The Jar

Editor's Note:

We are proud to present part one of Manuel Melendez's fantastic novel, The Jar. Parts two and three will be in subsequent issues of Latinelit.

CHAPTER 1

From where he stood, Frank looked up at the dead vines clinging to the side of the building. He sighed. He had been putting it off for the entire summer, but now that fall was already on the heels of the last dips in the city's beaches, he had no choice but to do the job. Besides, Mike, the building's superintendent, was barking once again about it. He was claiming many tenants were complaining about spiders inside their apartments, and, of course, they all insisted those dried vines were the breeding grounds.

Frank once asked why they didn’t hire a contractor for the job. Mike was quick to answer, reminding Frank this was the reason he received a salary. Doing jobs like this were Frank’s job unless he was willing to pay for a cleaning crew out of his own pocket.

Fuming, Frank studied the task well, running through his head what tools he needed and what ladder to use. Maybe the handyman, Johnny, could assist him. Two men were better suited for this type of job anyway, especially if he was to climb up a tall ladder with a tool belt weighing him down.

Two hours later, Frank returned, dragging the tallest ladder he found and with a bit of a struggle positioned it right above the middle of the vines. He figured with a good yank most of it would peel away. He was still angry at Johnny and all the lame excuses the handyman had come up with to avoid helping. Some nonsense about leaking faucets and two clogged bathtubs, and he even whined that the garbage had to be gathered for tomorrow’s pickup. This left Frank with no choice but to do the job alone. Giving the ladder a good shake and hoping it wouldn't wobble while he was up there and drop him on his ass, Frank readjusted the tool belt strapped to his waist and began the climb up.

The vines were mostly all clumped on the left side below the second-floor windows, making the task much easier. After a few mishaps, Frank was finally standing close enough to them to inspect them. Not that he believed the spider story, but it didn't hurt to be extra sure. With the claw of his hammer, he poked around, carefully lifting the dead vines and, to his relief, there were no spiders, just dead bugs, and half of a bird's nest. He looked down and pulled. He was right, with the first yank half of the dead branches came away. He let them fall and continued. The job turned out to be easy; Frank whistled until something sparkled inside the tangle of vines, catching his attention. Leaning closer and with one gloved hand, he snapped and parted the twigs. What he could make out was a jar, which was embedded in a space where a few bricks were missing. That was odd. Frank frowned but did not give it much thought. He took extra care not to break the jar. Maybe there were jewels inside. And with that sweet thought swimming in his mind, Frank reached out and wrapped his fingers around it. It reminded him of those old-fashioned milk bottles. He noticed a piece of cloth covered the brim and clasped with a thin rope. Carefully, he fished the jar out and shook it, listening to a whoosh sound of liquid inside and something else that made little thumping knocks. He tried to peek inside, but the caked dirt on the glass bottle made it hard to see what was in it. In one of the large compartments of his tool belt, he slipped in the jar, and, with newfound determination, he finished the job. A few tenants had gathered outside, looking up as if Frank was the biggest exhibit display in the city. He wanted to yell at them, "Happy now? And not one spider, you pathetic fools!" But he bit his tongue and climbed down. Besides, thanks to these whining fools, he had come across the jar, and, who knows, maybe there's treasure in there waiting for someone to claim it as their own. Frank smiled, knowing that he was that someone, and by the time he dragged the ladder back to the storage room, he was whistling again.

CHAPTER 2

A loud crash snapped Cassandra out of her sleep. A chill seeped into her bones, raising goosebumps all over her arms. Unsettled, she rubbed them and sat on the edge of the bed. She waited for any other sound; nothing but the noises of the night’s serenity, the low humming from the fridge, and the distant vroom of a speeding car. Still, she got up and took a few steps toward the bedroom door. Mumbling a small prayer, she reached out for the knob and opened the door. Peeking through the darkness of the hallway, her ears perked up, she waited for any other sounds. Nothing. Gaining bravery, she went to the top of the stairs and looked down to where part of the living room was visible. Again, silence. Barefooted, she went down the stairs, her eyes glancing through the blackness of the room. Once at the bottom of the stairs, she went to the center of the living room and turned her head toward the dining room area and kitchen. Satisfied that everything was normal, she figured the crash had come from outside. She turned to return upstairs, when from the corner of her eye she spotted something on the kitchen floor. She went closer, a bluish moonlight illuminating her path. Turning on the light, Cassandra could see what was on the floor and sadness overcame her; it was the cookie jar her late husband made when he took pottery classes. It was in the shape of a strawberry, lopsided, but he was proud of it. Now seeing that beautiful piece shattered on the floor, tears filled Cassandra’s eyes.

Getting closer, she knelt and carefully lifted one piece and brought it closer to her. She was sobbing now and, for the first time in a long time, she felt alone.

How had this happened? She glanced at the counter where she had kept it in the corner since she had moved into this house. Puzzled, since it was impossible for the jar to fall, Cassandra inspected the counter closely. The small planter with fake plastic flowers she always kept in front of the cookie jar was still there; undisturbed. So how in the world had the cookie jar fallen without knocking the planter over as well? She looked down at the damaged strawberry-shaped jar, trying to make sense of it. Did she move it while cleaning the kitchen after dinner? Shaking her head with a vehement ‘no’, she turned away, deciding to go back to bed and sweep the mess in the morning. Still shaken, and with her mind submerged in a nest of questions once again, Cassandra turned her attention toward the broken cookie jar. A cold draft filtered through the room, and as she walked back to the living room, she noticed the curtains billowing. She froze and shrunk away from the windows.

How can that be possible when she always locked them when she went to bed? She was sure she didn’t forget. How can she? Old habits are hard to break, especially when she’s been doing it since she moved into this house ten years ago.  Panic rose in her throat—there was an intruder in her house! She twirled, searching the room, expecting someone to jump from the shadows and attack her. She wanted to turn and run, but run where? The dread suffocated her, clouding her mind from thinking straight. Maybe she had forgotten to close the windows, and a strong draft caused the cookie jar to fall off the counter. But why not the planter? An annoying voice inside reminded her. Rushing to the windows, she slammed them shut and locked them. She was shaking, cranking her head nervously at all angles, for she still feared someone was inside. The kitchen was empty and so were both the dining area and living room. What about the bathroom or the closet by the front door? The same voice whispered, sending further anxiety to her pounding heart. She slunk to the bathroom, and, with trembling hands, she reached out for the knob. She closed her eyes, and with stuttering prayers on her lips, swung the door open. The bathroom was empty, and Cassandra exhaled with relief. She turned and glared at the closet by the front door. Could the intruder be inside? Maybe that explained the broken cookie jar. Most people keep money, instead of cookies, inside cookie jars. Isn’t that the norm? Stop it! She was spooking herself to the point of an anxiety attack. If an intruder was inside, would he be hiding inside a crammed closet, rather than confronting a woman living by herself? Again, she closed her eyes and said a prayer. She opened the door quickly and exhaled again. “Thank you, God.” Cassandra said when the closet wasn’t hiding an intruder inside, just her winter coats. Feeling much better, she closed the door and turned around. Standing in front of her was the shadow of a man—Cassandra had never screamed louder in her life.

CHAPTER 3

The excitement had turned Frank into a ten-year-old boy on Christmas Eve. He couldn’t contain himself as he hurried, putting the ladder and tools away, and like a possessed man, ran to his apartment. Once inside, he placed the jar on the kitchenette table and, sat down in front of it. The crusted dirt gave the jar a mystical look—like looking at a fabled genie lamp—and Frank moistened his lips with anticipation.

Lifting it, the liquid swished along with the familiar thumping sounds he had heard before. He spotted the thick canvas that covered the top with mildew and, taking a pocketknife, Frank cut through the rope and tossed it aside before wiping his sweaty hands on his shirt and trying to remove the cloth. The many years it had been inside the hole, exposed to the inclement weather, made the cloth stick to the jar like glue. Taking the knife, he cut around the edge and tore it off. A rotten smell rose from it and into his nostrils. He sneezed and his eyes watered instantaneously. He pushed the chair away and waved his hands over the jar. After a few minutes, he leaned closer and holding his breath; he lifted what was submerged inside a greenish water—it was a photograph and Frank frowned.

“A stupid fucking picture,” he said with disappointment coating each word. He dropped the picture on the table and stared at it. It was a picture of a young man, and, to his surprise, the picture had been taken inside the apartment right above where the jar was buried. Buried? Frank scratched his head, wondering why that had word popped into his mind. Either way, it didn’t matter what word he used, what mattered was that he felt like a total fool, as what he thought was a treasure turned out to be nothing, but perhaps something a bored kid stuck in there many years ago. Regardless, he had to admit, it was interesting the picture was taken inside the building. Maybe Lucy, the old woman from the first floor, might shed some light on it. She’d been living in the same apartment for over 50 years and if anybody knew who might be in the picture, it would be her.

Picking up the jar and placing it on the windowsill, planning to dump it in the garbage, Frank let out a long yawn. And for the picture, he also placed it next to the jar. By tomorrow it would be dry and he’d be able to show it to Lucy.

Shaking his head, Frank left the kitchen, oblivious to a mist that swirled out of the jar. The mist ascended to the ceiling, then slowly came down, and, as it descended, it grew and morphed into something long, lumpy, and grotesque.

CHAPTER 4

A cold draft seeped through the bottom of the front door, bringing Cassandra back from her unconsciousness. It was a slow process, but when she finally opened her eyes, it disorientated her from her surroundings. Her first thought was that she’d experienced one of those vivid dreams that leaves you gasping, but the draft blowing on her face revealed to Cassandra it was not a dream. She was on the floor, inches away from the broken cookie jar, and, struggling, she sat up. A pain shot out from her shoulder, revealing that she must have landed on it when she had fainted. Did she really see her dead husband standing in front of her? At least the shocking fear had subsided, but the reality was too intense; it made her question her sanity. Yes, she knew that at a certain age the mind played tricks, but she was only fifty-seven and her mind was nowhere near the age of senility. There wasn’t any doubt, however, that it was Alberto who she had seen—and there wasn’t anything in this world that would tell her otherwise. Using the wall for support, she stood up, her shoulder a ball of red fire. Clenching her teeth, she moved gingerly around the broken pieces of the cookie jar, surprised and thankful that she didn’t fall on top of it.

Shuffling forward, she went past the dining area and into the living room. After taking a long look at the staircase, Cassandra decided she wouldn’t be climbing those stairs tonight, or what was left of the night. The clock on the wall ticked a few minutes to four and she was not sure exactly what time it was when she had come down, but it was nowhere near pre-dawn. This observation made her shiver—how long had she been on the floor? If her calculations were correct, she guessed it was at least over two hours.

Plopping down on the couch, she bit her lower lip to silence the pain in her shoulder. Was it broken? She prayed it was only a bruise a few aspirins and rest would cure. Cassandra stretched out, careful not to touch anything that could cause additional damage. She closed her eyes and Alberto’s face, and his memories, inundated her mind. Cassandra trembled. Was that him? She asked herself while the early morning rays slowly overtook the shadows of the night. She has seen Alberto in her dreams many times, reliving their beautiful years together, but this was the first time she had seen such a vivid apparition of him. Apparition? Coldness embraced her and Cassandra wondered if Alberto’s spirit was here now. Was he the intruder that had come to disturb her night? Was he the reason for the cookie jar falling and shattering? Destroying a memory, a keepsake of his spirit now lost forever.

A fear ambushed her, and she glanced around, expecting Alberto to jump out like some boogeyman from a bad horror movie.

“Don’t scare me. If you’re here, please go away. You don’t belong here. This is not your place anymore,” Cassandra called out.

“But you kept my spirit from reaching my journey,” a firm voice invaded her ears.

Cassandra quivered; afraid she was losing her mind. “I did it for your own protection, for your own salvation.”

“It’s too late now. My salvation is now in the hands of the enemy. You must come home and finish what you started. And don’t worry about me, I will welcome Hell long before becoming a prisoner once again inside that damn jar.”

A tear travelled down her cheek and into the cranny of her neck. “I had no other choice... we both know that. Now, if you’re here and I’m not losing my mind, show yourself. If I could hear your voice, and it doesn’t scare me anymore, why should I fear you at all. Go ahead, show yourself and tell me what I need to finish.”

“Her spirit is free. What more do I need to tell you?” Alberto said, and there was anger in his words.

Cassandra’s tears were now gentle sobs. She felt a caress on her forehead, she willed her eyes to look up and standing in front of her was Alberto. But it wasn’t the Alberto she remembered, this was an impostor, and even though his touch felt like the old days, she refused to believe that it was him, and for that she backed away. With the early sun shining over her shoulder, Cassandra could see his face covered in dark blue blotches and swollen. Black circles crowded his eyes and squeezed out his pupils from his skull like infected pimples. Spots of mildew had settled around his ears and crusted in his hair. A foul stench reeked repulsively from his pores and a green vomit-like slime slithered out from the large hole where his heart once was. The fatal wounds from that awful night when Cassandra had stabbed him to death and cut out his heart.

CHAPTER 5

Frank’s snores were barely human as he slept away his inebriation, oblivious of the thick shadows that blanketed the apartment with pitch darkness. He drank the four beers that were in the fridge in less than one hour and, with the luxury of a few days off, he took a quick trip to the store for a six-pack. Now, with ten beers sloshing in his head, he was dead to the world. The television blared loudly with the news after the Nets embarrassed the Knicks. A game, which by tomorrow morning, Frank would have no recollection of.

The old couch, with its saggy cushions and worn-out springs dug into Frank’s neck. Now half asleep and with a pounding headache burrowing into his brain, he sat up. His head spun for a few seconds and his stomach growled as he blinked at the television and fished out the remote from under him. He shut it off and the quietness was comforting. He stood up, stumbled forward and flipped the light switch. The sudden brightness blinded him, and he shielded his eyes from the white glare. His stomach growled again and realizing that he hadn’t eaten since the two slices of pizza he had gulped down for lunch, he dragged himself to the kitchen. The first thing he noticed was the jar on the floor, broken into pieces. Yet the worst was not the scattered glass but the horrible smell that rose from the dark green puddle on the floor. Whatever hunger he once had quickly disappeared with the sewer-like stench. Disgusted, he turned around and staggered to bed. Hopefully, he’d continue his drunkard sleep in the comfort of his bed.

Once inside the bedroom, he sunk into bed, still wearing his dirty work clothes. After half an hour of twisting and turning and rearranging his pillow, Frank placed his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling. By experience he knew at times like this he’d stay in this position until early morning, when he’d finally surrender to sleep. To his consolation, he was off from work for the next few days, so falling asleep was not the priority of the hour. Frank smiled. He thought about going back to the living room to watch one of his porno movies, but not having any more beers meant the monotonous sexual actions would not be as enjoyable as if he were having a few cold ones. He rolled to the side, facing the wall, and forced his eyes shut. Outside, he heard the barking of a dog. It was a furious bark, and somehow Frank’s eyelids grew heavy; from the depth of his throat came the echo of a snore.

A swift caress on his brow and softness of lips on his cheek surprised him as the warmth of a body snuggled by his side. He could sense something—someone—and when he tried to move, powerful arms held him tight. Frank opened his eyes and, above him, he spotted a glow that hovered and drifted toward him. “Maybe I’m dreaming,” Frank reasoned, and with that thought, he convinced himself that it was a dream infused by the alcohol and the fatigue from a hard day’s work.

Abruptly, the firm hold released him, allowing Frank to roll onto his back as the shimmering light gradually descended. Curiously, he stared at it, and there was a calmness that overwhelmed him. A humming vibration filtered throughout the room and Frank saw a flashing orb appear in front of him. It bopped for a few seconds, then burst into streams of blinding beams. It was a dazzling display of brilliant colors, filling him with awe. He spun his head, a bit frightened, for the bedroom appeared to be covered in flames. He no longer wanted to be a part of this dream as he tossed desperately, trying to come out of the troublesome sleep. Deep moans protruded from his throat, and, in a state of panic, he struggled to move. Paralysis claimed his body and with his eyes wide open, he blinked furiously.

“Hush, my darling, hush.”

Bringing his struggles to a halt, Frank remained still, overtaken by the gentle voice of a woman.

“I haven’t thanked you properly for the freedom you have given me,” the voice said, and then let out a coquettish laugh. “I will start by fulfilling you with all the pleasures your heart needs and has always desired. Come to me my darling, accept my gratitude. Come here, my darling, open your arms and accept my embrace of appreciation.”

He shifted towards the voice, pleased the paralysis no longer held him captive. Frank stared at the light as it continued to descend, slowly and seductively transforming into a human shape. Willingly, he opened his arms, welcoming the pulsating light that filled him with a joy never experienced before. Biting his lower lip, he watched the light metamorphose into a beautiful woman, more enchanting than any woman he had ever seen. She smiled at him, and with the idiocy of a charmed schoolboy, Frank smiled back. “Let me start with this,” she said, placing her hand on his crotch, and Frank exploded in ecstasy.

It was noon when Frank opened his eyes. Outside, he could hear the shouts of children and the thumps of what sounded like a ball hitting the outside wall of his bedroom. Damn kids, Frank fumed as he swung his feet and sat on the edge of the bed. How many times had they been told they couldn’t play ball in the courtyard? He tilted his head back, then moved it from side to side, listening to the creaking sounds it made. His neck was sore, and he had nobody to blame but himself and another drunken night. At least he was off today, and he’d be able to nurse himself back to normal with a diet of water and bread for the entire day. His stomach growled and Frank realized he hadn’t eaten for close on 24 hours. His stomach growled again and, raising one leg, he farted. He waved his hand in front of his face, astounded at how bad the smell was. He stood up, his head spun for a second, and slowly the weirdness of the night came to him, arousing him like a teenager after his first wet dream. “Wow,” Frank grinned, recalling the wild sex that took place in the dream. He still remembered her scent, her moist lips on his, and the way she manipulated him with her sexual prowess. And in her voice, Frank shook his head. A certain accent of mysterious origin that added mystique to every whispered word. A goofy smile spread across his face and, feeling fully awake, Frank took a few steps when he discovered he was naked. By the foot of the bed tossed to the side, he found his clothes shredded to pieces, and he frowned with confusion when he picked them up. Something on the pillow attracted his attention and dragging the pillow to the edge of the bed, he saw long strands of hair on it—the same raven-dark color of the woman’s hair in his dream. Frank twirled away from the bed. Where had the hair come from? He ran a hand over his bald head, again asking where the hair had come from, but this time there was fear in his question as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Frank shuddered at the streaks of blood and fresh bite marks all over his body.

CHAPTER 6

The cab pulled over to the curb, Cassandra lowered the window and took a long glance. After twenty years, the place had remained the same. They had added a few cosmetic touches to spruce up the surroundings—like awnings on all the buildings and nicely trimmed hedges—but, overall, it has changed little. Like a colorized old classic black and white movie, which besides the gaudy colors, the story was the same. And the story here was an unsettling one, a whale of a tale she’d rather forget. With one hand resting on the door handle, part of her wanted to tell the driver to take her back to Penn Station where she could easily board an Amtrak and return home. But a small part of her—the guilty one—convinced her to finish what she had started so many years ago. The guilt had never left her, she merely pushed it to the back burner, although she knew someday, she had to stir what had brewed there since that awful night.

The driver eyed her through the rear-view mirror. A nice Bengali man, who in the time it took him to maneuver through the heavy traffic from 34th Street and 8th Avenue to Sunnyside, Queens, had told Cassandra his life story. But now he sat shrouded in silence, waiting for Cassandra to open the door. There was no luggage in the trunk and there was no reason for him to get out of the cab. As a result, he impatiently took quick peeks at his watch. Finally, Cassandra unlocked the door and swung it open as a gentle breeze welcomed her to the old neighborhood. Standing on the sidewalk, she reached inside the cab and dragged her overnight bag out. She wasn’t planning to stay long, the most, she figured, was two days. A room already waited for her in a hotel a few blocks away, something that made her snicker when she booked the room. Who would have thought that one day, Sunnyside, a blue-collar neighborhood, was going to have a hotel right in the middle of tenement buildings and local pubs. And the drive through the Fifty-Nine Street Bridge still astonished her with the many high rises overcrowding Long Island City. What was an area of factories and warehouses was now an extension of the overcrowded skyscrapers from the city across the East River. They had even converted the factory where Alberto worked since he had finished high school into luxury rentals. She wondered if they had kept the company’s slogan, which was easily seen from the Queensboro Plaza subway station, “Perfection is not an Accident”. But she doubted by the look of the stores she saw driving through the city; the new breed of developers were in a frenzy to turn a once diverse city into conglomerated, cloned neighborhoods.

She watched as the cab pulled away from the curb and she paused in front of the building where she once lived with Alberto; the mad idea about coming back hit her hard. Cassandra glanced up, past the sun’s blinding rays, and the first thing she noticed was the missing vines. She went closer and she noticed the hole where she had stuck the jar that horrible night. The jar was missing, and Cassandra shuddered at the reality of Alberto’s words. It freed the demon from the prison she incarcerated them in—Alberto and the witch—on a night that would forever stay embedded in her.

Clutching her bag, she went to the entrance and stared at the front door. It was no longer the red wooden one she fondly remembered, but a brown, steel-like monstrosity that gave it a cold and industrial look. From the pocket of her blazer, she took out a small plastic water bottle and rotated it in her hand. Cassandra shook her head. An idea that was sane at home now seemed childish and even pathetic. Regardless, she unscrewed the top and sprinkled the holy water by the entrance in the shaped of a cross. She mouthed ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ and a ‘Hail Mary’, and, after crossing herself, stepped away from the stoop. Feeling much better, she went around to the courtyard, sprinkling the water as she walked. At the back door of the building, she repeated the same ritual, and along the steps that lead to the basement. Discreetly, she swirled around, taking long glances through the courtyard, making sure that no one was watching her. Satisfied that she was alone, she secured the top on the bottle, returned it back to her pocket, and looked up at the second-floor window where she had once called home. There were traces of doubt in her mind, but now she made the trek back here, she knew it didn’t matter how she felt. She must follow it to the end. The eerie silence in the courtyard was disturbing and she couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was watching her.

Startled by the apprehensive impulses, Cassandra hurried away, not wanting to bump into someone who still remembered her and once again open wounds—although deep inside—never actually closed.

She swung the overnight bag on her good shoulder and started heading toward Queens Boulevard. At the corner, she glanced back. The slight incline of the sidewalk resembled an invitation to return, but she gladly declined. And to think that once this neighborhood was a magical place that she had loved. She took one last look and rushed across the street. The sooner she was underneath the elevated platform of the Flushing 7 train, the sooner she could relax. Up ahead, Cassandra spotted a small plaza by the subway’s entrance. They arranged colorful metal tables and chairs in a semi-circle, framed by large pots of flowering shrubs, and Cassandra smiled at the quaint atmosphere it portrayed. Even after twenty years away from here, even with the few things added to the neighborhood, Sunnyside had not lost the tranquility of its unique, small-town mentality that had made her fall in love with it the first time she set foot on its streets. A variety of people congregated in the area, enjoying the last pleasant days of summer, and Cassandra went to one of the large planters and leaned on it; she wanted to take it all in. This trip didn’t have to be all melancholy, there was some beauty and peace of mind she could salvage from it. A few feet in front of her, she watched a woman selling something out of a shopping cart and, although she wasn’t close enough to know what it was, by the surrounding crowd and those sitting in nearby tables savoring it, Cassandra bet it was a delicious treat. Not far away, a group of Jehovah’s Witnesses were preaching God’s salvation, while a woman standing in front of a large cooler hawked cold-water bottles for a dollar. Finding an empty chair, Cassandra sat down and admired the many changes on the boulevard, especially the arch on 46th Street with a beautiful art deco neon sign that spelled out ‘Sunnyside’. Cassandra recalled when she and Alberto had moved into the neighborhood, they were two young wide-eyed kids starting out, their minds a kaleidoscope of goals and dreams they had no doubt they would conquer together. Wasn’t that part of youth, the eagerness to change the world? And Sunnyside was a marvelous place back then. With its many Mom and Pop stores, quaint restaurants offering many cuisines that displayed the diversity of its residents.

Cassandra welcomed the breeze to caress her and bring out the many memories of the good days when two young kids found this place and made it their home. The nostalgia embraced her, and she felt the sweetness of it all moved her lips into a carefree, joyful smile. Until a woman carrying a large, homemade sign that spelled ‘Jesus is Coming’ interrupted her meditated state. It would have been a laughable disturbance, yet the crazed woman kept yelling furiously. “Repent! Sinners, repent!”

Spit flew out of the woman’s mouth and her eyes held a look that bothered Cassandra, especially when those wild eyes fell on her. With a crooked finger, the woman pointed at Cassandra and screeched the same message she had been spouting, but now it seemed she directed the message at Cassandra. The woman came closer, glaring at Cassandra with her crazy eyes, while the word ‘Repent’ came out in slow hisses. Those inside the plaza watched them, transporting Cassandra back to that awful night when Alberto became the devil himself and everyone had glared at her in the same way when the police brought her down in handcuffs.

Distraught by the dark memories and unsettled by the mad antics of the woman, Cassandra stood up, snatched her overnight bag, and ran out of the plaza. To her horror, all eyes were on her—accusing eyes—and in the woman’s face there was a satisfaction in her sinister smile. And as Cassandra scampered across the street, all she kept hearing was “Repent! Repent, sinners! Repent!”

CHAPTER 7

The black and blues that spread from his biceps to the top of his shoulders were humongous and plain upsetting. Using a hand-held mirror, Frank could see deep scratches and teeth marks all over his back, some still dotted with blood. Excruciating burns exploded throughout his body the second he was under the shower and now, two hours later, the puncture bites were uncontrollable itches he couldn’t scratch away. He cringed at the stings that prickled his body, but the most alarming discomfort was the soreness in his penis. Yet, nothing was more unnerving than the bite marks along the area of his inner thighs. Frank couldn’t understand any of it. The more he rolled the dream in his head, it frightened him to imagine that as crazy and wild as it may seem, somehow whatever he dreamt had happened. He tried to rationalize that he was responsible for the scratches on his back by rubbing against the wall. And he could even blame the soreness on his penis on a drunken masturbation session, but the bite marks—they were the puzzling thing. The first thought that came to him was that maybe there was a rat inside his apartment which had gnawed on his dick while he slept, but he dismissed it quickly; the bites were human. And to add more missing pieces to the puzzle—he had no answers about his clothes that were shredded to rags and discarded on the floor.

On top of all those unanswered questions, what remained the most was the woman’s face in his dream. She was stunning and Frank could still hear the huskiness in her voice and the aromatic scent that seeped from her bronze skin.

He passed one finger through one of the bite marks. He winced. And that action alone convinced him that what had occurred last night was not the result of a vivid dream. Was he going mad? To make matters worse, there was an uneasiness that kept making him take nervous glances around the apartment. Now that the early evening shadows were slipping inside the room, he went and turned on every light in every room, except the kitchen, for Frank feared to go in there. Shaken by it all, he sat on the couch and stared at the corridor that led to the kitchen. He wanted to get up and gather enough bravery to walk inside and sweep up the broken jar. But something evil was in there—waiting for him—and like a horrified child waking from a nightmare, Frank stayed put. Eventually he would muster the courage and go back in there to clean up the mess, but that time was not now, perhaps tomorrow under the safety of the morning light.

Yet, the nauseating odor coming from the kitchen kept Frank unbalanced, and what most rattled his brain were the footprints on the floor, which traced a path from the kitchen, through the living room, and straight into the bedroom. At first, when he noticed them, he thought they were his, but the closer he looked at them, he knew there were not. They were smaller prints, like those of a woman. Since that discovery, Frank had kept himself in the security of his living room with the television blasting, giving him false courage that he was not alone. Flustered, Frank let out a nervous laugh and, shaking his head, he stood up. “Come on asshole,” he said out loud. “Snap out of it.”

A bit of bravery washed over him, but a long, squealing sound that came from the bedroom slapped the bravery away. He held his breath and listened for any other sound. Maybe it came from outside. Must be those damn kids in the courtyard, and, with that thought comforting him, Frank tried to relax.

“I’m going to drive myself crazy,” Frank said, and to hear his voice out loud made him feel safer. He searched for the remote control and soon he began switching channels, when another sound, this time louder, came from the kitchen. He lowered the volume and perked his ears up. It was a sweeping sound. Frank jumped to his feet and, after a few seconds, went toward the kitchen. But would he be brave enough to investigate? He inched closer. The sound was definitely coming from the kitchen. But what was it? Maybe rats? It must be fucking rats! Relief washed over him, and he slapped his thigh—a goddamn rat had made its way inside his apartment. And why not? It wouldn’t be the first time or the last. Those were the negative perks of living in a basement apartment close to the garbage cans. Once again, bravery took hold of him and determined to stomp the rat to death, Frank rushed into the kitchen. He went in and covered his nose, for the stink was worse than before. He glanced around and, to his astonishment, someone had pushed the broken glass into a nice pile. Frank froze and, to his horror, he felt something behind him. He could hear the soft sounds of breathing. It immobilized him and his heart pounded. He experienced the sensation of air against his neck and the odor of musk.

“Relax honey,” a raspy voice whispered, followed by a moist kiss on his neck. “Don’t be afraid. Not after what we did last night. Come on,” strong slender fingers wrapped around his biceps, “It’s getting late. It’s time to go to bed. I’m hungry.”

CHAPTER 8

Dusk settled over Sunnyside, canvasing the sky in a prismatic display of brilliant orange hues with hints of blue and red. Drawing the curtain away from the window, Cassandra looked out. She had not ventured out since she had checked in, and the constant urge to get the hell out of here was getting old. Throughout the day, she had scolded herself as if she was a child standing in front of her. She had sworn never to set foot on these streets again, but here she was, and it was time to stop the inner complaints. There was no room for stupid mind games and the sooner she quit second-guessing her actions, the quicker she could start concentrating on taking care of business. As a reward, she could head back home and leave Sunnyside behind her forever. Yet, the main unanswered question was, what exactly was she planning to do? Keep sprinkling holy water like a self-appointed wannabe Pope and expect a miracle to come crashing from the sky? Really? What the hell was her goddamn plan? This was no vampire movie she was making where all she had to do was open some windows during a sunny day and plunge a wooden stake through Bela Lugosi’s heart. It was still hard to accept that her dead husband had made an unexpected visit with tales about a demon she thought she had killed. But it was back and once and for all it needed to be destroyed. How could she accomplish such a feat? Cassandra had no idea. Would a GPS guide Cassandra to her lair and some YouTube videos instruct her on the basic steps of how to get rid of a Satanic bitch?

Cassandra pulled away from the sky and watched a 7 Express train rush by. She could feel the vibration through the thin walls of the hotel, and with the added noise of the Queens Boulevard traffic, it was hard to understand who in their right mind would think a hotel right across elevated tracks and a busy avenue was a good idea. She dragged the curtain back, crossed the room, sat on a chair next to the bed, and closed her eyes. It did not surprise Cassandra how quickly sleep took ahold of her, and less surprised when Alberto appeared simultaneously in the too realistic dream. It was hard to differentiate if she was dreaming or was in a meditative state. Either way, she understood that this was the best way she could communicate with him.

“What you did today was good, but it’s not enough,” his voice drifted within the flow of the surrounding air. “She already has another poor slob in her clutches, and you know what that means. I don’t have to spell it out to you. You must be quick. If not, the killings will start all over again unless you stop him, and this time you must do more than what you did in the past to end it.”

“She’s still inside the building?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes, but not for long. She’s a quick learner, and the time trapped inside the jar strengthened her and made her more determined.”

“Are you sure?”

“Have you forgotten who you also trapped in there with her?” Alberto said, not hiding his annoyance.

“She’s not a person, she’s a demon. You cannot get confused—”

“Like I was before? Confused by her seductions?” Alberto interrupted her.

She could hear resentment and something else in Alberto’s words. Was it sadness? Bitterness? It was hard to tell. Perhaps it was anger, making her wonder if he still hated her for what she did.

“In that case, what do I need to do now?” Cassandra asked, guiding the conversation away from a subject that was obviously still fresh in Alberto’s mind.

“You need to go back and find out who removed the jar and where it is. That’ll be the best start. Don’t you agree?”

“How can that be possible? What am I supposed to do? Start knocking on every door and inquire about a milk jar filled with water and a picture?”

“We already know what happened to the jar. Just like the cookie jar, it shattered into pieces.”

“So, it was you who broke the cookie jar. Why?”

“Because sentimental thoughts should no longer keep us living in a lie.”

“What lie?”

“Our love. Maybe it wasn’t as strong as we both thought it was and she saw it more plainly than us.”

“Don’t say that. It was not a lie. It was real.”

“As real as the blade that cut out my heart?”

“Stop it!” Cassandra screamed.

There was silence and Cassandra jumped out of the chair, and, twirling quickly, she found Alberto standing in front of her. It was still hard to get used to the fact that a living corpse was now part of her repertoire.

“In that case, my dear Cassandra, if you’d rather stay here and wait, then that’s what we will do; wait and follow the blood trail, but guess what?”

“I don’t have to guess, I know. The killings will start and this time, if they find me involved in them, they will arrest me and put me away for life.”

She saw Alberto nod and in a gray mist he vanished. Cassandra swore there was a grin on his face. Raising her hands to her head, she felt the pangs of a migraine and, once again, she questioned her sanity, but not as much as she questioned Alberto’s grin.

CHAPTER 9

The digital clock read 7:37AM, but, to Frank, it felt like midnight. His exhaustion was nothing compared to how unsettling the blood on the sheets was. The constant shakes that ravaged him all night long had not subsided, and the horror of knowing this was not a dream had unraveled his senses. She revealed herself to him and what he saw beyond her mesmerizing beauty, regardless of her sexual prowess, was an air of evil that consumed her entire aura. He looked down at his legs, then passed his hands over his stomach and chest; the deep scratches and bite marks were alarming. Was this mystery woman feeding from him? He rolled slowly to his side and bit his lips to keep the screams from jumping out of him. He had never known pain like he was feeling now, but the mere thoughts of the wild night—her savage lust—Frank was more than willing to suffer. She was like an intoxicating and addictive drug.

He could hear her soft steps moving around the apartment and Frank imagined she was in the kitchen, where the broken jar remained on the floor. That damned jar, which he thought was a treasure, was feeling more like a curse instead. Yes, this enchanting woman had something to do with it, but to what extent was the gigantic puzzle he couldn’t solve. The bedroom door whined. It startled him. As she made her way to the bed, her exotic scent rapidly perfumed the air. She smelled like flowers, earth, sweat, and sex—the combination of odors aroused him at once.

The warmth of her body made him tingle and the softness of her hands which moved expertly over his shoulders was exhilarating. Her breath was hot, and she planted kisses on his neck. Kisses which were followed by tiny sensual bites. Frank moaned and shook uncontrollably. She wrapped her lithe legs over his waist and Frank became still.

“Do you love me, honey?” she asked, nibbling at his earlobe. “Do you love me?” She asked again and Frank’s answer was a submissive groan that translated into a resounding yes.

She laughed and lowering her hand to his crotch, gave him a squeeze. He cried out loudly, feeling his penis stiffen.

“What’s your name?” Frank asked, and it surprised him he had asked such a question, but not as surprised to know that this was the first time he had dared speak to her.

Again, she laughed; this time an uninhibited laugh, while bringing her hand away from his penis and playfully pinching one of his nipples. “I have many names, honey. But if it pleases you to have a name for me… then you can call me Lilith.”

Frank craned his neck, trying to get a better look at her face, but she grasped his chin and pushed him gently away from her. “I love you, Lilith,” he blurted out.

“And I love you too, honey,” she said, and her words were syrupy—driving him mad. He tried to grab her, for his lust was overpowering him. She placed both hands on his head and held him down. “Now, honey, you understand I need to go, but don’t worry your heart over little ol’ me. I’ll be back when evening falls.”

“Why do you have to go?” Frank asked, already missing her.

“Because…” she spoke, then pause, letting out a mischief giggle. “Do you believe in fairy tales, honey?”

Frank nodded, as he placed his hand on her naked thigh.

“Well, I’m something like that. I come from a place where magical beings are born.”

“Like a princess?”

She hummed in his ears and, removing her hands from his head, she caressed his face, then licked the side of his neck. “Yes, like a princess. But this little princess needs energy to become whole again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need the lives of others to sustain my own life. And if I don’t get what I need to survive, I won’t be able to stay here, with you, any longer.”

“How can I provide you with lives?” Frank asked. His words were desperate, and they trembled.

She turned his face where he could see hers, and, to Frank, he had seen no one as captivating as this stunning naked woman in his bed.

“What can I do to keep you here forever with me?” Frank asked.

“Bring me the souls of those not yet born, those with their beauty that radiates a perfect innocence, and I’ll be yours forever.”

CHAPTER 10

A slight breeze with a hint of rain greeted Cassandra as she stepped out of the hotel. She was a tad famished and, with a few excellent suggestions of the nearby restaurants from the girl at the front desk, Cassandra couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into something that would satisfy her hunger. She wanted nothing fancy. A burger and a glass of wine would be more than adequate for the night. It was a sudden urge that had popped into her mind, and now as she strolled away from the hotel, she was convinced it was a pleasant idea, especially after being cooped up inside that tiny room. It gave her a chance to reintroduce herself to the neighborhood and to remove the webs of mayhem weaved by Alberto’s morbid apparition.

Stopping at the lights, she took a deep breath to steady her mind and erase all the clutter that was suffocating her. Maybe, Cassandra nodded, with a full belly and the unwinding prowess of a few glasses of wine, she should just get her bag, call a cab, and go back home. Let the turmoil from her past stay here, and if someone unleashes the demon once more, as Alberto claimed, then let it no longer be her problem. Why should she care if another slave—another weak-minded fool—began another killing spree to please the demon’s hunger? Again, Cassandra insisted, this was not her problem. But if it wasn’t, then what was she doing here? That annoying voice gnawed at her. Abruptly, she came to a halt and pivoted. At a distance, the hotel loomed and a powerful urge to hurry back overwhelmed her. A pull to gather her stuff and high-tail it away from demons and ghouls, and the goddamn guilt that even after all these years it was still as fresh as that awful night—the remorse of taking a human life.

“You’re letting your mind confuse you,” Alberto’s voice was now inside her head and Cassandra stumbled. “You need to take a hold of yourself. This is no hallucination and, unless you accept it wholeheartedly, we are going to fail.”

“We?” Cassandra reacted after taking another look at the hotel and then forcing herself to continue her walk.

“Yes, my dear Cassandra, it’s we, as us, together to bring this demon down for good. And even though I won’t be able to help you physically, at least I can assist you in other ways.”

“Like how?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m sure when the time comes, it will be revealed it to us.”

“Who’s controlling you now?” Cassandra asked, for her doubt about Alberto were increasing. Unless she had already lost her mind and all these clandestine events were only happening in her deranged mind, she needed to know more about Alberto’s involvement. Was this the way a spirit who gained his freedom behaves? Was the destruction of the monster the only way it would liberate him from whatever hold it had on him? Was the demon still controlling him? And now for whatever reason, was she being led like a pawn by Alberto’s possessed spirit?

“Cassandra, you haven’t changed one bit,” Alberto said, and there was humor in his words. “You were always the analytical one. Even the simple act of grocery shopping was a debated process in your mind.”

“Well, if you know me as well as you think, then answer the question.”

“My journey to the everlasting life we heard during Father Mahoney’s sermons at Queens of Angels is what’s controlling me. The human spirit must return to its origin, and when you trapped my soul, it fused part of her soul with mine, and regardless that I’m now free from my imprisonment, I’m still under her clutch. And the second she’s destroyed my spirit will continue its journey.”

Rolling Alberto’s answer through what he called her analytical mind, Cassandra had no other choice but to accept it. It was a good guess that whoever found the jar was now her slave as well, and it was up to them to be quick in recognizing who the demon was using, because if they failed—God help them with what type of evil would be unleashed. Cassandra knew the demon was taken by surprise on that night, but this time she’d be more prepared; and with an added touch of revenge to strengthen her. This time, Alberto warned, there would be no jar of holy water big enough to trap her again. The destruction of the demon was the only option. If not, innocent lives would suffer, and the hideous monster would gain the immortality and the powers to roam among us as she pleased.

A modern-day vampire. Cassandra shuddered, the same way she did when Alberto revealed the consequences they were facing. Still, part of her kept questioning those revelations, and she was still not one hundred percent sure if she could trust and believe in Alberto. But could she afford to doubt it and decide to stay idle and do nothing at all? Didn’t Alberto point out how much you learned about another person when you spent a long time with them? And, for sure, Alberto and the demon who seduced him had shared a prison for a long time. A prison Cassandra thought was going to hold them forever. Little did she know how ill-prepared she was then, and she agonized over if she was ready now. Lord, she wanted to scream. I don’t need this. Wasn’t that the reason she ran away from New York and into the quietness of Lancaster, PA.? To be lost forever in a place nobody knew her—a faceless person. Why then should she care about what the hell goes on in a place she no longer gives a shit about? She did her part. Now let some other fools do theirs!

“It’s still your problem. You can’t run away from it,” Alberto’s voice broke into her thoughts.

Cassandra rubbed her forehead and brushed her hair away from her face. She was going mad—yes, that’s what it was, completely cuckoo.

“You’re not going mad. But did you think by running away from New York the problem would disappear? My dear, this is like a debt. It will follow you until pay in full!” Alberto’s voice echoed in her ears.

“Alberto, this is your problem, not mine. I did enough, now get out of my head, out of my life, and let me be in peace.”

“That’s exactly what I want for the two of us, peace, and until she’s dead, we won’t achieve it. Cassandra, the day you fought against her and trapped us inside the jar, was the day it became your problem. She wants vengeance. To you that day was a long time ago, but for someone who’s been around for centuries, that day, and her entrapment, is still as fresh as the day it happened. She knows by your actions you prevented her from the mortality in a human body she so madly wants. She came close, but you deprived her of that.”

“And if I go back home and dismiss this as a bad hallucination, then what? Will she be planning to take an Amtrak train and make a surprise visit?”

“Yes.”

Cassandra stopped; an icy chill ran through her.

“Let me put it all on the table, and hopefully you may finally see the entire picture. On that night, the night you killed me, and killed her plans as well, you inherited this problem. You made it your own. Now it’s time to pay your debt, and only then will we both be free and once more peace will rein in our lives.”

Watching the traffic along the boulevard, Cassandra wondered why she did not just jump in a cab and give the driver enough money to take her all the way home. She was sure she’d find a cabby willing to take a long drive for a thousand dollars. The cash was in her bag, so why not use it to run away from this evil place?

“Because the problem will still be here, Cassandra. We both know it. Maybe you should continue your walk to the pub and have yourself a drink. You know how alcohol always soothes you and makes you think better.”

“Fuck you,” Cassandra said and this time she says it out loud, not in the privacy of her mind the way she had been communicating with Alberto.

She waited for his voice to return and, relieved by his silence, Cassandra took a deep breath to steady herself. Perhaps Alberto was right, there was no escape from this.  Even though it had been many years ago, not one day went by without the images of that horrible night coming to haunt her. Disturbing her sleep with the constant nightmares that kept jolting her throughout the night. But could she truly trust Alberto? Even as wild as it sounded, she was putting all her faith in an apparition who came to her prophesying tales of doom. She sighed. Maybe Alberto was right, there was only one option. Cassandra nodded and lifted her head with a new determination. She resumed her walk towards the pub—besides, a pleasant drink is always welcome, regardless of if the last drink she took was on that dreadful night.

CHAPTER 11

It was a shocking sight Frank saw as he stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. His body, mostly covered with cuts and bite marks, was a horrible spectacle to see. He cringed at the deep scratches where streaks of blood ran freely through his reddened skin. With every move he made, his muscles screamed out in pain. Gingerly, he got dressed, wincing at the simple act of pulling his T-shirt over his head. Even the long sleeve shirt he wore was uncomfortable, but if he was planning to go out, he had to hide the scratches and bites. To his relief, there were no visible bruises on his face and neck, and he wondered if that was a calculated move by Lilith. Frank stopped dressing and leaned his head against the wall; he groaned. He was tired, and he didn’t remember the last time he put something in his stomach. It wasn’t for lack of trying, because he attempted to go to the kitchen, but the sight of a grayish mist that twirled by the entrance always drove him away.

He was sweating profusely, and Frank pondered if he was going to be strong enough to not only walk out, but to do Lilith’s bidding. Lilith’s bidding? Jesus, what the hell was he doing? Was he able to commit the unthinkable? Kill someone for the lust of a woman? Besides, what was he supposed to do when he went out? She never told him that part. Was he supposed to bring the body back to his place? Frank stepped away from the bathroom, stumbled to the living room, and plopped down onto the couch. Was this really happening? Frank pressed his temples and rocked back and forth. Or maybe he was in one hell of a wild dream; induced by the many years of drinking and drug usage back in his younger days. Yet under the circumstances he faced, Frank knew he had to get away from her. But before that thought cemented within, there was a gentle caress on the top of his head. Lilith was back and kissed his shoulders.

“Did you miss me, honey?” Lilith lowered her lips to his and kissed him. Her taste was stimulating, and Frank’s willpower became a pawn in her experienced and bewitching hands. “You look very handsome. I’m already jealous of all those women out there who will look at you and fall in love. You better warn them I don’t play nice.”

Frank heard her words, and as much as he felt the pounding of his heart expecting her temptress-like sex, he knew he had become a puppet to her whims. He was a fool, her fool, but goddamn, he was not a murderer! Lilith’s hands grabbed the bottom of his chin, the roughness bringing tears to his eyes. For a petite woman, there was an incredible strength in her. She pulled his head backward, and he smacked the couch with force. The pain drove his eyes to open wide, and they fell on her, and the mere sight of her contorted face scared him into a screaming fit. He was delirious, and right now, he’d rather run away, dashed like a wounded animal seeking for safety, but Lilith held him tight, and the familiar paralysis took control.

Finally, she let go of him and the momentum sent Frank sprawling onto the floor. There was no strength in him, and the more he tried to move, to his horror, even the simplest action of blinking his eyes brought tears to them. Standing above him, Lilith glared at him, and Frank couldn’t understand her anger, until a realization dawned on him; she read his thoughts. Her eyes were two dark slits under an infuriated brow that lifted into scowling arches. Frank stared at Lilith, and her lips spread wide enough to reveal sharp, white fangs. A thin tongue slithered out of her mouth and protruding horns pushed out, ripping the skin from each side of her skull. Lilith knelt beside Frank and, taking one of her breasts, she squeezed her nipple, and a dark green fluid oozed out. It stunk just like the water that had spilled out from the jar what seems a long time ago now. Tilting Frank’s head, Lilith breastfed him like a newborn. And Frank drank from her breast, in greedy slurping sounds, and a vigor ran through his veins, fusing into his bones. Then Frank moved, and soon he lifted himself from the floor while cradling Lilith in his arms, refusing to move his hungry mouth away from her nurturing breast.

CHAPTER 12

With Alberto out of her head, the stroll from the hotel turned out to be pleasant and therapeutic. It gave her the feeling of stepping inside a time capsule and allowed her a glimpse of the memorable moments from long ago. The bygone days that to Cassandra began with the naivety of a fairy tale and ended as a horrible nightmare. She could trace her steps back to the many fond mementos when she and Alberto had roamed these Sunnyside streets. Newlyweds, so much in love, spending delightful occasions inside the coziness of the Irish pubs and restaurants that lined Queens Boulevard. It was a shame that most of them no longer existed—like everything in life—in due time, everything changes. She remembered one of her favorite pubs, P.J. Horgan’s, and the movie theatre, The Center, next to it. She had worked at the savings bank on the corner of the block. They were all gone, just empty shells. Even Sidetrack, a place that had become an institution, had the misfortune to be victimized by a fire that wiped out half a block of staple businesses. It was difficult to fathom those twenty years had gone by, and even though there were still a few places from the old days, Sunnyside had received a major facelift since she was last here. But one thing she was glad had not changed was the lovely small-town mentality visible in the faces of those she passed in the streets. In her random walk, memories played out in her mind like shuffling old pictures in her mental photo album.

However, after walking a few more blocks on Queens Boulevard, the hustle and bustle was too strange, and Cassandra turned left straight down towards Skillman Avenue where the frenzy of congested traffic and the maddening shrieks of impatient car horns was non-existent. Even the pedestrians seemed to walk at a slower pace. As she approached the playground, the joyful screams of kids and the barking of dogs were a soothing effect that uplifted her mood and made Cassandra smile. Now, more than ever, she was pleased that the quick conversation with the girl at the hotel had convinced her to venture out here. And, as Cassandra passed the Queen of Angels church, she discovered what was once a conglomerate of Mom-and-Pop shops along this once sleepy avenue was now a thriving row of chic restaurants and even a sophisticated wine bar. It was a quite eye-opening, and stopping at the place the girl had suggested, Cassandra was right away delighted with the ambiance. There were tables that lined the sidewalk, which went around the establishment; all occupied with patrons devouring delicious plates of food, and toasting with glasses of wine, fancy colorful drinks, and frosty mugs of beer. Through the open door, the sounds of a boisterous crowd inside acted as a magnet pulling her in. She tried to remember what was here twenty years ago, perhaps a television and radio repair shop, but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, she loved what it was now; a quaint, lovely place. Looking above the entrance, it read, The Skillman.

CHAPTER 13

The cold beer went down smoothly and in less than a minute, Frank was gesturing to the bartender for another one. Whatever came out of Lilith’s breast still coated his mouth with an awful, bitter taste and he was going to drink as many beers as needed to wash it away. He had arrived at the pub early enough to beat the crowd that was filing in, which allowed him to take a seat at the far end of the bar. It kept him hidden yet gave him the perfect spot to keep a watch on those who came through the door. Lilith guided him to this location, and that awful fact made him fear her because it finally cemented the fact, she was not a mere mirage in his twisted, perverted mind. No! Lilith was real, and someone who, if he didn’t follow her orders, with no hesitation, would make him suffer unimaginable consequences. Now, to add more dread to his already shaken psyche, Frank was convinced she could read his mind, and to even think of double-crossing her would be his death wish. Which meant, for his own survival, he had no other choice but to obey.

With those thoughts bombarding his mind, Frank replayed the last message Lilith had whispered as she had climbed on top of him and made him reach an ecstasy in seconds. ‘She’ll come to you, like a willing sheep. All you need to do is wait and soon the right time will come.’

And as Lilith had prophesized, a group of young girls strolled in, and right away Frank spotted the one Lilith wanted. Discreetly, he watched the group of eight girls, already tipsy, as they occupied the two tables reserved for them. Once he knew who the one was, Frank relaxed and sipped his beer slowly. He studied them as a struggle began in his mind between accepting the task in front of him, or merely abandoning such madness and running out of the pub. Part of him knew what he was about to do was wrong—no—more than wrong; it was demonically wrong. But another part, the one enslaved by the lust of Lilith’s wild sex, was a willing stooge, and nothing in this world or even in Heaven or Hell was going to stop him. He raised his hand for another beer and no sooner had the bartender placed the bottle down, Frank gulped half of it. Yes, Frank nodded. He needed all the alcohol in him to do the unthinkable.

*****

Cassandra stopped for a few seconds and looked over her shoulder before she entered the pub. Again, she marveled at how a once forgotten strip of Mom-and-Pop stores had transformed into a unique identity that birthed a brand-new breed of Sunnysiders. This part of the area didn’t quite have the chaotic madness Queens Boulevard possessed, nor the shopping comfort of Greenpoint Avenue, but she could see it was gaining its own distinctiveness. There was a new life among the lively streets, from the jazz music that filtered from the stylish wine bar at the corner, to the vibration she felt from the people who walked by or sat at the sidewalk tables. Cassandra smiled, for at that moment the notion of how much she missed New York replaced the ugliness of the reason she was here. And here, just like the wine bar, the trendy Irish pub with sidewalks tables, added an elegance that conjured images of the quaint eatery places in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. She would have loved to sit on the outside, but not wanting to wait, she opened the door and walked in. At once, the vivacity of the place made Cassandra feel comfortable as a raucous crowd embraced her and pulled her into the bliss of everyone’s own celebration. This was a place where spontaneous laughter and wild abandon created a fusion of contentment. The clinking of glasses and the scrapes of utensils on plates accented the great time everyone was having. The dimness in the pub, the closeness of the packed tables added a camaraderie to the place—the ambiance where people came in as strangers and, after a few hours, walked out as friends. A young man came quickly to greet her and, with menu tucked under his arm, led Cassandra to one of the few empty tables near the small bar.

The good feeling of the pub removed all her anxiety and there was a serenity that cloaked her shoulders with a warmth that made her feel welcomed. She was about to order a beer when she decided to have a glass of Pinot Noir instead. From the menu, she glanced through it, but as appetizing as all the items were, she ordered the burger. How could she not? It came with caramelized onion, seared foie gras, red cabbage, coleslaw, pickles, and fries. Her mouth watered as the waiter left with her order. He came back shortly with her wine, and taking a sip, she leaned back. A group of young girls to the right of her raised their drinks and, between giggles, toasted at the one who looked to be the reason for their celebration. A birthday perhaps, Cassandra thought, and turning to take in the scenery at the other side of the packed room, a peculiar man at the end of the bar attracted her attention. The way he stared at the girls was troubling, and trying not to make too much of it, Cassandra took another sip and looked away. Still, as much as she tried to ignore the man, something pulled her attention back to him. By pure chance, where she sat, she was at an angle that gave her an unobstructed view of the bar yet hid her from him. Unaware of his stalker-like stares, the girls ordered another round of drinks, and, by their loudness, Cassandra knew they were getting loaded. That information suddenly made her fear for them. She was about to walk to their table, warn them about the man at the bar, when her food arrived. She took another quick glance at the man. The way he drank his beer, and the quick jerks his head made from the bartender to the girls’ table, filled her with distrust, and Cassandra decided she would not lose sight of him. Besides, if the girls stayed put and didn’t leave, there was nothing to worry about. Relaxing with her decision, she bit down on the burger, and its juiciness and perfect combination of spices exploded in her mouth, but her constant spying on the man made it impossible to enjoy it. The server came back to her table with another glass of wine.

“From a secret admirer,” he said with a sly smile.

“Excuse me?” Cassandra looked at the wine and back at the young man, dabbing her chin with the napkin.

“I don’t have the liberty to disclose the person, actually I don’t even know who he is,” he snickered. “The bartender just gave me the wine with the instructions to bring it to you,”

“And if I refuse?”

“It’s your call, but it’s already paid for, and with my experience, usually the person is too shy to even introduce themselves. I guess old-fashioned chivalry is not dead after all,” he added.

Cassandra glanced around. “Tell the bartender to thank the generous person, now that I can’t do it myself.”

“Very well.”

He was about to leave when Cassandra placed her hand on his arm. “Tell me, that man at the end of the bar...is he a regular here?”

The waiter raised his head, and after taking a quick look, he looked at Cassandra. “Never seen him before. I see you’re trying to guess who the secret admirer is,” he said with a smile.

“Something like that. You can’t be too trusty nowadays, especially a woman by herself.”

He nodded politely and excused himself as a table close to the entrance waved for his attention. Cassandra watched him go, and then looked at the fresh glass of wine, and cautiously glanced at the bar where she spotted two men drinking alone, aside from the one that gave her the creeps.

“He’s here.”

Cassandra tilted her head at the voice; it was Alberto.

“Welcome back,” she said, then frowning, she asked, “Was that you who sent the wine?”

There was a chuckle in her head. “We have our limits.”

“Including giving out those six little numbers?”

“Yes, and the winner of the Super Bowl.”

Cassandra smiled and took a sip of the first glass of wine, using the self-control she fought hard to master over her alcohol intake. There was a time in a place like this where she would have been on her sixth glass by now. “In that case, we hit the jackpot on our first roll of the dice. Is he here for pleasure or business?”

“It’s always business with the demon’s slave. Now all we need to do is follow him and find where he lives. That’s the only way we’re going to find her and the jar.”

“But first we need to stop him from murdering an innocent person, and if I’m right, I already know who’s the slave and who are the candidates for his victims,” Cassandra said as she downed the rest of her wine and reached out for the other glass. She tapped her fingers on the table and then retreated her hand back. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the wine further away and, as a substitute, took a nibble from the burger. The server walked by, gave her a big smile as he led a couple to their table, then on his way back, he stopped. “How’s everything?”

Cassandra flashed him a smile. “Perfect… everything is perfect. Thank you.”

“Excellent,” he bowed slightly. “Anything you want, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, I won’t,” Cassandra smiled again. “But for now, everything is fine.”

The young man walked away, but not before Cassandra noticed his eyes glancing at her cleavage.

“I see you still have it,” Alberto said, and there was anger in his tone. To Cassandra it sounded like the old Alberto, when he was still alive—always finding jealousy towards her.

“He’s a young kid… young enough to be my son.”

“Young men fantasize with a woman like you.”

Cassandra shook her head, and not giving it much thought, reached out for the wine, but not before an elderly man approached her table. He was one of the gentlemen who has been sitting at the bar. Her secret admirer revealing his identity?

“Hello, I hope I’m not disturbing your dinner,” he began with the attitude of someone who always get his way. “I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself.”

Cassandra could hear the subdued giggles from the party girls at their expense, and from the corner of her eye she saw the attention given to them by other diners at nearby tables.

“My name is Charles,” he said, extending his hand. Cassandra took it and gave it a quick shake. “May I?” he asked, pointing to the chair across from her, and before she could give an answer, he slid in and made himself comfortable.

“Not much appetite,” Charles said, pointing at her plate. “And your name is?”

“Cassandra,” she answered and pointing at the wine, she added. “Was that you who sent it?”

He nodded with a smile. “You look very familiar, Cassandra,” he said. “Do you live around here?”

“No, just visiting.”

“I see. Visiting someone in Sunnyside, or merely here for the scenery?” Charles asked sarcastically.

Giving him a polite smile, Cassandra felt an urge to tell him that playtime was over, and he should go back to his spot at the bar. She didn’t like to be questioned by total strangers. By now, the attention they attracted was old news as everyone resumed what they were doing. It reduced even the party girls to a giggle here and there. Cassandra was about to take a sip of the wine when inconspicuously she took a glimpse at the girls’ table. One of them was missing. She covered her mouth to hide the gasp that almost leapt out. Charles sat there with a smile on his face, and Cassandra knew he was expecting more conversation for his 9-dollar glass of wine. She looked around, desperately trying to see where the girl went. Perhaps to the bathroom, Cassandra guessed. She tried to see if the man at the end of the bar was still here but, to her horror, he was missing as well. Desperation vaulted in her heart, and she pushed the table away from her and stood up, some of the wine spilling on the table and burger. Charles stared and there was a bit of anger showing. Cassandra was about to run out of the restaurant when she saw the missing girl returning to the table, and relief washed over her as she sat down.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked, but there was no sincerity in his voice.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, and now more than ever, she wanted to speak to Alberto, but it was impossible with this man here. She wanted to head to the bathroom, but she feared that if she went away for even one second, the girls might leave, and Cassandra knew the killer had already chosen one of them. “I think the wine got to me. I’ll be back, I just need some air,” Cassandra said, and when she was about to take her bag, the man was back at the end of the bar. Charles glared at her peculiarly. Cassandra sat down and decided to send the old man back to where he came from. She didn’t care if it was the polite thing to do or not, but at this moment, he was a distraction. She needed to converse with Alberto, and this old fool was in her way. Besides, if he made any protest, she was more than willing to give him back the lousy 9 bucks for the wine and even add 2 more bucks for the bartender’s tip.

“Charles, it was nice of you to send me the wine and it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but if you don’t mind, I want to be alone and finish my dinner. Thank you so much, maybe we’ll bump into each other again on my stay here.”

His stare was icy, and his face was rigid. He forced his lips into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. Charles stood up; his hand extended. Cassandra took it, but his forceful grip didn’t allow her to pull back. While holding her hand, he leaned over, and when Cassandra thought he was about to kiss her, he whispered in her ear. “I’m one of the old timers of Sunnyside. Living here long enough to have raised three brilliant kids who have given me four beautiful grandkids. I remember you. You used to live not too far from here. To be more precise, it was down by 43rd Avenue. I noticed your hair is shorter, a different color, and you put on a few extra pounds. Although as respectful as possible, you’re still attractive—as attractive as when they took you down in handcuffs. I don’t know what brought you here, but let me be blunt, I’ll be watching you.”

With those words, Charles walked slowly to the door, waved at the bartender, and stepped out into the night. Cassandra remained sitting down, feeling the weight of all eyes on her. Even the young server, standing by the bar with the bartender, was looking at her as if she sprouted horns. She took the cup of wine and before she lifted to her lips; it fell off her hand and crashed on the floor. When she looked at the girls’ table, to her anguish the girl who had come from the bathroom was no longer there, and when she scanned the end of the bar, only an empty chair remained—where the man who kept watching the girls had been holding court.

*****

Frank bolted from the pub, not sure if it was a good move or not, but the uneasiness he felt from the constant stares from the dark-haired woman inside drove him into a state of paranoia. The intensity in her eyes spoke volumes, as if she knew exactly why he was there. He tried to dismiss those thoughts as plain jitters from the horror of what he was planning to do, and even if it was his imagination doing cartwheels, he couldn’t afford to take any unnecessary chances. He was relieved when the older man approached her table, and using that as the perfect camouflage, he slipped away. And now, standing at the corner across the street, hidden by the trees and the thick shadows of the night, to his delight, two girls from the group stepped out. Frank watched them closely, trying to figure out if they had just come out for a smoke or were planning to call it a night. To his contentment, they hugged, and finally, to his satisfaction, one went back in and the one selected by Lilith waved one last time and walked away from the pub. He hesitated for a few seconds, then staying close to the parked cars, he followed her. He could tell the girl was drunk by the way she weaved on her heels, and that information made him relax; his task wouldn’t be too hard to perform. He stopped, slightly hunched, as the girl crossed Skillman Avenue. Frank smiled, because the direction she was taking was toward a much-secluded residential area, rather than the busy area of Queens Boulevard.

Frank’s heart was now a pounding war drum, and his breathing was a hacking rasp. Fat drops of sweat ran freely from each side of his face. He paused for a second, noticing the girl stumble on the uneven sidewalk, yet she continued, and Frank hurried his steps. The kid was pretty wasted, and he wondered why none of her friends volunteered to walk her home. They will regret it come morning.Startled by that awful thought, Frank resumed his pursuit. He knew the area well, and the direction the girl was walking towards was the perfect spot to make his job easier. The area was mostly private homes where tall trees and high bushes hid most of the streets. And smiling at his good fortune, Frank felt his confidence rise—knowing that by the time the night was over, Lilith would be pleased. With that notion in mind, Frank’s smile became broader—if he satisfied Lilith, then that meant she would compensate him for his deed. He nodded with pleasure as he squeezed his balls. Tonight, would be a night of satisfaction. He straightened his back and looked around, as he wrapped his fingers tight around the knife in his coat pocket.

*****

The embarrassment wasn’t as bad as the frustration that consumed her. Cassandra knew she was getting hysterical, and the owners at the pub weren’t making it any easier on her. They were accusing her of trying to run out without paying her bill. Little did they know she was trying to save the life of a young girl.

The party girls were having a great time. Already they had ordered another round and were busy recording the mayhem with their smart phones, hoping it would go viral. Even the nice kid, the young man dressed all in black with his spiked hair and a dangling earring, was standing along with another server blocking the door. She tried to explain to them she was not leaving, just wanted to get some fresh air, although when they grabbed her elbow, she was attempting to cross Skillman Avenue. She could swear she could see the man from the bar hurrying that way, and Cassandra feared the young girl had taken that route. Reluctantly she allowed the man with the no nonsense look on his face to take her back inside the restaurant.

Now standing next to the table where her a half-eaten burger and the broken wine glass were on the floor, Cassandra rummaged through her pocketbook, fishing out her wallet. She peeled a fifty-dollar bill and a twenty and threw them on the table. She knew seventy bucks was more than enough to cover her dinner and wine, plus a hefty tip, but right now all she wanted was to run away from this place and followed the man she felt in her bones was about to murder a young innocent woman.

“I was not running out without paying the bill,” Cassandra said. She turned and pointed at the party girls. “Your friend could be in danger. You must go after her and make sure she’s okay.”

They first looked at each other and back at Cassandra, and each had the same mask of disbelief and amusement. Cassandra shook her head as the waiter scooped the money from the table.

“I don’t need any change,” she told him, then turned to face the man who still held her by her arm. “Now, if you are so kind and move aside, I would like to get on with my life.”

Once outside, with all eyes on her, she glanced around. There were no signs of either of them. “I need some help here,” she voiced her frustration in her mind.

“There’s not that much we could do now, not tonight.”

“Jesus. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“First round is theirs,” Alberto said.

Cassandra stood there, flabbergasted by the unexpected sucker punch she had just received. Tears bolted out of her eyes, and taking one long look in both directions of Skillman Avenue, she began walking to where she had last seen the man.

“You can’t go there,” Alberto said. “It’s too late. Like I said, the first round is theirs.”

Cassandra shook her head, trying to forget Alberto’s cryptic words as she crossed the avenue.

“Cassandra, there’s nothing you could do. The girl is dead, and after the brief incident inside the restaurant, the last place you want to be is anywhere near the body of a murdered girl.”

“How can you be certain she’s already dead?” Cassandra asked, and finding only silence from Alberto, she stopped at the corner. She reached out and placed one hand on the lamppost for support. “Are you sure she’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“Did you witness it?”

Again, silence, and Cassandra felt as if gravity were pulling her with viciousness toward the ground. “Why did you do nothing to stop it?”

“I’m not made of flesh and bone anymore. I’m just mist.”

“But don’t you have the powers to move things? Didn’t you push the cookie jar on the floor?”

“Moving an object is not the same as fighting a human being controlled by a demon. Cassandra, this isn’t a movie about ghosts with superpowers. It’s over. There’s nothing else to do but to go back to your hotel room and keep a low profile, at least for a day or so. There will be questions that need answers, and the less they see of you, the better.”

Cassandra stared into the dark street, knowing that somewhere, perhaps in one alleyway, a young, innocent girl was dead at the hands of a monster. She turned away, taking a quick glance at the restaurant where everyone registered her every step. She took another long look where, according to Alberto, a killing had taken place, and turning away she began the slow walk to the hotel.

CHAPTER 14

It was the size of a tiny mouse, and now that it was inside the jar—the jar Lilith put back together—he felt repulsed at what it was. A human embryo: the one he had carved out from the young girl’s belly. Had he covered his tracks? Frank didn’t know or even remember, but at this moment, he didn’t really care. His mind was still in shock at the savage action he had just performed. He stared at the dirty jar, which was now even dirtier by the two lives he took to satisfy Lilith’s hunger. He was now a monster.

He heard the sirens before he saw the ambulances and squad cars rushing by Queens Boulevard, and he wondered if they were responding to the girl’s body. He shook his head and glared at the jar. The same one he dug from the building, the same one that had crashed into many pieces inside his kitchen. How could Lilith put it back together? He didn’t know. But did it matter? Not one fucking bit!

He returned the hideous thing back inside his coat pocket and apprehensively looked around. He sat at one table at the end of McDonalds, which at this time of the night was mostly empty.

Sluggishly, Frank moved the fries through the glob of ketchup he poured on the paper mat. He almost vomited out the one bite he took from the burger. What the hell made him think he was going to eat after what he had just done to that poor girl? But he needed a place to go, to grasp at the hideous situation he created, and, most of all, be away from his home and Lilith. He reached out for the medium Coke and noticed his hands were shaking. He quickly pulled them away from the cup and hid them underneath the table, gave them a good shake then closed them into fists.

A young couple walked past the table and gave him an up and down weird look. Frank saw the girl frown and the young man pinch his nose, and with a fear that gripped him, he dropped his eyes. It must be the jar and its bloody contents that they smelled. A panic ripped into him. He must get away from here. He slid out of the chair and got to his feet. An uncontrollable tremble took over his hands and he didn’t dare to lift the tray and empty it into the trash can. Instead, he went through the doors and across the parking lot.

He crossed the street, settled behind a pillar of the elevated train tracks, and glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past twelve. The rumble of the train above rattled him, and a strong wind scattered old newspapers and empty coffee cups, as Frank pondered his next move. Part of him wanted to run away from here, but he knew he couldn’t prolong the inevitable, which was to return home and deal with Lilith.

CHAPTER 15

Patty Sullivan had dozed off in the middle of Jeopardy and, like most nights, the television’s loudness eventually woke her up a little after eleven. It had become her nightly routine. Occasionally, Francis, her next-door neighbor, would bang on their adjoining wall for Patty to lower the TV. Except for most Friday nights when Francis entertained the widower down the block and her music was louder than Patty’s television. But tonight was different; Francis was away. The sound that shook Patty from her sleep sounded like a fight right outside her window. She had brushed it off as probably drunken kids horse playing, which was common, especially on Friday nights. Either way, Patty took the remote control, which was always at hand’s reach, and muted the television. She remained still, her ears perked towards the window that faced the narrow alleyway. There was a muffled sound, but still groggy from her sleep, Patty couldn’t be one hundred percent sure if it was from outside the alleyway. She could hear faint laughter, most likely partygoers fueled by alcohol. Dismissing it as that, Patty was just about to turn the volume back up when something heavy slammed under the window. She struggled to her feet, and finding her slippers, she hurried to the window as fast as her eighty-two-year-old legs could move. She lost her footing for a second and dropped her glasses on the floor. Regardless, she looked out the window, and even though it was dark, she could see a black shape of someone running. A bit to the left of the window, she could make out a bulk on the ground, but without her glasses it was hard to determine what it was. She looked down on the floor, and with her foot she gingerly swept around and soon she came upon her glasses. With difficulty, she bent down and scooped them up. She placed them on and looked out the window again. For sure, there was something there, but even with her glasses on, it was still too dark to make out what it was. Maybe it was a large garbage bag, yet something didn’t seem right to Patty. With curiosity getting the best of her, she shuffled to the kitchen where she always kept a flashlight plugged in to the wall. She grabbed it and returned to the window. She flashed the light into the alleyway, and when she was about to dismiss it as nothing but garbage, the beam of the flashlight fell on a shoe. Patty gasped and held on to the windowsill to keep herself from falling; because close to the shoe, she saw a leg, and that’s when she dropped the flashlight and ran to the phone.

*****

The quesadilla and the two cups of coffee that Detective Munro wolfed down for dinner were doing a somersault number in his guts and, turning the car’s ignition off, he squeezed his stomach. A loud burp screeched out, bringing some relief, along with an unholy smell. He unbuckled the seat belt and opened the door, cool air with a hint of fall brushed against his face. From where he had parked, he spotted a few officers from his precinct, plus the motley crew of firefighters, EMTs, and, of course, the gathered crowd of curious neighbors. He approached the area that was cordoned off with yellow tape. He took a quick glance around at those gathered for the night’s festivity. There was nothing better to cure the boring, everyday routine than a delightful scene straight out from one of their television cops and robbers shows. He stared at their faces, wondering if the killer was among them. Some killers return to the scene of their crime. A cheap thrill? An adrenaline shot? Who the hell knew anymore. After the many years on the force, Detective Munro abandoned the cat and mouse psychological bullshit of trying to get inside the head of a murderer. That only worked in mystery novels and senseless television crime shows. Going under the yellow tape, he walked to where the covered body was in the middle of a narrow alleyway that ran between 47th Street and 48th Street. He knelt and lifted the sheet. He exhaled while biting his lower lip. It was a girl, perhaps one year over the legal drinking age. Splattered blood was all around her covered body, and he could see the many blotches already coagulated on her clothes—the powerful odor of blood was rancid and sickening. Even after fifteen years on the force, the last ten in homicide, killings like this were difficult to brush aside as another day in the office. Killings like this were the ones that put any city cop one step closer to eating a bullet or ending up in some looney joint wrapped in a nice straitjacket.

He got back to his feet as two officers approached him and introduced themselves as the first responders. Two young guys with less than five years combined in the force. Gruesome crimes like this one would either break them or make them excellent police officers—Detective Munro hoped it would be the latter; he had seen too many good, eager young cops burn out before their new uniform got shiny on their backside.

“We were patrolling the area when they dispatched us about a disturbance call. Never did we expect something like this… not in this neighborhood.”

“A woman made the call,” the other officer added. “Lives right across from where we found the body. An older woman, she swears seeing someone running away, but she dropped her glasses and all she saw was a blur.”

Detective Munro nodded but made a mental note that the blind woman was going to get a more thorough visit from him. He removed a small flashlight from his pocket and dragged the beam around the alleyway. He could see a few bloody footsteps on the floor, and he hoped it wasn’t one of their own.

One officer stepped closer to him as if he just read the detective’s mind. “Yes, that was the first thing we saw when we arrived. We kept our distance from them. Obviously, the killer was sloppy with his getaway.”

“Good job,” the detective said, pleased that there were still cops with good old-fashioned etiquette.

He returned his attention to the dead girl, and shining the flashlight, he let the beam settled on the girl’s midsection. He closed his eyes for a second, and he couldn't imagine the brutal way they had killed the poor girl. They had pulled her intestines out with such force that now they laid tangled all over her chest like a nest of dead snakes. Nobody deserves to die gutted like an animal, and Detective Munro prayed they would catch the son of a bitch who did this. Keeping the flashlight on the empty cavity where her belly once occupied, he glared at the hole another second longer, then dropped the sheet and covered her. He remained crouched as he traced the bloody footprints. Finally, he stood up and looked down the dark alleyway, wondering which way the killer had gone. For now, those were questions that had to wait—the answers were out there, and the quicker he started asking, the sooner he’d start connecting the puzzle.

“Hell of a pleasant way to start my week after a dream vacation.”

Detective Munro looked up and walking towards him was Detective Taylor, his partner for the last six years.

“What dream vacation? Didn’t your wife have your ass painting the house?”

“Compared to this shit, even a root canal is a vacation,” Detective Taylor said. “Hope I didn’t wake you up on your day off, but I couldn’t leave you out of all the fun.”

“Next time don’t be so generous with your fun time.”

“I’ll try to remember that. Anyway, I got here ten minutes ago. I was still in the precinct when the call came in. Unless the white aprons come up with something, this looks like it’s going to be a bitch of a case. No witnesses, unless you consider the old woman as a witness.”

“Our bat lady? They already informed me about her dropped glasses.”

“The night is young, baby. Weren’t you an altar boy or something like that? So, where’s your faith?”

Detective Munro smiled. “Anything on who the girl is?”

“Her pocketbook was near the body where they found her. According to her driver’s license, her name was Jenny Kessler, only twenty-two years old. Local kid who lived only two blocks away. There was at least two hundred dollars in her wallet, which rules out robbery.”

“They butchered her,” Detective Munro shot another look at the body. “And she’s still fully dressed, so we could also rule out rape. This shit makes no sense, and I’m willing to bet this was no ransom killing. Whoever did this already had a plan.”

“Well… it’s time to knock on some doors.” Detective Taylor said. “We can’t keep all this fun to ourselves.”

CHAPTER 16

Wrapped tightly with two heavy wool blankets, Frank was still trembling. The last time he was this sick was when he had caught a nasty flu a few years back, but this was worse. He had lost all sense of time, and since he had come home last night, he had cocooned himself under the blankets with no desire to get up. He raised his head barely enough to see the time on the clock. In less than two hours, he was due to report to Mike, the superintendent, and see what jobs they had lined up for him. Even though, at this moment, he didn’t have the strength to even drive a nail inside a piece of Styrofoam. Maybe it was time to bank on a few sick days, get some rest and try to make out what his life had twisted into, and that was something straight out of one of those Freddy Krueger’s bloody movies. The thought of Lilith no longer brought him lustful yearnings, rather, it filled him with dread and just plain horror. Yes, terrifying, fucking horror! Especially after what he had witnessed last night when she had ripped the jar away from him and savagely scooped the embryo into her hands and then—Frank closed his eyes tight, trying desperately to erase the image from his mind of Lilith greedily devouring the fetus. He pulled his knees to his chest and, contorting his body into a fetal position, he finally dozed off.

Loud bangs echoed through the apartment and Frank, startled and confused, jumped to a sitting position. It had been a troublesome sleep filled with nightmares. Rubbing his eyes, Frank tried to decide if the heavy knocks were residues from his restless sleep. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was no dream when they called his name in the mix of banging on the door. Hesitantly, he threw the blankets to the side and swung his legs onto the floor and, looking down, it surprised him he still wore yesterday’s clothes, shoes and all.

The pounding on the door was more pronounced and, unless there was a fire outside his door, Frank was going to raise some hell at the asshole making all that racket. He rushed to the door and swung it open and just when he was about to curse the person off, it shocked him to see Mike standing in front of him. The look on Mike’s face was pure repulsion, and Frank wished he had never opened the door.

“Jesus man, what the hell happened to you?” Mike asked, raising his hand to his nose. “And what the fuck is that smell? Damn Frank, you look like shit and smell even worse.”

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Frank stumbled through his words. “But man, I’m sick… I think I caught something… maybe the flu… or something like that. I was going to call you… but… but… I fell asleep.”

Frank didn’t like the way Mike was looking at him and slowly he recoiled, wishing to slam the door as well.

“Man, it’s ten o’clock, and your shift started at eight. I’ve been calling you for the past two hours. You know the rules, if you’re going to take the day off you need to notify me or the office at least an hour before. Shit man, you make me look bad. The bitch from apartment 3D already called the office five times, wondering about her clogged bathtub. What the fuck? Can you get your shit together and be ready in the next hour, or do I need to call the office and tell them you’re shit-faced and you’re banking on a day off? Jesus man, do you know your face is fucking bleeding and there’s dried blood all over your clothes? What the hell were you doing?”

Frank touched his face and looked at his fingers. Mike was right. There was blood on them and looking down, he noticed the shirt spotted with dried blood. Sheepishly he looked at Mike, his mind a big blank page of what to say.

“Mike,” Frank’s words tumbled out and there was a heaviness on his tongue. “I’m sick, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. But man, I need this day, and I promise you’ll see me tomorrow. Shit, I’ll even do extra time if you need me… on my dime. No overtime, but please Mike… please let me take off today.”

“Frank, you’ve been here long enough to know the rules. Maybe you should put the bottle down earlier when you know you have work the next day. Go ahead, I’ll cover for your ass this time. Now go on and get your shit together, and for Christ's sake, do something about that damn smell. I could smell that shit by the front door. The last thing I need is for someone to call management again with more complaints.”

Relieved, Frank closed the door and, for a few minutes, stood there without moving. He placed one hand over his heart, and it was rattling like an old car trying to turn over on a wintry morning. This was not good. He knew he should worry, but where or who could he go to for help? A doctor? Most likely a witch doctor. Not liking the sound of his heart, he removed his hand from his chest and lifted it to his face. He touched the spot, and he winced at the pain. He looked down at his fingers—yep, his face was bleeding. Did he cut himself when he had killed the girl? That awful thought stormed back at him, exposing the gruesome act he committed last night. The vividness of it rushed at him. She wasn’t as drunk as he thought she was. She heard his steps behind her, and she had turned around and told him to fuck off. Her curses mocked him, and he leaped on top of her. It amazed him at how strong the girl was. She fought hard and dug her knee into his groin as he struggled to take the knife out of his pocket. They both wrestled on the ground, her legs and arms frantically pushing and kicking him away, and that’s when her long nails found his face. Frank, his face on fire, grabbed her hands and plunged the knife into her. She screamed for a second, but he stabbed her enough times to silence her. But to his shock, she was not dead, squirming on the ground, blood sprouting from the many places the knife punctured her. Her breathing was hard and choppy, yet she was still alive. That’s when Frank sliced her stomach, pushed her intestines aside and found what Lilith had commanded him to bring, the pregnant girl’s embryo.

He shook his head and pressed both hands against the door; he groaned. Finally, the monstrosity that he committed hit him hard. There was no reason to justify the murder of an innocent child for the demon inside his home. He snapped his head sharply towards the direction of the kitchen, which had become Lilith’s lair. Rage blinded him and he balled his hands into fists. He marched forward. His anger was now a boiling cauldron ready to explode, which was supplying Frank with enough bravery to kill her. How was he going to accomplish such a feat? He didn’t know, but there were knives and tools inside the kitchen that he was sure he’d find the right weapon to get rid of this abomination. Frank ran into the kitchen, but the smell was now more atrocious, and it forced him to back down. He pivoted to his left and in front of him, a thick black mist blinded him. He shielded his eyes and waved away the dark fog with the other one. He could make out something on the floor that made humming sounds and what he could see resembled a ball of yarn, with a red glow pulsating at its center.

No longer buoyed by the same bravery as before, Frank attempted to run out, but the reddish glow grew larger, and the hissing sounds sharper, captivating and cementing him to the floor. The ear-splitting shrieks now penetrated his ears—like thousands of cicadas burrowing into his brain. Flickers of quick movement flew all around him, landing on him, covering his arms, slipping underneath his clothes, climbing all over his neck and crawling throughout his face. He tried to move, even slap whatever was on every inch of his body with his hands, but his arms dropped heavily, motionless against both sides of his paralyzed body. The sensation of tiny pins dug into his exposed skin—like tiny fangs—and the same prickling tingle moved rapidly through his clothes. Unsettling sounds of fabric being ripped away turned his scream into agonizing pleading, as what felt like millions of leathery bodies moved rapidly up and down his arms and legs. Piranha-like bites punctured his flesh, followed by painful stings that bit down on his eyelids. The excruciating agony was too great to endure, and, with wild eyes, Frank looked down, naked except for his shoes, which even now, to his horror, the leather of his work boots was disintegrating with the mad frenzy of demonic roaches eating them away. Bloated, flying water bugs buzzed out from the cocoon-like ball on the floor. The red glow now a blinding light fanning the grey mist away and Frank could clearly see an entire army of dark repulsive roaches flying around him, attacking him like deadly missiles. The insects covered the walls of the kitchen while many of them swirled wildly around the light bulb, casting moving shadows, as the floor was flooded by the disgusting, huge roaches, making the floor seem to ripple. They orbited Frank, bumping into each other, landing and crawling throughout his body. Many of them burrowing inside his ears, up his nostrils and biting his lips and ramming down his throat. They poked the roof of his mouth, crawled all over his teeth and tongue, and he could feel them making their way down his esophagus. Frank gagged, the army of roaches choking him, and he tried to cough them out, scrape them up, and spit them out like giant balls of phlegm. Suffocation strangled him. His mind yelled in panic as his body slammed hard on the kitchen floor.

“My sweet Frank, you have disappointed me,” Lilith’s voice rumbled from every corner of the kitchen and into Frank’s ears. Her voice was nasal and infuriated. “You came here to kill me. Didn’t you? You imbecile vermin! Is that how you show your appreciation for all that I have done for you? You’re pathetic and I should let the roaches eat you down to your bones. You deserve nothing else. But I’ll show you some mercy. Do you want that? Do you want Lilith to save you once again? Well, show me what you’re made of.”

Her words came at Frank distortedly, the buzzing of the roaches’ fluttering wings was deafening. He wanted to shout, beg her to stop the torture, but the wider he opened his mouth the more cockroaches flew and scurried inside. Controlled by the horrific signals trashing the inside of his brain, desperation and survival took over and Frank chomped his teeth down. Bodies of roaches squirmed inside, their bitter fluids slithering down Frank’s throat and running freely through his cheeks and chin. Many of the bugs, realizing his devious plan, flew out of his mouth, and Frank’s furious chopping teeth crunched those that tried to crawl out in half.

Building strength, Frank thrashed on the floor and crushed the frantic water bugs to death. He struggled to his feet, while he dug his fingers into his ears and nose, furiously ripped them out. He heaved as blackened vomit ruptured from within, showering the floor and his feet with a mixture of roaches’ carcasses and black bile. The other bugs still alive flew in circles above him, crashing clumsily against the wall, while most of them dove back inside the small openings of the glowing ball on the ground.

Lilith roared with delight, amused at Frank’s last stand.

“You have done well, my sweet fool. You have done well. I think I’ll keep you longer. Now please, don’t disappoint me again.”

CHAPTER 17

The early morning rain became a slow drizzle and descended with a sleep-inducing rhythm unto the Sunnyside streets. Raindrops tapped the roof of Detective Munro’s car, it conjured memories of his childhood in his grandmother’s home in Puerto Rico. Every summer he and his mother would travel to his Abuela’s tiny wooden home. Those were the best moments in his life, when after running around the backyard with the pouring rain bathing him, he would return to Abuela’shouse, where warm clothes and chocolate milk with buttered crackers waited for him. While raindrops played its own lullabies on the zinc roof, it would soothe him into the most peaceful doze he had ever experienced. Detective Munro smiled, but the second he turned his head toward the alleyway across the street, the remains of last night’s yellow tape and images of the girl’s slaughtered body, his grandmother’s sweet memories faded away. Hopefully, after they had solved this case, he’d take a long-overdue vacation and head back to his grandmother’s home and sleep under the hypnotizing rain drops on that rusted zinc. Still, for now, until they apprehended the killer, that little wooden house and Abuela’s asopao de pollowould have to wait. He lowered the window and looked out, wondering if any of the blood was still visible, and if there was any other evidence that would shine a light on the murder. But if the drizzle became a downpour, any hope of getting lucky would wash away. Detective Munro was confident that the laboratory guys did a thorough job of gathering every molecule of evidence in the entire area, but even eagles miss prey occasionally. He wanted to knock on doors last night, but his experience told him few individuals would cooperate, or even open doors after midnight. It still bothered him they had to walk away last night with only the stench of a girl’s brutal killing and nothing more. His motto was always—never leave that till tomorrow, which you can do today. That was his thinking last night but, reluctantly, he had to agree with Taylor to wait until morning instead of midnight to speak to the old woman. Besides, the top brass felt it was better to gather as much information as possible before knocking on doors. With that said, they had agreed to wait for morning to break, for everyone to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and willing to cooperate, to find the answers for how someone had ripped apart a young woman, as if clawed by a savage animal.

It convinced Detective Munro that the viciousness of this killing would put the girl’s investigation as top priority, and, hopefully, they would learn more by the time they had put the day to rest. Even though such thinking made sense, he was not one bit pleased with it. There was a sadistic killer at large and, while they were debating about the proper protocol, the bastard was probably celebrating with a six-pack for a job well done, which he probably bought in one of the local bodegas on his way home.

Since then, after coming home, Detective Munro had not slept a wink. How could he? When the images of the dead girl—Jenny Kessler—kept adding fuel to his insomnia. He had played a few Fania-All Stars albums for background music. He thought the Salsa classics would keep him grounded—they always did—they took him to the time of his youth, and when curiosity about life was plenty. Yet it did the opposite; it wired him up. Times like this he wished he was still a drinker, but with two DUIs flashing on his record like two bright stains and the cause of a bitter divorce, drinking had become a luxury. He had no choice but to cut it completely out of his life. The downside to his sober lifestyle was that it always bloated his stomach with the many cups of coffee he poured down his throat. He realized he was substituting alcohol with caffeine; both ingredients attacking the brain in their own addictive way.

For the millionth time, he grabbed his phone to call Taylor, but every time, he ended up not calling. Really, there was no need to wake up his partner because Taylor wasn’t like him. His partner kept a normal life, not like him, a person whose sleep was not as glamorous as it was for others, and a normal life was not part of his vocabulary. Besides, it was irrelevant, and last night Detective Munro forced himself to accept the fact that there wasn’t much they could have done, but just fucking wait.

Pacing back and forth drove him nuts until his restlessness got the best of him. That was when he turned off the music, grabbed his jacket, and hurried out of his apartment. Now, an hour later, he was here, back at the scene of the crime, wondering if the old woman was already up. Didn’t studies show that old people get up before the early bird is even dreaming about the dumb worm that gets up early as well?

Deciding that a cup of coffee was the perfect dosage to relax him, Detective Munro glanced towards a twenty-four-hour bodega at the corner that spilled a stream of yellow light onto the sidewalk. Besides the cup of coffee, he also wondered if the person minding the store was there at the time of the killing. Detective Munro did the math, and the possibility was good that Jenny’s killing happened when the storekeeper was minding the store. He pushed the car door open and lifted his jacket collar and walked to the store. A young man peeked from his cell phone and looked up when Detective Munro tapped on the locked door. After a few seconds, he buzzed the detective in.

“Good morning,” the detective said, taking out his badge and flashing it to the tired eyes of the young guy. “I’m Detective Munro and was wondering if I can ask you a few questions.”

There was an uneasiness about the young fellow, and Munro always marveled at how everyone reacts the same way when a badge makes its presence. Why the guilt?

“I just wanted to ask you if you were here last night?”

“Last night?” the young man asked, a thick Spanish accent coated his words.

“Si, hermano, last night,” Detective Munro said, noticing the sudden change in the young man’s demeanor.

“¿Hablas español?”

“Claro que si. ¿Que pasa…me parezco como unwhite boy?”

The young man laughed as he nodded. “Yeah, man… no disrespect, but I could have never made you out as a Latino.”

“Scottish father, Puerto Rican mother. Got her brown eyes, but the red hair and ugly mug from daddy.”

The guy laughed, and Detective Munro saw the young kid relaxed right away.

“So, let me ask you,” the detective continued. “I’m sure you know about last night’s killing?”

The kid responded with a nod.

“Did you see anything out of the ordinary around the time they killed the girl?”

“Nah, sorry. I’m usually down in the basement stocking and doing inventory while the owner is still here. When I came up was when all the cops’ cars and every other mother were all over the place.”

“Did the murdered girl come to the store? Did you know her?”

Again, he shook his head. “My shift is the graveyard shift. Most of the people I see are drunks buying more beers and cab drivers getting coffee and buttered rolls.”

“Where are you from? I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jorge… Jorge Falcon. I’m from DR.”

“Santo Domingo… beautiful island.”

“And beautiful women,” Jorge said, making the shape of a woman with his hands.

“Don’t need to tell me that… I married one.”

“Well, primo, in that case you’re living the good life.”

“Yeah, so good. They should arrest me for all that goodness.”

The kid laughed, and Detective Munro figured Jorge was not even eighteen years old. He wondered if the owner knew that. He could be in a lot of trouble for having a minor minding the store after midnight and probably working for over twelve hours for peanuts… and most likely those peanuts were being paid off the books.

“How long have you been in the neighborhood?”

“About two years, I rent a room a few blocks from here.”

“You look too young to be on your own.”

“Well,” the kid halted.

Detective Munro noticed the young man’s discomfort and quickly soften his questions. “Hermano, don’t worry. I have enough on my plate to worry about what goes on inside a bodega. But friendly advice, this is no work for a kid your age. Plus, the dangers are too great. Go back to school, get an education and maybe Macy’s is hiring.”

“Si, gracias,” Jorge said, but the detective knew that all the kid was doing now was patronizing him. Maybe the kid was here with no papers and no family. Another sad immigrant story for the business vultures to exploit.

“Here’s my card,” Detective Munro placed his business card on the counter. “If you see anything or hear anything about this killing, I’d appreciate a call.”

Jorge picked up the card, gave it a quick glance, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll do that.”

“Cuidate, hermano,” Detective Munro said and stepped out, and as he started walking back to the car he hesitated, realizing he had never got the coffee he had originally went into the bodega for. He took two more steps and turned towards the opening of the alleyway and the house where the old woman with the bad eyes lived. Taking a quick glance at his watch—it was close to five thirty—Detective Munro allowed his urges to take control before he went inside the alleyway. He was sure he would not find any new evidence that was missed by the CSI crew, especially after the good wash the area had undergone since last night, but he entered anyway, and if he was lucky the old woman would be up, and this time wearing her glasses and looking out the window. He combed the narrow alleyway, the vividness from last night played once again in his head. It would be a long time for that image to be erased from his mind, if that was even possible.

A tapping brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned towards them. He could make out a shape in a window, mostly hidden by a flowered curtain. He stepped closer and took out his badge, holding it as he got near the window. For a while, there was no movement, and he thought that the tapping was a tree branch hitting the side of the house, and the shape in the window just a bundle of clothes. Then the curtain moved slightly and the round face of an old woman with the largest eyeglasses he had ever seen was staring at him—Mr. Magoo’s old cartoon popped into his head. With difficulty, she pulled the window up and thrusted her face out. Two gigantic balls magnified by the thick lenses stared at him. Jesus, Detective Munro shook his head; if this is our only eyewitness, we are in some serious trouble.

“Good morning,” he greeted her.

She eyeing him with a suspicious glare.

He came closer, yet he kept a safe distance to avoid scaring her away. He knew he must gain her trust—and by the way she looked at him, this was a person who didn’t give out her trust too frequently.

“I was here last night, and first, thank you for your quick decision to call us. Your quick thinking allowed us to get here and gather some important evidence that will bring us closer to apprehending this killer,” he said using the sugar-coating approach.

Again, she only stared.

“I would like to ask you a few questions about what you saw last night,” he gave her his best bed-side manner smile.

Her mouth was a tight sneer.

“Is it possible for me to come in?”

“How do I know you’re really a cop? Anybody could get a badge. I hear you can get anything on the internet nowadays.”

“My name is Detective Munro from Homicide,” he said, pushing the badge closer, but wondering how much her failing eyes were able to register. For all he knew, all she was seeing a big blur. “The two officers who responded to your call gave us your information,” he said, taking a notepad from his breast pocket. “I presume you’re Patricia Sullivan.”

“That’s me alright.”

He waited for her to add more to the conversation. When she did not, he came closer to the window—his badge standing out like a shield. “Mrs. Sullivan, I’m sure our talk would be more private, and less bothersome to the neighbors, if I came around.”

“Very well,” she said after eyeing him for a long time, her gigantic eyes blinking furiously.

*****

“The neighborhood is changing for the worse,” Patty said, she insisted on Detective Munro calling her this, adding that she had stopped being Mrs. Sullivan the day her worthless bum of a husband died ten years ago. They were standing in the foyer of a dark house that smelled like boiled liver and medicine. The door was halfway closed, a sign that the old woman didn’t yet have full trust in him. “I’ve been living here, in this same house since I was born,” she continued. “There was a time when all the neighbors knew each other. Now, everyone is out for themselves. Nobody respects anyone else. And now, with all these bars and restaurants, the place at night looks and sounds more like Las Vegas than a residential neighborhood. I’ll tell you, it’s a zoo... a complete zoo.”

“So, tell me,” Detective Munro tried to maneuver the conversation to what happened the night before. He was not in the mood to listen to a ‘good ol’ days’ sentimental diatribe from a person stuck in the past. “I know you didn’t have your glasses on, but were you able to see more of the person who was running?”

“I’m sure it was a man, that much I’m certain, but it happened so fast. The damn glasses are too big. I told that to the girl at the optometrist's office, but these young ones nowadays are a bunch of know-it-alls. She refused to change them, claimed they were perfect for my face and that she had made all the proper adjustments. You think the person who’s supposed to wear them should know better, otherwise they would have never fallen off my face. Later, I’m marching back to see her and demand for a better fitted frame or I’m calling Medicare and giving them a piece of my mind. A paying customer should be treated with more respect. Don’t you think? These kids nowadays don’t even know how to spell respect. It’s all that texting they seem to breathe and live for. While she was attending me, do you believe she kept giggling and writing on her phone? Jesus, they behave like they’re so important.”

Cursing at himself for coming here alone, Detective Munro kept his composure. But for how long? He should have waited for Taylor. His partner was more suited to speak to looney tunes like this woman. It should teach him a lesson about always trying to beat the clock.

“I’m sure you’ll get this resolved,” he finally said, trying to humor her. Hopefully, it was a more understanding route. “But going back to last night, is there anything you remember? Did you hear anything said between them? Anything that could be useful for our investigation.”

“It was a loud fight, loud enough to wake me up. Loud enough to even block the music from my next-door neighbor if she would have been home. Every Friday evening, she entertains a fellow whose wife passed away. The more drunk she gets, the louder the music becomes. And let’s not forget her annoying screeching laughter. At least she wasn’t home last night. Maybe that’s why I heard the ruckus.”

“So, what you heard was a commotion? Was it more like a struggle?”

Patty gave him a side-eyed look, those reserved for an annoying person, and sighed. “I guess you could describe it like that. But what made me go to the window was the heavy thud I heard right underneath the window. Like they threw something with force. I was in such a hurry and that’s when I dropped my glasses, but I still looked out the window. It was dark. As you saw for yourself, there are no lights in that alleyway, which I can’t understand why. Maybe if there’s lampposts out there, and, of course, more cops walking around here, that girl would still be alive. I guess you guys didn’t learn from the killings that took place a few years ago around these same streets.”

“You mean the ones committed by one homeless man?”

“Whatever they told you, I’ll tell you different. No homeless man did those killings... yes, maybe he did the actual killings, but what I heard was that the devil himself was controlling his mind.”

“Yes, I heard the same stories myself, but all the evidence and DNA found at the scenes of the crimes was his. He’s in jail right now for the rest of his life.”

“Like I said, yes, he did it, but the devil was behind it, controlling him like a dummy with strings. And I’ll tell you, that’s what’s happening now.”

Detective Munro smiled. He couldn’t believe he had found himself a nut job. He was wasting his time, and just when he was about to politely leave this woman and her senile mind, she waved a finger at him, and her eyes got larger—if that was possible.

“Something similar like this happened about twenty years ago. Around this area as well. They killed three young girls, all three with their bellies ripped apart. All three had been pregnant, and all three of them had their embryos removed. The killer used to live on 43rd Avenue, two blocks from here. His wife killed him, stabbed him to death, but many people, me included, to this day believe that she was part of the killings. They arrested her and sent her to the crazy house for a while, then released her and they dropped all charges. It was all over the news. Sunnyside became famous for the wrong reason.”

Stepping out of Patty Sullivan’s house, Detective Munro felt a sense of relief and some accomplishment. After removing the old woman’s rambles, the last bit of information was startling—not that he was planning to use old tales from twenty-plus years ago to crack this case, but at least it was a start. Even if all it did was bring to light that they could be facing a copycat killer, it was worth considering it. The rain had finally stopped and watching the way it spotted the gray sky with slivers of blue, he was glad that the day might be a sunny one. Canvasing a neighborhood under showers was not something he cherished doing, so he welcomed the clearing sky with opened arms. On his way to the car, he went around and made another visit to the alleyway. This time he walked slowly, paying attention to the side of the house and the edges where bushes crowded the chain-link fence. If Patty was right about hearing a loud bang as if they threw something against the side of her window—is it possible that the killer first threw the girl against the wall, before their struggle carried them across the alleyway? He knelt under the window, combing the area meticulously with keen eyes. He studied the distance between Patty’s house and the fence, imagining the struggle as he tried to put a size and strength the killer had over the girl. She was a small girl, by what he remembered; probably 5’3 and maybe one hundred and ten pounds. To be overpowered and in the manner, he killed her, the killer had to be bigger and stronger. Plus, he figured the element of surprise must have dictated the outcome. Still in a squat position, the detective twirled around, wondering what they had gathered in the girl’s autopsy. Standing up, he looked at his watch. It was almost six fifteen. Just when he was about to walk back to his car, something under the bushes glimmered and caught his eyes. He moved towards it and lowered down for a closer look. It was a button and when he was about to pick it up, his instinct stopped him. He rummaged through his pockets and found a napkin and carefully scooped the button. It was from a Wrangler’s garment, and his heart quickened when he spotted on the button what looked like dried blood. “Motherfucker,” he whispered, and a smile chiseled his face.

Detective Munro squinted closely around the area, carefully lifting the leaves and branches of the bushes and peeking under them. Nothing—but still, finding the button was encouraging. Satisfied that there was nothing more the alleyway could offer, he stood up and dug his phone from his pocket. He pushed Taylor’s number and waited. Patty was looking out the window. He waved, smiled, and walked out of the alleyway. After the fifth ring, Taylor answered. His voice was full of sleep.

“Taylor, come on man, your vacation is over.”

“Jesus man, what time is it?”

“Time to jump out of bed and start earning your taxpayers’ loot.”

“Where are you?”

“Here in Sunnyside, having a little morning chat with our bat lady,” Munro said as he went to his car.

“Damn, bro’, you don’t play nice. Aren’t we supposed to be partners… like a dancing couple? So why are you already on the dance floor by yourself?”

“I found something that might be of interest,” Munro said, ignoring Taylor’s usual sarcasm. “And the old lady mentioned an incident that happened in this same neighborhood about twenty years ago that’s quite intriguing.”

“Twenty years ago?”

“Yes, but let’s stop wasting time on the phone. Get your ass moving and meet me here and I’ll fill you in.”

“Okay man… give me about an hour.”

Detective Munro snapped the phone off and put it back in his pocket. He glanced around the streets, where some stores were opening for business. He wished it was later in the day. All this waiting always drove him nuts. Goddamn, sleep was so overrated. He shook his head as he slid into the car. The old lady’s words jumping in his head. ‘Something like this happened about twenty years ago. They killed three young girls, all three with their bellies ripped apart.’

Could it be just a coincidence? Now more than ever, he wanted to know what the lab guys had discovered about Jenny Kessler. Was she also pregnant like those three from twenty years ago? Damn, he slammed his opened hand on the steering wheel. He looked at his watch. It was almost seven. Nibbling on his lower lip, he removed his phone, stared at it for a few seconds. “It’s worth a shot,” he said. He scrolled down the screen and found Nikki’s number. She was a Forensic Pathologist who led a team at the city morgue. Munro knew they assigned the best of the crop to cases that needed to be worked on fast and accurately. Nikki took no back seat to nobody—therefore, he knew they would involve her in this case. Taking another glimpse at his watch, he punched the number. It rang four times before Nikki’s voice filled his ear. It has been quite a long time, and Munro hoped that time had smoothed all the wrinkles away.

“Good morning, Nikki,” he said, looking straight through the windshield that was still spotted with raindrops. He flicked on the wipers. Her long pause made him wonder if he did the right thing by calling her. Sure, he did, he convinced himself. They were both professionals, and between the lines, they both played for the same team. Outside, it was a different story, and Detective Munro hoped she felt the same way.

“Hello Alexander,” Nikki said in what Munro used to tease her as her soap opera voice. “I’ve been expecting your call since last night. You must be slipping, either that, or you finally learned the importance of sleep.”

“None of the above. I just didn’t want to be bugging people too early in the morning.”

“How many people have you already grabbed by the throat this morning? The second I learned the killing took place in Sunnyside; I knew they had involved you in this investigation.”

“I can’t escape from your analytical mind,” he said, a small grin extending his lips.

“Nothing analytical about it, you’re as predictable as hot dogs and beer at a Fourth of July barbecue.”

Detective Munro laughed, relieved that the ugly incidents from their past had not diminished her carefree attitude. “One quick question... was the victim pregnant?”

Nikki took her time in answering him. She had to admit that his question startled her. There was no way he would have known. Finally, her curiosity gave in. “Yes, she was, but how did you know? She couldn’t have been more than a month pregnant.”

“The old woman who called in about the killing last night mentioned about similar crimes twenty years ago when I spoke to her this morning. All the victims were pregnant, and the embryos cut out of them.”

“So, I was right, you were grabbing people’s throats at the crack of dawn,” Nikki said, trying to stay joyful, but Munro’s revelation was disturbing.

“Nothing like that, but yes, it was early in the morning... and she was the second one I choked.”

“I would love to sit here and chat but duty calls. It was nice hearing from you.”

“Thanks, Nikki.”

“You’re welcome,” Nikki said. “And Alexander... don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t be,” Detective Munro said.

He put the phone down on the passenger’s seat and leaned back. Could something that had happened twenty years ago be part of this? On impulse, he got out of the car and went back to the alleyway. He pictured the bloody footprints from the night before and began walking towards the path the killer took. If the button belonged to the killer, that only means two things, the blood was Jenny’s, or the son of a bitch got cut as well. And if the latter was the correct answer, there could be a trail of blood, which luckily the rain didn’t wash off. He followed the alleyway until he was at 39th Avenue. Damn rain had done a hell of a cleaning, but not willing to give up too quickly, Detective Munro stood at the corner, taking turns in looking in both directions. He walked to his left and went closer to the lamppost, where what looked to be a bloody handprint was still visible on a taped paper advertising a room for rent. He whistled, amazed at the good luck. Yep, he nodded. This little bird was getting all the worms. Carefully he removed the paper and slipped it in his sport coat’s inside pocket and hurried back to the car, deciding it was best to secure both pieces of what he felt strongly to be evidence. Patty Sullivan was still standing by the window. Perhaps this was the most excitement the old woman must have had since... twenty years ago.

He waved at her and, as he exited the alleyway, he could feel her large bug eyes on him.

CHAPTER 18

The cheese omelet with home fries and slightly buttered English Muffin, which sounded appetizing, remained in the same spot the young man from room service had left it. Cassandra only took two bites of the omelet, half of the English Muffin, and every drop of the coffee. The small container of orange juice was still close, and the mere thought of eating anything else gave her the urge to vomit. Whoever came up with the phrase that bad news travels fast weren’t kidding. Already ten minutes past seven in the morning and every news channel led their telecast with the murder in Sunnyside. Of course, there were too many speculations, given at this moment there wasn’t much information to construct a news story with. But who was going to stop the reporters from flooding the airwaves with their own “Breaking News” bait and trap journalism.

One thing Cassandra learned was that the girl was only twenty-two years old, and her name was Jenny Kessler. Placing a chair by the window, which looked out to Queens Boulevard and the elevated structure of the Flushing Number 7 train, Cassandra sat there, lost in her thoughts about Jenny Kessler. Twenty-two years old. Cassandra shook her head. What the hell does anyone ever experienced at that age? Only a few years ago, her biggest worry was probably a small pimple that appeared on her forehead two days before Prom Night. Cassandra couldn’t remove the smiling picture of Jenny Kessler from her head that had been flashing on all the television screens since early morning. Even worse, she could still see her at the pub, laughing, having a great time with her friends. Her carefree mannerism, which all young people have, knowing that their future is in front of them; an open road to throttle their life at full speed. Lowering her head, Cassandra wondered what they were celebrating. One thing was for sure, Jenny was the one for their joyous occasion. How morbid is that—now she’s inside an impersonal city morgue while the killer is out there, planning for his next victim. An anger rose into Cassandra’s bosom. If only those bastards at the restaurant would have not come out as if she just robbed the place, Cassandra was sure this girl would still be alive.

“Damn!” Cassandra clenched her fist and brought it hard on the chair’s armrest. “What the hell am I doing here?” she yelled.

Who’s she supposed to become? Goddamn Rambo and go on a hunting expedition all over Sunnyside in search of a madman controlled by a demon? Because an apparition of her late husband is telling her all this? Did she finally flip? She wanted so much to believe that, for it would be more convincing than she was having conversations with the spirit of a man who died twenty years ago. Maybe after all these years, the guilt finally fried her brains, and now here she was babbling foolishness to herself. Yes, there’s a killer out there, but was all this supernatural bullshit an added figment of her imagination?

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Fuck you, Alberto, or whoever the fuck you are,” Cassandra squeezed her temples, hoping to pop that annoying voice from her head like an infested cyst. “I’ve lost my mind and you only exist in my head.”

“Cassandra, you can’t lose faith, not now. You believe that if it happened to me, and you saw it with your own eyes, then it’s happening again. You stopped the demon once; you could stop her for good now.”

A long silence invaded her mind, accompanied by a dull headache that was a frequent occurrence since this added voice took residence inside her mind. She went to the night table and scooped the bottle of aspirin and dropped two capsules in her mouth and washed them down with a gulp of orange juice.

“If this is real, and you’re Alberto, I can’t have you taking control of my thoughts anymore. You’ll wait until I ask you something, otherwise you keep it shut. Is that understood?”

“This is not a game—”

“And I’m not a trampoline for you to bounce your voice anytime you fucking want. It’s my mind, and either you play by my rules or help me God, I’ll put a bullet between my eyes before I let you say another word. I have seen enough, I have done enough in my life, ending it won’t matter one fucking bit. Maybe when I’m dead, you, your bitch and I could have a nice little old reunion and reminisce about the good times.”

“Your sarcasm has always been your good point.”

“Fuck off!”

“As you wish, Cassandra. I’ll abide by your rules, but remember, if another girl gets killed because you have shut me off, that death will be on you, more than on the man doing the carving.”

“Why are you still here blabbing your fucking dead lips?”

The sudden silence was comforting, and even to her surprise, the headache vanished. Outside, the morning was gray as a soft rain tapped on the window, and Cassandra considered going back to bed to get some shuteye. But then what? Was she ready to call a cab and go home? She walked to the window as a Number 7 train rumbled across, and as much as she wanted to leave, something in her told her otherwise. She turned her head and fixed her eyes on the television screen. Jenny Kessler’s smiling face stared at her, and Cassandra nodded. “Okay, Jenny. I’ll do it for you. I’ll stay and if all this crazy shit going on in my head is not my sanity slipping away, I’ll find that bitch and I’ll end this the way I should have long time ago.”

CHAPTER 19

“Damn, man, everyone in the station already knew you were out on the field at the crack of dawn,” Taylor said as he slid on the passenger seat and before he could settle and strap the seat belt on, Alex peeled away from the curb and into the traffic. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Nah, you’re doing a hell of a good job on your own,” Alex joked as he made a quick right and drove towards the highway after picking Taylor up from the station.

“Dude, do you ever sleep?” Taylor asked, finally fastening the seat belt.

“Yeah, I sleep, but this nonsense about eight hours of sleep, is just that… nonsense.”

“Sorry to tell you, buddy, but it’s a scientific fact that you need an average of seven to nine hours of sleep. You can’t fight science.”

“Yeah, the same science that can’t decide if eggs are good for you or not. Come on, this is not a one size fits all baseball cap we’re talking about. Every person is unique.”

“Okay Einstein, invite me when you’re ready to accept your Nobel Prize in sleep disorder. Me, I’ll continue sleeping my recommended hours. I also eat right. I’m at the gym four times a week, and you’ll see…”

“See what? That I’ll be one pallbearer at your funeral?”

Taylor laughed. “You might be right, but please, on that day, sleep a few more hours. I want you strong and fresh… can’t have you dropping my ass inside the box in front of the church. Anyway, let me guess, you already dropped off the goodies that you found.”

“Yep, can’t put that on the back burner.”

“You think it belongs to the killer?”

“I’m hoping, if not the blood on the button, at least the handprint on the flyer.”

“If it is, that’ll be a hell of a find, and a slap in the face to the boys and girls in the white coats.” Taylor said.

“Hey, I’m not here to win any popularity contests. If they don’t like it, fuck them.”

“Did someone get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Remember, I don’t sleep.”

“In that case, maybe this is a valid reason that you should.”

“Come on, I thought we closed the sleep conversation already?” Alex merged onto the highway and stepped on the gas as he maneuvered the car into the fast lane. “Now, both the button and the flyer might be nothing, but, damn brother, it’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“Who’s handling the forensic team on this case?”

“Take one guess.”

Taylor let out a whistle. “That’s going to be interesting.”

“Nah, it’s going to be ok. I already spoke to her this morning.”

“She was already at the lab?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Lord, another vampire,” Taylor said, shaking his head. “You guys were meant for each other.”

“Let’s not go there.”

“Why not? Nothing a bunch of flowers, a nice romantic dinner, and—”

“Like I said, let’s not go there. That’s history, and I’m not a scholar like you, I’m not into ancient history.”

“Damn, brother. She really put some serious hurting in that heart.”

“Did anybody ever tell you you’re hard of hearing?”

“Only you, at least once a week,” Taylor laughed. “There’s a pleasant restaurant in this cozy spot—”

“Anyway… anyway,” Alex interrupted. “I figured we start at the girl’s home. Maybe there’s a boyfriend involved who was not too thrilled at becoming a daddy.”

“It’s possible,” Taylor said. “We’ve been in this game long enough not to rule anything out. But damn, why not just kill her and go your merry way? Why disembowel her like that? There’s more to this killing than a man afraid to lose his freedom and get stuck with responsibilities. I’m not buying into that one.”

Alex glanced quickly on his side-view mirror and slid the car towards the exit on the right. He thought about what Taylor had said, and he rotated that theory before adding his own. “So, if not the boyfriend, why would someone not only kill her, but take the time to rip her guts out and take it with him? Shit, man… nothing makes sense.”

“The only thing that comes to mind is some gang initiation,” Taylor said as he peeled a banana and offered one to Alex. “But even that is far-fetched. Young wannabe gangsters prefer something that’s quick and easy.”

“Thanks man, but it’s too early to be eating healthy,” Alex shook his head, then added a laugh. “You know what keeps biting my ass is the time factor. I cannot see a killer taking more time than necessary to stay at the scene of the crime. And if the old woman is right, there was a good struggle, enough noise that would have attracted more than just a blind old woman. Plus, remember, robbery or sexual attack was not the motive. This was an intentional ‘let’s rip this girl’s guts wide open’. What the hell is this shit all about?”

Taylor remained silent for a while and, after finishing the banana and placing the peel inside a bag, he turned toward Alex. “Maybe some voodoo ritual? Some form of sacrifice? I mean, how many times have we found gutted animals in parks all over the city?”

“I hear you, but those are animals, and the rituals take place inside dark parks, and I have seen my share, there are always candles and other things. This is different. For one, we are talking about a human being, not some fucking chicken or baby lamb. They did this, right in the middle of a residential area with houses and a busy avenue. I can’t see it as a ritual.”

“Well, let’s hope we get some answers to the puzzle,” Taylor said as Alex eased the car by a fire hydrant, a few houses away from where Jenny Kessler lived.

*****

The small room that Jenny Kessler had rented had the flair of a young girl who moved from her parents’ home looking for freedom, but still maintained the innocence of the child. The bed was neatly made with purple and pink bedding, adorned with a collection of stuffed animals. The walls were bare, except for a framed collage poster that, when both detectives inspected, were pictures of who they believed was Jenny at many stages of her young life. At the bottom, a written message read: “So proud of our Jenny. Love, Mom and Dad.”

The owner of the house, an older woman, introduced herself as Christine Donnelly. A widow with no children of her own and, in a house this big, she stated it was God who had sent Jenny to rent a room. Not only did it help Christine with a much-needed income, the girl’s company also was a blessing. After making this statement, the woman cried, and by the redness of her eyes, it was obvious she had been crying for a long time.

Both detectives waited for Christine to compose herself. It was never a simple task, trying to ask delicate questions, especially when the subject was about death, and not any ordinary death, but a brutal murder.

“I’m sorry,” Christine said while blowing her nose and then wiping the fresh tears with the back of her hand. “I heard the news this morning. She comes in and out, and of course I don’t deserve a call from her if she’s not planning to return at night. She’s been living here for only three months, always polite, helpful. And a great little baker. Lord, just two weeks ago, she baked me a beautiful cake for my birthday.”

“Mrs. Donnelly—” Taylor spoke until she interrupted him.

“Please, just Christine.”

“Of course, Christine, did Jenny have a boyfriend… or did she ever mention any enemies?”

“That girl was a little saint,” Christine said as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I don’t know about any boyfriend… maybe she did, but one of my rules when she came to see the room was no loud music and, of course, no boys. I’m too old for that type of drama.”

“What about her friends? Did any of them come over?” Alex asked.

Christine shook her head. “Jenny was a go-getter kind of person. She was attending college, plus she had odd jobs. A freelancer, that’s how she explained it to me the first time we met.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did she learn about this room?” Alex asked.

“My friend’s daughter met Jenny at school. She knew Jenny was looking for a place and asked me if I would consider renting a room. At first, I was not too keen about the idea. The last thing a woman my age needs is a young person disrupting my peaceful routine. But she was a lovely girl. I spoke to her mother on the phone that day. A pleasant woman, who worried about her daughter living in New York City.”

“Where was Jenny from?”

“Texas, she had the cutest little accent. She was a doll,” Christine said and cried again.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry for all these questions,” Taylor said. “I know it must be hard, but it’s the only way to connect the dots and get her killer behind bars. Jenny’s friend, the one who introduced her to you, is there any way we could contact her?”

Standing up from the old recliner, Christine went to a telephone table with an actual old-fashioned phone on top. On the bottom shelf was a phone book and a smaller notebook which she scooped up, then put on her glasses that hung from a chain around her neck. She leafed through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She handed the open notebook to Taylor. “Her name is Shannon. She still lives at home, the way I believe any young girl should until she gets married. Maybe I’m an old-fashioned woman, but that’s how I grew up. It’s a shame the values from the old days have no place in today’s world. I spoke to Jenny’s mother this morning when I heard the news. The last thing I wanted was for her to find out like I did. I didn’t want her to have the same empty feeling I got when I saw the news this morning. It was like getting a punch in your guts.” Christine sighed. “It surprised me how Jenny’s mother took the news well. No crying, the way I expected for her to react. She only thanked me and told me she’ll be flying to New York with her husband on the first available flight. A strange woman, if I may say so, but again, my old values are not the same values people have nowadays. This world has turned out to be a strange place to live.”

“Can we also have Jenny’s mother’s phone number?” Alex asked.

“Sure, let me get a pen and paper,” Christine said, but Alex stopped her.

“No need,” Alex said, as he took his cell phone out. “I’ll take a picture of it here.”

“But of course,” Christine said, shaking her head. “Like I said, this world is rapidly changing for an old woman like me.”

*****

Shannon’s home was only three blocks away and it pleased Alex that she not only answered the phone on the first ring, but she was already outside the house when they pulled over by the curb. For what had happened the night before, she didn’t look as disturbed as Mrs. Donnelly—maybe the old woman was right; the world was changing.

“Hi, I’m Shannon,” she said as both detectives stepped out of the car. “I’m sorry I can’t invite you inside the house. My mom is taking Jenny’s death real hard. We all are, I’m still numb.”

Closer they saw the girl’s red eyes and even her weak smile couldn’t hide her emotions. “Sweet Jesus, we were celebrating her good news. She just received the news that she was pregnant. I should have left with her, but I wasn’t thinking.” Shannon said as she plopped on the stoop and covered her face, then she cried in loud sobs. After a minute, she lifted her face, tears streamed down her face, but she continued. “I begged her to stay a little longer, but Jenny was Jenny, stubborn, and when she made up her mind there was nothing anyone could do to change it. She wanted to tell her boyfriend the good news, and she wanted to do it in the comfort of her place.”

“Where’s her boyfriend?” Taylor asked.

She looked up and wiped her eyes with a rolled-up handkerchief. Shannon shrugged. “We called him the mystery man. We never met him, but supposedly he’s a guy from Texas.”

“Do you know if he’s here now?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, he was the mystery man. We only saw him in pictures. But obviously, he must have come down, otherwise Jenny wouldn’t have been pregnant. I know they say everything is bigger in Texas, but…” Shannon let out a laugh. “Well, you know what I mean,” she added sheepishly.

“You mentioned that you guys were celebrating her good news. Did the celebration take place here in the neighborhood?” Alex asked.

“Yes, in a pub at 47th Street,” Shannon said, pointing towards Skillman Avenue. “It was a bunch of us. We all know each other from high school. Jenny was the only one not raised here in Sunnyside, but she fit in with the group quick. That was Jenny, so full of life… oh, Lord…” Shannon covered her face again, then after regaining her composure, she stared at the ground.

“So that was the last place you saw Jenny?” Taylor asked.

“Yes, my God, she was so happy. She was even making jokes about this lady that was there who kept looking at us and then at someone at the bar. It was weird, because after Jenny left, the lady tried to run out without paying. She even made a comment to us about Jenny. It was weird.”

“Can you elaborate on that?” Alex said, his interest peeked.

“I noticed when she came in. She kept looking around, as if she was expecting someone. Jenny called her the lighthouse. We all laughed at that because it was exactly like watching the beam of a lighthouse. Jenny had a knack for that. Her wit was amazing and hilarious. But after a while it got tiresome. I was about to confront her, but Jenny told me to forget it.”

“You mentioned this woman tried leaving without paying? Was she homeless?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t look like one. Dressed nicely and when they brought her back, she claimed she went out for air, but we saw her cross the street.”

“In which direction?”

Placing her hand over her mouth, Shannon gasped. “She was heading as if she was going after Jenny.”

“After she came back, did she stay longer?”

“No. She was fuming. She threw money on the table and left. We saw her standing outside. She almost crossed the street, but then she just stopped, and taking a long look at the direction where Jenny went, she just walked away.”

“Did she speak to any other person there?”

“Yes, how can I forget that? At one time, the waiter brought her a glass of wine and we overheard a secret admirer sent it to her. We all thought that was so cool… kind of old-fashioned. Guys nowadays don’t do that. Most of them don’t even have enough money to buy themselves a beer, forget about sending a glass of wine. Anyway, we thought it was sweet, and then an older man came to her table. He’s a fixture in the neighborhood,” Shannon smiled. “He sat down, and they talked for a bit. Not for long, but one thing was obvious, the conversation was not a friendly one. You could see the man said something that upset her. In so many words she told him to get lost. Besides, I don’t blame her. He was way too old for her. Like I said, he’s a fixture around here. We called him The Mayor. He owns a lot of houses and buildings in the area and loves to be in everybody’s business.”

“Can you describe the woman? And can you provide us with the gentleman’s name?”

“The woman was maybe in her fifties, an attractive woman. She could have been Hispanic, but I’m not sure. The older man’s name is Charles Wilson. His wife died like… about two, three years ago. I used to see them at church when she was alive. Now I see him here and there.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Not really, but there're rumors… among my mom’s friends, that he’s been seeing another lady that lives… oh, my God.” Shannon stared at the detectives with a surprised look on her face. “My God, the woman this man is seeing lives right by the alleyway where they found Jenny.”

*****

“Could this be our killer?” Taylor asked as he snapped on his seat belt right before Alex sped towards 39th Avenue.

“Too good to be true, but man, it would be great if he was. Think about it. If he killed Jenny, he’s right there by this woman’s home for a quick getaway.”

“And the woman you saw this morning mentioned that her next-door neighbor is seeing a widower. Could that be the same man?”

“We shall see,” Alex said, as he pulled over the curb and turned the ignition off. “The woman lives right there. Hope she doesn’t mind getting two visits in one day.”

Standing on Patty Sullivan’s stoop, with Taylor behind him, Alex knocked on the door and waited. He got closer to the door and listened for any sounds of steps. Nothing, so he knocked again. This time he heard an annoyed voice but couldn’t make out what she said. He knocked again, and this time called out her name and identified himself.

They heard footsteps approaching. Patty opened the door and looked out. She stared at Alex with questioning eyes, the lines on her mouth downward; a sign this was a woman who smiled a little.

“Hello again,” Alex smiled. “This is my partner, Detective Brandon Taylor. You were extremely helpful this morning, and I hate to bother you again, but can we come in? We need to ask you a few more questions.”

She studied them, her eyes moving from both detectives, but remained silent.

“It’s important that we speak with you again… please,” Alex added.

Nodding, Patty opened the door wider and let the detectives walk past her and inside the cluttered foyer. Then, as if having second thoughts, she walked to the living room as both men followed.

“Thank you so much, I’m sure this won’t take long,” Alex said as Taylor decided this was Alex's call and letting him do all the talking would be best. “You mentioned your next-door neighbor is seeing a widower. We believe he might know something that would help us out with the girl’s killing. He was at the pub where she was last seen.”

“You think he’s the killer?” Patty finally spoke and there was a fascination in her eyes.

“Not exactly, but he’s someone we need to speak to. Where is your neighbor’s house?”

“Right next to this one, like I told you this morning. That’s why her damn music sounds like it’s playing out of my radio.”

“Did you see him last night?”

“No, I didn’t, and besides, she left last week for her daughter’s house, who lives in Virginia. She does that quite a lot. Just two weeks ago I asked her why she doesn’t sell this house and move to Virginia. She goes out there at least ten times a year.”

“I see. Can you describe this man? Do you know his name?”

“His name is Charles Wilson. Everybody knows him. Used to run a real estate business with his wife. After she died, he sold the business. I heard between selling the store and his wife’s insurance money, he doesn’t need to worry about where his next meal is coming from.”

“What kind of person is he?”

“If you mean, is he capable of such brutality, I guess anybody can do anything,” Patty said, passing her tongue through her dried lips. “But not him. His only fault is he thinks everybody’s business is his. Now, if you’re asking me if Charles could have killed that girl, I would have to say no. He’s nosy, that I’ll give him, but a killer… never. Then again, who the heck knows nowadays.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Yes. After his wife died, he sold his house and moved into the apartment on the second floor of the real estate storefront, which he sold, but still owns the building. What I hear, he owns a ton of places. He’s a shrewd businessman. I don’t know what he’s going to do with all that money when he dies. For sure, he’s not taking it with him. Maybe my neighbor here,” Patty pointed towards the wall with pouted lips. “Maybe Francis thinks she’s getting some of it, but I’ll tell you, she’s going to be in for a rude awakening when he kicks the bucket. He’s got two sons and a daughter that probably spend every hour praying for their father to die. Spoiled rotten kids. Heard none of them work and Daddy is still footing their bills. Each live rent-free in one of his buildings. Parasites, that’s what they are.”

“You know the address of this place?”

“It’s between Forty-Eight and Forty-Nineth Street on Skillman Avenue. You can’t miss it. The only real estate place, right next to a laundromat.”

“Mrs. Sullivan—”

“Like I told you this morning, it’s Patty, that Mrs. makes me feel closer to the damn grave.”

“Okay, Patty, we thank you for all your help.”

“No problem. I just hope you get the bastard that did this to that young girl.”

“We will, again thank you and you have a good day.”

They followed Patty to the door and once outside, they waved and started walking to the car when Patty called out.

“Hey, detective,” Patty pointed at Taylor. “Your partner there, is he mute?”

*****

“Well, at least she didn’t say dumb and mute,” Taylor said as they sat in the car.

“But she was right,” Alex said as he turned on the ignition. “You were mighty quiet back there.”

“You know what they say about too many cooks. Besides, you two are old friends by now. Why ruin the chemistry.”

“Quite an interesting character, but I’ll tell you, so far, she’s the only one hitting on all cylinders. Now about this Charles man, any gut feelings?”

“It’s too easy, but the mystery lady is the one that’s pique my interest.”

“Maybe our boy Charles will add something to it.”

“So that means you’re not sold on the idea that he’s the killer?”

“A man so well-known and with too much to lose? Can’t see it.”

“What if he’s the father of Jenny’s baby? His reputation and wealth are enough reason to kill the girl.”

“Are you crazy? He’s supposed to be an old man. At his age, I don’t think there’s enough fuel in the old man’s tank.”

“Abraham had a son when he was over ninety.”

“And a fictional character written in a fictional book doesn’t hold too much water in this conversation.”

“Don’t let my wife hear you talk that blasphemy. She’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs.”

“Is that the Christian way to deal with an atheist?”

“Brother, there’s no salvation for you,” Taylor said, making the sign of the cross over Alex. “We’ll continue this Bible study some other time. In the meantime, I think that’s the place where Charles hangs his hat.”

Sliding the car by a fire hydrant, Alex looked up as Taylor slid out. Coming around, Alex pointed at the windows on top of the storefront. “That must be it.”

“I have an idea. Let’s stop inside the real estate. They must have a way to get in touch with him,” Taylor said as he walked towards the storefront.

“Sounds like a plan.” Alex followed.

*****

The woman behind the desk looked up from the mess of mail on her desk. Soft meditating music gave the place the serenity of a yoga studio. A lavender scent filled the air from a water fountain gurgling on a corner table. She had the air of an old hippie who joined the establishment after the flower revolution had ended; or realized the establishment’s money was better than daisies in your hair.

Her smile was quick and large, exposing a fortune spent on dental work. Her freckled face, in need of a few hours of sun, still showed the prettiness of a country girl. She stood up and she easily towered over both men, which put her a good three inches above six feet. “Good morning gentlemen, please come in,” she said and her greeting, although probably repeated over and over, still held the conviction of genuine honesty. But the sooner they displayed their shields, her face somersaulted into mistrust and uneasiness.

“Please, no need to alarm yourself,” Taylor quickly said. “I’m sure you know the awful news from last night.”

“Yes, I’m aware and still in shock. I hope they catch this monster.”

“That’s why we are here. Asking questions, gathering information to catch this killer.”

“As much as I want to help, I’m afraid there’s not much I could give you. Usually, I’m out of here by six, unless a client is running late. I don’t live in the neighborhood. I live on Long Island. It’s not a good selling point, if you’re trying to convince clients to buy a home here,” she laughed. “But thank God, most buyers are more interested in low mortgages, rather than where the realtor lives.”

“Tell me about it. It’s going to take me until I’m two hundred years old to pay off my mortgage in full,” Taylor said, adding his own laughter. “I’m Detective Brandon Taylor and this is my partner Detective Alex Munro.”

“Nice to meet you, Detectives. I’m Judy Rose. Is there anything I could help you with? But like I stated before, the only thing I know is what I have seen on the news. I didn’t even know the poor child.”

“Actually, we are looking for Charles Wilson. We understand he was at the restaurant where Jenny Kessler was last seen.”

“Is he in any trouble?” Judy asked, placing her hand over her chest.

“Of course not,” Taylor responded, trying not to arouse any misconceptions that would alienate Judy. “We are just doing what’s called old-fashioned police work. In cases like this, the slightest little thing noticed by someone could go far.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what made you think I know Charles’ whereabouts?”

“Good old-fashioned police work,” Alex repeated Taylor’s words, but lacking Taylor’s kid gloves approach. “We know he sold you the business, but still owns the building and lives in the apartment upstairs. Which means you two have a monthly pen-pal affair called rent. Do you know if he’s home?”

Judy tried to regain her calm persona, but the way the detective was looking at her—like a hungry predator eyeing its prey—made her nervous. “I don’t know,” Judy finally said, but she fought herself not to stammer. “But the door to the left is the entrance. There’s no bell, but I’m sure if you knock hard, if he’s home he should hear it.”

“I have a better idea,” Alex said. “Why don’t you call him and tell him that two detectives would like a word with him.”

Judy opened her mouth, but the stare-down from Alex frightened her so much she reached inside her blazer’s pocket and took out her phone. Finding Charles’ number, she pressed the screen and put it on speakerphone. All three could hear the ringing and, after the fourth ring, an automated message came on. Without leaving a message, Judy closed the call and shrugged. A weak smile appeared on her tight lips.

“Can we please have his number?” Alex asked, but it came out more like a command.

“I… I don’t know if I could do that,” Judy was now stammering. “That’s his private number.”

“Ms. Rose,” Taylor came forward, trying to ease the tension in the room. “I understand how you feel about giving private information, but please understand we are only doing our job. The seriousness of the crime that was committed last night calls for tough actions but let me assure you that what we are doing is all within our rights. We’re not here to try to stronghold anybody. Here’s my card.” Taylor held his business card, which Judy quickly reached out and took. “I appreciate if you give this to Mr. Wilson, and please tell him that it’s imperative for him to call us.”

“There’s no need for that, gentlemen, I’m Charles Wilson. How can I help you?”

All three turned around as a lanky older man stood at the door. If he was a hired killer, they would have been dead. With his outreached hand, he walked inside the office in Taylor’s direction. They shook hands, followed by Alex. Giving Judy a casual wave, he once again turned his attention towards the detectives. “I presume you two gentlemen are two of the city’s Finest, and last night's tragic killing has brought you two here. Am I right?”

“Nice and early, while memories are still fresh,” Alex said, sizing the old man and not liking the signals the man’s mannerisms were sending. Even the way he patronized them put Alex in a foul mood. “Is there any place we could have a word with you?”

Charles rolled that request around for a bit. He wasn’t fond of being told what to do, especially in front of Judy.

“We could always have a nice chat right here. It doesn’t make any difference to me where, as long as we can ask you a few questions,” Alex said, knowing exactly what the old man was doing.

The color on Charles’ face went a shade of red, and Alex gave him a smile—just to show him who was in charge.

“Well, I guess you could come upstairs,” Charles said and walked outside.

“Thank you for your time,” Taylor said to Judy as he followed Alex, who was practically on Charles’ back.

*****

The apartment had a musty smell, and its interior looked like an office. An immense mahogany desk that was more suitable in a Wall Street conference room, rather than here, took the entire living room area. Behind the desk was a leather chair, which Charles quickly sat in and waved the detectives towards two small wooden chairs placed in front of the desk. They both remained standing, and it pleased Alex that Taylor followed his lead. It was time someone showed Charles that acting like a king could intimidate those who he bossed around, but it would not work on them. His pompous attitude made Alex hope he was the one who had killed Jenny Kessler, but deep inside Alex knew he was not their man. For one, Charles was too old and fragile to overpower a young girl fighting for her life. Besides, the man’s crooked left arm, a sign of an old injury that never healed the proper way, made it impossible to wrestle anybody down.

“Please have a seat,” Charles motioned again to the two chairs.

“It’s okay, spending time in the car, we welcome the standing,” Alex said. “It’s good for the circulation.”

“As you wish,” Charles leaned back on the chair and looked up. “Now gentlemen, how may I be of service?”

“We understand you were at the pub where Jenny Kessler was last seen.” Alex began.

“That’s correct, in one of the many places I visited last night. I frequent businesses in my community. It’s the only way to make the neighborhood thrive and help the owners.”

“Perfect, that means you have a good eye for who’s a local and the recent visitors in Sunnyside. Did you see anything or anyone out of the ordinary last night?” Taylor leaned over one chair but knew that Alex already claimed this volley of questions.

“Like the ghost of a lady?” Alex asked.

“Come again.” Charles said, but there was a fluster in his voice. 

“Gentlemen, we are all grown men here. How about cutting the chit chat?”

“Okay, at what time did you leave the pub?” Alex pressed.

“I left a few minutes before all the excitement took place. I have a weakness for Starbucks, I usually have a cup before I turn in for the night.”

“And I’m sure you have an alibi? Witness who will vouch for that?” Taylor intervened.

“Yes, plus I have my signed credit card receipt from both places.”

“I’m sure you do. Must keep all those receipts for the accountant. But I’m more interested in the woman everyone saw you approach at her table. If I heard right, she declined your glass of wine,” Alex said, and Charles couldn’t miss the grin on the detective’s lips.

“Sunnyside has charmed me since the days of my youth. My parents moved here when I was merely a year old. I haven’t lived in any other place. Remarkable, isn’t it? Not so much someone living in the same place, but how the place has remained the same after all these years. The small-town mentality that Sunnyside possesses is quite a treasure. Tongues still wag, eyes keep a keen watch of who comes and goes, and ears are always perked like antennas. Can’t miss anything, otherwise the gossip wouldn’t be any juicier. That’s why I’m not a bit surprised that you already heard of the conversation I had with a certain woman, and I’m not surprised by the interest she peaked in your investigation.”

“Is this the same woman who tried leaving without paying?” Taylor asked.

“As my previous statement, I already left, but yes, that’s what I heard from those who witnessed it.”

“Man to man here,” Alex took a few steps forward. “Were you hoping to get lucky last night, or where other reasons for your Casanova move?”

“Detective, you’re quite an amusing fellow, but at my age a double from Starbucks is the most excitement my heart can stand.”

“Then does it have to do with something similar that happened twenty years ago that attracted you to this mysterious lady?” Alex asked.

“Detective, I’m quite impressed with your knowledge in such small amount of time.”

“Like I said, old-fashioned police work.”

“Your modesty is quite refreshing, but I have to applaud you gentlemen for your incredible sleuthing prowess.”

“In that case, do you want to elaborate about this mystery woman and why we need to be interested in her?” Taylor asked, giving Alex the sign that this was still his show.

“Twenty years ago, a serial killer held Sunnyside in terror. Someone savagely killed young girls the same way they gutted this poor girl last night. After three killings, the police had a solid lead and were ready to apprehend him. They knew who he was, but our mystery lady beat the cops to the punch. She killed him before the police arrived.”

“She killed him? Was she about to become one of the victims?” Alex asked.

“Not exactly. The killer was her husband. She stabbed him multiple times right in their living room and then carved the man’s heart out. It became a story that captured everyone’s fancy. The newspapers and television couldn’t get enough of it. It was the biggest sensational news, of course speculation and rumors surfaced faster than what the papers could print. The most vivid picture was when they took her out of her building in handcuffs. Of course, it didn’t take long before the witchcraft nonsense took center stage. Tales of devil possession, voodoo, black magic rituals were the topic in every television newscast. I remember, Daily News had an entire continuous story about it. Everyone tried to cash in. But, like any popular story, little by little the steam loses its power, and soon the story got buried between large furniture ads in the middle of the newspaper. But I kept following it, I mean as much as I could, until just like her, the story disappeared. The last thing I read, which was about ten… eleven years ago, they released and exonerated her. They ruled it as a self-defense, which I don’t buy. I think she wanted to silence him for good. Really, how the hell do you live with a man who goes out at night, slaughters defenseless women, comes back, and you don’t notice the blood on his clothes? My view, it was that she selected the victims, and then sent the husband for the kill. You know sic them like you do with a vicious dog.”

“If that was the case, what was she getting out of it?” Alex spreads his arms to accent the question.

“No idea. Killers are crazy people and if you tried to analyze their way of thinking, you could easily go as crazy as them.”

“Are you sure this was the same woman you saw last night?” Taylor asked.

“As sure as the name on my Birth Certificate.”

“And you’re sure she was alone?” Alex balanced his weight on the tip of his feet. An old habit, when he was in the sprinter’s club in High School; it kept him ahead of the race.

“Yes. The second I saw her come in; I couldn’t believe my eyes. At first, I thought maybe it was someone who looked like her. That’s why I sent the wine, and then I approached her just to be sure.”

“I see,” Taylor nodded. “And what went wrong with the conversation?”

“I was bold. That’s my nature. You don’t go far in life by being a doormat. I asked her point blank what she was doing back in the neighborhood.”

“And that’s when she told you to get lost?” Alex asked, with the same smirk on his lips.

“Detective let’s say I told her my piece, and then I left. That was always my intention when I went to her table.”

“And after you returned to the bar—”

“I actually waved at Matty, the bartender. I already closed me tab, I never went back to the bar,” Charles corrected Alex.

“So, you never returned to the bar, what happened then?”

“Like I said, I waved my goodbyes and then I left.”

“Was Jenny Kessler still there?” Alex’s questions were now sharp missiles.

“I don’t know. The place gets quite packed and, truly, I was not paying too much attention to a group of young ladies getting drunk like sailors on a one-day leave.”

“And all this time this woman was alone?” Taylor persisted.

“Yes, but it was odd,” Charles waved one finger at the detectives. “She kept looking at a man who sat all night at the bar.”

“Have you seen this man before?”

“Here and there in the neighborhood. Not sure where he works, but I have seen him a few times and, by his attire, he must work as a maintenance worker. He wears your basic dark blue pants and shirt, with a large ring full of keys.”

“Can you describe him?” Alex’s interest rose.

“Not much of a description, in his forties, shaved head. Not much to make him stand out.”

“But if you see him again, could you recognize him?”

“Of course, I don’t forget faces, as our lady of interest found out really quick.”

“Is it possible for you to come to the precinct and work with one of our artists?” Taylor asked.

“I’ll do anything to bring this monster in. And my suggestion, which I’m sure you already have on your agenda, consider what happened here twenty years ago.”

“Already on it, the woman who made the first call gave me that information, but thanks anyway.” Alex dismissed him. He didn’t want Charles to think he was running their investigation.

“Well gentlemen, if that’s all we need to discuss, I have a busy schedule to attend,” Charles said as he pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up.

“Here’s the address of the precinct. I’ll make a call, so they’ll be expecting you.” Taylor handed Charles a business card.

“Excellent, the sooner the better. Please make the call now, and I’ll move that as the first thing on my agenda for the day,” Charles said as he dropped the card on the table without looking at it.

CHAPTER 20

“Hey Frank, we need to talk.” Mike stood in the courtyard as Frank sorted out the garbage into their proper bags.

“Give me one second. I’m almost done with the garbage,” Frank said over his shoulder, but without looking back at Mike.

“No man, I mean now. That can wait. If not, Johnny can finish it after he’s done with the leaking faucet, or whatever the fuck he saying he’s doing. But we need to talk.”

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Frank walked away from the garbage and went to where Mike was standing. “Listen, if this is about what happened two days ago, like I said—”

Mike waved him off. “It’s not about that, or the complaints I’m getting from the tenants. Jesus, man, have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You look like hell, and boy, you smell like something died inside of you. What the hell is going on? Dude, if you need some time off to get your shit together, we can arrange that. You got vacation time coming up. I’m sure management could approve for you to take off. But something needs to be done because we can’t keep this up. The complaints from the tenants could easily be my ticket to the unemployment line. I’m responsible of what goes on in this complex. When tenants bellyache, the first one to go is the man in charge—and guess what buddy? That’s me. And like hell, I will not allow that. You know what I mean? I have one son in college and my little girl is two years away from following in his footsteps. I can’t afford to lose my job, because one of my workers is fucking up… and fucking up royally. So, what are we going to do about this?”

Baffled by Mike’s words, Frank wanted nothing more but to get as far away from here as possible. The thought of perhaps taking Mike’s lead and agreeing to go on vacation right now was enticing. Anything to get as far away from the thing inside his apartment. When he was about to agree with Mike and start the ball rolling on the vacation, a sharp pain ripped through his head. Wincing in agony, he grabbed both sides of his head and slammed hard on one knee.

“Jesus Christ.” Mike took a few steps back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m fine… I’m okay,” Frank said through clenched teeth.

“Like hell you are! I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No! Please, don’t call nobody,” Frank pleaded while he struggled to his feet. “Nothing a nice shower won’t cure. I might have caught a flu or something.”

“That’s no fucking flu,” Mike said, still backing away.

Frank straightened up and, to his disbelief, whatever seizure had crunched his head disappeared as quickly as it came. “I’ve been like this since I climbed up that ladder to remove the dried vines the tenants were bitching about. Maybe I got bitten by some tick or something like that.”

“What type of shit are you trying to pull?” Mike asked, believing that Frank was faking, and all of this was a scheme.

“I’m not pulling anything here. I’m just saying that since I climbed to clean that mess, I started feeling sick. You know, I’m not using my vacation time if something on the job got me sick.” There was a surge of power running through Frank’s veins, and it even surprised him at what he was saying to Mike. He had never been an assertive person, but somehow that’s exactly how he was behaving now.

“Spell it out, Frank. We’re both men here. No need to beat it around the bush like fucking little bitches. What’s your angle? You want to cash in on some Worker’s Comp? Is that your little fucking plan? Well, you better be sick, cause if you’re not, I’m opening this can of worms and I’ll have your ass thrown out of here in no fucking time. Now, to show you I’m a fair man, I’m giving you the rest of the day off. Go home, do whatever you fucking want, but after tomorrow you got two choices. Come back sober and stop this shit, or you better go to the doctor and bring a doctor’s note telling me that there’s something wrong with you.”

“Come on Mike, you’re acting as if you own this—”

“Frank, I don’t want to hear it,” Mike interrupted Frank. “Just get the hell away from my face and remember the two fucking options you have after tomorrow.”

*****

Arriving at his doorstep, Frank was sweating. There was still a pinch right above the bridge of his nose, his eyes were watery, and they burned. His entire life was taking a hell of a spin, and he feared that what he was doing for Lilith was going to escalate. Since that cursed day when he dug out that damn jar, his life wasn’t normal anymore. It had become a hellish, macabre nightmare. Mike’s reaction remained vivid in his mind, and if he didn’t know any better, he swore he saw a glimpse of fear in Mike, as if the man had seen the devil. Unhooking his keys from his belt, Frank hesitated to insert it inside the lock. His hands were shaking, perspiration blotted his palms and his lips quivered. Fear settled on his shoulders and there was a tremble in the joints of his knees. He tried to turn away from the door as he envisioned himself running like a madman into the streets and keeping on until he was far away from Lilith’s spell. But, to his horror, he couldn’t move, and the more he willed his legs to snap out of their stiffness, both legs felt like tree trunks, rooted deep into the ground. It was this woman—Lilith—who was controlling him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had become a puppet, all she had to use to weaken every man was her sexuality. Lilith was a sorceress who knew exactly what she was doing. Was all that was happening to him a master plan conjured by Lilith? Did she somehow put a spell on the entire building to have them complain about the vines that kept the jar hidden? Was she aware how loneliness had besieged him his entire life? Did Lilith know how he always spent his nights encased in silence and only alcohol waited for him? Was she aware his weekends were tortures that robbed him of his sanity and made him long for another voice of someone who could partake with him in simple conversation? No wonder he was the perfect victim for her to gain possession of. Lilith knew how to pick them—the losers of the world—the perfect gullible specimens to control.

“Is that what you think?”

Frank jumped away from the door as his hands slammed hard against each side of his face. He could feel the pain gaining strength.

“Now come inside and remove that garbage that you mistake as thoughts. I do not control you, but I enhanced you to be the person who you could be. Now open the door and stop your childish antics. Besides, I’m hungry, and I’m sure you’re hungry as well. Open the door, take the weight off your feet. Get comfortable, while I get you a nice cold beer. Let’s feed from each other, and then you can go out and bring me the nourishment that I need to become whole again. Come on, Frankie, my dear foolish boy, open the door. Come to Mama.”

*****

This would teach Amy a lesson not to be so quick to volunteer. Here she was, past midnight on the empty 33rd Street Rawson train station, watching the tail-end of the train—her train—already making the wide turn towards Queensboro Plaza. Shaking her head in frustration, she went to the nearest bench and plopped down. “What the hell is wrong with me?” Amy mumbled. “I better have a good long talk with myself about this take one for the team nonsense.”

It seemed she was the only one who didn’t make a fuss or come up with an excuse whenever they needed someone to work a couple of hours late. After Uncle Sam took his cut, even the extra dollars weren’t worth the aggravation. She glanced at the new electronic signs that kept track of the next train and if she was to believe the usual unreliable MTA service, the next Number 7 would be here in ten minutes. Yeah, right, Amy sucked her lips with annoyance, MTA’s ten minutes was more like half an hour. “But, girl, getting pissed off and complaining about it will not make the train arrive any faster,” she scolded herself while leaning back on the bench and putting on her headphones. Scrolling through her playlists on her cell before she pressed her selection, she noticed a man climbing up the steps. In a peculiar manner, she watched him stop on the last step before setting foot on the platform. He slowly turned around and took a few steps back down. Removing her headphones, she discreetly kept her eyes on him. He was still standing on the same spot and, feeling uneasy, Amy rummaged inside her bag and finding the can of mace spray, she wrapped her fingers around it.

*****

Even before he had climbed the stairs to the elevated platform, Frank could hear the faint heartbeat of the embryo. He could also hear the rapid beat of the woman’s own heart. He could smell her fear pouring out of her pores, and Frank wondered what Lilith had done to him. She made a monster out of you, a reflection of her demonic self. Brushing that morbid thought away, he pretended to search for the train when he just wanted to look at her. He could feel the poor woman’s nervousness and part of him felt compassion for her, but he didn’t have any choice in this matter. He had to do Lilith’s bidding. She needed her nourishment and there was nothing he could do about it to do otherwise. Sure, you can. The small voice in him protested. All you need to do is run away from here and let Lilith rot to death.

Frank took one step down, when a sharp pain burrowed in his head; the same torture he felt when he was talking to Mike. His upper body trembled and slowly the pain slithered away, leaving him gasping. He knew exactly what had just happened; it was Lilith’s reminder that no matter how far he was from her, she still had control over him. He slid his hand inside his jacket’s pocket and took hold of the knife. Climbing back, he stepped onto the platform and strolled to the edge, pretending he was looking for the train. He glanced quickly at where the woman sat and calculated the distance that separated them to be at least forty feet. A minor rumble underneath his feet alerted him that the train was near, which meant one thing: he needed to attack now.

Amy saw the unexpected quickness of the man as he hurried towards her. There was something in his hand, a long object, and a terrified thought shouted at her when she recognized what it was, a knife! Jumping to her feet, she yanked out the can of mace and, taking a few steps back, Amy pressed on the nozzle. The stream of pepper spray caught Frank flush on his face, and she watched him turn away quickly, shrieking in pain. She tried to run around him, still spraying the mace, when Frank jumped on her and slapped the can away. The peppery mist went in her own eyes, slowing her down, and that hesitation allowed him to wrap one arm around her waist, bringing her down hard on the platform. Wriggling desperately to break away from his grasp, Amy took both hands and dug her long nails into both sides of Frank’s face. She brought them down, slicing his flesh; his warm blood moistening her fingertips. Frank howled and brought the knife down.

The stab went deep into Amy’s left thigh, the sharpness of the blade stopping her struggle for a second, but before Frank could bring the knife down again Amy twisted her body and, miraculously, jumped up. The momentum slammed her against the platform wall, and using that as leverage, Amy swung one foot, catching Frank on the side of his face. She heard him groan, and jumping over him, she ran towards the stairs, the subway platform trembling as the train lumbered into the station. Running down the stairs, Amy screamed, and not far behind, Frank came after her. She slammed her shoulder against the emergency gate, activating the high pitch alarm. She stumbled, twisting her ankle, and as she leapt over the last two steps that led to the street, Frank brought the knife down on her shoulder. Amy cried out, long and loud, as Frank pulled the knife out and brought it down again, this time on the side of her neck. She tumbled down to one knee, and Frank took her by the hair, spun her around and speared the knife into her heart. Her breathing was hard and choppy, yet Amy fought back as Frank dragged her by the hair and slammed her hard against one of the parked cars under the elevated tracks. Wiggling wildly, Amy was still alive and fully aware when Frank brought the knife down and ripped her unborn child out of her womb.

CHAPTER 21

“She really put up a hell of a fight,” Taylor said as he placed the canvas over the dead girl’s body and stood up.

“Did you notice her nails?” Alex asked.

“Yes, I did. I don’t know where she put the hurting, but there’s a son of a bitch out there with some mean scratches. I’d put all my money on that motherfucker’s face looking like a tiger had a field day.”

“Let’s hope that’s where she lost most of her nails but, if not, there’s enough blood that could put this killer in both places. And if that’s correct, what have we got here? A serial killer?” Alex asked, walking along the trail of blood that went up the stairs of the subway station, and straight up to the platform where the forensic team was already in action.

“Two identical killings… in less than a week. I would surely say it has the making of a serial killer, but goddamn… I hope not.” Taylor followed Alex.

“Are you nuts? I’m praying that it’s the same bastard. The last thing we need is a new, sick fad created by assholes on the internet.”

“You’re right,” Taylor agreed. “Any word from the lab about the button and flyer?”

“Not yet, and the composite sketch of the man at the bar described by Charles turned up nothing on our database.”

“Which means, even if the blood is the same, we have no suspect. Unless the subway cameras are in working order and we got a nice clear shot of him,” Taylor pointed at the camera that stared at them like a blackened cyclops’ eye.

“What about the mystery woman?” Alex stopped short on the first step that led to the platform. By the vibrations in the cordoned off station, he could tell a train was rumbling by, of course bypassing this station, thanks to the quick collaboration between NYPD and MTA.

“It will not be easy. Her pictures that we saw on the files are from twenty years ago and the sketch based on Charles’ recollection are two different women,” Taylor said, avoiding the lab guys crouched by a bloodied bench.

“It’s twenty years ago, nobody looks the same, especially the type of life this woman has led,” Alex added as he acknowledged one of the many police officers on the platform. “So why is Charles so sure that it is the same woman? He said nothing indicating that she admitted to him to being the same person.”

“No, he did not. What do you think that this old man is sending us on some goose chase?”

“I hope not,” Alex said as he went under the yellow tape that cordoned the entire length of the platform, and then holding it for Taylor to go under. “But his story at the bar matches the one Shannon told us.”

“It sure does, but my question is, is the mystery woman the same person?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what we need to do. We need to go back in time,” Alex said, as both detectives took one last look at the bench where it seemed the fight started.

“I don’t think they equipped our car to do Back to the Future time travel.” Taylor said with a quick chuckle.

“But our files can, and there must be an old timer still on the force who was probably on that case,” Alex said as they went down the stairs. “And until we get more evidence from the cameras and the lab results, there’s not that much to do but go down memory lane.”

*****

Harry Wall, retired NYPD Detective, dropped the remote control next to the half-eaten TV dinner and rubbed his eyes. After spending the entire day watching the news, switching from one channel to the other, he finally had had enough and flicked the television off. Each local newscast was all twisted to be the first one with the breaking bulletin, when they all seemed to have come out from the same cloning factory. Damn, where’s Walter Cronkite when you needed him? Glancing across from him, Harry stared at all three newspapers, still on the telephone stand next to his recliner where he usually drops them when he retrieved them from his front door every morning. He hadn’t even glanced at the headlines and Harry doubted he’d be reading them today. With his fixed income, maybe it was a good idea to cancel all three subscriptions. Nowadays he could read all the leading news and more on the internet, but old habits are hard to break, and getting the newspapers was one of them. Plus, let’s not forget the granddaddy of all his habits, the damn cigarettes that were killing him slowly. The doctors not only advised him but demanded him to quit. Harry shook his head. Where the hell were these concerned assholes when he was in his twenties, shit, even thirties, to tell him to quit back then? Probably next to him in the bodega, buying their own cigarettes as well. Sure, for every damn puff he took, he coughed for two straight minutes, yet he still bought the carton of cigarettes every week. Why quit now? The damage was already done. Harry imagined his insides covered with black tar from the nicotine, along with the cancer slowly and greedily chomping his organs away. So, what the hell was quitting now going to do but only irritate him more. Maybe God should hurry and kill him already.

The phone rang and Harry merely stared at it with no plans to pick it up. Nine times out of ten it was going to be one of those telemarketing bullshit artists, or a low life trying to scam his pitiful pension and pathetic Social Security pennies. That’s why he still held on to the answering machine he bought back in the nineties; let the damn machine answer it. If it was a legit call, let them leave a message and he’d call back later. After the fifth ring, the machine began its clicking, beeping sounds and soon it filled the room with a stranger’s voice, and Harry listened. The person addressed him by name and then introduced himself as Detective Alex Munro. Harry contemplated answering it, but in the end let the machine do its job, and after he’d listened to the message more attentively, if there was a need for him to call back, then he’d pick up the phone for a nice chat. It’d been a while since Harry had had a friendly talk with someone. Nowadays, his conversations were the usual small talk from the few neighbors he exchanged pleasantries with, and even that was becoming less frequent. Maybe everyone wasn’t too eager to chat with someone who might remind them too much about death.

Harry walked to the phone, glancing with not much interest at each newspaper's front page. Saturated stories with blood, that’s how he saw all newspapers, and now the flavor of the month were the vicious killings in a neighborhood he knew too damn well, Sunnyside. Jesus, Harry wondered, when did a place with such a shining name like Sunnyside become the gruesome playground of sickos. And he bet that because of that lovely little neighborhood’s misfortune, the papers were selling a lot of them lately—the public couldn’t get enough of the sensationalism the media was making the story out to be. Only two things that sell more newspapers: the home team winning a championship, or a killer raising the body count. Finally, he pushed down the button and lowered his head, Detective Munro’s message was quick and straight to the point, and it didn’t surprise Harry. He had been expecting this call the second the first killing happened. Harry played the message twice, to make sure he had the number right, until he remembered he had Caller ID. He smiled—old habits are hard to quit and, to cement that thought, he took a cigarette from the pack next to the newspapers and put it on his lips. Although he kept it unlit, after a few seconds he lit it, and the first puff was like swallowing a mouthful of nails. He coughed into his hands, and after three minutes, he took another puff, resulting on the same ragged coughing fit, and before taking another puff, he squashed the cigarette inside the ashtray and took a swill from the water bottle he always kept handy. He waited and when he felt the cough had subsided for good, he picked up the phone.

CHAPTER 22

At last, the slurping and chomping sounds were no longer audible, but Frank could still make out the repulsive way Lilith licked her fingers, even after he knew she had finished eating the embryo. Now the sound of her soft steps walking out from the kitchen informed him she’d soon be on top of him, to finally subdue her hunger from his flesh. With his back pressed against the bedroom wall, his arms around his knees, he stared at the darkness, expecting any minute for Lilith to march inside. The lustfulness of their sex no longer held the passion that it once possessed for him, making Frank imagine that this must be how a sex slave feels. His anxieties were driving him insane, knowing that soon a monster would be upon him, and that awful information kept him blinking constantly at the door—and regardless of if she was even more beautiful and exotic than the first time she seduced him; she still terrified him. She was still an abhorrent, satanic beast.

He sensed her presence behind the bedroom door and Frank pushed back, his shoulder blades scraping painfully on the stucco wall. Before she entered, her scent reached him, intoxicating him into delirious madness. She pushed the door gently; the hinges letting out a whining cry, and Frank could see the outline of her body. As much as he wanted to yell out and tell her to get away, her presence aroused him once again, like the first time she first bit him. He now believed the myth of vampires and why it is possible for someone to not be able to resist their invitation, for the promises of sexual euphoria were impossible to refuse. Her body glowed, as if she had just stepped out from golden waters, her raven hair—cascading waves down to her buttocks—a hypnotic entity in its own form. She stood above him, looking down with her slanted black eyes that made steel melt. Her naked body was an oasis he wanted now more than anything in his life to drink from.

“You have disappointed me,” Lilith said, her husky voice making his own heart shudder. “Can you be of any use now? Look at you. You’re weak and disgusting. You left a trail behind you. It will lead them back here and into my home.”

Frank followed her movements as she walked around the room, displaying her nakedness, like a confident merchant spreading out her wares before the buyers placed their bids. Her body appeared to be fuller, her skin glimmered, her sexuality more pronounced. She looked younger, a vixen, and when she smiled, her teeth—perfect and white—made her face as radiant as that of a young bride. He couldn’t lose her. No! He could not lose this golden woman and he would do anything to keep her by his side forever. With no shame, Frank threw himself on the floor, groping at her feet, his trembling hands caressing and kissing her ankles. Lilith laughed and, lowering herself onto the floor, took her right breast and put it on Frank’s mouth. He suckled her nipple—slurping clumsily—drinking her dark green milk. Stroking his head, Lilith traced her index finger through Frank’s scratched face, his blood sticking into her fingertips. Her touches brought out the pain once more, as if the girl’s sharp nails were ripping his skin again. He flinched back from Lilith’s touch and his sudden movement angered her. With both hands, she grabbed his face and squeezed hard, bringing streaks of blood rushing out of his wounds. Frank howled in pain. He tried to wrestle away from Lilith but, for a small woman, she had the strength of Samson.

“Stop moving,” she said in a sharp tone and Frank ceased his fidgeting at once. Grabbing him by his ears, Lilith lifted him upward, and all in one motion, pushed him down on his back and straddled him.

A greenish light illuminated Lilith's body as she gyrated with her eyes closed. A grin played seductively on her lips, and she moaned. Holding the back of Frank’s head, she guided his face to her breast, squeezing her nipples as her green milk squirted into Frank’s mouth. He drank from her greedily, like a starving newborn, and joining Lilith’s hands, he fondled her breasts. Lilith twirled her hips hard against Frank and, in ecstasy, he screamed. Under Lilith's strong thighs, Frank raised his buttocks from the floor, and with a stabbing motion, he lifted Lilith with each thrust, feeling himself consumed by her hot flesh. Cradling one arm around Frank’s neck, Lilith lifted his face to hers and she kissed him passionately, nibbling on his lips. Trembling uncontrollably, Frank felt Lilith’s teeth on his lips, each bite bathing him in her essence, her powers, and he succumbed to her prowess. He stared at her eyes, enchanted by the deep blackness of her pupils, and with a loud groan, he exploded in an orgasm that weakened him, leaving him in a tremble of ecstasy.

“Now, my naughty boy, I’m hungry,” Lilith said as she stood up and stepping over Frank, walked and laid down on the bed. “You took everything I had. Now be a good boy and get me a snack.”

He tried to sit up, but Frank had no control over his body. He could only stare straight at the ceiling.

“By the way, honey, I can’t stay here. If you were dumb enough to leave a straight path for the law to find you, imagine what they would do to little ol’ Lilith if they find me with you. You need to protect me.”

He attempted to speak, but only the guttural sound of a mute came out.

“There’s no need to speak, lover boy,” Lilith said as she rolled on her stomach and placed her head on the edge of the bed, her hair hitting the floor like a waterfall “You have proven to me that your brain and your mouth obviously do not work intelligently together. So, from now on, you let me do the talking. I made the mistake once. I will not make the same mistake twice. You men bore me. Now get on your feet, get dressed and first find another place in this building which I could call home. Then, go out again and get me what I need. And, Frankie, please do not be so careless this time. If you want my body, first you need to show me you’re worthy.”

*****

The fatigue was taking its toll and, after finding himself outside past midnight, all Frank wanted to do was find a place and sleep for a year. But that was not in Lilith’s plan, and already he knew trying to go against her wishes would cause his death. There’s was no way to downplay his predicament, and unless he gave Lilith what she wanted, which were the embryos, still warm from their mother’s wombs, she had no use for him. He wished he had refused, begged her to understand that going out into the night in search of another victim when every cop was out in the street looking for him was pure insanity. But all he received from Lilith was a hard slap across his face. Now, as he stood on the steps overlooking the courtyard, Frank shook his head, because there was a worry in him that the police already had a picture of him from the subway’s surveillance cameras. He should have known better; killing someone and ripping out their insides in the streets was not as safe as up on an empty, elevated subway station. But he hadn’t expected the fight the girl had had in her, which took the battle to the street. Sweet Jesus, Frank shuddered. For the millionth time in the past few days, what the hell had he become? A killer—no—more than that, he had become as diabolical as Lilith. Flipping the hood over his head, he climbed up the four steps from the basement, and taking one last look at his apartment’s entrance, Frank went into the night. Once on the sidewalk, he peered both ways, and staying close to the building and the thick shadows of the night, he hurried away from the neighborhood. Stopping at the corner, Frank contemplated which direction to take, when an impulsive thought rushed through his mind. Was Lilith setting him up? Already she had made him find a place away from his apartment, a room near to the Con Ed meters, and if Mike didn’t go there, which most of the time he didn’t, Lilith would be safe. But what about him? Did he become disposable, and if he was apprehended, all she needed to do was find another sap like him? Was that Lilith’s plan? Frank hesitated, trying to decide what to do. One thing he already knew, he couldn’t try to escape her, and that meant the only thing left for him to do was keep pleasing Lilith, and hopefully, everything would be fine.

Lilith was in control, that much Frank knew, but as he stood at the corner of 43rd Avenue and 47th Street, he was clueless about where he was going. He crossed the avenue and walked towards Skillman Avenue, when halfway down the block, he stopped. Was he mad? He was going straight to the place he had killed the first girl. Shouldn’t that area be crawling with cops ready to place a nice feather in their cap? Instead, he swung around and, still on 43rd Avenue, he continued, until his paranoia went into high gear. He couldn’t let anyone see his ruined face, especially if he went by the 24-hour supermarket and its bright light. Cursing under his breath, Frank jumped on the middle of the block and hurried towards Queens Boulevard. He was not too keen about walking around the commercial area of the boulevard, but he wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, and in this busier part of Sunnyside, Frank knew Lilith would guide him to the next victim. He couldn’t brush off the feeling of Lilith’s presence and, to cement that sentiment, like the two times before he had killed, he blinked uncontrollably. A sticky pus slid from under his eyes, and a sensation bored through his pupils, making them larger and rounder. An itchiness crawled beneath his eyelids and Frank squinted. For a few seconds, he kept his eyes closed until a pulsating tremble forced them open. He could feel them rotating above his head, going deeper, and with a sharp stab, Lilith’s eyes superimposed over his. It was just like the previous times, he now shared his vision with Lilith, as together they watched the auras that encircled those who crossed his path.

He could clearly see a kaleidoscope of different colors attached around each person; thin bubbles that seemed to seep from their skin. Bright hues in energetic reds, sedated blues, powerful yellows. But the one Lilith sought was the combination of silver and orange that surrounded a pregnant woman. It didn’t take long when a young girl came out from a drugstore and her aura, with a glow in streaks of silver and orange, illuminated the outline of her body. Frank’s heart raced, and wrapping his fingers tightly around the knife, he followed her. His breathing, a rustling sound that came in and out in labored pauses, brought out a nauseating odor from his gaping mouth. Even the sweat oozing out of his pores carried the stench that came from Lilith’s dark green breast milk. He stayed close to the parked cars, keeping the length of twenty feet between him and the girl. She turned the corner, heading towards Greenpoint Avenue, and Frank smiled. This was a strip littered with stores that by this time of the night would be closed, leaving the area secluded and making her more vulnerable. At the corner of Greenpoint and Forty-Fifth Street, she took a right, and that direction made Frank smile even broader, for a large playground was situated there which would provide him with large trees and thick shadows to perform his deed. He quickened his pace, his breathing now an obscene rattle. He could see the park from here, and he knew he couldn’t waste any more time. Enclosed in madness, Frank jogged. The girl heard his steps, turned, and stared at Frank. Without wavering for a second, she ran, and to Frank's horror, the girl was fast. He tried to keep up with her, but there was too much ground to make up, and now, as she ran, she screamed. Loud shrieks that pierced the night and sent sharp fear into Frank’s heart. There was a car turning into the avenue, and the girl jumped into the middle of the road, flagging her arms in desperation. Terrified when the car came to a stop, Frank ran into the park, dashing wildly across the playground area, and exiting on the other side. In his confusion, he realized he had dropped the knife. A sharp migraine burrowed, piercing right through the middle of his head, and violently, Frank stumbled and fell on all fours. A low grumble trembled in his gut, and he heaved violently. Clenching his stomach, he struggled to get up, but the unforeseen pain was traveling from his head straight down to his toes, forcefully pushing him hard against the pavement. Loud voices of men came at him, there was anger in them, and crawling underneath a car, Frank clutched his mouth, for he could feel a scream rushing from deep in his guts. Savagely, he bit down, desperately trying to silence it. The voices were near now, and he could make out the rage in them. Was it possible that they were looking for him? Maybe he was mistaken, and this was a different group merely on their way home from a night of drinking. Still, he wasn’t sure, and for now the best place to stay was right where he was. At least, the migraine was no longer pounding, only urges of vomiting, and he held one hand over his mouth while taking a small breath from puking all over the place.

CHAPTER 23

After five years of becoming a statistic of homelessness, Sam welcomed the little things in life with the same gusto as perhaps a traveler scoring a five-star hotel for the price of one night at a cheap motel. One of those little things was where he found himself now; stretched out on a bench, which he considered as one of his favorite spots in the playground. It was near the park entrance with three large trees that kept him dry from the occasional rain and, best of all, it was on the opposite side, which Pete’s crew always claimed as their real estate. Pete and his group were a bunch of seasoned drunks, and it seemed fighting was their favorite pastime, especially against loners like Sam. He could hear them now, rowdier than ever, which meant one of them must have scored something much stronger than their Buds Light tall boys. Rolling his extra coat into a makeshift pillow, Sam gave it a few pats and found comfort on the wooden bench. Lowering his baseball cap over his eyes, shielding him from the lamppost glare, he settled for the night, until a sudden rustle attracted his attention. Sam sat up and lifted the cap away from his eyes. He spotted a man coming from the other side, a hoodie hid his face, and the man was running as if Satan himself was after him. He ran past him, not even noticing Sam’s presence, and like a rat, the man scurried underneath a parked car a few feet from the playground. Sam kept still, until his curiosity made him get up and take two steps to get a better look. The deep shadows from the tall trees made it impossible for Sam to be sure if the man was still under the car. However, not hearing any running steps, Sam was convinced the man was still there. It was quite odd, and for that it had grabbed Sam’s interest. Listening now to the sirens from speeding police cars, Sam’s fascination rose even higher. Were the cops after the man in the hoodie? Had he killed someone? Then, it dawned on Sam, could this man be the one responsible for the two killings in the neighborhood? Already the cops were harassing the homeless more than ever because of it and, with that observation playing inside his head, Sam stayed alert, adamant to not let this man out of his sight. Carefully, Sam took a few more steps forward and combed the area where the man wearing the hoodie was hiding. Was he still there? His diligence was rewarded when Sam saw the silhouette of the man’s head slide out from under the car. Not sure if the man was dangerous or not, Sam found cover behind a tree, and with interest watched the man slowly crawl out. Once completely out, the man stood up, and Sam could see there was something wrong by the slow movements and jerking motions he made. Adjusting the hood on his head, the man looked once over his shoulders and started walking towards Queens Boulevard, and, not knowing why, Sam followed him. Keeping his distance, Sam crossed the boulevard, and kept track as the man in the hoodie turned on Forty-Third Avenue and hurried to Forty-Seventh Street. Crouching behind a parked car, Sam waited a few seconds until it was safe to cross the street. He saw the man climb down a few steps that led to a courtyard. Again, Sam waited, lowering his body almost to the ground, and went down the steps where garbage cans were lined up against the building. Hiding behind them, he noticed as the man went down a couple of steps and went through a basement door. Sam stared at the door, wondering what his next move would be. He stood there for about two minutes, until an enormous rat scurried across the yard, and made Sam’s decision an easy one, and that was to turn around and dash out. Going around to the front of the building, Sam squinted at the number on the door and before he could start walking away, a buzzing sound rang around him, as if insects were near his ears. He even swatted at the air, expecting to see a mosquito or a fly—but there were no insects, not even a breeze. A chill ran through his body, and Sam rubbed his hands over his arms. There was an eeriness that overwhelmed him, and, feeling jitters of fear, Sam spun quickly on his heels and ran back to the park.

*****

“You know why I became a cop?” Taylor asked Alex as they pulled into the curb. “As a boy, my parents used to religiously watch a television show called Miami Vice. Ever watched that show?”

“Nah, raised in an Evangelical household, my mother kept a strict diet of television viewing,” Alex said while unbuckling his seat belt. “Actually, we didn’t have a television. According to my mother, it was the box of fornicating pagans and the cesspool of worshipping demons.”

“Jesus,” Taylor shook his head. “No wonder you’re such a basket case, and pain in the ass, your mother sabotaged your childhood.”

“Not that bad,” Alex winked. “My best friend’s television salvaged most of my ruined childhood.”

“So, you’re just a basket case by choice?”

“Something like that,” Alex smiled.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” Taylor continued. “I loved the show, especially the clothes, man those two dudes were styling. And let’s not forget the music. Every time the show was over, I was yeah, baby, that’s what I want to be. A cop. Wear cool clothes, drive a badass car—”

“And let me guess,” Alex interrupted as he slid out of the car. “It didn’t turn out like a television show that after the day is over, the director yells ‘cut’, and you get to go home to a nice, deserved good night.”

“Yep, hit it right on the nose,” Taylor said as he joined Alex where a parked squad car was at an angle. It’s blue and red light circling the street like searchlights. “Damn, nobody told me I was going to get calls in the middle of the night to leave my wife and the soft music in the bedroom. They forgot that important part at the Academy.”

“Isn’t that some shit. I guess they left that part of the job description off the brochure too.” Alex laughed. “Look at it on the bright side, after twenty more years you get a pension, and all expenses paid to the nearest park bench to feed cooing pigeons.”

“I don’t think so, brother. I’m heading back home, back to Haiti, to live the life of a king,” Taylor said.

“With a cop’s pension? Man, we’ll be doing security work in cemeteries to make ends meet until we drop dead.”

“I don’t think so… not the way I’m feeding my 401K.”

“Yeah, let’s hope, with the bozos in Wall Street playing with your money, you’ll be lucky to get a quarter for every dollar you put in.”

“Brother, you need something to cheer you up. You’re too tense. Let’s see what we got here.”

Approaching the two police officers who stood by their squad car, they could see a pair of legs sticking out from the back seat and nearby a car diagonally parked in the middle of the street. An EMT crew was attending to the person inside the squad car. It was a woman. Another police car blocked traffic, while two officers circled slowly around with their flashing lights aimed at the street and under the parked cars on the curb. On the sidewalk, they spotted two men talking to another cop.

“If I’m here because of a fucking fender bender, I’m killing someone, so it won’t be a waste of a night,” Alex said as he nodded at the two men and the officer on the sidewalk. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Alex said, as he sized up the situation. Nothing that required their presence as far as he could see. “What we got here?”

The young officer turned around, and Alex found it funny that for a second, it looked like the rookie was about to salute. Fresh from the Academy, Alex guessed. The kid’s face probably had never seen a razor blade.

“Good evening, Detectives,” he said, moving away from the two men he was talking to. “A man with a knife was chasing the lady sitting in the squad car getting treated by the EMTs. The two gentlemen I was talking to, were flagged down by her.”

“Any description of the man?”

“Not much to go with. They both agreed that it was dark, plus the man was wearing a hoodie that covered his head. According to them, he ran across the playground. We already checked the park, only a few homeless guys, but they are so drunk they aren’t much help.”

“Are those guys still in the park?”

“Yes, that’s why we called for backup.”

“Good work, Officer…” Alex looked at the nameplate. “Officer Williams.”

At that moment, two cops who were searching the area approached them, one of them holding a large knife wrapped in a napkin.

“What we got there?” Taylor asked as he met them halfway.

“Hopefully, the guy who ran after the woman was the same one who dropped the knife. It’s hard to tell, but I’ll bet any money there’s dried blood on the blade,” the officer said with a big smile.

Taking the knife by the napkin, Taylor brought it closer to him. He bopped his head as he inspected it, after which he gave it to Alex with care.

“It really looks like blood,” Alex handed the knife back to the officer. “Great job, guys. Please take this right away to the lab. If we are lucky, this knife could get us closer to this murderous motherfucker.”

“Let’s look at what we have inside the park,” Taylor said, turning in that direction.

Entering the park, they spotted two police officers talking to a group of men. It was a motley crew alright, and taking a quick glance at them, both Alex and Taylor looked at each other and shook their heads. They doubted their guy was one of them, but still they headed towards the group. Alex glanced at each man, all five of them, and even though the wind was blowing away from them, the stench of unwashed bodies and cheap alcohol seeped out of their pores. The one who was easily the leader of the group was standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted sideways—the typical stance of someone trying to display the sense of a tough guy. Alex went to him first, to establish upon them, including the two cops, who was in control now.

“Gentlemen, I’m Detective Alex and this is my partner Detective Brandon—”

“Partners,” the leader snickered, holding one hand out with a limp wrist.

“Next time you interrupt me, I’ll knock the few rotten teeth you still have in your mouth,” Alex threatened, getting close to the leader, who quickly took a few steps back and raised his hands submissively. He mumbled an apology and dropped his eyes quickly to the ground. “Now,” Alex continued, this time everyone stood a bit more at attention, like soldiers in front of a Five-Star General, even the police officers. “A man wearing a hoodie just ran through here not too long ago. Did anybody see him? Saw which direction he took? Even saw how he looked like?”

Blank stares and uneasy shrugs met Alex’s question. “Not one of you saw a man running through the playground?”

“Excuse me, ah, sir,” the leader came forward, but still making sure he was at least an arm’s length away from Alex. “Most of us were pretty shit-faced by then. Louie here found a few dollars and we were celebrating all day. He got enough for two bottles of the good stuff,”

“Not one of you?” Alex pressed. “Come on, you guys looked pretty bushy tailed now.”

“Hey,” Louie, the founder of the loot, smiled, which surprisingly showed a row of good strong teeth. “Nothing like cops banging on your bench to sober your ass in a hurry. Yeah, man, worse than the banana bags the dudes from the ambulance give you when they find your ass passed out ready to choke in your own vomit.”

“I think I saw the man you’re looking for,” a voice behind them made Alex and Taylor turn quickly and saw a diminutive man walking towards them. “I saw this man wearing a hoodie, like you said. He ran through the playground and shocked the hell out of me when he squeezed under one of the parked cars. I thought it was weird, so I came closer and that’s when I saw him crawl back out. He kept looking back, and then in a hurry he walked towards the boulevard. I followed him, I don’t why, but the way he was acting made me curious.”

“So where did he go?” Alex asked.

“He went through the basement entrance of a building on Forty-Seventh Street. I could take you guys over there.”

“Good, we’ll drive there,” Alex said as he patted Sam on the shoulder and escorted him towards their car.

CHAPTER 24

In his entire existence, something had never horrified Frank as much as he was now. He was shaking uncontrollably, and the second he turned the key to enter the apartment, he feared facing Lilith. She was beyond angry by the jabs he kept receiving that travelled from the center of his brain, straight down to his feet. But what the hell was he supposed to have done? It was impossible for the girl to have known he was following her—he had been so quiet. Besides, the sudden appearance of the car that had come from nowhere shattered any other option for him to finish the job. He wanted to believe that Lilith would understand. Damn! He’d even promise her that by tomorrow evening he would bring to her not one, but two fresh souls. It wasn’t his fault. Frank wrestled with that thought in his head. He did his best. He prayed Lilith would understand that all this was new to him, and if she would give him a few more chances—he’d be fucking unstoppable.

“I should have known better than to deal with fools like you. You are a useless parasite,” Lilith’s voice slammed against him, while the shadows still hid her. “Can you do anything right? I practically put her on your lap. Didn’t I?”

“But… but,” Frank stuttered. “She ran into the street and right in front of a car.”

“Excuses!” Lilith shouted. “Is that all that you bring me? Excuses? Oh, Frank, I’m so disappointed in you… so disappointed. But you know, I’m angrier at myself than I’m at you, because I gave you too much credit. You fooled me into thinking that you were my protector, my provider. And what did you turn out to be? Nothing but a spineless imbecile. More than that, you were stupid enough to drop and leave the knife. They’ll use that knife as a guide to find you. Then what? Tell me, pathetic little man. What’s going to happen when they find you and take you away from me? Who’s going to take care of me?”

Stepping away from the shadow, Lilith stood in front of Frank, her naked body glistening. A bead of sweat ran from her shoulders, across her neck, and straight to her breasts. Hypnotized by that single drop, Frank stared at her nipples, making him tremble with lust.

Noticing his eyes ogling at her, Lilith pinched both nipples and smiled, passing her tongue through her lips, tilting her head backwards, her long wavy hair overflowing over her back. Gyrating her hips in round motions, she lowered one hand down to her stomach, while the other hand massaged her breast. Her dark eyes now stared at Frank, who stood frozen in front of her.

Frank’s breathing sprang out sporadically, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and like a child in a candy store, he reached out with both hands to get at all the sweetness in front of him. Lilith back away from him, still gyrating her body, as soft moans escaped her partially open mouth.

“You want this, baby?” Lilith cooed, her sexuality overpowering. “I know you want this. Right?”

Frank swallowed hard, his face contorting, for his desires for Lilith were hurting him. Gasping, he stepped forward, his lips twisted into a foolish grin.

Lilith squeezed one breast, squirting Frank’s face with the dark fluid from her erect nipples. The green milk ran over Frank’s face and in a frenzy, he opened his mouth wide, his tongue wiping Lilith’s milk from his lips. He passed his hands all over, wetting his fingers with the fluid on his face, licking his fingers and hands.

Unexpectedly, Lilith leaped, landing on top of him, and her momentum slammed them both to the floor. Strapping her legs around his waist, Lilith shredded the clothes off him, and sinking her teeth on his left bicep, she began gnawing on his flesh. Frank tried to scream, but with one hand she held his mouth tight and shut. He jolted under her weight, desperately attempting to bounce her off him, but the harder he jerked, the stronger the grip of her legs around his torso increased.

Realizing that she was too strong to throw her off, Frank grabbed her by the hair and yanked hard, but no sooner had he performed such action, he learned it was a mistake. Lilith tilted her head sideways, and to Frank’s terror, her lustrous hair became coarse and tangled around his fingers like steel cables. Not having Lilith's hand over his mouth, Frank let out a scream of fright. For the face who stared down at him was no longer the beautiful, exotic features of Lilith, but the grotesque and horrific deformity of a demon. Her distorted head, embedded with lacerations and covered with dark lumps that oozed with the same thick, dark green muck that came out of her breasts. Lilith’s once enchanting eyes morphed into two mutated, ablaze slits, and with a cracking sound, her nose curved into a jagged snout. Her mouth stretched upward, and it settled into a hideous grin. It pushed the gums inward, exposing sickening rows of twisted and overcrowded teeth, where pieces of Frank’s flesh hung like pinkish ribbons. On each side of her cheeks, two long, blackened fangs protruded with sharpness of blades chiseled from steel. Her voluptuous body shifted, and slowly Lilith's smooth, bronze skin became coated in hard scales that slithered and wrapped itself around Frank’s struggling body. In desperation, he tried to lift Lilith off him, but to his horror, she was no longer a woman, but a repugnant freak from hell. Frank desperately punched her and wrestled Lilith for his freedom, but her scaly, snake-like body was slippery and impossible to grasp. It coiled around him, applying pressure to his bones, and Frank screamed in agony as his bones shattered to pieces. Tears exploded out of his eyes, and Frank's cries echoed through the walls of the basement as Lilith’s purplish tongue flickered and slurped at the blood that spattered from Frank’s fatal wounds. With a savage thrust, Lilith’s mammoth mouth bit down on Frank’s face, ripping half of it. Frank thrashed wildly on the floor, while Lilith greedily devoured the still tormented face with a sadistic pleasure.

*****

“Is this the place?” Alex turned and faced Sam, who was sitting in the back seat of the car.

Sam nodded his head up and down, then he completed his answer with a mumbled ‘yes’.

“What’s wrong?” Alex stared at Sam. “You look spooked.”

“Man, don’t you feel it? There’s something evil here. Man, can I just leave now?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Alex said as he turned and looked at Taylor, then back at Sam. “You’re not fucking setting us up?”

“No, man, I’m not. It’s… it’s this place that’s giving me the fucking willies. Please man, please Detective, I’m not bullshitting you guys. Here’s where the dude with the hoodie went in, I swear. But for the love of Christ, let me get the fuck outta here.”

“Goddamn, brother, are you going through some type of alcohol withdrawal? You’re acting mighty crazy. Now settle down for a second, and you’ll be free to go back to your buddies and your cheap booze. Shit, for your help, we’ll even give you a few bucks to get a better-quality wine, but first I need you to take us exactly to the door you saw our boy go in. I’m not asking for much, but you must understand, in our profession we can’t be too trusty, especially walking into a dark courtyard because someone we just met is giving us a story we want to hear. If this is a set-up, guess what? I’m going to make sure you’re leading the front line. Understand?”

“Jesus, man, I’m not trying to do anything bad to you guys. Man, is this the way concerned citizens get hassled? I could have kept my mouth shut. You know that… right?”

“Yes, we know that, but we also know that we live in a real world where people hate cops and would go to any length to harm them. I’m not saying that’s you, my concerned citizen, but call me paranoid; this way of thinking has kept my ass alive all these years, so let’s stop this friendly chitchat, and let’s get out of the car. We’ll follow you. After that, if I think everything is cool, then I’ll let you go on your merry way, but not soon. Is that a deal?”

Rolling his eyes and tilting his head upward, Sam let out a heavy sigh. He hissed the word fuckand opened the door.

“Right through here,” Sam said as he walked towards the steps that led to the courtyard. “Keep your eyes open, there are huge rats around here.”

Stopping a few feet away from the door, Sam pointed. “Right through there. I’m sure it’s locked because he used his keys.”

Taylor went around him and placed his ear on the door, then tried the knob. It was locked as Sam said. Standing by the door, Taylor gave a nod to Alex. “What do you think? Should we knock and see if he opens or call for backup and make sure there’s no other way out for him to escape.”

“I think that’s the only way in and out,” Alex said, joining Taylor, but motioning to Sam to follow him. “Let’s knock a few times and see what happens.”

Taylor rapped on the door three times. They waited. Nothing. He slammed the door again with his open hand. Nothing.

“A heavy sleeper?” Taylor asked.

“Hey Sam,” Alex stepped away from the door and went closer to Sam. “Around what time did you see this man go through that door?”

Sam twisted his lips as if he was in heavy concentration. “Hmmm… at least twenty minutes ago. It didn’t take me long to get back to the park.”

Alex turned back to the door. “I can’t buy that someone will be in a deep sleep in such short of a time.”

“Maybe his apartment is way on the other side of the building,” Taylor reasoned.

“Well, in that case, we need to knock on the door harder,” Alex said as he moved away and, lifting his leg, brought it down hard on the door. He slammed on it five times. The sound ricocheted through the quiet courtyard, attracting the anger from someone above.

“It’s fucking late to be making all that goddamn racket! Will’ya fucking assholes go somewhere else. People work around here!” The voice came down at them, and simultaneously the sound of a window being lifted and the poking of a face.

Taylor stepped back and looked up. He could only see a silhouette of a body halfway out. “Police here, no need to be alarmed.”

“The police? How do I know you ain’t lying?”

“Here.” Taylor held his badge above his head. “This is my badge. I’m Detective Brandon, and my partner Detective Munro.”

“I can’t see that,” the man said. “It’s too dark.”

“Well, come down and take a better look. Maybe you can answer a few questions.”

“Hell no, I ain’t coming down. You think I’m stupid? But here’s what I’m going to do. Bear with me, I’ll call the super. He lives across the building. Now don’t go nowhere if you are who you said you are.”

“Go ahead, call the super. We’re not going anywhere. Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll call him right now and don’t call me sir, I work for a living.”

Both Alex and Taylor exchanges glances. “Don’t call me sir. I work for a living,” Alex mimicked the guy. “I always wonder who the fuck came up with that shit.”

“It’s a military thing,” Taylor explained. “Dig against the higher officers. Usually, the top officers in the military come from academic backgrounds, you know, your typical officer’s school like West Point. They were not well-liked by those who were getting drafted and did the heavy, dirty jobs… like fighting and dying while the pretty boys played soldier from tents away from the battlefield. The enlisted men had little respect for them. Whenever a soldier was out of uniform and some trainees would salute them and called them sir, they responded with that. In other words, I get my hands dirty.”

Alex stared at Taylor for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Dude, do you actually know this as a fact, or do you go along making up shit?”

“Come on, a little reading does wonders for the brain,” Taylor said, touching his head. “Try it once in a while.”

“Does reading the back of the cereal box while having breakfast count as reading?”

“Well, it’s a start,” Taylor said, laughing. “But maybe at your age you should have graduated to at least the Sunday funnies.”

“Anyway—” Alex was about to speak when Taylor quickly interrupted him.

“Wait.” Taylor raised one hand and placed his ear to the door. “I think I heard something.”

“What? Like footsteps coming to the door?”

“No, it was more like moans.”

“No wonder our boy is ignoring the bangs on the door,” Alex smiled. “He’s doing his own banging inside.”

“No man,” Taylor switched to his other ear. “It’s more like someone in pain. There, you hear that?”

Alex came closer and pressed his ear on the door as well. A faint groan came through. “I’ll be damned,” he said as he slammed the door with his hand. “Who’s in there? Are you hurt? Can you open the door?”

Another moan greeted Alex’s words, and, at that moment, the sounds of keys filled the courtyard. Both detectives looked up and saw a man with a ring of keys jangling loudly. By the way he busted inside the courtyard, it showed in his demeanor that this was not a happy camper at this time of the night—obviously, this had to be the super.

“What’s going on here?” Mike asked, his annoyance chopping every word.

Taylor approached him first, his badge held up to eye level. “Sorry to disturb you, but we need to get inside that basement.”

“Why? Do you have a warrant?” Mike asked and right away Alex knew they were dealing with those types of individuals who feel that behaving like an asshole is a distinguishing characteristic.

“Hey buddy,” Alex got close to his face. He was in no mood to play the; I know my rights little games; it was too damn late for that. “Let’s cut the ‘Law and Order’ bullshit and fucking relax. We are not asking you, but damn telling you to open that door. I’m sure out of those hundred keys dangling on your belt, there’s one to open it. So please let’s not waste anybody’s time.”

“I know my rights,” Mike said, but there was a stammer when he spoke.

“Good for your ass that you know your rights,” Alex raised his voice as he pointed at the basement entrance “But if that door is not open in the next two seconds, and if whoever is inside is in trouble and dies while you’re here trying to measure your dick with mine, well buddy, I’ll be telling you what your rights are when you find your ass handcuffed to the back seat of a squad car.”

With no further hesitation, Mike hurried to the door, fumbling through the keys, until he settled on one and inserted it in the keyhole. He jiggled the key a bit, and finally unlocking it, he leaned his shoulder on the door and pushed it wide open. A thick darkness ambushed them, plus a stench that forced everyone to clasp their fingers on their noses, even Sam, who was standing a good eight feet away from them and forgotten by the detectives.

Removing a flashlight from his belt, Mike shone the beam and a few feet away from them, they found Frank, or what was left of him. The man was still alive. How, they had no clue, but turning his half-eaten face at them, with one last seizure-like tremble, Frank let out a long, drawn-out breath; he gasped one last time and died.