mouth?”
My friend looked back at me and frowned then reached up to smoothed back his hair before shaking his head and muttering, “Jeezus H Christ, white man… Look out folks, he’s baaaacccckkkk…”
The first thing to strike me before we even entered room seven was just that very fact-it was room seven. Different motel, different side of town, but the same room number as the one where Wentworth’s body had been found. Something told me that it was far from a coincidence.
The second thing was the overwhelming odor of watermelon wafting from the doorway. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but given the fact that it was the very same odor that had clouded the Wentworth crime scene, it became hash mark number two on the imaginary tote board of interconnections between the crimes.
My headache had settled somewhat, dropping a notch or so below a blinding migraine. The queasiness was still there as well, but it was manageable. Of course, the sickly-sweet pungency that was already enveloping us wasn’t helping in that arena. I tried to keep my breathing shallow and ignore the smell as best I could, consciously beating down the tickle that would occasionally rise in the back of my throat. Thus far, my coffee was staying put, and that was a good thing.
It had been so long since I’d dealt with such a direct assault from the realm of the dead that I had forgotten just how physically trying it could be. Still, for the moment I was managing to keep myself grounded, and that was the most important thing I could do. As long as I could accomplish that, I felt I could keep the symptoms at bay, and that would at least allow me to function.
I hoped.
“What’s that stench?” Mandalay asked as we stood outside the room, signing in on the crime scene log.
“Fuck me gel,” Ben replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Watermelon flavor accordin’ to the label.”
“There was…” Agent Drew started.
“Yeah,” Ben cut him off. “There was a tube just like it at the Wentworth scene.”
“So that’s why you told Rowan to bring us along?” Mandalay asked, grabbing at the dangled carrot.
“That and a few other things, yeah,” he replied.
“You think the homicides are connected?” Drew asked.
“Let’s just say I’m not rulin’ it out.”
I finished scrawling my name on the log and looked up at my friend. “Watermelons and apples are a far cry from one another, Ben.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” he replied as he offered us each a pair of latex gloves. “There’s an apple in there too. Ya’ can’t fuckin’ miss it.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I returned as I fought to force my hand into one of the rubber sheaths. My palms were sweating and clammy, making it a struggle. I stood there fumbling like a nervous rookie, and I could feel the eyes of the other cops drilling into me. I was beginning to feel like this was all a completely new experience for me-the ethereal connection, the crime scene… Everything. Of course, given the unceremonious return of what some call my “gift,” I suppose in a way it actually was.
I finally managed to get the glove onto my hand and began a similar altercation with the other as I continued my questions, “So, what about the victim? High profile?”
“Not really,” he told me. “Actually, he was a copper.”
I stopped and looked up at my friend’s face. The sharpness of his attitude and the reserved anger in the faces of the officers working the scene suddenly made perfect sense. What I had originally thought to be annoyance directed at me was in fact fury at the loss of one of their own. This wasn’t just another homicide; it was a cop killing.
“Do you know if he had a connection with Wentworth?” Mandalay asked.
“It’s bein’ checked out,” he replied. “But nothin’ obvious says he did.”
“What about the homicide itself?” Agent Drew asked. “Same execution style murder?”
“Jeez, I almost wish it was,” Ben huffed. “Then maybe it’d make more sense.”
“What do you mean?” Mandalay asked.
“Well, it’s…” he stammered then shook his head and replied simply, “You’ll see when ya’ go in. You good, Row?”
I suddenly realized that everyone was still waiting on me to finish struggling into the surgical gloves. I redoubled my effort and managed to get the covering to slip over my hand, albeit not without uncomfortably pinching my skin in several places. “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’m ready.”
I followed my friend up the pair of steps then across the threshold with Mandalay and Drew close behind. As I cleared the doorframe, I automatically looked up and toward the center of the room.
What I saw lying on the bed immediately nullified my previous statement about “being ready.”
CHAPTER 19:
The room was fairly large considering that this was just a small motel, however, that was probably because it was a corner unit. Still, while touting inexpensive lodging, this place was definitely far more upscale than the place where Wentworth had seen his end.
We were barely through the doorway when an explosion of light burst forth from a camera flash unit, illuminating the space like a fleeting bolt of lightning. The brilliance fell in a wide swath across the king-size bed, which was positioned against the far back wall.
In that one hot second, the tableau before us adopted an unearthly contrast. Color blanched for an instant, and the harsh shadows demanded my full attention. In the end I was left with a stark image fading slowly from my retinas. Still, even as the color bled back into the artificially washed out picture, the horrific outline remained indelibly imprinted on my brain, and I knew for a fact that it would inhabit my nightmares for a long time to come.
“Awww, Jeez…” Ben exclaimed. “I thought I asked ya’ ta’ cover ‘im up.”
“We aren’t finished with the pictures yet,” the photographer replied without bothering to look away from the viewfinder.
“Well… Shit… Can ya’… Well just…” my friend stuttered.
The photographer finally pulled the camera away from his eye and regarded Ben with a flat expression. I’d seen him around other crime scenes and knew he was with the CSU, so apparently the need for freelancers had passed. I took a personal comfort in that assumption, especially considering Felicity’s current imbalance between the worlds.
It immediately occurred to me that it was pure luck that she wasn’t here. While in the past she had always been constant, staying unshakably grounded and centered at all times, that had obviously not been the case as of late. In fact, ever since the incident with her friend, she had suffered the same problem that continually plagued me since my first foray to the other side. That being the ability to fully maintain an earthly connection.
While I still fought with the issue myself, I was getting better at overcoming it. She, however, had yet to achieve that goal. Considering that I had already slipped once since we’d arrived, I couldn’t imagine her doing any better.
“You want me to come back later?” the photographer asked.
“Jeez… Marty… Awww, crap, just get finished, will ya’.”
“Okay. Give me about ten minutes, and I can probably have it wrapped up.”
I was hearing the words, but the meanings weren’t fully registering because the bulk of my attention was focused on the centerpiece of this scene. Their banter had simply become background noise as my brain shifted into high gear, trying desperately to wrap itself around the enormity of this unexpected sensory input.
I was already feeling like I had gone into overload as I tried to process the whole of what lay before me in a single pass. I blinked slowly then opened my eyes. Then, I did it again. But even after reopening my eyes the second time, nothing had changed. Out of respect for my sanity, I tried to force myself to focus on a single aspect
