6. Chapter 6
When I step back into my bedroom, he's there.
I gasp and nearly drop my cup of tea. It's been a week since whatever happened between us took place in this very bed. Things have been quiet, a revolving door of work, resisting the bottle, eating and sleeping. Almost my normal life, or so I could believe. But now he's here, a tall dark figure in the dim light of my desk lamp, thumbing through the file I brought home on Cocooner.
Pushing the door closed behind me, I cross the room in two steps and close the file, taking it out of his hands. Feeling a little like a lion keeper naively snatching food from the mouth of the beast, I step back as that silver mask turns to me. "This isn't for members of the public," I tell him.
If I could see his eyebrow, I bet it would be raised right now.
“No?” He takes a moment to flick the lamp off, casting the room into ever more dim light. “Am I a member of the public?"
"Of a sort," I respond, then turn my back on him, putting the file down on my bedside table, next to my tea and optimistically, away from him. I feel him behind me then, and in a moment of hesitation, but I don’t turn. His long fingers graze the back of my neck where my t-shirt sits loose.
"Our deal is done," I remind him, voice low as the shiver travels down my spine.
"Mm, it is, too." He's a light pressure along my back now, brushing against me with a suggestion of more. "I guess this could just be for other reasons, then?"
I glance back over my shoulder at him, though he’s so close I only see the edge of his shoulder. "Why are you here?"
"I'm just checking up on you."
My eyes narrow. “Again, it’s called being a stalker.”
He huffs a laugh. "With the things you get into, you almost need one… with your best interest at heart, of course."
I sneer and turn away in an effort to dismiss him. Pretending he's not there, right behind me, is hard when I can feel the hair on the back of my neck raised with the hint of his breath.
"What do your people know about Cocooner?"
I laugh, thumbing the file myself. "You're not looking to get information from me, surely? Why would I tell you?"
His fingers brush my upper arm, sliding under my loose sleeve. "Why not? Don't we want the same thing? Less innocent deaths?"
“I want you arrested.”
"Mm, not trying too hard on that lately, though, are you?" He's a light pressure along my back now, his boots brushing the backs of my bare heels, nudging between. I shift as though to shrug him off, but the movement only brushed my shoulder blades and my butt against his front, making me more aware of him.
"You make it difficult to do anything about it when you threaten to kill whoever comes to help."
The air from his softly spoken words tickles the hair on the back of my ear. "You could try yourself. I could enjoy the fight, pinning you down…"
My throat suddenly needs clearing. His hand rests on the small of my waist, his other down, at the bottom of my shirt, on the side of my thigh, toying with the hem. I'm wearing tiny silk boxer-style shorts. He finds the lacy bottom edge of those. Gripping his wrist, I attempt to control my breathing, which has turned heavy. Finding the tie on my boxers, he tugs, and they slide down, my hand still wrapped around his wrist but unresistant as he moves. They pool around my ankles, and he's lifting the shirt over my hip, my bare butt pressing back against the front of his pants.
"Why do you resist it when you moan so loudly once you have it?" he murmurs, tongue flicking over the top of my ear. My breath hitches, hips swaying back. Movement in the corner of my eye. Then I'm watching his mask, watching him place it on the table in front of me, face up. I must still myself from turning around. "Don't look now, or I'll have to keep you," he warns.
I don't ask him to elaborate on that, but the urge to glance back over my shoulder would almost be too much if his hand didn't tangle in my hair, tilting my chin up and keeping my gaze forward. What would I see if I looked back? A stranger? Worse, someone I know? Who would I want to see?
More thought on that slides away as his boots nudge my feet apart enough to stand between them. Bracing my hands on the table, I feel him, that slight rubbery feeling of a condom over hardness brushing the inside of one thigh,. Then he directs himself, rubbing against my opening, finding wetness.
Then, without preamble, he's pushing, sliding inside. The position means he presses in new places, his grip on my hair making it even more intense as he goes deep in small thrusts, and by the time he's buried, my nails are digging into the wood, my mouth fallen open as I cry out, gasping between. There’s no one to worry about staying quiet for this time, and as his first full thrusts fill me with such extreme pleasure, I gasp aloud, unable to do anything else but sway with him, bearing it. When that exquisiteness fades just enough, I bump back consciously against him, squeezing.
"Fuck, how do you feel so good, Little Shadow?" To my ire, he stops moving, holding inside me. "Touch yourself."
I do as he says, hand sliding down between my thighs, rubbing, and only then he starts to move again. Biting my lip, I keep going even as my knees shake, urgency building.
"Don't stop until you've come," he orders.
That doesn't take long, his slow, measured movements and my fast, needy touch combine to make my head hang down as he loosens his grip on my hair, holding me with a grasp on my hip to stop me totally melting as my climax takes hold. I cry out, almost to scream in the throes of it, pressing back spasmodically, gasping through the rough thrusts of him joining me there.
For a time he pulls me back against him, holding tight enough that the breath moving in his chest is clear against my back. Then I feel him leave me, falling from me, the warmth of his embrace, gone. When I find the light switch, the mask is gone, and the owner has gone with it.
***
"Wait, this… masquerade thing… it’s on the same night that we expect Needler to strike next?" I shake my head. "How did we not know this before?"
Dirk looks tired today, his dark hair dishevelled, with bags under his eyes as he sits at the desk and tries to explain it again. "The Tregam Diversion, they call it. Happens every year, and it’s not our division, but usually the cops end up being called out there. Most of the less savoury characters of the city go."
"Your friends, then?"
He gives me a look, then goes on. "They changed the date. And made it masquerade. They're not saying because of Needler, but…"
I sigh. "It’s because of Needler."
Dirk shrugs. "Given his popularity, we can assume so."
"Right." I tap my pen. "So we have to go."
Dirk, somehow, looks even more tired. "I was afraid you'd say that."
***
Tawill is in a good mood, unlike either me or Dirk, as she comes into unclaimed evidence. I slap at the antiquated skirts of the gown, the corset pinching at my waist. For what it’s worth, it fits. "Are you sure these are from last year and not, I don't know, two centuries ago?"
"From the very last Tregam Diversion. Luckily the theme was pirates- close enough to masquerade," Tawill assures me, a slight tilt on her lips as she smirks at me. "Don't forget the shoes."
Dirk, who is changing behind a shelf towards the back of the locker, shouts, "Not joining us, boss?"
I wince a little. Tawill, however, won't be dampened right now. "No, Dean and Howie will be there in… plainclothes , too. You'll fit in this way. It’s the perfect opportunity to get close to Needler. We think he'll be there. Besides, when else do you all get to dress up?"
I turn at the sound of footsteps, Dirk, still tugging at the suspender belts. I grin and then remember that I'm equally ridiculously attired. “Wow, that’s how you look in a dress,” he says with a smile.
"And that’s how you look in hose."
He frowns, looking down at himself. "Which part is that?"
I sigh. "Well, I'm hardly going to be chasing anyone down on this." I fluff up the heavy skirts again. They're peach-coloured.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out, detectives. Now, try not to act or look like yourselves."
I toy with my mask, a basic glittery thing. My hair is down, which really should be enough to disguise me from my regular look anyway, I catch Dirk’s eye since he’s still looking at my dress. “What?” I ask, expecting him to tease me, but when he looks up to my face, he only shakes his head.
“Nothing. It suits you.”
I don’t believe him for a minute. “You’re making fun.”
Shrugging, Dirk pulls on his mask. It’s black, curling down over his jaw and chin. I try not to stare back, to imagine him with a black smudge over his mouth and blackened eyes and see something familiar in it.
Shaking myself, I ask, "Alright, ready?"
***
Our taxi pulls up, depositing us at the huge stone arch gateway of the event grounds. I expected to see people in masks. Hundreds of them. What I don’t expect is to see what seems to be half of those in Needler masks. There are Needler's of all shapes and sizes, and genders. Some of the men are such a match in size and height that I stare witlessly as Dirk steps out beside me.
"Well fuck," he says.
"How are we going to…"
He has Dean talking in his earpiece, hidden by a flick of hair as he puts it in. “They're already in. No backing out now,” he concludes, fixing his mask on. “As Tawill says; I guess we'll figure it out."
Through the gates, it’s not any less confusing. Night is falling, and the medieval-style lighting over the estate grounds is patchy at best. Figuring out if the real Needler is even here, and if he is, which one he is, seems to be getting more impossible.
"One year allegedly the whole thing devolved into a sort of orgy," Dirk comments, leaning close to me as we walk towards the back of the estate where a mansion lit up like a Christmas tree seems to be the centre of the party.
"How wonderful. So given tonight is moonless, we know what that means.” We walk by a group of what appear to be Georgian ladies in incongruous cat masks.
"Yeah, he'll strike here, if he's attending."
"But how?" I ask. "There's people everywhere. He usually takes his time. Unless…"
"Unless he's targeting someone who does it fast. Plenty of dark places. There's even a forest over there, inside the grounds. Rich bastards."
"We're here. Let’s check out the mansion first, find Dean and Howie."
"Shouldn't we split up?" We've reached the base of the wide steps that lead up into the mansion proper. From within, the hum of chatter, music, and occasional boisterous laughter spills out.
I face Dirk, the edges of the eyeholes in my mask obscuring my vision. "Split up?"
"Yeah, cover more ground."
I cover my hesitation with a glance around. "I don't think…"
"What’s the matter?" he smirks, like he knows this is the wrong answer. "Are you nervous?"
"Shut up. I just think we should be smart about this, that’s all."
"Smart is eyes in more places. I saw an old stage by the lake, looks like a good viewing point. You take the woods. We’ll meet back here in an hour, okay? You've got the earpiece if you need me."
An hour. I glance at the inviting light of the mansion doors, and the trees swamped in fairy lights that border the path leading to the woods in the corner of the property, then back forward, at Dirks receding back. He added a dark coat to his outfit, so he blends with the shadows of the front of the building. I should go, do as he says. I should trust him. But the thought niggles, keeping my feet where they are. Why so keen to split up?
I don't go to the forest. I follow him instead.
As I do, keeping to the shadows under the mansion windows, I run through what I know in my head. About Needler and tonight. Someone who kills their victims fast. Who could it be? Who would be dumb or brave enough to be here too, knowing he could be on Needler's list? Within a minute of following Dirk, I know he's not walking towards the lake. So he is hiding something. Just whether it’s what I suspect or not is yet to be seen.
More than once, I curse my peachy gown, which from my perspective rustles enough to be heard from the other side of the party. But I keep a distance from Dirk, following him over a hill. Pockets of grass are lit up by late-night picnickers in costume, lounging back and looking down over the mansion. Music drifts from the small speakers some have with them. I take a wide birth of one, their light smothered, telling noises coming from the lump they’ve made on the picnic blanket. At the crest, I see down to what appears to be his destination; a large, dimly lit pavilion with a handful of people inside it. A lily-padded pond hugs one side, the structure lifting off the ground, a willow tree beyond.
Eyes back on Dirk, I see him reach for his ear, then slip the piece into his pocket. When he turns, checking behind him, I barely have time to hit the grass, hoping it’s tall enough to hide me at this angle. I wait several breaths before I peek again, and when I do, he’s moved on. Gaining my feet again, grass stains on my sleeve and a leaf in my hair, I see him walking up into the pavilion, to the greeting of the others there. A handful of people sitting near me eye me oddly, and I give a half-wave which is probably not any more reassuring than if I’d done nothing.
I force myself to take the long way, to use the willow tree as extra cover. My shoes- ridiculous slip-ons not much better than mere slippers- suck down into the edge of the pond and I nearly leave them behind. As it is, they’re soggy and black by the time I clutch a reaching bough and pull myself up against the dark side of the pavilion base.
Finally, within earshot, I hear Dirk’s voice again. Is this just a sneaking social visit, some effort at getting out of work and our largely futile mission? Or something more? I press my back to the stone foundation, listening. They're right above me, voices clear, Dirk’s distinctive to me.
"Didn't expect you to show up here."
"Work business."
A pause. "Your cop buddies here?"
"Can you see them behind me right now?" This last one is from Dirk, a laugh in his voice.
"Your partner…"
"Like I said, she's safely on the other side of the party, looking for Needler."
"You sure about that?" The man sounds older and serious. "She's pretty keen on his case, given her husband…"
"Let’s not dig up history. She's there. I'm here. What do you have for me?"
I hold my breath, afraid to miss anything that’s said now. Have for him? Is Dirk doing drugs or something else illicit? God, I hope he hasn't become addicted to something. You can owe the wrong people the wrong things in this town with that.
"You go first," the older voice instructs. "Any raids coming? The club is doing good business…"
"You know I'll contact you in that case."
"Well, you had that deal with Illuminate , didn't you? Then they got cleaned out by you lot last week."
Illuminate? That was where he took me. That place shut down? I hadn’t heard about it, but then, places getting closed Downtown is nothing unusual, with the things that are so often found to be going on there.
"They broke the terms."
"Yeah?" A different voice, younger, keen. "Didn't give you information they didn't have?"
There's another pause. Dirk speaks again, "The deal is you can be as hedonistic as you like in your club. Sex, prostitution, drugs, shows, whatever, and I'll tell you when to clean up… so long as you tell me what you hear on individuals of interest to me, and ," this last he speaks louder, cutting off that small voice when it goes to interrupt him. "That no one is there under coercion. I talked to one of the strippers at Illuminate. She was being pushed into much more than dancing. So their deal was off. So far, your club is following the rules."
"Had words with our ladies, have you?" There's a leer in the question.
"Joel, go guard the front." The older man orders in a snap. After a sulky reprieve and receded footsteps from 'Joel', that voice speaks again. "Very well. You're a man of rules."
Presuming he’s saying this to Dirk, a supposed man of the law, I could laugh at that, except I shouldn't make a noise.
"Who is here that might be of interest to Needler?" Dirk asks. So he really is working the case, just not in a very correct way.
"Ah, it’s his night, isn't it?"
"That’s right."
"Tell me, what will you do if you catch him? He's the hero of the city. You think they'll let you take him?"
"No, I don't. But that’s the case I'm on."
"No idea who Needler really is, still?"
"None," Dirk says flatly.
"Or who he's looking at next?"
"He's running out of serial killers. And he went political last time, so no."
There's a bit of a shuffling of feet, booted steps coming closer. They're right over the top of me. I can look up and see the back of Dirk's head, the tie of his mask shiny over his hair. If he looks down and peers into the dark, he’ll see me in my bright dress. The older man is white-haired, his skin tanned and weathered. He leans on the railing, facing Dirk. "There is one who might be cocky enough to be here tonight. Name's Holt."
"Why would Needler be interested?"
"Last time it was a child abuser, this time… well, let’s say Holt has some racist tendencies. He has a supremacist channel, radio and broadcast. In the dregs, but he's got a bit of a following. Lately, he bragged about a lynching in a town over."
"He hanged someone?"
"His gang did. I'm willing to bet more than one. If your Needler is looking political, and fast… well, that could be a good option."
"Good enough." Dirk is moving away from the railing. "Where is this Holt?"
"Over by the woods, he mentioned on his channel for his followers to come have a meet and greet tonight, next to the lake. Probably thinks he's untouchable that way."
"Till next time."
"I wish you the worst of luck," the man says with the first hint of humour.
I can hear Dirk on the steps, boots scraping as he turns back. "Nothing on Cocooner?"
"Trust me, detective, the minute I hear a thing about that sick bastard, I'll be telling you for free."
Not staying to listen for Dirk’s footsteps, I dart away from the pavilion, taking the long way around the pond this time and colliding with a group of people entertaining themselves with a drunken horse-shoe throwing contest. Picking up my skirts, I run straight through their game, aiming up the hill and back for the mansion path and so on the way to the woods. I need to get there before Dirk does… before he can do anything with the information he’s just gained. What I think he’s going to do, I’m not brave enough to admit even to myself yet.
I pass by the front of the mansion, golden light spilling out, and slow my pace on the path that runs further, under eaves weighed down by millions of fairy lights. There are too many people about, most of them drunk and masked and unpredictable.
Catching my breath, the lake glittering off to my right, I say as casually as I can into the earpiece, assuming Dirk is listening again, “Looks like some activity in the forest now.” I have no idea if this is true, of course, but I need some excuse to get Dean and Howie there with me. “Meet me there."
Dean comes back quickly, his voice coming through with the heavy beat of music. "On our way."
Quickening my step, I let my mind roll over everything I just heard. So Dirk has a deal with some unsavoury types. I should hardly be surprised. He's never strictly been a 'good boy' type, but I didn't know his connections ran so deep. It doesn’t mean he’s guilty of anything else, I remind myself.
But then, who else’s unsavoury connections run that deep? Who else might be asking around for the worst of Tregam’s criminals?
The Holt group is obvious as I round the lake. Mostly men, all white, and none deigning to dress code, not a single mask or frill among them. They shuffle around, too far away yet for me to pick a leader among them. But he’ll be there, basking in the adoration if I know the type. Nonetheless, if that’s where Needler is going to stalking his prey, that’s where I need to be.
My focus so entirely on that group, steadily closing on them, I nearly trip over the small old lady who steps directly into my path. A horrible, beaked visage leers back at me as I jump back, some kind of plaque mask her outfit of choice tonight. Muttering an excuse me , I go to step around her, but again, she steps into my path. Too late, I notice the small gypsy caravan by the edge of the path.
"A reading for you?" she croaks at me.
"No, thanks!" I say brightly, trying once more to step past her. But she's faster than she looks, barring my path again.
"Free, free!"
I don’t believe that for a minute. "Nope, my future can stay a mystery. Thanks."
She's insistent, blocking my path, her wiry, cold hand clamping around my arm. "You need to know it," she insists. "Detective."
That confuses me enough to stall me for a moment. Did I tell her that already? "I'm in a hurry, lady."
"You're hurrying towards bad news."
"Bad news in my future, got it." This time, respect for the elderly be damned and unwilling to waste more precious moments getting told a rather obvious future. I move to shove past her. When isn't the news bad, after all?
But just as I’m setting my feet to push through, every light on the estate goes out.
There’s a surprised scream or two, and the collective gasp unique to a group of people suddenly cast into darkness. My heart jumps, the old woman’s hand tightening on my arm as she exclaims, “Oh.”
A murmur of ‘power outage’, rolls through a group that was walking behind me. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and in an instant, I know this is no coincidence. This is the moment.
Needler is making his move right now.
My eyes adjust to the faint light of a half-moon through the clouds, enough to discern dark shapes but hardly enough to justify racing blindly ahead like I am. I can feel the clock ticking, the chance to catch him slipping away.
Dean’s voice is mostly static through the earpiece. “Li-ss ou-!”
I press my finger to my ear, gasping as I narrowly weave around someone stopped in the middle of the path. “I’m near the forest, going in!”
The forest closes over me, heavy and oppressive without its lights. The first moving shapes I see quickly resolve into a couple against a tree, obviously unbothered by the blackout.
Squinting, I move further in. In a clearing ahead, more moonlight reigns, and I see movement again. This time, something makes me slow down, tugging my gun from where it’s hidden on my hip, under a peach ruffle.
At the peak of silence, my dress catches on a twig and it snaps back loudly, loud enough to be heard by anyone even vaguely nearby. Knowing that any idea of stealth ruined, I throw it to the wind and jump out into the clearing.
The body is high in the tree, swaying like it’s only just stopped moving. "Shit!" I shout, running for the trunk of the tree, reaching the rope wrapped low around the base. I break my nails pushing the knot out, and behind me, the body falls with a sickening crunch. Turning to stare at that crumpled shape, I see the face, the tongue lolling out. Already dead.
"Eleanor!" My head snaps up, recognising Dean's voice filtering through the trees, a half a second later, coming through the earpiece. But instead of Dean, I see him at the corner of the clearing, his mask shadowed inside a deep, ragged hood like an executioner’s uniform. He waves once, then turns and darts into the woods. I consider lifting my gun briefly, then lower it instead and go after him, shouting through the earpiece. “Spotted Needler! On him, headed out the South side of the woods!”
“With you!” Dean shouts back, and again I hear his voice, still behind me.
We clear the woods, and I see the dark shape that is Needler's back at the edge of the lake, running. "You go around to the right," I order quickly, and Dean, no sooner than he reaches my side, sprints off to the right while I follow the shorter way, cursing every step that I stumble over my skirts. Where the hell is Dirk when I need him?
We soon clear the lake, and an air overtakes the estate. Someone spots Needler, then us, Dean and I both with guns in our hands, and the shouts spread. The crowd converges by the time we get to the other end. That arched gateway, I have to slide between bodies pressing in, many of which are wearing silver masks with black ink across their lips.
We're out, back onto the corner of a busy intersection. Beside me, Dean shouts, "There!" He’s pointing across the main road, towards the train station. Cars honk as we race across, narrowly avoiding several bumpers before barrelling into the station, a train platform directly ahead of us. The place is packed with masked and costumed party-goers on their way in or out. Many have turned to watch Needler as he races onto the waiting train.
We go after him. But that’s when the crowd closes in for good. They're suddenly a wall, two people thick, linked hands closing the fence they’ve made along the platform, between us and Needler as the doors close. Dean lifts his gun, but I know as well as they do he's not going to use it. "Move!" he shouts. They don't, and the train doors ping then close, taking Needler away.
An impressive string of curses is still coming from Dean’s mouth as the people quickly disperse before he can get any ideas about arresting the lot of them, as he threatens to somewhere in his expletives. Howie arrives in a limping gait, and I look behind him. "Where's Dirk?"
Howie, out of breath, leans on his knees. "He's not here?"
"No," I push past, back out onto the street, towards the gates again. I ignore the crowd of onlookers gathered there, going back to the grounds. My suspicions about Dirk are overtaken by the fear that he could have been hurt as he continues not to answer my enquiring through the earpiece.
Howie is in my ear instead. "Dean and I will check out the grounds. You go back to Holt's body. Help is on the way."
Holt. Shit. I almost forgot about the dead body in the clearing. I head back for the forest, and I don't even reach the clearing before I know the scene will basically be useless to us. I can hear the voices already, and sure enough, as I break through the trees, the white supremacy group that was waiting by the lake for him is there. They've moved the body, scuffed any evidence with their heavy boots, and touched just about everything.
"This is a crime scene," I shout. "Please make way."
A handful of them turn to me, and I can see pretty clearly in their faces as they take in my dishevelled peach dress and missing shoe, that they're not about to take me seriously. One accusatory voice raises above the others. "You a cop? Why didn't you stop this from happening?"
"Don't send a woman to do a man's job," another touts.
Having had just about enough of tonight, I choose this moment to pull my gun one last time. "You really want to see a woman doing her job, asshole?"
This has the desired effect, however now I'm pointing a gun at redneck and slightly regretting it. It feels a little extreme, and now I don't know what to say. I'd like them all to clear off, but then it occurs to me that the mystery club owner said a 'gang' was involved in the lynching, and the other members are likely here.
I'm saved from having to decide what to do against these dozen potentially armed men by the appearance of another problem; Dirk, stepping into the clearing from my left. "Woah, what’s going on here?" Dirk looks between me and the group of men with their hands up, apparently having missed a lot. And on top of that, he's soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, his mask gone.
" Dirk ? Where the hell…" I cut myself off. Potential criminals first. "You're all coming in for questioning. Down on your knees. Now . Get on your stomachs. Stay there."
Hesitantly, somewhat shamefully, they do as I say. Content that their faces are pressed into the dirt, I turn to Dirk. "Where the hell were you? We were chasing Needler!"
"What? The real one?"
"Presumably! Didn't you hear it through the earpiece? And why are you soaking wet?"
"I heard you saying you wanted backup in the woods. I was about to reply, but a group of Needle-masks must have got wind I was a cop after their idol. They threw me in the lake. My earpiece shorted."
"They threw you into the lake?"
"Well," he shrugs. "They asked me if I could swim first. Nice of them, huh?"
I narrow my eyes. Awfully convenient. And yet, could he have gotten off at the next stop and made it back here in time? Then again, it might not even have been the real Needler who took off on the train. "You didn’t make it to the woods at all?" I press, practically convinced now of my suspicions.
"No, I was over at the Gardens,” Dirk explains, as though it’s something I should know. “Remember? I went there first to see what I could hear when we split up.”
"And did you?" I press.
"What?"
"Hear anything?" I want to know how much he'll lie to me. As though I have the right to be angry with everything I'm lying to him about.
"Yeah, I heard these lot were having some kind of supremacy convention on the beach."
Like a herd of elephants, the backup arrives, moving quickly to arrest our men, taking them away so the forensics can do what little they can do. Dirk and I are pulled in different directions, but I'm far from satisfied. He's already lying about the deals with the clubs. Why not more?
"Tawill wants to see you both back at the station," Officer Andrea stops directing the operation long enough to tell us.
Dirk grimaces. "News travels fast. Come on, I'll call a cab."
***