The Forsaken by Estevan Vega Read Free Book Online Page A

beating.

8

    THE DARKNESS MET JUDE Foster while he was parked on a city corner. He sat in his car most nights. Not a cruiser or a blatant lookout but an old Chevelle. It was beat-up, and corrosion had consumed almost the entire rear end of the vehicle, but it wasn’t dead yet. The car was a kind of gun-metal gray that showed well at night, blending with streetlight reflection and the otherwise complacent glow of the unknown blocks that often hosted it.
    He liked to sit and wait, forget about the time, and simply watch what these street corners and drug-infested homes had created over the years. The fractured lives he saw day after day would make most people sick, but without them, there was no purpose for men like him.
    Jude was eyeing his rearview, noticing a group of punks contemplating whether they’d find pleasure in keying his car, when Mike called him.
    He turned the key in the ignition, and the Chevelle grunted to life. “This is Foster,” he said.
    “You all right?” Mike kept asking, like he was waiting for some form of response.
    “It’s almost eleven, and I’ve spent the last four and a half hours buried in paperwork. I’m just peachy.”
    “We found a body. I’m at the crime scene now. A unit’s on their way, but I think you might want to take a look at this.”
    “I can always make time for the dead,” Jude said in a hurry, peeling out of his spot and chuckling at the kids who caught a lung full of smoke. “Text me the address.”
    “Yup. The house is by the old factory. The one the state wanted to shut down a few years back; you know the place. I’ll send you the exact address in a second.”
    “Be there soon.” Jude ended the call.

    ***

    When Jude arrived, he scanned the perimeter before parking. The three-family house was isolated from homes on either side. In the distance, he could see the factory he and his friends used to ride to whenever they got bored during freshman year. There weren’t many legal things for teenagers to do on Saturday nights, so Jude and the gang he hung with tended to find the places that brought the best thrill. He watched the smoke stacks pump out black mist into the air. Time had passed, but nothing about this area had truly changed.
    He ducked underneath surveillance tape and brushed by a Crown Victoria with flashing lights cornered on what should’ve been a front lawn, if it weren’t for the snow left over from the last storm.
    Jude skulked through the entrance, ignoring many of the faces. There was a foul smell that seemed to be filtering out of the house.
    “Foster,” Mike called out from the other room. “In here!”
    Jude followed him into a purple room with neon lights flickering on the walls. Grotesque, hardcore-band posters blanketed the ceiling, and in the center of the posters was a half-naked, tattooed fairy. A number of violent threats and obscene sexual phrases were inscribed in the wooden bed frame and some scratched into the closet doors.
    Jude read one of them aloud. “ ‘I will bathe in the blood of the damned, for his dark will shall vindicate me.’ ” He studied several more. “And they say I need therapy.”
    “You’re like a skeleton,” Mike said. “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”
    “Haven’t been all that hungry.”
    “You look tired too.”
    “Did you call me down here to give me a physical?”
    The chief folded his arms. “Our circus freak was found this morning.”
    “Why’d you wait so long to let me in on this?”
    “Because I’ve been going back and forth with my better self for the last sixteen hours. Wasn’t sure telling you was a good idea. Whitney thinks I’m a madman.”
    “That’s because he’s a degenerate. Why you keep him around is beyond me.”
    “Detective Whitney was one of my hardest working officers during your rehabilitation. And besides, I don’t recall asking for your opinion. So you’re aware, I had forensics hold off on the nitty-gritty until you got here. Cut me