Jasmine pressed a finger into her piece of paper, where she’d written down all the aliases and some dates beside each one. “More Salamander kills line up with increased crime rates in cities all over the map. China, Russia, Turkey, Brazil, Kenya, South Africa, Colombia, Mexico, Arizona, California—”
“Washington,” I murmured.
“They correlate with mob organizations’ rising and falling,” Jasmine said with a nod. “At first, Uncle Vic’s friend thought these events were unrelated, but when he started looking for a Mediterranean couple who could possibly pass as Spaniards—”
“He found a trail,” I assumed.
My sister huffed. “You’ve got to stop stealing my thunder, Charles.”
“The last sighting?” I prompted.
“Olympia,” she said with a pout.
“Hold on,” Vanessa said, setting her laptop aside and standing. “Vic and I have been poring over these pages—virtual and physical—for days. Why didn’t either of us stumble on any of these aliases?”
Jasmine and I shared a baffled look. I guess we hadn’t thought of that.
“It’s a lot of case files,” I said. “We’re all tired. We could’ve missed them…” But it seemed unlikely. My uncle was a first-rate detective and had taught us well. We wouldn’t have missed a connection like this.
“Maybe Interpol didn’t send everything over like we asked?” Jasmine guessed, although her furrowed brow told me she didn’t believe what she was saying. Uncle Vic’s friend had just proven how willing he was to help. There was no way he would’ve withheld this information just to share it with us later.
Vanessa looked around the room, until her gaze settled on the empty doorway leading out into the main floor of the precinct. “Where’s Victor?”
“I made him go back to his place for a shower and a nap,” Jasmine said. “He was dead on his feet. I convinced him we could start fresh in the morning.” Glancing from me to Vanessa, she asked, “What?”
Vanessa didn’t have to say it because I suddenly realized what she was thinking.
Someone must’ve stolen that information. Which meant there was a spy in the precinct.
Jasmine screamed then, clapping both hands over her right eye and falling to her knees. Vanessa whipped out her firearm and looked around for trouble. Before I could wrap my arms around my sister or feel an ounce of panic over what I knew was coming, I blacked out.
I woke up as a sniper, poised on a rooftop, staring intently through a scope at a familiar sedan as it came to a stop at an intersection. My heart acted like a battering ram against my chest. I screamed so loud it felt like I was throwing up nails. Because Uncle Victor was behind the wheel. He was about to be the Salamander’s next victim.
July 29th, 1994
We have traveled all over Africa, trying our best to heal. But we have been met with very little success. We sense Death more often than not. Without meaning to, without seeking her, we seem to keep stumbling upon her short visitations to the dying.
It is so disheartening that when we sought her, we couldn’t find her, and now that we don’t want to find her, she is here constantly at work around us. For over a decade we have sensed her frequently. We do our best to beat her at her task but she’s triumphant far more than we are.
Strangely, the people here do not grow angry at our failures. It appears that these large epidemics in Africa are so powerful that most people are heartbroken more so than angry. Dymeka and I have become so attuned to Death; we’re starting to sense her before she appears. When once we only experienced a quick feeling of déjà vu, now we feel ourselves drawn, like a magnet pulling us to those who will die in a few moments. Then a sharp déjà vu. Then loneliness. Emptiness.
I don’t like these helpless feelings, this emptiness.
Dymeka said yesterday he was depressed. And even though I do not like thinking of myself as truly depressed, I find myself agreeing with him. I don’t know if we should stay much longer. I don’t think I’m helping or healing anyone at this point. But is this enough reason to run away again?
Chapter 37
Esmeralda
My mom was trying on clothes at Macy’s when I got the call.
I smirked and put the phone to my ear. “I’m shopping, Charlie boy. I’ll call you when I get home.”
“Esmer,” he groaned. And then he proceeded to make the worst sounds I’d ever heard. I couldn’t tell if he was throwing up or sobbing or coughing. Maybe all? It was painful and hair-raising, whatever it was.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning forward in the plastic chair. “Are you hurt?” If anyone had laid so much as a finger on him—
“He shot Vic.”
I heard a police siren and scanner in the background as well as an angry woman’s voice.
“There was…so much blood…” He cried some more, noisily wiping the snot from his nose. “Jesus, it was everywhere.”
“Who shot Vic? Where are you?” I asked, gripping the phone with both hands.
“Jasmine doesn’t know if he passed or not. Death wouldn’t tell her. But…there’s no way he could’ve survived.” He was sobbing too hard now. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Something about a salamander and a spy?
It felt like someone was using my throat as a stress ball. The carpet between my feet blurred with the coming of tears.
I was wheezing as hard as he was before long. “Charlie, tell me where you are.” I knew I couldn’t help him. I just had to be there.
My
