Jon Merz - Vicarious

“He must have lived around here.”

Kwon glanced up from writing something on his clipboard. “What makes you say that?”

“He was found like this? Just out and all alone?”

“Yeah.”

“No car nearby,” said Curran. “We’re a bit isolated here. Maybe he was out for a walk. That’s when it happened.”

“No identification on him,” said Kwon.

“We can get his address from his parole officer.” Curran dug into the cigarette again keeping the tip bright red. Another damned death.

“I can do the PM right away if you want,” said Kwon.

“You don’t mind?”

“I’m still backlogged, but I know it means a lot to you.” He stood and placed his hand under Curran’s elbow. “What the hell is going on here, man?”

Curran tossed his cigarette and watched the tip burn out as it hit a puddle of brackish water. “Wish I knew.”

“No theories?”

“Lauren has one.”

“How about sharing?”

“She’s done some research. Found out there have been recorded instances of this activity in the history of the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Yeah?”

“Book she found says the culprit is something called a Soul Eater.”

Kwon stopped walking. “You aren’t freaking with me, are you Steve?”

“Wish I was, pal. That’s what she found out.”

“Great.” Kwon sighed.

“For a science geek, you’re taking the prospect of supernatural involvement pretty well.”

“First of all, I’m not a geek.” Kwon crossed his arms. “And secondly, I’m not devoid of interest in stuff like this.”

“You dig the occult?” Kwon never ceased to amaze Curran.

“Not like how you make it sound,” said Kwon. “But my upbringing in Korea was surrounded with myths and legends. Some of them weren’t all that far-fetched.”

“Yeah, but something like this living in the modern world?” Curran shook his head. “Seems like it’s way out there to me.”

“Even today, sometimes we have to go on faith rather than facts.”

“You’re starting to sound like Lauren.”

“Great minds,” said Kwon. “So this thing…what’s it doing this for?”

“We’re still trying to find out.”

Kwon sighed. “I hate it when things aren’t all neat and orderly.”

Curran tried to grin but it failed him again. “Welcome to my world.”

By the time ten o’clock rolled around that night, Curran’s eyes felt sticky and hot. Darkness covered the rest of the floor at police headquarters. And in the room where Curran sat, the only illumination came from the dull glow of his computer screen.

Eerie shadows drawn out to funhouse lengths stretched across the room. Outside, cars whizzed past on Columbus Avenue, their headlights streaking across the walls behind Curran.

Kwon hadn’t gotten to the post mortem on the transvestite pedophile yet. A relative of the mayor had died from an apparent stroke and Kwon had been tapped to make sure.

Curran meanwhile had spent the last few hours composing requests for information about strange deaths. He’d sent them to all the various bulletin boards used by the police network around the country.

He belched, and in the silence of the room, the croak seemed to echo off the walls. Remnants of the barbecued rib dinner he'd gotten from a take-out place around the corner at the foot of Mission Hill splayed across his workstation in the form of a plastic container, an empty can of orange soda and several piles of sauce-stained napkins.

Curran rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep.

I wonder what Lauren’s doing, he thought. He smiled halfway and then tried to shut the image of her from his mind.

His email alert dinged.

He clicked on the icon at the bottom of his screen. At the same time, he heard a series of tiny scrapes echo across the linoleum floor behind him. Curran smiled. Harry was back. The homicide detectives had nicknamed the gray field mouse some months before, feeding the little guy bits of candy bars and sandwiches.

As a way of saying thanks, Harry had doubled his size and become increasingly friendly. He’d appear at odd times of the day looking for more food. And the shock of white fur on his head always made him look like he had a Mohawk hair cut.

But Harry didn’t usually scrounge this late at night.

The mail window popped open. Curran saw the response had come in from the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. He frowned. Another big city?

He watched as the words blossomed on to his screen.

In response to your query regarding a series of unsolved

murders, we had several cases two years ago that defied logical

explanation. At this time, they remain open. I will fax you the

files tomorrow. Heading home for some long overdue sleep.

Had a helluva day.

You and me both, sighed Curran.

He stretched back and shrugged his shoulders. Tiny pops sounded from his back. As the years had rolled by, the number of creaks and dings had increased.

Outside, another spell of cold drizzle splattered the windows. Curran watched the rivulets run down in odd patterns.

The room went silent.

A blast of cold air swept into the room.

Napkins and papers scattered on his desk. Curran nearly fell out of his chair, jumping as the sudden burst of energy broke the relative calm.

Curran looked into the gloom. His eyes saw little, unable to penetrate the deep shadows.

“Hello?”

Curran’s skin suddenly felt hot and clammy. Sweat broke out on his face.

He stood.

His right hand slid back to his right hip, feeling the quiet reassurance of his pistol.

He walked toward the office door.

Another blast of cold air pushed him toward the door.

Curran unsnapped his holster.

His hair felt on edge.

Then he caught a whiff of something.

“What th-”

It smelled like rotten garbage, like something had been in a state of decay for weeks. Curran had smelled death before, but this made his stomach churn.

His right foot kicked something.

He bent down.

Harry's lifeless body lay by the doorway. Curran frowned. The stench made his eyes water.

Hadn't he just heard Harry running around a few minutes earlier?

Now he was dead?

It didn't make any sense.

But Harry's dead body lay there as proof.

Curran pulled on a latex glove and prodded the corpse. It felt bloated. Harry's stomach gave when Curran pushed it in.

The stink swept over him again.

What the hell was going on?

“Sooooooooooooooooooon…”

Curran wheeled, ripping his gun out and aiming it at…

…nothing.

Only the shadows stared back at him.

A low rolling chuckle filled the air.

Curran spun again but found nothing to shoot.

Abruptly, the cold wind vanished.

And the quiet returned.

Curran slumped to the floor.

He’s really here, he thought.

The Soul Eater.

Curran grabbed an evidence bag and scooped Harry's body into it. Then he walked out of the office.

Working late didn't seem so appealing anymore.

“Can you do it?”

Kwon sighed. “I’m really starting to wonder about you, Steve. First you go bonkers over some chick who's going to be a nun. Now you bring me a dead mouse that smells like the bathroom after an all-you-can-eat burrito contest and you want me to do an autopsy on it.”

“Nice analogy.”

Kwon sighed. “You brought him home with you last night?”

“Your office was closed.”

“And now it’s almost twelve hours later.” Kwon frowned. “Did you at least put him the fridge?”

“Right next to a six-pack.” It was true. Curran had stored Harry’s limp body next to the bottles of the Sam Adams Boston Lager he liked so much.