M Sellars - The End Of Desire

“Aye, I’ll be fine,” she interjected. “I’ll lock the door and finish packing while you’re gone.”

All of my objections had been met head on, and I really couldn’t think of any more. Of course, even if I did I suspected Ben would have an answer for them as well.

Reluctantly, I gave in. “Okay, I guess I’ll go.”

News crews were already on site, their vans positioned across the street while reporters performed for the cameras using the activity surrounding the apartment complex as a lurid backdrop. As usual, Ben muttered an expletive or two about them as he hooked his van into the parking lot then nosed it into an empty space. Before climbing out of the vehicle, he slipped his badge onto a cord then hung it around his neck.

When we arrived at the fluttering line of yellow tape, my friend flashed the shield to the officer standing watch at the building entrance then signed in on the crime scene log. He stood by patiently waiting while I added my name to the list.

“Can I see your ID, sir?” the officer asked as I handed the pen back to him.

“He’s with me,” Ben answered before I could reply.

The officer glanced at my name on the clipboard, back at Ben, then to me. “Which department are you with?”

“He’s an independent consultant,” Ben replied, once again not giving me a chance to speak. “Like I said, he’s with me.”

The man cocked an eyebrow and stared at him for a moment then pointed toward the building. “One-oh-three. Down the stairs, second door on the right. Can’t miss it.”

Inside the door, we both donned latex gloves and paper shoe covers before continuing down the short flight of stairs then along the hallway toward the entrance to the apartment. My mind was already starting to race before we had ever entered the building, and upon reaching 103, it was setting new speed records. Ben started through the door, but I visibly hesitated before stepping across the threshold.

The scent of cloves wafted out of the apartment carried along on the unmistakable metallic funk of blood and fresh death. The bizarre melange of smells made the ache in my head automatically shift into a higher gear.

The last time I had entered a crime scene where Annalise and Miranda had played their deadly games, I had walked into far more than I was prepared to handle. Granted, I had been alone and too exhausted to properly shield myself from the onslaught, but the memory of that incident was still fresh. Too fresh, in fact, for something that was now over two weeks old.

“You okay?” Ben asked as he stepped back out into the hallway. “I turned around and you were gone. You ain’t goin’ la-la are ya’?”

“No…” I replied. “I’m just a bit… anxious… I guess.”

“I told ya’ not ta’ worry about that,” he said. “I’ll deal with it.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s more like bad memories.”

“You wanna take a pass?” he asked. “You can wait in the van if ya’ want.”

“No. I’m already here. I might as well have a look.”

“Long as you’re sure. I mean, I want ya’ ta’ take a look at this whole candle thing, that’s the whole point. But, I also don’t wanna push ya’ over the edge either.”

My head was pounding at this point, but I couldn’t be sure if it was a product of what waited on the other side of the doorway, or if it was entirely due to this attack of anxiety. I closed my eyes for a moment then drew in a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” I finally said. “Let’s go on in.”

Ben watched me carefully for a moment then offered a guarded “okay.”

I followed him into the apartment, fully expecting to be set upon by latent feelings of arousal mixed with fear, just as I had been before. Instead, I was slapped full in the face by the psychic residue of blind anger. I felt my face flush as the emotion corkscrewed its way into my head, coursing out through my body and making my skin prickle with a sudden wave of gooseflesh.

This was new, and definitely not what I had foreseen.

I stopped a few steps through the doorway and looked around the room. True to what Ben had been told, the beige carpet was stained with bloody footprints, the shape of which was obviously made by a pair of women’s high-heeled shoes. While they radiated out in various directions, the majority of them were clustered around a far more solid stain, upon which the victim’s body was currently resting.

Someone had placed an open body bag over the top of the remains. I assumed that party to have been someone from the coroner’s office since one of their official vehicles was in the parking lot. Why they had simply covered him and not transported him from the scene, I wasn’t certain. In any case, he was still here, and I couldn’t help but stare.

The rubberized bag covered his face and torso, but his arms and legs were still exposed. The one wrist I could plainly see was shackled into a wide leather cuff, which appeared to be snugged so tightly as to be biting into his flesh. If that weren’t enough, it was attached to what looked to be a metal bar that ran beneath his back. I assumed it ended in a like manner at the unseen hand. A similar apparatus had been used on his ankles, rendering him more or less immobile. She definitely hadn’t wanted him to get loose.

Two of the fingers on his exposed hand were bent up at an odd angle, visibly broken. A number of ragged holes were torn in the back of the hand as well as his forearm. His legs hadn’t faired any better as they were covered in long gashes that were now crusting over. His knees appeared to be buckled backwards, hyperextended to the point of shattering the joints.

As I stared, the rage continued spreading through me, punctuated by twinges of satisfaction. I knew in that moment, there had been nothing at all sexual about this kill for Annalise. There was no arousal or gratification on the physical level. It was purely emotional.

This had been all about revenge.

I heard a new voice and looked up from the horrific tableau. A man around Ben’s age was entering the room from a doorway near the back. “Yeah, bag that but get pictures of the whole thing first.”

He turned toward us after completing the statement, and a look of mild surprise flitted across his features. Continuing into the room, he looked over at Ben and said, “Hey, Storm.”

“Martin,” my friend replied.

The detective glanced over at me with an odd look on his face then said, “Hey, Rowan. How are you doing?”

“Hello, Mike,” I replied. “Getting by. And you?”

“Better than the stiff I guess,” he grunted then looked back over to Ben. “Storm… Can I see you back here for a minute?”

“Yeah,” Ben returned then looked over at me as he followed him deeper into the apartment. “Wait here, Row.”

I answered with a quick nod.

Detective Martin was one of a handful of cops on the Major Case Squad who actually took me seriously, so I hadn’t actually expected to be getting the “what’s he doing here?” treatment. However, that was exactly the look he had on his face, and I knew it probably had quite a bit to do with the fact that I had been banned from the investigation by the powers that be. My reception told me that Ben was going further out on this figurative limb than I wanted, but there was nothing I could do. I was already here, so the damage had been done.

After a handful of minutes, the two of them came back into the main room, Detective Martin trailing along behind my friend. He didn’t look particularly excited, but at least he didn’t look angry either. I didn’t know what was actually discussed while they were out of earshot, but it wasn’t hard to guess.

Ben asked, “So, you got anything new?”