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“Don’t make me kill you,” he admonished with a shake of his head, “don’t make me, please, I don’t want to, but believe me, if you talk, it will happen.”
“Then what do I do?” she asked as the tears came again.
He gripped his head. “Stop crying!”
“I can’t, I’m terrified.” She glanced through veiled eyes to the overhead orb, so big and bright. She swallowed tears and met his gaze. “How do I protect my family?”
“You can’t,” he said backing up, “but I told you, I will.”
“Why would you do that for me? Wouldn’t it be easier to just wipe me out and end this once and for all?”
He backed farther away, a hand raised as if to shield himself from some unseen force. “I’ll hold to my word, I’ll have men, undetected, watching you night and day.”
“Thank you,” she said as she took a step toward him.
“Stop!” he said with such a commanding tone, that she froze, rooted in place.
“Why?” she asked.
He combed his wet hair with his fingers, and a gasp escaped Donja’s lips as his eyes turned to a luminous gold that shined like a thousand stars.
“Iridescents, my God this can’t be real, not real, not real,” she sobbed.
He turned his chin to the sky and balled his fist as if fighting an internal battle. Finally, with time a blur, he dropped his head and to her horror, she witnessed twin fangs in moonlight, inching from his upper lips. She took a step back, rocking with fear and disbelief.
“Do you see what you’re doing to me?” he growled with a voice that had changed dramatically. “Can you not see the permeant damage of your blood…what you have done to my soul?” He backed away, shivering.
“I’m sorry, but to be honest, I don’t even know what I’ve done.” She took a step forward, all but unaware, hoping to ease the tension.
“Don’t come any closer,” he growled. “I’m begging, for you think that you fear him, but if I snap, it will be me you fear. Now get back while I’m still in control for if you don’t, I’ll take you— all of you, here, in the dirt.”
“This is insanity,” Donja shrieked, swooning. She spun to walk away, but glanced back. He was gone. She turned and ran for the door, slammed it behind her and locked it. Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor. Her tears fell.
Lamb to the Slaughter
Torin tossed and turned atop satin sheets drenched in sweat. A harsh ringing forced a growl and he opened his eyes, escaping a reoccurring nightmare of Anstosa’s death. He lay perfectly still, nude with one arm draped over his forehead. The phone rang again, echoing his head. He rolled over as the red digital numbers on the clock flipped from 3:56 to 3:57 a.m. He grabbed it. “Hello.”
“Mancini, it’s Emily Gerwick, third shift dispatcher from the Michigan Soo. We’ve got another body, a female, dark hair, same m.o., raped with her throat slit.”
Torin flew to the side of the bed, muscles rippling. “Where?” he asked, his heart stampeding.
“Inside a cab. The driver’s missing, but the car, with the girl’s body is down by the river, and from the look of things she’s been there for a day or so. I’ll text the coordinates, but let me warn you, it’s gruesome.”
“But I’m Canadian. I don’t have U.S. privilege. What about Jon Moyle?”
“Moyle’s on vacation and since you’ve already been chasing this psychopath, the chief said to pull you in. He’s already cleared it with the Ontario precinct.”
“All right, sure,” Torin exhaled, relieved that it wasn’t Donja. He cradled the phone, then wiped at his brow with the back of his hand. He stood up, Donja’s scent toying with his mind. His pulse increased, her eyes dancing before him, the curve of her neck luring him to paradise. He growled with his eyes closed tightly, then raised his hands and pressed his palms to his temples. He squeezed, crouched at the knee. “Get out of my head!”
~~~
Clutching the steering wheel, while driving a stretch of highway which paralleled the St. Mary’s River, Torin was blinded as sunlight breached the horizon. He dropped the visor as he lowered his eyes to the GPS, then slowed the Range Rover. Turning sharply off the highway into thick underbrush without the benefit of a road, bushes rattled in the fender wells. He slowly traversed a section of washed out gullies, bypassing a ravine cut deep by rain and other factors. He followed the tire tracks and flattened vegetation, but noticing that the tracks were not continuous, he concluded that the vehicle had left the road, propelled by great speed, bouncing toward the river.
Suddenly, he braked, all but slamming into the cab which had sustained heavy damage. His eyes washed over the crash site, tires blown, the vehicle leaning on one side, the weight supported by gnarled limbs and thick brush which flanked the river. The driver side door was ripped away, with remnants of mangled metal curled and dangling. The back door was wretched and angled toward the front, well past its natural alignment.
He got out, the roar of the rapids resounding. He grimaced, the smell of death wafting in the gentle breeze. A sickly feeling settled in his gut. Hearing voices, he glanced to the river, where a Michigan patrol boat which was tied off, rode the swells. He saw four Michigan Soo officers with their faces concealed by paper masks, climbing the bank toward him.
He didn’t wait, he couldn’t, the call of duty and a promise to protect the innocent surging in his veins. He stepped forward, all but nauseous and neared the cab. He climbed onto the trunk, steadied himself and gazed down into the back seat. His pulse quickened, and though it was nothing new, his stomach churned. He swallowed hard, gazing upon the wretched face, which just two nights ago, was so beautiful and warm, so alive. Her body was nude, twisted unnaturally, her neck shattered with her face gazing over her left shoulder. Her buttocks which were angled up like a buffet table were riddled with deep bites where exposed muscle was visible. He took a breath, the smell of decaying semen, that of an Iridescent, flaring his nostrils. Her throat was cut with a six-inch slash, the predator’s signature. Torin cocked his head to one side visualizing her inner body, where two liters of blood had congealed in her pelvic region. He leaned closer, gripping the outer door and saw three, perhaps more liters of blood which had bled from the neck wound, pooled into black sludge on the opposite back door. Flies swarming the corpse buzzed his face. He swatted them away.