nonchalantly turn my head toward the distant room in hopes that I could hide any expression it might involuntarily evoke.
A second later I sighed then turned back to her and said, “I’m sorry. I’ve really kept you long enough, ma’am.”
If she had noticed my slip-up, there was nothing in her face that said as much. She simply pointed to the mail slot in the door and replied, “It’s no problem, hun. You can just drop the key in here when you’re finished.”
“Will do, and thank you very much. Again, I’m sorry I had to disturb you at this hour.” I was doing my best to recover from my stumble and sound official, so I added, “Now, make sure you lock the door behind you.”
She simply nodded in reply, but I waited until she was back inside and I heard the click of the deadbolt before I turned and headed toward the room.
“Dammit! Stupid. Stupid.” I muttered the admonishment to myself as I walked.
Concerned that I might need to simply veer toward my car instead of continuing on with this insanity, I cast a furtive glance back over my shoulder. Fortunately, I didn’t notice anything unusual, such as her spying on me from the window, so I mutely worked at convincing myself she was half asleep and had completely missed the gaffe.
It didn’t take me very long to cover the distance between the office and the far corner of the building, and though I made it a point to walk at a modest pace, my heart was thumping hard against my ribcage by the time I arrived at the door.
I stood there for a minute, simply inspecting the surroundings. The physical characteristics of the building made room 7 an obvious choice even over and above Miranda’s penchant for the number. The way this particular end of the structure terminated, there was an open stairwell leading up to the second story of the addition. That dead space would have acted as a sound barrier to dull any errant cries from her victim. Still, there was a room on the opposite side of this one and, given the limited availability of lodging in the city lately, it almost had to have been occupied by someone. Had that been the case, surely the guest would have heard something.
I gave my head a small shake then reached up and massaged my temples. I was tired, I had a headache, and I had just lied my way into a crime scene. My brain was launching into rampant speculation while ignoring the facts. It remained that a murder had occurred in room 7, and no one had reported anything suspicious, so I needed to stop over thinking the situation and just do what I came here to do.
Glancing back toward the office, I still didn’t see anything to raise any alarms. Turning in place, I saw nothing on the parking lot to worry me either. Giving up and deciding I must be in the clear, I stuck the key into the lock.
The moment metal touched metal, I felt the chill on my spine once again. This one, however, was just like the first, carrying with it not fear but a feeling of excitement. As sick as it seemed, the sense of elation literally felt like the passionate rush of anticipated sexual release, and it coursed through me, branching out to touch every nerve. At that instant, there was no doubt in my mind that Annalise and Miranda had been here.
I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and then let it back out slowly as I struggled to ground myself, mentally fighting to maintain a solid earthly connection and not allow the cries of the dead to drag me across the veil. Then, opening my eyes once again, I twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open, tearing the tape seal between it and the jamb in the process.
Ducking beneath the yellow crime scene tape, I stepped into her world.
CHAPTER 5:
I froze in place, an involuntary physical pause brought about purely by things felt, rather than seen.
I had only taken a single step across the threshold and then come back upright before hitting the invisible wall. Now, as I stood there motionless, the incandescent bulbs in the walkway overhang were spilling illumination inward through the open door at my back. The light edged in past my form, revealing random bits of the room in narrow swaths, making it appear far more eerie than I suppose it would have under less horrific circumstances. Of course, it didn’t help that my own distorted shadow fell along the floor down the center of the oblique display and then disappeared into the otherwise blue-black darkness, adding an urgent sense of foreboding to the overall picture.
Of everything permeating the unmoving air, to me, sex was the most palpable. But, it wasn’t the same stale funk of peddled intercourse and spent prophylactics that oozed throughout my lodging back at the Airline Courts. In fact, sweet watermelon, cigarette smoke, and what might have been a hint of burnt flesh were actually what formed the base of the obvious olfactory signature here. However, raw, uninhibited sex was definitely the high note, and in that way, it rose above everything else.
Simply being the accent, however, wasn’t good enough for it where I was concerned. It hit me hard and didn’t let up. Even at a week old, the assaulting pheromones seemed fresh enough to have been released into the atmosphere only a moment before. Unfortunately for me, my awareness of things ethereal served only to amplify their effects several fold, and no amount of grounding could stop them.
But, even then it went deeper still. Intertwined with the base physicality were two very distinct emotions- love and fear. And, even given the opposite natures of the two, it was obvious to me that they were not mutually exclusive. Though starkly different, the feelings wrapped around one another and then wove themselves tightly into the sex itself. On the surface, they seemed symbiotic, feeding on one another in an endlessly growing spiral of depravity.
I blinked hard in the darkness then forced myself to relax and simply observe. I didn’t know how long I would be able to actually accomplish that feat, but for now it worked, and that was enough to allow me to move once again. Taking a pair of steps farther inward, I twisted in place, carefully shut the door, and then flipped on the light switch before turning back to scan the interior.
It looked much as I had imagined it would. Cheap paneling covered the walls, leading upward from dark institutional grade carpeting and ending at an off-white acoustically textured ceiling. A single light fixture clung to the center of that light-colored plane, spreading luminance downward from a pair of medium wattage bulbs.
A full bed all but dominated the narrow room, jutting out from the wall to my left. It had already been stripped of linens, but the vinyl mattress cover showed several rusted smears of varying size and shape that I suspected were the product of blood that had soaked through the sheets. Along the wall to my right was a low dresser with a television perched on its marred top.
Also to the right of center, on the back wall was a doorway leading into a small room housing a vanity-style sink and dressing mirror; left of that, on the perpendicular wall I could see what was most likely the door to the shower and toilet. Oddly, in the far left corner of the main room, a table lamp and telephone sat on the floor between two outdated chairs. A small, round table that looked like it might have originally made a home beneath them was sidled up close to the head of the bed.
I stepped slowly through the space, negotiating the tight area between the foot of the mattress and the short bureau. All the while I was fighting against feelings of arousal. Under different circumstances I am sure I would have considered it a pleasant sensation, but at the moment it seemed sick and twisted. It kept hammering at me, gaining ground with each shuffling step I took.
I paused again and took a deep breath, focusing instead on the pounding headache I’d been trying so hard to forget. The pain wasn’t exactly what I would call welcome, but it was preferable to the sickening idea of being turned on by what had happened here, and that was the ethereal sensation I needed to deny.
Extreme arousal was almost too mild a description for the feeling that had been coming over me as I stood out on the walkway, and now that I was directly exposed to the scene, the excitation was taking over. Though I was alone and had no need to speak, what little of my rational self that remained wanted desperately to put what I was feeling into words. However, try as I might, nouns, adjectives and any other modifier for that matter had become all but meaningless. I could think of no way to accurately convey the sensation with simple syllables. Even the verbal theatrics of an adult film didn’t seem as though they would do it justice.
I had felt something very similar to this at the crime scenes in Saint Louis and had thought it close to overwhelming then. I had even experienced it all first hand the night Felicity had tried to kill me while under Miranda’s control. However, each of those instances was merely a faint hint in comparison to now.
