Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation (24 page)

“Will you need to touch the body?” she asked.

“That’s hard to say,” I shrugged. “But, yes, it
could happen.”

She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and
withdrew another set of gloves. “Then you’d better put these
on.”

“I might need skin to skin contact for what I
do.”

“Even so, I’m going to have to insist that you put
them on.”

Rather than argue the point, I accepted the gloves
and complied, stretching the latex over my chilled skin with much
less expert dexterity than she had earlier displayed.

We stood to the side in a loose semicircle as Doctor
Sanders took hold of the handle that was formed into the end of the
metal drawer. Before she could start to pull, however, Felicity
spoke up.

“Aye, just a second.” Without offering a single word
of explanation, my wife reached into her jacket then withdrew a
handful of the salt packets Ben had given her, which she then
stuffed into my pocket. Once she was finished with that task, she
took my left hand into hers and stripped off the latex glove. “I’ll
watch after this one, then,” she told the doctor as she interlaced
her fingers with mine and tightly locked her grasp. Then she nodded
and said, “Go ahead.”

“Whoa…” Ben interrupted. “Just a sec… That’s just
the salt. Don’tcha need to dance around and say a poem or
something?”

My wife shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?” he pressed. “Isn’t that what ya’ did last
time? I know it’s been a few years but, remember? Didn’t you do
that thing where…”

My wife cut him off with her sharp appeal. “Let me
worry about the WitchCraft, then. Okay?”

“Jeez, yeah, okay,” he surrendered. “I’m just makin’
sure.”

“And your concern is appreciated,” I told him.

“Aye, it is,” Felicity added, her tone somewhat
softer. “But this situation is different. Trust me.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re the Witches,” he said with a
shrug. “Go ahead, Doc.”

A few seconds later, the full suspension drawer came
outward with a metallic rattle as the doctor held tight and slowly
stepped backward. Underscoring the louder noise was the soft
ball-bearing hiss of the rollers beneath. The combination of the
sharp and dull sounds joined together in a disharmonious clatter
that tried its best to glance from the tile walls but was quickly
swallowed by the chilled air as if it had never existed.

Emily Foster’s corpse lay naked and prone in the
shallow, tray-like drawer before us. Her skin was pallid in a way I
had never recalled seeing in the past. The hooked loops of the
sutures that stitched her torso shut formed stark dotted lines
along the oversized Y incision. Subcutaneous ink outlined a
stylized black swan tattoo on her upper arm that stood out like a
surreal cartoon against the ashen color of her cold flesh. Dark
hair framed her expressionless face, supplying yet another harsh
contrast for the overall comparison.

Corpses were always pale. I’d seen more than my
share of them, so I knew that. Still, there was something peculiar
about Emily Foster’s ghostly complexion. After a long moment of
staring, it dawned on me that she was missing the normal markings
of lividity I had grown accustomed to seeing on dead bodies—the
dark postmortem “stains” left where blood would begin to pool in
response to gravity soon after the heart stopped beating. Of
course, since she was all but devoid of blood, it only stood to
reason they wouldn’t be prevalent.

“You okay, Row?” Ben asked.

“Yeah…” I replied. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Felicity gripped my hand tighter, and I gave her a
quick glance. Whether or not I succeeded in reassuring her I
couldn’t really tell.

“Okay, Doc. Give us the rundown,” Ben
instructed.

Doctor Sanders stepped around to the far side of the
drawer then drew her index finger along an impression in the dead
woman’s ultra-pale flesh. “As you can see there are obvious
ligature marks around her ankles.” The medical examiner traced her
finger farther down the top of the foot, continuing her recitation.
“They bear across the lower ankle and upper foot at an inward
slant, continuing into the arch. The depth and angle of the
indentations would seem to indicate significant additional stress
being applied to whatever was used as a binding. There are also
both antemortem and postmortem abrasions as you would expect.”

An eerie sort of calm had settled over me
immediately after the body had been rolled into view. While I still
had the makings of a headache taking random shots at the back of my
skull, they were nowhere near the intensity to which I had become
used to coping with at times like this. Over the years,
excruciating pain and deafening screams had become the norms
associated with my curse, especially whenever in close proximity to
a victim. But, for some reason, such was not the case today.

I certainly didn’t want for either of those plagues
to befall me again. However, the fact that they were strangely AWOL
had me more than just a bit unsettled. I actually began to wonder
if I had finally been granted my wish to be rid of this bane. But,
if that was the case, even I had to admit the universe had
certainly picked an inopportune time to smile upon me.

Doctor Sanders continued, moving up along the body
as she spoke. “Examination showed no evidence of vaginal or anal
tearing, and the rape kit came back negative. In fact there was no
evidence whatsoever of sexual activity either consensual or
non-consensual.”

“That’s because this wasn’t about sex,” I
blurted.

“You gettin’ somethin’?” Ben asked, perking up at my
sudden pronouncement.

“I’m not really sure.”

“Whaddaya mean you’re not sure? Either ya’ are or
ya’ aren’t.”

“You know better than that,” I explained. “Things
don’t seem to be happening for me like they usually do, but I just
know this wasn’t about sex.”

“Do ya’ know, like hinky
hocus-pocus
know
,
or are ya’ just speculatin’?”

“All I can say is that my gut feeling is the killer
had no sexual interest in the victims.”

“Well, for the record the Feebs disagree with ya’ on
that.” Ben pulled out his small notebook and thumbed through the
pages. “They think our bad guy has…yeah, here it is… Haematophilia,
which means blood gets him off.”

“Well, I think they’re wrong,” I said.

“Ya’know, just because there’s no evidence of rape
doesn’t mean the guy didn’t…you know…”

“Masturbate?” Doctor Sanders offered to fill in the
expanding void where Ben had gone quiet.

“Yeah, that,” he returned.

“Why are you always so squeamish about sexual acts?”
she asked.

“I’m not… It just ain’t polite ta’ talk about it in
mixed company.”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Yeah, you’re female too. Like I said, mixed
company.”

“Come on, Storm… You can be just plain crass at
times. Even when women are around you’ll toss the word ‘fuck’ out
there like it’s from a grade school vocabulary test, but you’re
getting antsy when it comes to talking about sex?”

“That’s different.”

She shook her head. “You’re an enigma.”

“What can I say?”

“Well, I still say the FBI is wrong,” I announced,
trying to bring the conversation back on track. “This wasn’t about
sex, including autoeroticism.”

Ben looked over at me and said, “Okay.”
Unfortunately, he didn’t sound as if he was convinced.

I cast a sideways glance in his direction. “Why do I
get the feeling you’re just humoring me?”

“Sorry, Row.” He shrugged again then shook his head.
“Don’t mean it that way… I guess I’m just used to a bit more of a
dramatic presentation from ya’.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Well, since I got ya’ both here how ‘bout a second
opinion?” my friend asked, aiming his gaze at my wife. “Whadda you
think, Firehair? The killer sexually motivated or no?”

“I’m concentrating on something else at the moment,”
she replied, her voice flat and distant.

“What?”

“In your words, keeping my sorry ass safe,” I
answered for her. “She’s grounding me.”

“Well see there?” Ben made a sweeping gesture at the
two of us. “Maybe that’s the problem with your ghost radar or
whatever. She’s doin’ too good a job and shortin’ you out or
somethin’.”

“I didn’t know there was a problem.”

“Well, ya’know… You don’t seem to be goin’ ta’ la-la
land and all…”

“So you’re saying that unless I go into a trance or
try to swallow my own tongue I’m not credible?”

“I’m not sayin’ that,” he grumbled. “It’s just…
Well, you know what I’m talkin’ about…”

“Unfortunately, yes, I do,” I replied. “Would it
help if I told you I have a headache?”

“Maybe. Do ya’?”

“Yes.”

“But is it…”

“The
Twilight Zone
kind? Yes.”

“See… Yeah… That does help a bit.”

“Good, I’m glad.” I tried hard to keep the sarcasm
out of my voice, but I knew some of it had to have leaked
through.

“If the two of you are finished, shall I continue?”
Doctor Sanders asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” I replied.

“Superficial ligature marks on the wrists indicate
her hands were bound at some point prior to death,” she began her
recitation anew. “There are several healed scars on both arms that
appear to have been inflicted by something small and sharp, such as
a razor blade, but the most recent of them is at least several
months old. There is, however, a more recent needle puncture in the
left arm. From the level of bruising, it occurred probably one to
two days before her death. We’re testing the surrounding adipose
tissue for any trace of drugs which may have been injected.”

Taking a pair of steps toward the end of the drawer,
she rolled Emily Foster’s head to the side and held it in place
while she used the index finger of her other hand to point out a
ragged trauma on her neck. “Now, as I said earlier, the mode of
death was desanguination. Everything points to her having bled out
from this wound on her neck.” She moved her finger around to
indicate an anomaly straddling the gash. “Notice the indentations
here and here. We were able to take an impression, and even though
it is only partial, what we have is definitely a bite wound. The
profile appears to be human, although due to the degree of tearing,
we weren’t able to get much more than the upper incisors and the
right cuspid. However, the depth of the impression showed that the
cuspid is markedly elongated.”

“You mean long like a vampire fang?” Ben asked.

“Yes, like a fang,” she replied. “But I really
wouldn’t say ‘vampire’ since there is no such thing.”

“Yeah, I know, Doc,” he said. “What I mean is like
the fruitloops who think they’re vampires.”

“Well, I suppose,” she assented with a nod. “Since
the bite is in fact human, it’s possible the subject might have a
removable prosthesis, or even a cosmetic dental veneer. But, I’m
afraid that unless you find someone we can match up with a dental
record it may be moot. Unfortunately, no saliva was detected, even
deep into the wound itself, so we aren’t getting any DNA to run
against the database.

“Also of note, the lack of bruising would seem to
indicate that the bite was made postmortem. We’re checking for free
histamine levels in the surrounding tissues to verify that.” Doctor
Sanders looked up and pointed across the room with her free hand.
“Storm, do me a favor. There’s a magnifying glass on the table over
there, I need it.”

Ben strode over to the table and searched for a
moment before returning with the instrument.

Doctor Sanders paused and adjusted the woman’s head
to bring more light onto the wound then carefully held a flap of
sagging flesh in place with her finger. Holding the lens over the
area, she began speaking again, “We’ve actually excised a sample
here, but if you look closely you can see that the bite rips
through the external jugular vein, which is the point where she
bled out.”

I leaned in to look through the magnifier, but not
being versed in vascular anatomy, all I really saw was a jagged
gash in a dead woman’s neck. I kept staring, but apparently the
angle at which I was leaning was starting to affect my balance
because a nasty wave of vertigo was causing my head to swim. That
being the case, I decided I should just step back and rely on
Doctor Sanders to explain.

“Okay, just a sec…” Ben interjected. “She bled ta’
death so that would make all kinds of sense, but you also just said
you think the bite came after she was already dead. So how does
that work?”

“I’m coming to that,” Doctor Sanders replied. “The
sample and vein section we excised bore indications of a large
gauge needle puncture.”

“So the killer drained ‘er with a needle?”

“Most likely a catheter and IV tubing, but yes.”

“Sonofabitch,” Ben muttered then let out a
thoughtful sigh.

Doctor Sanders voice floated into my ears with a
questioning note firmly attached. “Mister Gant?”

A handful of seconds later Ben’s echoing words
followed. “Hey, Row… You’re pretty quiet over there. You gettin’
somethin’?”

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to answer him. He was,
however, about to get his earlier wish for the dramatic.

The onset of the vertigo should have been my first
clue that something wasn’t right. Unfortunately, I had allowed
myself to be lulled into a false sense of security by the almost
complete lack of usual warning signs leading up to it. Therefore,
by the time I had actually backed away from Emily Foster’s corpse,
it was too late. Of course, since I knew this moment was really
just another step in an already runaway supernatural process, I was
also painfully aware that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
Truth be told it was already too late the day I awoke with the
inexplicable pain in the side of my neck.