Sin Eater (31 page)

“Never mind. Just give me your hand.” That was figurative of course, Essum never touched him. Jasper just put his hand out and Essum used some kind of telepathy to maneuver the stoned giant under Jasper’s touch. Jasper had to stretch to put his hand on the
guy’s head, but he did it nonetheless.

“Now,” Essum directed. “Find his sins.”

Jasper was already in before Essum said another word. The guy’s head opened up like a laptop, divided into daily activities like showering, brushing his teeth and walking his dog, but the other half of his life was what they were obviously after.

This was murder. So much blood, shotguns splattering brain matter all over walls, people screaming for their lives as he cut out their tongues and gouged out their eyes for snitching.

Jasper had to close his eyes, then realized that just made it worse. With his eyes closed his here-and-now senses totally shut down and he could actually feel the warm blood running down his arm as hands that weren’t his held a man by the neck up against the wall, his neck cut and letting that deep red fluid run all down his front. Jasper could smell the blood and taste the anger and feel the power welling up in him, the power it took to take someone’s life.

Now release it
, Essum’s voice came from nowhere, and Jasper imagined a chalk brush wiping it all away, each thumbnail of every memory this guy kept hidden to one side of his brain. His
dark
side.

Jasper was shaking as he brought his hand down, but not from the horror of it or because the guy scared the living crap out of him. He was shaking with this man’s strength.

The man, on the other hand, crumpled to the ground weeping suddenly, Essum’s spell broken and his mind in shambles. Jasper became aware of what he was thinking, how he felt relieved that someone had taken away all the awful things he’d done. He felt better. He knew he was saved.

Jasper studied his hand as Essum watched in approval.

“Well,” the mentor said with a half-smile. “You may not be able to find them on your own, but you can take their sins. I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you are.”

“What is this going to do to me?” Jasper asked, tightening his hand
into a fist, feeling a tingle as he released it.

Essum shrugged. “Like I said, I have no idea. But it’s sure making you stronger.”

Jasper had to shrug in acceptance. Strong was good; he could definitely handle being strong.

Charlie had woken in the murdered woman’s bedroom, hand wrapped around t
he leg of the armchair he’d slept in before those two other men had come in a few hours ago.

He made his way sleepily down the grand staircase of the house, rubbing his eyes as he realized the sun was coming up. He really shouldn’t be here, and the closer to daytime it got the more trouble he could be in.

He still felt wonderfully calm, however. Before his mind had been like a bug zapper; constantly humming and distracting him from those things that normal, everyday people do and have and enjoy and spend their time on. He’d always been distracted from that, like a guy in the dark waiting for someone to punch him

The golden light that he’d felt from the new master,
that
must be what people felt when they were not like him. To imagine that people could walk around like
that
all the time … it was almost too much. He felt like weeping again.

You’ve been forgiven …

Relief
wasn’t a big enough word.
Able to breathe
didn’t really encapsulate everything he was experiencing. This was a new day for Charles Goodwin.

He moved through the woman’
s kitchen, opening her fridge. Nothing was inside. He had to wonder who would come and empty the fridge of everything except a bottle of mustard and a jar of pickles. Or maybe she wasn’t home much and never ate here.

That seemed like a real shame. The house was very beautiful, with high vaulted ceilings that were now lit with sunshine. The stainless steel appliances glinted in showroom perfection.

He moved across a built-in desk between the kitchen and living room where … all the
bad
had happened. But his memory of the event itself felt fuzzy. Like it had to have been someone else; as though he had never been capable of such hatred.

A photo on a desk caught his eye. It was the woman, her hair just a bit longer than it had been. She was next to a blonde girl who looked a bit younger than her. The frame was wooden and someone had carved in the top “Sisters and” then in the bottom, “best friends.” The letters were cute, like a child’s scrawled penmanship. Charlie had to assume this young blonde had given this to the woman who lived here. It matched nothing and had none of the sophistication that the rest of the house had. In the photo the blonde smiled wider, and had that look that let you know she was fun-loving and free spirited. The dark-haired woman’s smile looked like it pained her.

Charlie decided she hadn’t been a very happy person. Maybe she never felt good enough, like she was sorry for not being better at something.

He shook his head and put the picture back. Here he was, analyzing a photo like a shrink or something. It was a picture shared between sisters.
Sisters and best friends.

Charlie wondered if this pretty blonde girl was going to be the one that had to come to this house, go through the dead woman’s things and keep what was important to their family.

That’s when Charlie felt bad. It wasn’t just the dead he’d hurt, was it? He had a whole network of victims he’d never even laid a hand on.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the photo. The blonde woman smiled. If God could forgive, maybe she would, too. That was a happy thought.

Charlie opened the front door, trying to be sneaky as he ducked under the police tape and pulled the door shut behind him. But just then tires pulled up to a stop in the driveway, and as he was blinking in surprise two men in dark uniforms were grabbing him, slamming him face-down on the hood of a police car. It was all so fast he barely was aware of what had happened.

“About time we got you, fucker.”

“You are going to jail for a
long
time this time, buddy.”

Just words, none of it meant anything as the men continued snarling things at him, mean and hateful things, but his brain was still fuzzy from sleep, and the feeling of euphoria he’d achieved earlier that morning.

You’ve been forgiven.
That man may have gotten him arrested twice, but those simple words made Charlie want to hug him.
You’ve been forgiven.

Charlie wanted to weep just at the mere memory of the words. Even as these unfrien
dly hands pushed him roughly into the back of a police car, he felt like this was right. He could do his time, he could die in jail, but … he was forgiven.

The last two times he’d been arrested the Master had come to get him out, but of course that was
work
. He used Charlie to do terrible things, right?

Charlie didn’t want the Master to come for him this time. He would rather just stay forgiven. This was better.

Claudia had responded to multiple calls throughout the night. Dead bodies everywhere, most of them Iola. A busy night.

And until her cell phone rang next to the hotel bed she thought she was forever trapped in a cycle of waking nightmares. She sat up to answer it, rested from approximately thirty minutes’ total sleep the night before. It was work.

“Hello?”

“It’s Trevor.”

She nodded, not wanting to prevent him from saying what he was calling for.

“Patrol just got a call saying they saw someone got into Portia Torregrossa’s place, and when patrol went by they caught Charles Goodwin exiting the house. So ... we’ve got him, and I asked them to take him into the ninth precinct just to be safe. So … we got him.”

She expelled her breath, still nodding. “Good. And thanks, Vance. I know that was probably a hard thing for you to request.”

“Actually, not at all. Everyone here’s totally creeped out by the guy. They took him over there happily.”

“So I’m not being set up by a co-worker?”

“I don’t think so. But I still wanted to be safe.”

“So … can I go home today?”

“Give it another day to be sure, but if you go over there, make sure you’re not alone when you leave, okay?”

“I know, I know. I’ll be fine.”

She ended the call and pushed herself out of bed. Then she sat a moment, running her hands through her hair, yawning and stretching.

She wasn’t likely to fall asleep now, despite the slightly comforting news.

At least her hands had stopped shaking, that was good. A miracle, really, considering those shallow, wake-you-with-a-start dreams she’d been having all night weren’t really known for keeping a person mellow.

She’d woken more than once with tears on her face. She’d thought many times her best friend was dead, and then jumped as Iola’s corpse had come to life and reached for her. She’d shouted herself awake each time.

She didn’t sleep at all until she’d dreamt of Damien. All she’d needed was to curl up in bed, close her eyes, wrap one hand around that weird pendant of his and imagine it was him holding her, not hotel sheets and pillows. That had been dreamless. And not nearly long enough.

But she sure wasn’t getting back to sleep now that the room was lit-up like midday. Claudia figured she might as well shower. She grabbed the toiletry case she’d quickly thrown together on her way out of the apartment, then went back to her phone. One more call, just to make herself feel better.

Voro was staring at the ceiling, rubbing the centre of his chest absently. At least the two on the other side of the wall were sleeping now, and he could concentrate again.

Still hurt, though.

The smell of chocolate had permeated
into Claudia’s apartment, along with nutmeg. He was trying to ignore another smell that had him ready to punch a hole in the wall. The smell of summer wind on grass after a spring shower. The smell of love.

It was a wonderful smell … usually. But at the moment he thought he might be about to cry like a little bitch.

When the cordless phone next to him rang, he let it go on and on. Apparently Claudia didn’t have a message manager or an answering machine, because it wouldn’t stop. So eventually he reached out and answered it. “Hello?”

“Is everything okay? Why’d you take so long to answer?”

He had to smile at the worry in Claudia’s voice. She’d been concerned, but only that he’d had someone else in her bed. He could hear it clearly in her tone. “This isn’t my phone, I was going to let the machine get it.”

“I don’t have one.”

“I realized that eventually. Are you okay?”

“They caught him. They’ve got him in custody in a different station. So we’ll see if it stays that way.”

“That’s good.” He let his voice drop low. “Does that mean you’re able to come home?”

She gave a laugh at that and he was willing to bet she was blushing. “They said to wait a day, but … if I’ve got a body guard it should be okay to come home today.”

“You’ve got a body guard all right. I’ll be on you like - ”

“Damien!”

He felt a laugh in his chest, and it surprised him. But he let it out anyway. “I’ll wait here, then. Should I shower or do you plan on making a mess of me again?”

“Mmm. Maybe stay dirty for now.”

“Consider that done.”

She hung up after a bit more dirty-talking then Voro got up to go check the living room. Raphael was nowhere to be seen, so he felt better about that. He got the coffee maker going, then decided to have a shower anyway. He had nothing else to do, and everything seemed to be quiet in the building with the sleep patterns of the lovers next door like warm sunshine on his brain.

After giving Jasper his assignment for the morning, Essum decided to head back over to the apartment where Voro was keeping his harem of women. He could sense his old friend under the roof, and as he spirited himself through the outer walls and up
into the hallway in the top floor, he tried to decide where he should go to make the biggest impact for the next part of his plan.

Voro was in the lesbian woman’s apartment. Essum made sure to shield his brain patterns from him, then picked up on the
frustro
in her apartment and the sleeping male next to her. It was that doctor, the one that Essum couldn’t quite figure out.

Essum was a brat. He was immature. And he couldn’t help himself.

He moved through the walls into the
frustro’s
bedroom, the smell of chocolate and nutmeg quite strong here. The couple were wound around each other in spent passion and exhaustion, their sleep patterns indicating that it would be a few hours before they woke on their own. The woman’s leg was latched over the male’s, the sheets tossed around and barely covering them. In fact, he could clearly see the breast that wasn’t pressed up against the man’s side.

He closed his eyes, figuratively, of course. He had no eyes. But to concentrate, he got rid of the image before him and let his mind go, tunneling through her deep sleep and nonsense dreams
into her psyche.

He knew the moment she became aware of him, because her heartbeat increased slightly, in a bad way. He frightened her, the story of his life. Her breaths became deeper too. She was distressed by his very essence.

Very interesting.

He took his mental trowel and made a hole in her here-and-now, planting in a different kind of thought. A very raw, nasty, dirty thought. He had her imag
ining she stood before him, bent over to put her hands on her mattress while he drove into her from behind. And he did nothing to suggest she liked it.

Because it came from nowhere, with no fantasy leading up to it, she kicked a leg slightly, making a noise of consternation. Her brow furrowed, too.

He would have smiled if he’d been in solid form. He let her body warm to it now, giving her the impression that he was getting close to the spot inside where she wanted him, and she was now liking his hands on her sides, enjoying the force of each thrust and pull.

He smelled the chocolate for real, and he wished he could jump on her right then with his solid form. But it wasn’t that solid, was it? As far as actual physical matter, he needed Viagra worse than a
centenarian.

He risked a look at her, and her mouth had fallen open, her brow relaxed and she rolled away from the doctor on to her back. Both breasts were now open to him, and he caught his breath. Her legs scissored under the sheet, pulling it down her hip slightly.

Holy. Shit. It was really working.

He knelt next to the bed, watching her face as the porn movie kept going in her mind. In real life he probably wouldn’t last this long, he realized, looking over her body and studying the way she rode each sensation that would i
nevitably lead to an honest-to-God orgasm.

If he let it.

He leaned forward, able to smell the spent sweat that was already on her skin, just starting to dampen again with the heat of her dream. She licked her lips and turned her face his way, panting now. There may have also been a whimper.