connection, but for a moment, his telepathy hit a brick wall. Then he saw darkness and pain. A soul struggling with inner demons just as he did himself. And an endless, bottomless pit beckoning him to plunge into its abyss.
Was this man a demon?
Then a woman appeared by the man’s side. Small, with long, curly russet-colored hair and a heart-shaped face. An expression akin to surprise flitted in her eyes, and then she smiled.
He mentally sifted through her thoughts, read relief that he had come. A deep love for the dark man by her side.
Then a sudden screech of lost souls screaming in her head.
He swallowed, adopting his expressionless mask although his pulse clamored at the horrific cries.
We shouldn’t have died.
A monster killed us.
There’s another demon in our midst.
Her gaze met his, the same pain and suffering reflected in her eyes. Finally the voices fell silent as if she’d shushed them in her head.
He studied her intently. She must be a medium.
“Welcome to our home, Quinton.” She nudged the man beside her, who was staring at Quinton, sizing him up. “Vincent, aren’t you going to invite your brother inside? It’s cold out, and he’s come a long way.”
Vincent strode toward Quinton, his movements as precise and controlled as Quinton’s. In spite of his skepticism and distrust, Quinton’s heart thundered in his chest.
His physical resemblance to this man was uncanny.
“Vincent Valtrez,” the man said as he extended his hand. “This is my wife, Clarissa. Come inside now. We have to talk.”
His voice was more a command than an invitation, and Quinton hesitated before he shook his hand. But the gesture opened a doorway into the man’s mind, and Quinton bit back a smile.
Vincent was just as distrustful of him as he was of the man.
Then, in a flash of darkness, he heard a war raging in the man’s head. Vincent thinking about making things explode with his hands. Killing animals.
Grief as he’d watched his mother die. Then Vincent as a boy driving a stake into a man’s heart.
No, not a man, a black shapeless beast.
One that was back now to spread his evil.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Dr. Sam Wynn smiled as he watched the blood drain from the corpse. So much blood. Steel pans were filled with the thick rich substance, the smell vile and coppery.
Adrenaline churned through his bloodstream. The autopsy was a fascinating process. First the Y incision to open the body cavity. Then the saws and scalpels.
Next the process of removing the organs. One by one. Weighing them. Holding them in his hands.
He smiled as he contemplated watching the fluids
gush
and stream from the lifeless body. He could feel the warm liquids
seep
through his fingertips as he dug inside the internal cavities. Could hear the bones shattering as he sawed his way through cartilage and tissue.
Ah, those lovely bones…
Brittle, filled with marrow, with the blood of a life that no longer existed.
Science was his calling. Slicing bodies to study the cause of death, his playing field.
Now he had so many decimated bodies to study. The ones from the mass bombing intrigued him. Flesh had literally been ripped from bones, muscle and tissue exposed. An arm here, a leg there, a headless body.
Like a puzzle, he’d spread the pieces out, labeled each one, run tests, and pieced them together to make the bodies whole again. Although for some it was too late to be put back together. The poor bastards.
But he would do what he could for them. Attach a name to them so families could be notified.
He pulled on his protective goggles, then narrowed his eyes as he spotted the jagged teeth marks etched into the woman’s femur. Like needle marks in a junkie’s arm, but these were jagged in places, more brutal.
The markings of a bird’s talons.
He grabbed his camera and snapped a photo. He had to add this bone to his collection.
After all, no one would ever miss it.
Chapter Six
Quinton entered the log cabin, wary, alert for a
Was this man a demon?
Then a woman appeared by the man’s side. Small, with long, curly russet-colored hair and a heart-shaped face. An expression akin to surprise flitted in her eyes, and then she smiled.
He mentally sifted through her thoughts, read relief that he had come. A deep love for the dark man by her side.
Then a sudden screech of lost souls screaming in her head.
He swallowed, adopting his expressionless mask although his pulse clamored at the horrific cries.
We shouldn’t have died.
A monster killed us.
There’s another demon in our midst.
Her gaze met his, the same pain and suffering reflected in her eyes. Finally the voices fell silent as if she’d shushed them in her head.
He studied her intently. She must be a medium.
“Welcome to our home, Quinton.” She nudged the man beside her, who was staring at Quinton, sizing him up. “Vincent, aren’t you going to invite your brother inside? It’s cold out, and he’s come a long way.”
Vincent strode toward Quinton, his movements as precise and controlled as Quinton’s. In spite of his skepticism and distrust, Quinton’s heart thundered in his chest.
His physical resemblance to this man was uncanny.
“Vincent Valtrez,” the man said as he extended his hand. “This is my wife, Clarissa. Come inside now. We have to talk.”
His voice was more a command than an invitation, and Quinton hesitated before he shook his hand. But the gesture opened a doorway into the man’s mind, and Quinton bit back a smile.
Vincent was just as distrustful of him as he was of the man.
Then, in a flash of darkness, he heard a war raging in the man’s head. Vincent thinking about making things explode with his hands. Killing animals.
Grief as he’d watched his mother die. Then Vincent as a boy driving a stake into a man’s heart.
No, not a man, a black shapeless beast.
One that was back now to spread his evil.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Dr. Sam Wynn smiled as he watched the blood drain from the corpse. So much blood. Steel pans were filled with the thick rich substance, the smell vile and coppery.
Adrenaline churned through his bloodstream. The autopsy was a fascinating process. First the Y incision to open the body cavity. Then the saws and scalpels.
Next the process of removing the organs. One by one. Weighing them. Holding them in his hands.
He smiled as he contemplated watching the fluids
gush
and stream from the lifeless body. He could feel the warm liquids
seep
through his fingertips as he dug inside the internal cavities. Could hear the bones shattering as he sawed his way through cartilage and tissue.
Ah, those lovely bones…
Brittle, filled with marrow, with the blood of a life that no longer existed.
Science was his calling. Slicing bodies to study the cause of death, his playing field.
Now he had so many decimated bodies to study. The ones from the mass bombing intrigued him. Flesh had literally been ripped from bones, muscle and tissue exposed. An arm here, a leg there, a headless body.
Like a puzzle, he’d spread the pieces out, labeled each one, run tests, and pieced them together to make the bodies whole again. Although for some it was too late to be put back together. The poor bastards.
But he would do what he could for them. Attach a name to them so families could be notified.
He pulled on his protective goggles, then narrowed his eyes as he spotted the jagged teeth marks etched into the woman’s femur. Like needle marks in a junkie’s arm, but these were jagged in places, more brutal.
The markings of a bird’s talons.
He grabbed his camera and snapped a photo. He had to add this bone to his collection.
After all, no one would ever miss it.
Chapter Six
Quinton entered the log cabin, wary, alert for a
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