A Grimoire Dark Page 9

  “Got da call early dis morning. Jus’ missin’ since yesterday.”

  “Cap’n, it’s still early,” Frank said as he prepped the coffee pot. “Not even twenty-four hours old yet? We missin’ da pope or somethin’? Why da rush?”

  “I know, Frang, it’s early to run it, but da landlady called it in. Da damn door was swingin’ open dis mornin’ an she’s sittin’ outside in da car watchin’ o’er da place. Scared to go in.”

  “Ok, I get it, but why me? Don’t you have—”

  “It’s close to da other bodies.”

  “Down Jean Lafitte area?”

  “Yah, tis down toward da other missin’ head, and da ol’ man. You remember da ol’ man, Frang?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I was just out der. You think dey related?”

  “I think dat we got a crazy man out der is what I think. Either dat or dis gator got up and it’s walkin’ around.”

  Frank chuckled briefly at the thought of a Saturday morning cartoon gator strolling the park with a top hat and monocle, swinging a walking stick while whistling and tipping his hat to the ladies, then suddenly chomping someone as they walked past; but then his stomached turned.

  “One more ting. You say you didn’t find nothing at da ol’ man’s house, right?”

  “Not besides what was left of da body with its guts thrown everywhere. But never did find da head. Poor old guy.” He paused. “Dat just ain’t how you expect to go.”

  “Yeah, yeah. OK, Frang, ok. You call later. Eh?”

  “Sure, cap.”

  After Frank hung up the phone, he sat at the kitchen table and picked up two plastic bags—he still marveled at the invention even though the plastic bag was going on ten years old now, he thought. One still had the gator tooth from the site of the original body. The other bag had several large scales held together by a rotting membrane. Just two days ago this looked like gator skin that had been sloughed off, and now it looked like scales from a giant snake protruding from a hide-skin combination.

  He thought back to when he and Del had arrived at Slim’s place. As soon as they pulled up, Del had complained of a headache. One that she hadn’t made any mention of until right at that moment. Frank assumed it was her squeamishness about seeing the body of someone she had just spoken to the day before, but hadn’t asked.

  He remembered that as he’d walked to the gangplank surrounding the house, the rising swamp was lapping around the support poles of the house, but he could still see where the ground had been torn and thrashed. Tracks, like those he had seen a day earlier, had been left in the mud, but were different somehow.

  Upon closer inspection, it looked as if two sets of prints overlapped each other. The toe holes appeared to be a combination of human toes with claws extruding from them.

  Besides the strange prints, an overwhelming smell of rotting meat had hung in the wet air, nearly causing him to gag. Looking around, he’d noticed a strange piece of flesh that he’d thought was the victim’s, but after turning it over, realized it was a hybrid skin-hide that had been sloughed off in large sections.

  At the kitchen table, his stomach turned over at the thought of the sweet, putrid smell. It was if the air had been coated with a thick oily substance that once inhaled, hung in the back of his mouth triggering a gag reflex as it threatened to slide down his throat.

  He looked from one bag to the other, wondering what he was seeing. He felt a growing uneasiness that had settled about him since finding the first body. He was beginning to suspect that these weren’t natural killings, but the alternative that kept pricking his mind was not one he wanted to entertain.

  He finished his coffee and made an egg sandwich for the road.

  At nine o’clock Frank pulled in front of his office and saw Del sitting on the top step. She had been waiting for him.

  “Watchoo doing here so early Del-bell?” he asked as he huffed up the outside steps. Unlocking the office door, he said, “Chompin’ at da bit on da new job?”

  With a somber tone she said, “I was hoping you’d be here Frank. I wanted to ask you something.”

  Settling down into his protesting chair, he finally saw the unhappy look she’d been trying to hide.

  “What’s da matter?”

  Looking at the floor, she said, “I was wondering… well… I was wondering if you might have some work that I could do around here?”

  “But—”

  “I’d work real cheap Frank,” she said quickly. “You know, sort of like a, what do you call it? A starter rate?”

  “But what about your new job?”

  She shook her head quickly. “I don’t… I don’t think I’m going to have it long.” She wiped at her eyes.

  “But why not?”

  She straightened in the chair as the cords in her neck stood out. “Because those two old reporters don’t want to work with no n—,” she clamped her lips in a tight, twisted line as her face flashed, “with someone like me.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair and looked out at the gray day. He knew the two guys downstairs and knew exactly what Del was facing.

  “It won’t always be like dis, honey. Gray, you know. Times are changin’ pretty quick now, but it takes time for people to change. At least some people.”

  She nodded her head silently.

  “In da mean time, I’m sure we can work somethin’ out,” he said, giving her a wink.

  For the first time, Del felt like there was someone she could possibly trust.

  Chapter 20

  Frank drove to the old wharf where the third body was found. This one had drawn a small crowd of onlookers; during the day the wharf was busy with barge business and there were all sorts of people that passed this way.

  “You stay back behind the line,” Frank whispered to Del as they approached.

  Frank spoke to a police officer, showed his badge, and the man nodded and let him through.

  The body was covered, and Frank noticed that several other spots on the wharf were covered also, but they were smaller.

  Frank peeked under the sheet. “Oh, lawd,” escaped his mouth, along with his newly lit cigar. Dropping to the wet cobblestone, the cigar tried to escape the scene, but instead rolled into a pool of blood between the cobblestones. Frank looked longingly at the cigar, then cursed under his breath. Looking under the sheet didn’t take long. He assumed the arms and legs were under the others.

  He looked back at where the head had been, but his brain was struggling to process the image.

  The back of the head was still intact, and seemed to be connected to the body with part of the spinal cord, but the face was gone, along with everything that should have been inside the skull.

  The torso had not been eaten, but it looked like it had at the points where the arms and legs were torn off. Although the skull had remained attached, it appeared to have been licked clean of its contents, and laid there like a white, broken gourd. The brain was completely missing.

  Frank shivered as he walked back to Del. “Come on honey, you doan wanna see dat.”

  “But what did you see Frank? I need to take notes or something. How am I ever gonna get—”

  Frank walked ahead, not hearing her. He shivered again and realized that the hair was standing up on his neck. He knew it wasn’t from the cold.

  As they drove across the bridge, Frank answered yes-and-no questions for Del, but provided few details. His mind was running over the possible scenarios before him, and he felt he was running out of viable options.

  Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of a small two-bedroom house near the Jean Lafitte preserve. An agitated landlady was parked in front.

  Frank turned to Del and said, “Let me go ta— Hey, what’s da matter?” He saw Del rubbing her head.

  “I don’t know. Feels like another headache coming on,” she said.

  “How bout I leave da car run and you—”

  “No, Frank. I want to help. I need to be able to do something!” she said with
a cracking voice.

  “OK, ok, let’s go, den.” Frank was concerned about her obsession with working and buying a house. He’d have to remember to talk to her about it later.

  Exiting the car, Frank spoke with the landlady for a few minutes—who was quite animated about the time it took the police to get there—then entered the house after telling her he’d raise a complaint with the captain.

  After a quick search for a body turned up nothing, Frank told the landlady she was free to leave and that he would lock up. She was only too happy to oblige as long as he promised to lock up, which he assured her again he would do.

  Walking back into the house, he saw Del sitting on an old couch, rubbing her head.

  “There’s something wrong here, Frank. Something wrong with this house.”

  “How so?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.

  “I don’t know. I felt dizzy as soon as I walked in. I don’t like it.”

  “Jus sit down for a minute. Dis won’t take long.”

  He knew the main room had been used for séances. He recognized the tools of the trade of fortune tellers and mystics. He inspected the shelves and noted the standard cadre of mixed candles, incense and stones, tarot cards that were well worn, several small bottles filled with herbs and liquids, and a real-looking skull watching from the top shelf.

  Turning to the table in the center of the room, he barely noticed a standard crystal ball when his eyes fell to a strange book that lay open and inviting.

  The tattered book lay on the edge of the table. He immediately felt uneasy of the Frankenstein creation. He could tell from where he stood that the book had previously been in several pieces. The loose binding betrayed the act of manual gluing; the varying size and thickness of pages spoke to the dissection of different works; the worn edges showed the wear of ages, but the soul of the creation lay exposed for all to see:

  * * *

  Verset I

  Hellish spirit hear me clearly, grant you now full use or nearly,

  * * *

  Frank took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully grabbed the corner of the book to close it.

  “What’s wrong with the book?” Del said, suddenly standing next to him.

  Frank jumped slightly, causing the handkerchief to dance at the end of his fingers. “Doan know, but I don’t like da look of it,” he said, slowly closing it. “Gotta be careful with some of these things.”

  Frank looked around and seeing a newspaper lying on a chair, grabbed the front page and wrapped the book in it. “It’s evidence for now.”

  “Where do you think the woman went?” she asked.

  “Doan know dat, either. Kinda strange to leave da door open and your purse on da counter, don’t ya think?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No sign of struggle, but da people out here near da swamp live a different life. Our gal could be sleepin’ off a hard night for all I know. One time I saw—”

  Del sat down hard again in a kitchen chair and grabbed her head. As beads of sweat broke across her forehead, she wobbled slightly as her stomach did a slow flip.

  “You sure you’re OK honey?” Frank said. “You look three shades pale.”

  After a long, slow breath Del said, “I just need to get out of the house. I need some air.”

  Frank helped her to the car and drove away slowly with the windows down, despite the incessant rain.

  In the trees above the drive, a black gleaming eye watched them drive away, then flew off into the wind.

  Chapter 21

  Back in Frank’s office, Del poured herself some tea as Frank jotted notes about the case in his notebook. The cold damp air had cleared her head, but a tiredness had fallen over her.

  “So, do you think there’s a real serial killer in the city?” she asked from the doorway of his office.

  Frank pulled off his bifocals and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don’t know. But whatever we lookin’ at ain’t good.”

  “Well if it’s not a serial killer, then what?” she asked, watching him curiously. “Surely these aren’t a coincidence?”

  He leaned back in his chair and locked his large hands over his stomach. A fresh cigar, wedged in the corner of his mouth, sent curls of smoke around his head.

  “Listen Del-Bell, dis city is old and it got lotsa secrets. What I’m thinkin’ can’t be explained real well, and certainly won’t be goin’ in my report.”

  Del squinted her eyes at him. “Not Voodoo again? Really, Frank?”

  “Listen hon—”

  The phone rang and broke their conversation.

  “Yeah,” Frank said.

  “Frang, it’s Henri GeeOHM.”

  “Yeah, cap. Was just writin’ some notes. What I do you fer?”

  “Frang, about da body on da pier.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I was just—”

  “You’re off da case. I’ll take it from here.”

  Frank held the receiver away from his ear and looked at it, as if he would better understand what he’d just heard by staring into the black holes.

  “Say again, cap?”

  “Yeah Frang, I’ll take da case from here. I’ll need your notes by dis evenin’.”

  “OK…” Frank said slowly. “Any reason—”

  “And Frang, you sure you didn’t find nothing with da other bodies, right?”

  “Yeah, dat’s right,” Frank said as he replayed the kitchen table scene in his head. “I didn’t find nothing but a pair of bodies.”

  “Yeah, OK Frang.”

  The line went dead.

  Frank sat and looked at the dead receiver in his hand for several seconds.

  “What’s wrong?” Del said.

  Frank hung up the phone and pulled a long draw from his cigar. He clasped his fingers over his stomach and swiveled toward the window. Another cold gray afternoon was setting in by the look of the clouds, he thought.

  What is his game? Dis don’t smell right.

  “Frank, what is it?”

  The luxury of being a private detective was that you could choose your own cases, Frank’s wife had told him once.

  What is his game?

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I need to go see someone,” Frank said absently.

  “Who, Frank? What’s going on?”

  “Del-bell, I want you to stay he—”

  “Come on, Frank. I’ll help however I can. I won’t get in the way. I really need this job and—”

  “Honey, something’s afoot and I don’t think you should be—”

  “Please. This is all I got. I don’t have anything else.” She picked restlessly at her low-bitten nails.

  Frank sighed deeply and watched a cigar ash fall to the floor where it disintegrated in a small puff. He knew a bit of Del’s history. The fire that had killed her parents had happened in his precinct.

  “Yeah, OK. You come along if you want,” he said, looking out the window again. “But don’t question where we goin’ or who we gonna see. I’m gonna let dis case take me where it wants to take me.”

  “OK, Frank. Whatever you say.”

  Sharon wandered an old path she had never seen before. The forest was thick and the giant trees grew together in a twisted canopy far above her head; grotesque and stickly fingers stretching out from twisted branches. The dim light of day cast a monotonous gray pall over the sodden air, illuminating the ancient breath of the swamp, swirling and heaving in unison with an even older heartbeat. The swamp sighed in anticipation of Sharon’s arrival.

  Sharon was remotely aware of her surroundings. She felt as if she were sleepwalking through a vivid dream that was not generated by her own mind. She saw shapes come and go; her body maintained its balance as she transitioned from path to forest floor; her mind heard the branches and brambles snag her torn nightgown, her bare feet felt the cold mud, but she walked on.

  She felt she was changing somehow, but had no fear of it. It was simply a process that would happen. Soon, the body and mind of Sha
ron Frobije would not exist. What would exist in its place she did not know, but it would happen.

  She felt a strange hollowness permeate her core. It could be described as hunger, but not of the stomach, of her entire being; her soul felt thin.

  She looked blankly at the Spanish moss that hung throughout the trees. Somehow her eyes saw the moss differently. Instead of the mysterious Grandpa’s Beard as she had learned to call it as a child, she now thought of it as the tattered souls of all the people who’d lived unfulfilling lives. Those people that never endeavored beyond their immediate needs and left so many God-given gifts to lay in waste. She now understood that part of her soul was hanging in the trees somewhere, the part she’d so quickly thrown away by making the choices she had. A feeling of dismay came over her as she felt she was doomed to wander these woods forever, looking for the last few good shreds of herself.

  The beast watched upside-down Sharon defy gravity as she wandered the swamp-forest. The beast knew nothing of tattered gowns or souls. The beast knew nothing of lost time or the yearnings to replace the grains of sand at the top of the hourglass. The beast knew evil and fear. The beast knew want and despair.

  The beast watched Sharon want-and-despair as it hung upside-down beneath a low branch of an ancient tree; its long claws anchored deep. Its cat-eyes followed her closely, dilating quickly when she stopped or stumbled. Its split tail swayed lazily, then twitched with anticipation, causing a sensation of life to travel through the metal needle and tease the mutant towards life.

  The mutant, having slid to the top of the needle, was stopped from sliding off by a round, flat nail head. Its arms and legs stuck out and hung down slightly toward its head, twitching back to life in unison with the tension of the beast. A faint “ngyihng…” escaped its unmoving mouth with each pulse.

  The beast had Sharon’s scent now, and would never lose it. It closed its eyes and waited.

  Chapter 22

  Frank pulled to the side of Prytania Street and looked out the driver’s window at the old three-story mansion that sat across from the Lafayette Cemetery #1.