21 June 2012
“I have seen unspeakable things in my life,” I whispered, my voice shaky, breathless, “but this tops the list.” The tiny radio in my ear cackled to life as Zimmerman answered me, his voice low, a hoarse whisper, afraid to give away my position.
“Just hang tight Jamie, back-up is on its way. Don’t do anything brave.” He went quiet, and I had a fleeting moment to wonder where he was, and how fast he could get here if something went wrong.
I gripped my pistol with both hands, pointing it towards the ceiling as I inched down the hall, my back plastered flat against the wall so I could glance both ways as I slowly, one step at a time, made my way towards the dim light at the end.
The door was ajar, spilling just enough light across the floor to illuminate the blood. The carpet beneath me squelched as I set my foot down and I froze, tensed, straining to hear something, anything. I glanced back the way I’d come, searching the darkness for any sign of movement.
There was none. Everything was still, even the air hung thick and heavy, hard to breath, and laced with the coppery scent of blood and something more. It had that meaty taste that you got when you opened a package of fresh hamburger. Only it wasn’t hamburger. It was the scent that came from bodies. Bodies that had been so butchered, so torn apart, that all that was really left was a pile of meat.
I flicked my gaze back towards the end of the hall and took another step, willing myself not to make a sound even as the carpet squelched again, and I couldn’t help but glance at the floor.
The carpet was dark with blood, and uneven with chunks of other things. My breath came out in a sharp hiss and I ripped my gaze away from the floor, my mind not wanting to process what those chunks could be even as the truth was apparent.
I’d chased serial killers before, hunted them, and gotten into their heads. It was a grisly job, mind numbing. I’d hunted the worst of the worst, or so I’d thought, until this case had slid across my desk.
Serial killers had patterns; they had a style, a signature. Hell, they had a preference of victims, an M.O.
But not this one, this one had killed men, women, children, and families. There was no pattern to it. None of the victims had anything in common, other than being human. Some bodies had been found intact, their throats cut and blood drained.
They had been the lucky ones. The other victims had been torn apart and butchered. Bits and pieces of their bodies scattered across the city, literally.
An arm found in the suburbs, a part of a leg found outside an uptown pub.
The only ‘evidence’ we’d found at any crime scene were two sets of teeth marks. A human set, and an animal set that had been identified as k-nine. But that was as far as we’d gotten.
A month earlier I’d been planning a vacation, and a rotation out of the homicide department. “One more case,” I’d said.
I looked down at the remnants of my case, a cold trickle of sweat sliding down the curve of my spine and making me shiver as I inched closer to that open door.
Somewhere in the distance I could faintly hear the wails of sirens, and wondered if they’d get here in time. In time to stop whatever was in that room. I’d stopped thinking of it as a ‘he’ or ‘she’, because whatever it was had no humanity.
I took another step, only a few feet away from that open door, and stepped on something thick. I closed my eyes, gripping the butt of my gun so hard I thought my fingers would crack, and gingerly moved my foot, praying my next step found blood soaked carpet rather than carnage filled.
It did. I let out a breath and opened my eyes in time to see a shadow pass across the door. Something big, and heavy shuffled across the floor, and I could almost feel those vibrations through the floor beneath me, creeping up my legs and body until I shivered.
I was so close now, I could see inside the room.
The sirens were getting louder, and my radio suddenly cackled in my ear. I jumped so bad my head hit the wall, and I fumbled left handed to shut off the radio at my belt and froze, my eyes on the room before me.
I could see the window, the nighttime breeze gently blowing at the sheer white drapes. Sheer white drapes that were splattered with blood so bright it looked like bright red paint.
There was a thump. A deep exhale, like an animal breathing through long, spittle covered teeth, and something meaty hit the ground with a squish. I took another step, a little closer and could see, just barely, a piece of whatever had hit the floor.
I stood rooted to the spot, still plastered against the wall as I looked at that lump on the floor. Bright red, covered in thicker chunkier things, speckles of white that I knew had to be bone. But the more I looked, the less my mind made of it.
It jerked, and slid out of sight so fast I nearly fainted, and would have, if the sickening elastic like sound hadn’t suddenly assaulted my ears, as whatever it had been was now being torn apart, piece by piece.
I took one more step, one more and I could see into the room fully while remaining in the shadow of the hall.
Something hot hit the back of my neck, an exhale of air that brought with it a deep rumble, a growl that slide down my neck before something sharp touched the top of my spine.
Shiver • Opuss № I