet up. I’m about a minute and a half out.” Erik asked.

“Something’s off, Nichols. The door was open, but it’s too big of a home to clear alone,” I replied, my eyes still scanning the space.

“Fall back, and I’ll head in with you. I’m pulling up now,” Nichols said, disconnecting our call.

Stepping outside of Grace’s home and onto the porch, I could hear the rumbling from his motorcycle engine shut off, and his quick footsteps heading my way.

“Doctor, a pleasure as always,” Nichols greeted Helena.

“Erik Nichols, a pleasure indeed,” Helena purred, sparking jealousy to rise in my chest. Hearing her use a playful tone with him made my blood boil.

She's mine. MINE. I roared in my mind, tightening the grip on my gun.

Before I could stop it, I was immediately forced into my empathetic state. The soft blanket of light that usually descended upon me was thick and dark like smoke. I blinked my eyes and the familiar blue filter over my vision that typically made me anxious, made me feel strong, made me feel angry. The scene outside played in my mind before Nichols arrived.

I let my arms fall to my side, but my finger remained on the trigger of my gun as I walked out of Grace’s front door.

Erik Nichols arrived just as he said he would, the loud rumble of his Harley Davidson motorcycle seemed to snap Helena out of her thoughts. Her perfect, green eyes followed Nichols’ movements as he removed his helmet and combed his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair in an attempt to restyle it.

Walking down the steps from the porch to stand at Helena’s side, he approached us and reached out for Helena’s hand.

“Doctor, a pleasure as always,” Nichols purred with his signature flirty side grin.

Helena placed her dainty hand in his and returned a soft smile as he kissed her knuckles.

“Erik Nichols, a pleasure indeed,” Helena said, returning her hands to her normal place, folded in front of her.

They locked eyes and Nichols subtly eyed her up and down before releasing an exhale.

“It’s a shame to see someone so beautiful constantly surrounded by death.” Nichols winked and turned toward me. “Okay, Cam. Whatcha got?” he asked, noticing my gun drawn. He followed suit, unholstering his, and took a few steps past me toward the front door.

Dropping my gun to the ground, I grabbed Nichols by the sleeve of his suit jacket, yanking him backwards. He tumbled down the steps of the porch, dropping his gun, confused.

“What the fuck, Sullivan?” he hissed, dusting himself off as he stood.

His face shifted to anger as he took a few steps in my direction. Meeting him halfway, I gripped both sides of his suit jacket in my hands and walked him backwards until he backed into the side of the house. With my grip still firm on his jacket, I pulled him toward me, then slammed him against the side of the house as hard as I could, three times. Each time, the back of his head bounced off the hard exterior of the house, leaving behind a bloody imprint and almost causing him to lose consciousness. His head bobbed forward, and he tried to pull my wrists down with shaky, weak hands.

“Cam…Camden, what?”

“She’s… fucking… mine…” I groaned. Each pause was another harsh slam into the wall.

Tossing him to the ground, he fell harshly at my feet face down, a large cut now split open on the back of his head. A small, but steady stream of blood slowly trickled down his head and a small pool started to form. Weakly, he pressed both palms into the ground, trying to sit up.

Bending down and reaching underneath his right side to grip his jacket again, I tugged violently, forcing him to flip over on his back. In my periphery I saw Helena take a few steps toward us, her striking eyes were glued to mine. Her lips were parted slightly as if she was breathing from her mouth, her chest was rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths.

“C-Cam,” Nichols coughed, his eyes starting to roll back.

Completely ignoring him, I stood and moved toward Helena as if I was enchanted under her spell. She was surrounded by a cloud of darkness, tendrils of smoke circling her body and weaving into her hair.

She was fucking stunning.

I fell to my knees before her—my queen of darkness. I was breathing heavily, shaking with need. I needed to kill Nichols for touching what’s mine, needed to feel his warm blood running through my fingers. I had to make her proud, show her how much I love her, and what I'd do for her to prove my love was true.

Reaching down to caress my cheek, she gently lifted my chin to meet her loving gaze.

“I see you, Camden.”

Her familiar words she spoke to me last year, the words that stuck in my mind ever since the FBI Academy. I could feel the one door in my mind that I kept closed and locked away. The one door that I could never open; the door to my father.

My father’s door leads to all my pain, my suffering, his abuse, his neglect, the black eyes, hospital stays, and foster care….

Opening this door would be the end of me, the end of all things just and good in my life. It would be all-consuming, and would drag me straight to hell.

“What would it take to open this door, Camden? It needs to open so you can embrace your complete self, so you can heal.”

“Please… No… Anything but that,” I begged.

“It will take time, pet. But you will have to open it eventually and embrace every part of yourself. Even the darkest part you keep hidden.”

She’s right, but I can’t. Not here.

“You have things to take care of first.” She released my chin, looking toward Erik, laying bloody on the ground still. “Show me.”

Standing to my full height, I turned back toward my fallen gun on the ground. Picking it up, I stalked back toward Erik and stood over him, one foot on either side of his hips.

“She’s mine,” I hissed, and pulled the trigger, shooting him in between his eyes.

Suddenly, I was forced out of my trance and I jumped backwards a step, sucking in air with an audible gasp. I gripped my gun tightly, trying to ground myself and remember where I was.

“Okay, Cam. Whatcha got?” Nichols asked, appearing next to me on the porch. He had his gun also drawn and his eyes began scanning what he could see from outside the front door.

“Um… Nothing yet,” I said, as a cold sweat formed at my hairline. I pinched the bridge of my nose, squinting my eyes shut, and trying to feel the ground under my feet.

Just a dream, just a dream…

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I never shift to that state without focus; it’s never been forceful like that…

Nichols walked into the doorway of Grace’s home, taking a brief look around as I followed him inside.

“Alright, you go right to the living room. I’ll go left through the kitchen. Let’s meet up at those stairs before we head upstairs,” Nichols said, pointing around, and I nodded in agreement.

“Miss Kim? FBI!” Nichols called out as he slowly made his way toward the kitchen.

My mind was racing, and I couldn't focus, but I still had to clear the living room. Keeping my gun aimed in front of me, I thoroughly checked every corner and space a person could possibly be hiding. The stairs to this house were in the middle of the layout, so as I moved deeper into the living area, I looked up toward the second floor.

With my gun aimed toward the second floor’s landing, I did my best to clear the area behind the railing before moving further toward a door on the back wall.

“Grace? FBI!” I called out, slowly reaching for the doorknob.

Taking a deep breath, I whipped the door open, quickly shifting to hold my gun with two hands. The smaller bathroom was quick to clear: it was just a toilet, sink, and a vanity. Stepping out of the bathroom and turning toward the stairs, I saw Nichols making his way toward me.

“All clear down here. I'm honestly dreading going up there. She's gonna be up there, huh?” Nichols asked, ending with a sigh.

“It's looking that way.” I said as we walked to the bottom of the stairs. “I'll head up first. Cover me.”

“You got it, Cam.”

As we made our way upstairs, I kept my gun aimed in front of me while Nichols was watching over my shoulder toward the landing on the second floor.

“Holy fuck,” Nichols said under his breath as we reached the top of the stairs. There was a large pool of blood in the middle of the landing, with a bloody trail leading down the hall.

“Watch your feet,” I said, as I found a clean path to follow, making my way toward the hallway.

“I need to call this in, Cam. We need the team here with proper gear,” Nichols said, backing away, careful not to step on any blood.

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll be right behind you. I just want to check something real quick here…” I trailed off, my eyes focused on the blood smear on the floor in the hallway.

“Sure thing.” Nichols’ heavy, departing footsteps down the stairs sent a wave of relief throughout my mind.

“What did you do here, Butcher?” I asked out loud.

The pool of blood looked staged. There was no cast off on the walls and ceiling, no splatter at all. The blood trail leading down the hallway looked like a bloody body was being dragged, but there was a thinner trail straight down the middle of the larger smear. It was more concentrated and moved in a close to straight line.

What would cause this secondary trail?

Carefully, I made my way down the hallway. The dragged blood stain seemed to be intentionally done off center to leave room for someone to walk without disturbing the scene.

The butcher wanted an audience. Made it easy for them to see his art…

The blood trail ended behind the door at the end of the hallway; Grace’s room.

There was a certain magnetism with this crime scene. I felt myself drawn to the closed door at the end of the hallway. As if Grace herself was calling to me—beckoning. My feet began to move closer toward the door, that familiar autopilot feeling from my dreams guiding me.

What’s wrong with me.?

Careful not to disturb any of the blood trail on the floor, I approached the closed bedroom door with a lever handle. I holstered my gun, and reached into my chest pocket for a handkerchief and used it to press on the lever knob of the door. Carefully, I used the handkerchief wrapped around my finger to press the door open.

Grace.

The bloody drag marks ended at the foot of the bed, and Grace lay there, bloody, pale, and face up on her expensive looking comforter. I needed to use my empathy to see what happened here, but I needed Helena.

Carefully and quickly, I made my way back down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door to find Helena. Nichols was standing off by the driveway talking on his phone, trying to organize which areas to block off to avoid unwanted attention from the press and neighbors.

“Doctor, you’ll want to see this,” I said, earning her attention.