The Angel Murders Part III

“Bad day, babe?” Allison Purdue took her wife’s coat and handed her a cold beer.

“You’re a lifesaver.”  She said, taking the beer and killing half of it in one swallow.  “Not so much a bad day as the culmination of a month’s worth of bad days.”

“Lacy, you need to take a break.”  Allison said, “Come on, I made your favorite extra spicy enchiladas.  You can tell me all about it.”

‘Yeah, tell her all about it!’ Nebecenezer chimed in cheerfully, ‘She needs to know all your crazy theories!’

“I can’t tell you about it.” Lacy Purdue said with a long-suffering sigh, “It’s still under investigation.”

Allison guided her to a chair and put a plate of food in front of her.  “You don’t have to tell me anything specific, just let me know what’s bothering you the most.”

Lacy took a bite of food and let out a moan of pleasure, “You are a Goddess in the kitchen.  OK, I’m almost certain that the thing killing people in my latest case isn’t human.”

“I know it’s normal to think of your enemies as different from you.” Allison said, “Why do you say they aren’t human?”

“I realized the only thing that tied all the victims together.”  Lacy said, “They were all sinners beyond redemption. Every single one of them had some kind of criminal record that broke biblical law more than seven times.”

“Isn’t that a little thin?” Allison asked, “You’ve never resorted to something as ephemeral as scripture to make a legal argument before.”

“What if the things listed in the Bible were true?”  Lacy asked, “What if there is some kind of divine justice?”

“Don’t you think we’d be the first to suffer from the sword of God?” Alison laughed, “Aren’t we homosexuals supposed to be on the top of the naughty list?”

“Not according to the Ten Commandments or honestly really any bible passage.” Lacy said, “There actually isn’t anything in the bible about lesbians directly.  Even the passages about gay men are more or less understood to be about sexual abuse, not about consensual same-sex love.”

“So give me an example.  I thought the last victim was just a kid.” Alison said, “What could some kid have possibly done to warrant divine retribution?”

“I can’t tell you.”  Lacy said, her face a hard mask, “Not just because it’s part of an ongoing investigation but also because I want you to be able to sleep at night.  It’s bad enough this shit has to live in my head; I’m not going to subject you to it if I can avoid it.”

“Baby, I’ve heard everything under the sun from you by now.”  Alison said with a smile, “Nothing you could say at this point can make things that much worse.”

“He was just a kid.  He’s not that much older than our daughter, Ali.  Can you imagine Reese being a murderer or a rapist?”  Lacy shoved her plate away, only half empty. “This is beyond normal human awfulness.”

‘You would know, wouldn’t you?’ Nebecenezer asked gleefully.

“I hate to see you like this baby.” Alison said, reaching across the table to take her hand, “Why don’t you just take a shower and come to bed?”

“You go first.” Lacy said, “Thank you for dinner, I want to do up the dishes before tuning in.  I hate leaving you with all the housework. It’s only fair I do my share.”

“Come soon, I demand snuggles.  You missed dinner last night, and you have to pay the piper!” Alison said mock-severely, “I love that you want to help out around the house, but I want you to get your rest, and I want to feel your arms around me before I sleep too.”

Lacy kissed her deeply, running a hand down her back.  “I will be in bed soon, I promise.”

The Angel Murders Part I

“Whaddya got for me?” Inspector Purdue ducked under the crime scene tape, lighting a cigarette.  “I was just about to eat dinner, this shit had better be good.”

“Right up your alley Inspector.” The uniform holding the tape said, “Your wife will forgive you.”

She took a deep drag on her smoke and looked at the figure sprawled in the snow.  “The fuck she will. Terese hates it when I don’t eat her home cooking. I hate it too.”

The boy was laying with his hands covering his face, the school uniform marking him as a middle school student from Carson, a prestigious local academy.  Purdue flicked the cherry off her cigarette and tossed the butt into a trash can. She sighed and pulled her phone from her breast pocket.  

“You did right to call me in, Jackson.  This is obviously related.” She began taking pictures of the corpse, and more importantly the outline of wings that projected from the body.  They were drawn in blood, presumably the victim’s blood, although the boy didn’t appear to have any visible wounds.

“Ya think?”  Jackson said, quirking an eyebrow.   “The chief said to bring you in on any of these fucking wing things.  Any chance you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Whenever I figure it out, you’ll be on my goddamn list.” She said, bending to look closely at the body.  “Has anyone touched the corpse?”

“No.  I mean orders have been clear from the top down.   When we see the wing murders we block it off, take photos, and keep our hands to ourselves.”  He said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“As long as you’re sure.”  She said, taking a pair of gloves from her kit and pulling them on. “I don’t want to report something falsely.  We don’t want someone to go down for this who doesn’t deserve it.”

Reaching into the boy’s mouth with a pair of tweezers, she pulled an ancient-looking piece of parchment from under his tongue.  She unfolded it and scrutinized it for a moment before placing it in an evidence bag and sealing it.

“Jackson, get this to the lab.”  She said and waited until he had gone before taking an amulet from around her neck and placing it on the boy’s forehead.  For a few moments, the tiny golden rosebud sat perfectly still, and Purdue was just about to let out a breath of relief when the petals began to quiver and open.

“Shit.”  Purdue rocked back on her heels and took another cigarette from the pack with shaking fingers and watched the flower bloom.  A flutter of motion caught her eye, but when she glanced at it she didn’t see anything moving. “Is this the one?”

She crushed the cigarette out and flicked it at a trash can.  The shaking of her hands made her miss. Cursing, Purdue walked over and plucked the butt from the sidewalk.  A gasp made her spin around. The boy was sitting up with wide staring eyes.

“He. Is. Coming. For. You.”  The blood leaking from the twin holes just beneath each of his shoulder blades connected him to the shimmering outline of the bloody wings gently fanning around his body.  He collapsed sideways, the blood splattering down behind him.

“That’s not very helpful.”  She said, plucking the charm from his forehead,  “You’ve fucked over my crime scene too.”

“I sent that paper off for analysis.” Jackson paused, “What the hell happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  Purdue lit another cigarette, “It doesn’t matter anyway.  Goddamnit, I’m dead anyhow.”

“What?”  He had his gun in his hand in a heartbeat,  “Did you find something on the body? Are you getting threats again?”

“Easy killer.”  She exhaled twin streams of smoke from her nostrils, “Some things you can’t stop with a bullet.  Nobody is gonna kill me today, I’m just embracing the inevitable.”

“So what happened here?”  He demanded, holstering his pistol.

“The demon possessing half my soul awakened this boy’s last breath.  It was supposed to allow him to tell me who killed him or at very least give me valuable information about how to put a stop to it.”  Purdue lit another cigarette from the butt of her current one, “All he told me was that his murderer is coming for me. Hardly the most helpful statement since we don’t know who the FUCK has been doing this.”

“Jesus.”  Jackson shook his head, “If you didn’t want to tell me you could have at least made something halfway believable up.”

“Yeah.”  She shrugged, “Let’s go get some coffee and a doughnut.”

‘Chocolate with bacon sprinkles.’ Nebecenezer demanded.

Waking Fever Dreams at 12:45 in the Morning

Rambling thoughts of a feverish writer at 12:45 in the morning.  Created from real live notes written on a notepad illuminated by cellphone screen, for whatever that’s worth.

~

Wearing pajamas for the first time in thirty years, huddled under every blanket I could steal from the linen closet I absently wondered why I was shivering.  Even though my immune system was flooding my veins with magma in a Scorched Earth campaign against the viral intruders, I could not get warm.

Well, that’s not quite true.  I was warm.  The digital thermometer’s frantic beeping had notified me that my temperature was 103.1 five minutes ago.  I knew I needed to exhume myself from my mountain of wool, felt, and fuzzy acrylic to get more ibuprofen but every time I poked my nose out of my little cave the chill of the seventy-degree air on my skin made me shake uncontrollably.  So I retreated and tried to come up with a better plan.  Nothing useful came to mind.

I stayed curled up, waiting for the shaking to go away from my last fruitless attempt to venture forth and spent those moments cheering on the tiny soldiers who were attempting murder me by boiling my brain in order to eradicate the enemy.  Was my brain aware that it was trying to kill us?  I’m guessing not.  I appreciated the effort anyway.  At least someone was doing something.   I was pretty useless all things considered.  I couldn’t even get out of bed.

Inspiration struck.  I remembered that I had put a pair of socks at the foot of the bed.  Socks make me too warm all the time.  Maybe if I could find those socks with my toes I could get them to my hands and put them on.  Surely that’d allow me to make the twenty-foot super marathon to the medicine cabinet.  I sent my right foot, the one with the most prehensile toes questing about and to my amazement located them easily.  This must be a sign.

After armoring my feet against the chill of the hardwood floor, I finally slithered out of bed and washed down a pair of tablets with a mouthful of cold water.  By the time I managed to get my carcass back beneath the blankets I was shaking uncontrollably, but victory had been achieved.

Within a few minutes, I went from being chilled to the bone to frantically shedding layers.  The drugs had made my brain realize its possibly deadly mistake and instead of shivering it was time to sweat.  Finally, after removing my socks and all the coverings but the flannel sheet I prepared for sleep hoping my legions of faithful defenders would rest and be ready to offer a less violent and self-destructive resistance.

Before I could sleep I reached to the side table where my faithful notepad waited.  Notes from this great battle must be recorded.  For posterity, and so I could share my near delirium with you, my faithful readers.

(Author’s note, I did go to the doctor today and got antibiotics for my fucking bronchitis.)