Chapter Five
I gasp myself awake when a loud banging on the door manages to find its way into my dreams.
I think it was a dream. I’m not so sure anymore. The dream felt so real, but it couldn’t have been. What I saw could not be living in the world amongst us. My mind is so jumbled from what happened that I can’t remember what was real or what was a dream.
I only remember opening my eyes to see a giant monster hovering over me.
His entire body was green with black veins and odd vines with weird flowers and berries on his body.
Remembering his eyes causes me to shiver.
They were pools of darkness, the color of the deepest part of the ocean that sunlight can’t reach.
Horns decorated his head in a way I had never seen before.
Depictions of the Devil come to mind with two horns growing out of his forehead, but this monster was very different. One large horn grew out of his forehead, followed by others behind it in a straight line, varying in size. The horns went from largest to smallest, reminding me of a mohawk.
Each ear was pierced, large bones filling the holes. His nose, eyebrow, and nipples were pierced as well, all with pieces of bone. I think it might be my imagination, but I thought I also saw a fish fin on his back.
I can’t be sure, but whatever he did to me, I remember the terror I felt.
And I want more.
He’s been the only one who has been able to give me what I’ve always craved.
I become lost in thought, forgetting the men banging on my door, when I rub my legs together, and a slight ache twinges inside me.
I remember in my dream that I was being fucked.
I must have fingered myself to bring relief. That’s the only answer.
That’s the only realistic answer because the real one is too far-fetched. Dreams can’t come to life.
Deepest desires can’t be born from the imagination. If they could, my thrills would have been sated a very long time ago.
The loud pounding on the front door pulls me from my thoughts. I swing my legs over the bed and rub my eyes. A tightness stretches across my chest when I raise my arms. Looking down, I gasp when I see the dried black substance on my chest.
My bed is broken too. The mattress is on the floor, and the boards have snapped in half.
What the hell happened here?
“Detective Sanchez! It’s Sheriff Holland. If you’re here, please come to the door, or I will break it down.”
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself and stand, snagging my robe from the door. “One minute, Sheriff! I’m just waking up and need to get dressed!” I don’t know if he can hear me from here, but I do my best to hurry.
I just bought this house, and on the salary they have given me, I don’t want to replace a door.
“What the hell is going on, Lula?” I say to myself, snagging the soft robe from the hook on the back of my bedroom door.
“How did I get home? I remember driving and then…” I rack my brain as I slide on my robe and tie the belt as tight as possible, so I’m covered.
The last thing I need are questions that I have no answers to.
“Detective! You have ten seconds to open the door before I break it down.”
“No! Don’t. I’m coming!” I rush to the bathroom, flip on the light to check to see if I’m presentable, when a message on the mirror freezes me in my steps.
Sweet dreams.
“Nine, eight,” Sheriff counts down.
I grab a washcloth from the counter, wet it, then scrub the message free. It can’t be there. If the Sheriff saw that, he’d want answers, and the only answer I have is that I have no idea what happened.
And automatically, I’d be a suspect. I have no alibi. I only remember driving last night. It was raining.
“Five. Four—”
“—I’m coming!” I sprint from my room, through the kitchen and living room to my front door.
“Three. Two.”
With a deep breath, I swing the door open to stare down three police officers.
“What’s going on, Sheriff?” I ask, yawning. “Sorry, I’m just waking up. Can I put on some coffee for everyone? Morning Waylon. Zig.”
“Detective,” they greet me in unison.
“Coffee sounds great, thanks. I’ve got a few questions for you, Detective.” Jake steps into my house, his boots thudding against the hardwood floors.
“Well, come on in. Sorry it’s so bare in here. I just moved in.” It’s easier to lie than to say this is all I own. I’m not a materialist kind of person, and it’s only me who lives here. I don’t need anything else, so I don’t treat myself with pointless trinkets.
My job is my life. Everything else is secondary.
“Where are all your boxes if you’ve just moved in?” Waylon asks, standing in the middle of the living room. He studies every inch of the bland walls. “And what the fuck happened to your couch?”
“Just waiting for the rest to be delivered,” I lie again, cleaning out the coffee pot and tossing the old grounds away.
“And the couch?” He pushes.
Honestly, I have no clue, but I have to lie. “It’s old. I sat down on it last night and it gave out. I need to get a knew one.”
I don’t like people knowing too much about me. The more they know, the more that can be twisted and used against you. Even though I am enjoying this town and Cove Police Department in the little amount of time that I’ve been here, I keep people at arm’s length wherever I go.
Sheriff Holland takes off his hat, setting it on the coffee table where the case files are spread out.
A flash of a memory has me tripping over my own feet, and I catch myself on the counter.
“Lula, are you okay?” Jake asks, running to my side like the savior he is.
“I’m fine. Sorry. I’m not a morning person. Well, not when it is still dark out. What time is it?” I yawn again, my eyes burning for me to go back to sleep.
I dropped those case files in the rain. They were soaked. How the hell did they get in my house, spread out on the table?
“It’s around four in the morning,” he answers.
He drags one of the dining room chairs out from under the table and takes a seat. Waylon and Zig make themselves at home too, joining Jake around the table. Zig gives me a sad, forced grin while Waylon has his arms crossed, staring at me with narrowed eyes.
Setting mugs down in front of each of them, I fill their cups with steaming hot black coffee.
I always keep extra mugs in another cabinet just in case I have company, but I usually keep what I use separate since I don’t have many guests over.
My new coworkers have already worn out their welcome, and they have no idea.
I fill my mug last, , take a seat, and cross my legs before taking a much-needed sip of the bitter brew.
“Okay, Jake. Come on. What’s going on? I’m not liking how secretive this is. I have work to do.”
“There’s no easy way to say this, Lula, but we found your car at the end of the road in an accident.”
I sit my mug down, folding my hands under my chin, then rub my palms up and down my face. “That’s impossible. That can’t be my car. I’m here. I’m home. I’m unharmed.”
Jake leans forward, his eyes taking on a stern shine. “There’s a dead body. Another car was in the middle of the road, and the man’s spine was ripped from his body.”
“Oh my god, that’s terrible.” I cover my face with my hands, knowing I’m not going to get out of this since there’s a dead body in question. I’m going to have to give them answers if I want to clear myself from the suspect list.
Dropping my hands, I notice all three men are staring at me. I rear back, knowing exactly what they are thinking.
“You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with that man’s murder?
I can’t rip a spine out of someone, Jake!
That’s impossible. Do you know how much strength that would take?
I’m flattered you think I’m strong enough to do that.
” I stand, the chair grinding against the floor, and slap my hands on the table.
“But don’t you fucking dare come into my home and question my integrity. On my badge, I did not kill that man.”
Jake shakes his head, then points to my chair. “Sit down, Detective. I don’t think you’re a cold-blooded killer, but your car is at the crime scene. I need an explanation.”
I plop down in the chair, knowing exactly how a suspect feels now when they are the ones being questioned. Zig pats me on the shoulder to comfort me, but something about his touch has me leaning away from him. My entire body felt disgusted by the friendly gesture.
That’s new.
“I don’t know,” I reply in an ashamed whisper.
“I really don’t know. I remember driving home last night in the rain and swerving to miss something or someone standing in the road.
Oh…” I cover my mouth in realization, my hand shaking from the truth.
“Jake, did I hit him? Is that what happened? I didn’t swerve? Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick.”
I barely reach the sink before I’m gagging, the horror of what I’ve done twisting my gut.
“No! Fuck no, Lula. The victim wasn’t hit by a car. We don’t know what happened, but when we didn’t find you in the vehicle and your house was right here, we figured you might know something.”
“I don’t know, Sheriff. I really have no fucking clue.
” I smash my fist on the table, shaking the mugs so hard, coffee splashes outside the rim.
“I don’t know how I got home. I don’t remember anything from last night until you were knocking on my door.
Maybe someone brought me home? I don’t know.
I’m the suspect, though, right? That’s the only answer.
You’ll need my badge and gun, won’t you? ”
“Not yet, but I need you to think, Lula. Please, what do you remember about last night?” Jake leans in, placing his hand on my arm, and I pull it away, not wanting his touch in the slightest.
For some reason, his touch isn’t the one I want. I crave the touch from last night, whatever it is, whatever it came from, I know that’s the touch that is meant to be mine.