Chapter 6
ECHOES OF STRANGENESS
While George drove, Andi went through some breathing exercises to prepare himself for the deep dive he would soon be doing.
He was already on edge, with too many impressions raining down on him.
Changing places was always difficult, not because the barrage of information he got suddenly increased, but because in places he frequently visited, he was familiar with the shape the overall information took on which lessened the strain on his brain to constantly translate what the arthropods were telling him.
He knew the way the PD was set up, so all information in relation to it was simply a way to make the picture sharper.
Like using a magnifying glass. What you saw didn’t change, it just got clearer.
Also, he was used to the shape of things, which meant his brain didn’t have to interpret, just absorb.
In a strange city, though, all information was new.
There were no pictures in his head to readily explain what he was—seeing, for lack of a better word—and linking it to something he already knew.
Constantly translating on top of dealing with what his human senses were telling him about his new surroundings was tiresome.
This, in turn, made him more receptive because keeping his barriers up required focus and led to more information that had to be translated, which then lowered his barriers even more.
It was a vicious cycle. One he hated from the depths of his heart.
“We’re there.” George was parking his Escalade on a sidewalk in Southern Shops, one of the poorer neighborhoods in Spartanburg.
They were on Westfall Street, where several apartment blocks lined the street on both sides.
They weren’t completely rundown but not up to the latest standards either.
It was the kind of neighborhood people settled on until they could afford better housing in a more secure part of town.
Crime was up here, but the heavy rollers hadn’t yet taken over, keeping to the even poorer parts of the city.
George checked the address before they left the car, making sure it was locked.
As soon as they reached the door, Andi opened his senses a bit to get a feel for the inside.
Two people, one older, weary, hormones suggesting menopause and not in a good way, the other younger, both female, related, he could sense it in the way their pheromones matched, the silverfish were plenty, pill bugs in every damp corner, moths outside in the window frame, spiders, quite a few and there, a flash of something, like a silver flicker at his periphery, there and gone again, air heavy, so many mites in the mattresses and the upholstery of the couch, on the ground, dust bunnies under the cupboards, behind the oven in the kitchen, a wet patch on the wall, leaking pipe, mold, roaches a plenty in the walls, bustling about, a lose piece of carpet in one of the rooms, silverfish under it, dirt, regular cleaning was not a thing here, everything was quiet, the death of Jagger Thomasin had left an impression, but it was fading, him falling, thrashing around, then more noise, heavy stomping, strangers, strangers, gone again, now peace, it was too quiet, not what he would have expected, the memory fading too fast, there should have been a bigger imprint, death always left an impression, like a black smear on a white canvas, blaring, obvious, ever present, even after years, but here it was just a blur, nothing distinct, no black on white, just shades of ochre and gray, a little green sprinkled in, nothing he could grab and examine, slipping from his grasp before he even knew if it was worth hanging on to, one of the two heartbeats was getting faster, reacting to the bell, probably, he could feel it in his bones, too fast, too hard, no, they shouldn’t frighten them, not yet, they weren’t hunting, just looking for clues, Thomasin had been a hunter, become prey, dead now, not here, here everything was good, no, that was wrong, why was the information so sluggish, he couldn’t—
“Can I see your badges?” The door opened as far as the door chain allowed it, and a woman that Andi assumed was Miss Byrnes stood on the threshold, squinting at the badge George was showing her.
Andi realized he must have missed part of the conversation because he couldn’t imagine Rosalie would have opened the door even for this small gap without checking who was there first. Not in this neighborhood where crime was up.
“This looks legit. What do you want?” She hadn’t invited them in, stood against the door, the chain still blocking them off.
“We’re here because we have some follow-up questions regarding Mr. Thomasin’s death.
If you could let us in, I promise it won’t take long.
” George was his charming self, radiating assurance, telling her with his body language—bending his knees a little, to come closer to her height, shoulders back and lose, non-threatening but making it clear he wouldn’t just leave either—seemed to do the trick.
Rosalie lifted her hands to dislodge the chain and opened the door, taking two steps backward and one sideways, letting them in.
The narrow, short hall led straight into a kitchen/living room and had two doors on the right, a bathroom and a bedroom, where the second female was, unmoving, just breathing, everything too calm again.
“Who’s with you?”
A little startled, Rosalie turned on the threshold of the kitchen, following Andi’s outstretched finger to the bedroom door. “My daughter, Tammy. She was at the family center today, so she’s tired.”
Andi nodded, sensing there was more but also knowing the female in the bedroom wasn’t a threat, so he let it be.
When they reached the living room, Rosalie gestured to the couch.
George hesitated only a moment, making eye contact with Andi, who gave a subtle nod.
The couch was safe. Mites, even in the numbers present in the upholstery, weren’t a true problem since neither of them was allergic to dust. They both sat down.
Rosalie took the single chair, a leather monstrosity that didn’t fit with the rest of the furniture.
She didn’t offer them anything to drink, and given the state of her kitchen, Andi wasn’t insulted but grateful.
“What do you want to know?”
Ah, so Rosalie was proactive. She wanted them gone. Andi could tell as much even without the input from his little informants, as her gestures radiated nervousness. She was also tired, done with this day. Something Andi could relate to.
“Miss Byrnes, first I want to offer my condolences. I understand Mr. Thomasin was your partner, and you were the one to find him.”
Rosalie took George’s words with a shrug. “Yes, we were dating, but it wasn’t roses and sunshine. He got caught up in too much shit.”
That was rather blunt and not what Andi would have expected. George neither, it seemed, because he waited a tiny beat too long before he went on with the questions. “I know it must be hard, Miss Byrnes, but can you tell us how you found Mr. Thomasin?”
“I already told the other detectives, but yeah, if you insist.” She waited a moment until George nodded, that yes, they insisted.
Rosalie sighed. “I came home after my last shift. That day I’d been working from five in the morning till nine in the evening.
It was around ten o’clock when I came home.
Tammy had been with my neighbor because the center was closed that day, and she never liked spending time with Jagger.
Mrs. Tanaka is always home, and she doesn’t mind looking after Tammy when I’m late.
” Rosalie started kneading her fingers. The knuckles cracked ominously.
“I’d like to say I immediately knew there was something off, but that’s not true.
I took off my jacket and my shoes and then went into the kitchen.
I saw him on the floor, all still and unmoving.
His face had a strange color, grayish. I won’t ever forget that color.
” She shuddered. “I ran to him, but I already knew he was dead. Nobody can lie that still and not be dead, you know?” The kneading motions got more intense as did the cracking of the joints.
Rosalie was working herself up. “I checked for a pulse, didn’t find one, then I started looking for my phone.
I usually take it out when I go to the kitchen, and I thought I had put it down on the counter.
I called 911, and they asked what had happened.
I saw the open drawer, looked inside, and there was a spider, crawling further back.
I described it to the lady, and she said she would inform the first responders.
They arrived shortly after, said he was dead as can be, and put him on the gurney.
One of them found the bite wounds on his left hand and said they looked like a black widow.
The spider was gone by then. They couldn’t find it anywhere.
Later, the police came by, saying that was what killed him, and if I could tell them what had happened, so I did, the same as I’m telling you. ”
The kneading motions of her hands stopped abruptly. Rosalie heaved a sigh as if remembering that day had taken her last energy reserves.
“Thank you, Miss Byrnes.” George smiled at her like a teacher would at a pupil who’d gotten a difficult question right. “Could you show us the drawer, please?”
“Uhm, of course.” She got up and showed them the few steps into the kitchen where she opened the left drawer under the counter.
Andi stepped closer to look inside while George distracted Rosalie with questions about Jagger and what he had been up to in the weeks before his death.
Andi opened his senses wider, searching for the spider, not really expecting to find it, not in the drawer because that was just a bad hunting ground, but perhaps nearby, there were spiders, the first one harmless, sitting in a net outside close to the upper left corner of the window, too small, missing the sharp taste Andi knew to attribute to a venomous arthropod.
And then he found it, no longer in the apartment, outside under the neighbor’s balcony, from where she had ventured into the apartment, why, he couldn’t say, the memories of spiders were extra hazy when it came to time, all the female remembered was hunger, the thirst for prey, prey that didn’t fit in the net under the balcony, he was crawling on the wall, over to the sliding door of the balcony, there was a gap, he knew it before he found it, strange, where did that knowledge come from, not from her, Andi saw the world through her legs, the vibrations in the ground, all was peaceful when he entered the apartment, running on his eight legs to the kitchen, it wasn’t far, there was a dark place, he was drawn to it, hiding, he could hide there, among the knives and forks and spoons, and how did he know what knives and spoons were, hiding and waiting, then there was noise, the blobs were always so loud, didn’t they know how to move properly and why was he thinking that, the spider was waiting, he sensed a man, the man, the prey, he wanted to kill that man, he was evil, not the blaring evil you saw on TV, no, an even worse evil, hidden in the dark, striking like a snake out of nowhere, hurting, hurting, hurting, he had to go, evil, evil, evil, in the dark, sneaky, sliding around like slime seeping into everything, dirty, dirty, nothing was pure anymore, the days were dark, hurt, pain, he had to die, die die—
Andi reared back mentally, he knew this wasn’t the spider, spiders had no concept of evil, this was something or someone else, not an echo of his own thoughts, too many layers, like an onion, and, like an onion, it had no real core, just layer upon layer, thinning, there was the spider, the drawer was dark, a hiding spot, not good for a net—evil, evil, evil, in the dark—waiting in the corner, unmoving—has to die, has to die—darkness, lurking—who was the spider or the evil—another layer.
He could feel his own thoughts dissipating in this madness, the spider, the other, him, all convoluted, no threads to follow, the drawer opened—evil!
evil!—he struck, the spider struck, the other struck—death, die, the evil was gone and what now, where was he, who was he, the layers falling away, almost there, he could almost grasp it, please, no, evil, evil, darkness, no prey, the biggest prey, who or what, Andi needed out, needed to come back, warm hands on his back, thump, thump, thump, not his own heart, yet familiar, George guiding him, showing him the way, Andi clung to the rhythm, thump, thump, thump, evil, evil, evil, NO, he needed to get back, thump, thump, thump—
And then there was George, holding him, murmuring soothing nonsense, no words, Andi wouldn’t understand anyway, it was the intent that mattered, and Andi was back.
“Fuck.”
He heard a soft gasp and saw Rosalie taking a few steps away from them. “I’m sorry, Miss Byrnes. I—” Andi didn’t know what to say. How should he explain?
“My partner sometimes gets caught up in his thoughts. Makes him a great detective and a bad conversationalist,” George smoothly interjected with a wink.
The furrows on Miss Byrne’s forehead vanished immediately.
She accepted the explanation without hesitation.
That was how the human mind worked. Disturbances of any kind were explained away to protect the brain from overload.
Sometimes, Andi wished he had that luxury.
Most of the time, though, he had learned to prefer clarity over the bliss of ignorance even if it came with a heap of problems.
George was about to say his goodbyes—his body already angling back toward the entrance—when Andi suddenly heard music he would never have expected in a place like this.
Smooth like old wine flowing from the bottle, clear like the stars in the sky on a cloudless night, they carried memories he thought he had forgotten.
Of his mother talking to his oma, the two arguing over Andi, the sharp voice of his maternal grandmother, cutting through the air like knives—der Junge muss lernen damit zu leben, du hast ja keine Ahnung, the boy has to learn to live with it, you’re so clueless—and above the noise of their argument, the melody of Bach’s Komm, o Tod, du Schlafes Bruder.