First Born (2 page)

“Thankfully, we were able to reach the maintenance man at this hour and he came out to turn the lights on for us.”

Five minutes later, Tiny walked, sans Powerstriders, through the crime scene. Caldwell noted the unusual scratch marks on the side of the vehicle, the shattered glass of the passenger window, the blood, and strands of silky dark hair clinging to the surface. He stepped back to allow the tech to collect it.

“We already bagged Lily Moore’s purse and torn clothing.” Tiny said.

Caldwell bit the inside of his cheek. This woman could not catch a break. He met her when he was investigating her boyfriend’s death nine months ago. Authorities found Peter Marx dead in his car on a side street about ten blocks west of this location. Marx had injected too much insulin, had a seizure and died. They ruled it accidental, although Ms. Moore had disagreed vehemently.

Tiny’s voice brought him back to the present.

“You talked to the lieutenant?” Tiny asked.

“Yeah, high school kids found twenty-six-year-old Phillip Miller at the base of the goal post and called 9-1-1. Lake said it looked like something straight from the TV series ‘When Animals Attack.’”

Tiny pointed to the ground, a set of bloody prints led past the ticket booths to the open gate of the metal fence. “Never seen anything like it.”

“You’re thinking some kind of animal?” Caldwell asked.

“Or somebody’s in dire need of a pedicure,” quipped Tiny. “You gonna be okay with this.”

“What do ya mean? I’m fine.”

Tiny studied him. “I just know that you talked to her a lot about Marx. Kinda got under your skin.”

“Give me some credit.” Caldwell said.

Tiny shrugged.

On the field, Caldwell squatted to examine strange feathers as one of the techs bagged them. “What the hell?”

Tiny shook his head. “I’m as confused as a cow on astro turf.”

Caldwell rubbed his face.

No sign of her.
He had calls into hospitals, friends, and family. He continued the rest of the morning in auto mode not letting anything trigger an emotional reaction. He drove down Juniper Street as he scanned each house, shrub, tree, and dark corner in search of some sign of Lily Moore. Ernie Gates’s Search and Rescue dogs had already started tracking. Still, guilt rode shotgun. Caldwell wasn’t sure why things were getting to him. Perhaps because his gut had indicated something was off about Peter Marx’s death despite the lack of evidence.

He thought of Lily Moore’s green, almond-shaped eyes and all that blood. It was like being punched in the kidney. Rage kept his nausea in check. He hoped Miller regained consciousness soon so they could talk.

* * *

Lily’s eyes popped open as adrenaline raced through her veins.
How long was I out?
Her mind flashed to the witness at the football field.
I need to go home.
She fled past playground equipment and geese that had bedded down for the night. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the brilliant blue twin fins gleaming atop Symphony Tower, the gothic architecture standing out in Atlanta’s night skyline. Recognition bloomed as she escaped through the stone pillars flanking the Charles Allen entrance to Piedmont Park.

Dehydrated, she stopped several blocks away to drink water from a puddle. She looked again to the night sky surprised by her heightened perception of things. Cicada chirped a mysterious serenade as clouds danced across the face of the moon. She shook her head to focus. A metallic taste permeated her mouth. She ran her tongue over her gums finding the empty socket where her top canine used to be. Suddenly, a familiar scent hit her, drawing her toward home.

After a quick right on to Myrtle Street, she stopped in her tracks while her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Two police cruisers occupied the street in front of her duplex, their blue and white strobe lights spinning. Each turn of the lights sent menacing green-gray shadows to stretch then contract on the front wall of the yellow Victorian home. Lily shivered then held her breath when she saw a lean muscled figure pacing behind an unmarked Ford Taurus.

Detective Caldwell Simms?
Lily crept behind the neighbor’s shrubs to spy on the Atlanta Police detective. She stayed close enough to hear his side of a cell phone conversation.

“Lieutenant, we checked the house. Her brother, Seth, let us in. No sign of her or a struggle here. Her landlady, Mona Sinclair, isn’t answering, although her car is in the driveway.” He stopped his movement as he listened. “Bite marks?”

Detective Simms looked to the lit windows of the house. “You staying there with Miller? Okay, I’ll keep you updated.”

One of the officers on the scene approached him. “Detective Simms, anything?”

“Nothing of significance here. We’ve recovered her purse and torn clothing from the vehicle at the high school. There’s blood all over the outside of the car. Lake’s at Piedmont Hospital with the male victim. He has some strange bites and scratch marks.”

“Some sort of animal get ’em?” asked the officer.

“No idea, but if Moore survived, she’s in bad shape. We’ll continue to check hospitals.”

“I’ll keep patrolling this area. Let you know if I see anything,” said the officer.

“Thanks. I’m going to see about rousing more neighbors.”

Lily must have been unconscious for a while if the police already had been to the high school. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she recognized a scent.
So close.
It was the man from the field. She knew his smell now, a fact she couldn’t explain. Creeping backwards into the neighbor’s hedges, she peered out, scanning the street. Police, some nosy neighbors, but no man in black.

With the police all over her home, she couldn’t hole up inside. No matter how many deep breaths she took, she couldn’t comprehend the night’s events. How would she explain things to the cops? To Detective Simms?

She slunk away and ran the streets until she came to a halt at the end of a long driveway. Instincts drove her toward a home with white columns that seemed to reach toward heaven.

She hesitated. The scene she left behind twisted her thoughts. Her left eye had started to swell shut and throbbed. Confused, she looked around with her right eye. Her surroundings felt familiar, so she continued up a tremendous flight of stairs coming to rest before a storm door. A cacophony of deep barks pierced the night. Every muscle in her body tensed. As suddenly as it had erupted, the dog quieted and stared at Lily with glowing green eyes. It raised its hind leg and began to scratch.

Much better.
Relief washed over her from an itch properly addressed.
Did I just? Nah, I couldn’t have.

But she had. She glanced down at furry paws then back up at her reflection in the glass.
Fur, tail, pink tongue, bum eye.

They say life doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle. Well, they could just stuff it because she was not handling this at all. She finally allowed herself to cry. Phil, the asshole, had drugged her, attacked her, and now she was on some sort of whacked-out trip with no signs of recovering soon.

She was in bad shape. And what of her date?
I hope he’s not dead. Or maybe...it would be better if he were.

The foyer light came on in the house. Its beam spilled onto the porch, dispersing her dark thoughts and suspending her whining. The door opened an inch at a time to reveal a hulking figure in dark silk pajamas.

The man turned toward someone behind him. “Larry! There’s a skunk on the front porch.” Lily heard a commotion before a round figure appeared before her. Dressed in a lavender paisley bathrobe, Larry peered down at her with his colossal peridot eyes. Straight from toon town,
her
Larry, was the size of the Jolly Green Giant. “Geez, Frank, don’t be ridiculous.”

Lily
knew
she recognized this house. If someone is going to find you bleeding and hallucinating, it should be a dear friend. Larry was her co-worker at Cartoon Network where she worked as a graphic designer.

Larry picked her up, “Oh puddin’, what happened to you?”

“What is it?” Frank asked.

“It’s a Shih Tzu!” Larry said, crinkling his nose as he got a whiff of her. The two men peered out into the night as if it held the answers. She wasn’t sure what they expected to see. A stork, the Shih Tzu fairy perhaps?

Larry looked at her with gentle eyes. “There’s no collar or tag,” She buried her head in his neck and cried. The noise she made was more like a cat’s tortured purr.

Frank looked at her, his eyes wide. “That doesn’t sound right.”

Lily held her breath and pouted.

“Frank, don’t be an idiot. Maybe she has a cold or something,” Larry said.

She was so confused she had to remind herself to breathe. Lily had experienced rough nights, drank too much in college, but this “trip” was intense.

“Now, now, it’s okay. Are you hungry?” She knew food was Larry’s solution to all of life’s woes.

One ham and cheese omelet later and Lily couldn’t keep her one functioning eye open. Her demonic growling precluded Larry’s attempts to attend to her wounds. He must have felt sorry for her because he allowed her to sleep at the foot of the bed. Safe at last, she fell asleep.

At least Lily thought it was sleep. Perhaps it was another chain of hallucinations.
Somebody make it stop. Please.

Lily shot up in bed, somehow catching the scream before it burst forth from her throat. Trembling, she pulled the sheet up to cover her nakedness. Just another violent nightmare like the others she had experienced since Peter’s death. She heard a masculine moan next to her.
Oh my God. This isn’t my bed!
She rolled off the bed and landed with a “thud” on the floor.

“Frank?” Larry asked, from the other side of the bed.

Reality sunk in. She was in Larry’s bedroom returned to her original form, minus clothing. Purple bruises and red gashes mottled her legs and arms. Her left eye now opened halfway.
What did I do last night?
Had Larry nursed her through a drugged state? The thought of Phil Miller had her burping up vomit.

She distinctly remembered thinking she was a dog. She scanned the floor for something to cover herself. Spotting a throw on the chaise lounge, she crawled across the plush carpeting in order to yank it down. Just as she considered how to apologize to Larry for the previous night’s indiscretions, he sat up in bed, turning toward the hallway, “Frank! Do you have the dog?”

Dog?
She flattened to her stomach before worming her way under the bed. Lily heard the rattling of dishes in the sink downstairs. Frank hadn’t heard him. The light switched on.

Larry shuffled around the room calling, “Here, puppy.”

Cowering under the bed, Lily held her breath and stifled a sneeze as he explored every room of the Ansley Park home. She didn’t dare move from her hiding place.

As he circled back around to the bedroom, Lily grew more anxious. Larry shuffled to the bed. His crepitus knees protested as he knelt on all fours before lifting the bed skirt.

PPPPPPFFFFFTTTTT.

“Good Lord! No more eggs for you,” Larry said looking her squarely in the eye. Her mouth hung open in a pant. She looked down to see furry paws.
I am a dog. And a flatulent one at that.
When she panicked, she had become a Shih Tzu again.
What is happening to me?

After he lured Lily out, Larry lifted her in the air to study her face. “Your eye is much better, but you still smell like an old sponge. We’re taking you to get groomed today.”

Frustrated, Lily squirmed. How could she explain to him that they had grossly different agendas? She needed to return home and lock herself inside until she stopped growling, rumbling, and panting.

Larry carried her downstairs where they found Frank standing in the foyer looking all kinds of fine in his tailored Armani suit and gelled hair. His lineage had blessed him with olive skin. Blue-green eyes gleamed in contrast to his dark complexion. A scar over his left eyebrow made him look like a rugged Greek god.

He furrowed his brow as he studied their new pet. “He’s a funny little creature, isn’t he?” She didn’t bite him, although it was tempting.

Larry scowled.

Lily eyed the food on the counter.

“I need to tell you something,” Frank said.

Larry’s head turned to the TV where the morning news anchor was talking about a current story. Lily’s ears perked up as she listened to the anchor mention her name and that she was missing.

“Oh my God,” Larry gasped.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Frank said looking somber. He attempted to slide a biscuit across the counter to Larry.

“I’m not hungry.”

Frank sighed. “They found her car at Houston’s Restaurant on Peachtree Street. The date’s car was at Grady High School. It looked like...well there was some blood, apparently.”

Larry’s jaw dropped. “I need to call her brother.”

“Good idea. And a Detective Simms with the Atlanta Police Department left his number. It’s still on the machine.”

“The police called us?” Larry asked.

“Well, you specifically.”

“I just can’t believe it.” Larry snagged a bit of biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth.

“What do you think she was into?” asked Frank raising his thick black eyebrows.

“Into?”

“Her boyfriend offs himself and then she is brutally attacked. I’m thinking drugs.”

“No, Frank, she wasn’t on drugs,” he hissed. Lily backed him up with a snarl.

Frank stared at her with a glint of fear in his eye. “Geez Larry, we don’t know if that thing’s had its rabies shots.”

Larry’s look sent him scooting out the door.

“Asshole,” Larry said. She couldn’t agree more.

As Larry reheated breakfast, Lily gazed out the back sliding glass door pondering her current situation. Her nightmares over the last several months perhaps were not a result of past events, but some warning of what was to come.

A bacon biscuit torn into bite-size pieces pulled her from her reverie. Larry served it with panache on their fine china. The first taste had her stomach grumbling. The biscuit overwhelmed all her senses. Her sadness was a dull ache in the background.