Sacrifice (12 page)

“Would it be okay if we came in and talked?”

“Sure.”

Mr. Neilson stepped aside and gestured for the detectives to enter. They walked past him into the living room with Mr. Neilson’s eyes burning holes in the back of their heads.

“You said someone spotted our daughter?”

Mrs. Neilson was sitting on the couch with one bare thigh sticking out of her robe all the way up to where it joined her pubis. There was nothing at all attractive about the pose, yet the detectives could not keep their eyes from straying there.

“Y-yes. She was seen talking to a teacher outside the school just before all the other kids in her class attacked and killed him, along with about a hundred birds, a thousand bees or so, ants, earthworms, maggots, millipedes, and anything else that could get at him. Frankly, we’d really like to know what the fuck is going on.”

Mr. Neilson exchanged a look with his wife, who promptly tucked her thigh back under her robe. They both looked at the detectives and then dropped their heads.

“Don’t everyone speak at once.”

“John.” Mohammed walked over and picked up a photograph off the mantelpiece. It was a picture of the Neilsons standing next to a black woman even taller than Mr. Neilson. She had long dreadlocks that came to her waist and dark gray eyes like storm clouds. There was a weariness and sorrow in them so profound that even her smile could not hide it. She was dressed in loose-fitting linen pants and a white dashiki that contrasted starkly with her ebon skin, as did her wolf gray eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Nielson were fawning all over her. Where the woman looked sad and exhausted they looked vivacious, energized. There was something about the way they were all embracing each other that seemed a tad more than friendly.

“Tell us about your friend here,” Mohammed said as he walked toward Mr. Neilson carrying the picture. He noted right away the change in Mr. Nielson’s expression. He looked behind him at Mrs. Nielson, who was still sitting on the couch. She had the same look on her face as her husband. They both looked guilty, eyes sliding sideways as they stared down at the floor, jaws tightening as if trying to choke back a curse, and they were blushing.

“Who is she? We’re talking about your little girl here! You’ve got to tell us what you know. What the fuck is going on?”

Mrs. Nielson began to cry.

“Leave our house.”

“We aren’t going anywhere until you tell us who this woman is and what she has to do with Mary’s disappearance.”

“We’ve told you all we can, now leave us alone or talk to our lawyer. Just go. Get the fuck out of my house! Now!”

“Mrs. Nielson? Do you have something you want to tell us? Mrs. Nielson?”

She was sobbing fitfully now with a pillow from the sofa pressed against her face.

“You’ve upset her enough. Leave us alone! Get out! Get out of my house or I’m calling my lawyer and suing you for harassment!”

Mr. Nielson ushered the two detectives out the front door. The door slammed hard at their backs.

“What the hell just happened in there?”

“They seemed pretty cooperative until we brought up the woman in that photo. Then they both just freaked out.”

“Whatever the fuck is going on, I think we’re getting closer. I wish we had a copy of that picture.”

“You mean this one?” Mohammed held up the photograph of the young black woman with her arms wrapped around Mr. and Mrs. Nielson. “They kicked us out before I had a chance to put it back. I’ll return it in the morning. After we make a few copies.”

“I’m pretty sure that breaks a few ethics laws, but fuck it. If it helps us find the guy who abducted Mary, have at it. That was fucking weird. I’ve never interviewed a guiltier couple. They acted so much like suspects I would have handcuffed them right then if I could have found a shred of evidence.”

“It’s nice to know there’s still romance after the loss of a child. Those two were fucking the whole time we were ringing the doorbell. Had to make sure they got off before they found out whether their daughter was alive or dead.”

“They didn’t know it was us ringing the doorbell.”

“Still, doesn’t it seem weird to you that they would be in there fucking like a couple of horny teenagers while their daughter is still out there missing?”

“People deal with grief in different ways. I’m not saying I don’t think they’re involved. I think they’re both guilty as fuck. I’m just hesitant to convict someone based on a little nooky. That picture worries me a lot more than Mr. Neilson bustin’ a nut in his wife.”

Malloy looked at the photo as they both climbed back into the car.

“Mr. Nielson didn’t really seem like the type to have a lot of black friends, did he?”

“He seemed like your typical Las Vegas, beer-swilling, country music, rodeo, and NASCAR fan to me. Which is to say a redneck.”

“Yeah, that’s how he struck me too. So how does a guy like that wind up so friendly with a woman like the one in the picture? So friendly that he leaves the woman’s picture on his mantle after taking down all the pictures of his own kid?”

“Maybe if we find that out we’ll find out what the fuck is going on, ‘cause right now I have no goddamned idea.”

Malloy paused and thought carefully about what he was about to ask his partner. He knew how strained the man’s relationship was with his wife and didn’t want to add any added stress to it. But they still needed to get some answers.

“You think you’d be up for a stake-out tonight, Mo?”

Mohammed looked at his partner and smiled. “Well, you know Emily ain’t goin’ to like it. But we’ve got a job to do, right? You thinking about staking out the Neilsons or the Wellses?”

“It doesn’t look like the Neilsons have been leaving the house much lately. We’d probably have better luck with the Wellses.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Well, I guess it’s time to tell the wife the good news.”

“Sorry, bro. I can handle it myself if you need me to.”

“I can’t let my personal life interfere with doing my job. That would be a career-limiting move and I’m too damned ambitious for that. Besides, this mystery would be on my mind all night. I couldn’t sleep until I found out what was going on even if I tried.”

Mohammed picked up the phone and Malloy stared out the window, trying not to eavesdrop as Mohammed’s wife whined, begged, and threatened, trying to get him to come home. He didn’t know how the man put up with it. That’s one of the reasons Malloy had never gotten married himself. He hated the idea of having to answer to anyone else for his actions or whereabouts.

“Okay, let’s go,” Mohammed said as he clicked off his phone, looking suddenly exhausted.

Malloy started up the car and they peeled away from the curb heading back toward the home of Frank and Aida Wells.

Chapter 18

Hours went by with April holding Delilah tight against her as she shivered and moaned in inconsolable anguish, teeth grinding, sweat raining down her face, shivering and trembling as if stricken with fever. Occasionally she would mumble some indecipherable exclamation before crying out at the top of her lungs, cursing and roaring in horrifying rage. April let out a startled cry when Delilah suddenly sprang from the bed and stormed around the room punching holes in the walls and knocking things off of the shelves, yelling obscenities at some unseen antagonists. She hugged her knees to her chest, afraid Delilah might turn and attack her. Whatever demon lived inside her had clearly taken control, and April didn’t know how to snap her out of it.

Delilah collapsed back on the bed and burst into a fit of tears that lasted almost an hour. Then the convulsions began. She thrashed and twisted in bone-racking contortions. Her body arched, her back bowing until her head nearly touched her ankles. Then she snapped back, curling into a tight ball and trembling so violently the entire bed shook.

“Help! Help! Oh my God! I think she’s dying! Somebody help!”

A thick foam of saliva bubbled up from Delilah’s mouth. Her eyes locked with April’s for a moment and then rolled up in her head, which whipped furiously from side to side. Whatever was inside Delilah was willing to tear her apart to get out.

April felt the violent emotion boiling off her in waves. It affected her - for no reason she could fathom a sudden violent rage gripped April, a fierce murderous hatred directed at Delilah. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around Delilah’s throat, digging her nails in and squeezing with all her might, cutting off her lover’s windpipe.

“Don’t touch her! Get the fuck away from her! What, are you trying to commit suicide? Get away from her!”

April jumped away from Delilah as the bedroom door flew open and two men she’d never seen before entered, towing along a wide-eyed young girl no older than ten years old.

“What are you doing in here? You trying to get yourself killed?”

April felt like she was awakening from a dream. She looked down at her hands and then over at Delilah who was still trembling and convulsing. She couldn’t believe what she’d been about to do.

One of the men, tall and gray-haired with a massive build like a body builder, grabbed her and dragged her off the bed, using her body like a shield as he backed away from Delilah, as if afraid the woman would explode.

He wore a dark suit and black leather gloves, and an automatic pistol stuck conspicuously from a holster in his waistband. His partner was younger, slightly smaller, and quicker to smile, but there was something reptilian and predatory about the expression - as if he opened his mouth to taste the air with his tongue. His hair was dark and slicked back like an Italian gangster. His thin gash of a mouth had lips that were bright red, like a wound cut into his face. His crystal blue eyes swiveled nervously around the room and darted over every inch of April’s body in seconds, cataloging every detail.

“I-I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” April was still disoriented.
Who are these guys and who’s that kid? Why are they acting like they’re scared of Delilah? Did-did I really just try to kill her? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I think straight?

“Who are you guys? You can’t just kick me out. Delilah needs me!”

“She wants to stay. Let her stay. Why should she be any different than the rest of ‘em? Why all this sneakin’ around and shit? You want to know what Delilah does with all that shit she sucks out of you? You can’t even imagine what kind of pain you almost took on, sweetheart,” the younger-looking guy said, looking April in her eyes with a vicious smirk scarring his already unpleasant features.

On the bed, Delilah continued to thrash and moan. The agony she was experiencing seemed to be intensifying by the second.

“I need to help her!”

“You need to get your skinny-ass the fuck out of here before-”

“Quiet!” the older guy barked, pushing the two apart. “Don’t worry, miss. We’ll take care of Delilah from here. You go on back downstairs with the others. You can’t give Delilah what she needs right now. Trust us. We’ve tried that before. It doesn’t work, and you don’t want to know what happens when it fails.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you? Who’s the girl? Where are her parents?”

“That’s not your concern. Don’t worry about it. We got everything under control. Delilah didn’t want to do it in front of you. She don’t want you to see this part. Now please get out of here and join the others.”

The older guy ushered April out the door and locked it. Just before she left, April looked down at the girl, who seemed confused but unafraid.

What the hell is going on? What didn’t Delilah want me to see?
April paced the hallway outside Delilah’s bedroom with questions whirling through her head. She knew Delilah didn’t have to have sex with someone to take away their pain. That was only how she did it with April - or so she hoped. With everyone else, she used blood.

But then what was she doing in there, and why the two thugs?

April was still struggling to make sense of it all. She looked at Delilah’s locked bedroom door and knocked on it and demanded to be let in. She could hear Delilah screaming, and then she chanted something in French and then Latin. She heard Delilah gag and retch. Suddenly the door warped and buckled outward, as if some tremendous force was pushing against it.

April looked down the hallway. The entire wall seemed to be bowing, threatening to burst. The door rippled, the air shimmering like the heat and humidity boiling off of asphalt on a scorching summer day. April’s skin vibrated, and the hair all over her body stood on end.

A powerful wave of energy erupted from Delilah’s bedroom. April couldn’t see it but felt it. An avalanche of violent energy knocked her backward and blasted the wind from her lungs. Spots winked on and off before her eyes like camera flashes. The hallway tilted and reeled. Nausea twisted April’s guts, doubling her over, driving her to her knees. The house began to spin and April felt the sudden urge to run as fast as she could. She was gripped by a staggering terror as overwhelming as the rage that followed. She clawed her nails into the wood floor, carving through the laminated coating into the maple planks, peeling up the cherry finish as her body shook with an overdose of adrenaline.

She knew what was happening to her. She’d read about it in psychology class. It happened to soldiers at war and kids in high-crime areas. Something triggered the basil-ganglia-cortex in her brain, the amygdala, the rage center, the animal brain; it activated her fight-or-flight emotions. Cranked it up to full blast.

April vomited again and again, sickened by the powerful emotions ripping through her. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the feeling dissipated.

That’s when the scream came - a long wail that shredded the air like talons through flesh and seemed to go on forever.

It was the little girl.

Chapter 19

“How can you eat that shit?” Mohammed asked, his face twisted in a grimace of pure disgust. His eyes kept flickering from Malloy to the two-story orange stucco house down the street they’d been watching for the last three hours.

Malloy was cramming a microwaved beef burrito into his mouth. It was filled with meat that looked like it had come from a can of dog food. The distasteful smell was not nearly as bad as Malloy’s loud smacking noises as he chewed the cheesy gruel with an open mouth.