Chapter Nine
I’m starting to wonder if bad energy follows me everywhere I go.
It doesn’t matter where I move, what I do, or what job I take. Horrible things always happen, and I can’t escape them. They all have the same thing in common.
Monsters.
I know not all creatures are bad, just like I know all humans aren’t bad.
There is a part of me that hates that I can see them for what they really are.
It’s damned me in a way. I view the world so differently than others.
They don’t know what truly exists, what hides in plain sight, in light, in dark; creatures beyond the imagination live among us.
It’s a well-kept secret—these creatures.
My mamita taught me everything I know about them. It’s not much, but I know that creatures can disguise themselves either with their own abilities or magic of some type from a witch.
The monsters who want to exist in peace usually hide themselves, but of course, there are the ones who keep themselves a secret for nefarious reasons. Ones who show themselves to the world without any type of protection do not want to coexist.
They want to rule.
I rub my eyes when my vision becomes blurry from staring at these case files. Leaning against the broken couch, I stare up at the ceiling as the light from the TV changes from bright to dark with every passing scene in the movie that’s on.
The brief thought of calling my mamita again to get more answers crosses my mind. She seems to know everything about everything, but the more I think about it, the more I know she would only be repeating herself from my past experiences.
Until I have more information to give her, I’m on my own trying to figure out what the hell is happening in this town.
Sighing, I stand from the floor and stare at my detective’s badge on the table next to the files, second-guessing if I made the right choice coming to this sleepy town that isn’t as asleep as I thought.
Heading to the fridge, I swing the door open, still wondering how someone filled it with groceries without my knowledge. I should be more concerned for my safety. A stranger broke into my home and filled my fridge and freezer full of food.
I have much bigger things to worry about, which is why I don’t fucking care. If someone wants to test me, I have a nine-millimeter that I’m happy to pull the trigger on.
Snagging a beer from the fridge, I slam the top down on the edge of the counter, ripping the cap off. It clatters somewhere, the metal rolling across the floor until it hits the wall.
In my tired, uncaring mood, I leave it. Let it stay there forever for all I care.
Taking a long swig of beer, I stroll to the couch again, spreading out the files on the table.
My phone rings…from…somewhere.
“Where the hell did I put that thing? Hay, Dios mío.” I hear it vibrate, and I check between the cushions of the couch before finally grabbing it.
It’s Zig.
“Hey, Zig. What’s up? Do you guys need me? Am I finally not benched?”
“‘fraid not,” he says, the hush of rain a whisper wherever he is.
I frown, not liking that. “I’m not the reason why these people are dying, Zig. I didn’t bring this here. This didn’t happen in New York. I swear. You can call—”
“—Sanchez. Cool it. Take a breather. I’m only calling to keep you in the loop. We found three bodies in the Wayward Forest.”
I sit up, snagging my badge off the counter. “What? I’m on my way. Send me the location, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You can’t come here. The sheriff doesn’t know I’m calling you. I agree with Jake. For your safety, you have to be home tonight. Jenkins is parked outside your house as well.”
“Oh, come on, Zig. No offense to Jenkins, he’s a great guy, but you know I can protect myself more than he can protect a fly.”
“I know, but he was the only officer available for surveillance tonight. He’s a good cop.”
I flop back down on the couch, bored out of my mind. “Well, why did you call me, then?”
“You know those files you took?”
Unease rises in my chest, and I sit up. “What about them?”
“I think one of them is here. First name, Greta? I hope I’m wrong.”
Falling to the floor, my knees ache from the hard thud as I scatter the files around to see who is who.
I gasp, snagging her photo from the silver clip. “I have it,” I answer in shock, staring at a beautiful young woman who can’t be more than thirty years old.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there. Talking to the wife.” His voice is muffled, his words sounding distant. He probably has the cellphone pressed to his chest, so I can’t hear.
“Sorry about that. I’m back,” he says.
“You’re a horrible liar, Zig. The town is small. Everyone knows you don’t have a wife.”
“I panic when I’m caught doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. Like talking to you.”
I snicker, loving that Zig is a cop for the perfect reasons. He’s over six feet, muscular, and is afraid of being caught when he is the authority.
“I think one of two things is happening, Sanchez. One, someone knows this group of people and is taking them out one by one. Two, this person knows you’re looking into these case files and is doing this for you.”
I pause drinking my beer. “For me?”
“Yeah, maybe he thinks he is doing you a favor. I don’t know, but as the detective, I thought you needed to know the information. I think it’s time to build your own case against the person who is killing your suspects, but don’t tell the sheriff I told you.”
“Zig. You’re a cop telling another cop information pertaining to a case I’m allowed information on. I’m just not allowed to leave the house,” I remind him.
“Right. I know that. I’m making sure you know that. I got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait! Wait, Zig,” I try to stop him from hanging up the phone.
“Yeah?”
“How did she die?”
“I don’t know. It’s like she was burned from the inside out, but that’s impossible, right? The deaths in this town are getting weirder by the day. The weirder thing is her bones are missing. We only know who she is due to the other two bodies we found. What’s left of her…it’s pretty gruesome.”
“Send me the crime scene photos,” I mumble, getting lost in thought. “I’ll text you. Later, Zig.”
“Later.”
I toss my phone onto the couch, thinking about the victims lately. They have nothing in common except the fact that they are criminals. Other than that, they have nothing tying them together for the suspect to kill them like he is.
Opening the coffee table drawer, I grab the tape and hang Greta’s photo on the wall. I scribble on a Post-it with how she died.
“Burned to death,” I whisper as I write it out, then stick it to her photo.
Next, we have the taxidermist, who, according to the forensic pathologist, was eaten alive by beetles.
I place his photo next to Greta’s, writing down his cause of death. While he isn’t directly connected to Greta or Fireopal, his business was next to the park that Fireopal lived near, and where her body and a few others were found.
Taping Fireopal’s picture in sequential order of death next to the taxidermist, I put her cause of death as a question mark. Parts of her body were flattened, while bones stuck out of her skin.
Who would be next?
I stare at the last three photos on the table, debating which order the killer is going in. He isn’t going by age, or height, or hair color.
My eyes round when a thought occurs. It’s impossible.
“No jodas!” There’s no fucking way this person was able to get into my house without me knowing, but I think he is killing in order of how he saw the files laid out on my coffee table.
“No, there’s…there’s no…” My thought trails off when the reality hits me like a cold bucket of ice water on a freezing day.
Someone broke into my house. Studied these files. Broke my fucking bed somehow, which really pisses me off because my mattress is on the floor now, and wrote on my bathroom mirror.
And let’s not forget my fucking fridge being stocked and my couch broken.
Who the hell is this guy? A murderer with a conscious who takes care of me? Maybe he is feeding me before killing me.
I gasp again.
What if he is trying to eat me?
I press my palms against my forehead and take a deep breath. “You sound like Zig. Everything is fine. If this person wanted to kill you, they would have by now.”
I double-check the lock on the front door and windows before running to the back.
Locked.
So are the windows.
I haven’t had time to install a security system yet since I am new to town. That will have to change. I’ll have to ask to see who can do that for me.
I check all the bedrooms that I don’t use. They are all fine except the room closest to mine.
I stand in the doorway, shivering from the cold draft drifting in through the open window. The original frayed curtains sway and dance. Leaves trickle in, sliding onto the hardwood floor as if this is a ballet and I’m the spectator.
Roots have made their way through the window, veining across the wall, overtaking the ceiling with their long twig fingers, with small dark blue berries growing amongst the lengths.
“Qué carajo?”I whisper harshly to the empty room, wondering what the fuck is happening in my house.
Gripping the window, I push it down just as another cool breeze brushes my cheek, carrying a song that I’ve been hearing all day.
“Lula-lala-la-la-laa.”
What was that?
“Hello?” I peek my head out of the window, my curiosity getting the best of me. “Is someone there?” Glancing left and right, all I see is pitch black night.
The darkened shapes of the tree line come to life, playing tricks on my mind like a ventriloquist tugging the string to cause the shadows to move.
“Nothing is there,” I say to myself, swallowing the lump of unease building in my throat.
An owl hoots in the distance, a lonesome, eerie note carrying across the yard. A creak coming from the side of the house makes me peer to the left, another trick causing me to see what clearly isn’t there.