Лорел Гамильтон - Obsidian Butterfly

"Civilians," he said softly.

"We don't have badges," I said.

"That must be it," he said, voice still soft, and vaguely amused.

Franklin frowned at us. "Are we amusing you?"

Bradford stepped between us almost literally. "Let's let them look at the scene, then we'll decide things."

Franklin's frown deepened. "I don't like it."

"Your objection has been noted, Franklin," Bradford said, and there was a tone in his voice that said he'd had enough of the younger man.

Franklin must have heard it too, because he smoothed his perfect tie once more and led the way towards the dining room. Bradford followed him. Edward looked at me, asking a question with his eyes.

"I'm coming," I said. Once I'd tried being more macho than the police. Nothing pleased me. I was heap-big-vampire-slayer. But lately, I just didn't give a crap. I didn't want to do this anymore. It was almost a shock to realize that I really didn't want to be here, I'd seen too many horrors in too short a space of years. I was burning out, or maybe I'd already burned out and hadn't realized it.

Panic tightened my stomach into a hard knot. I had to get it under control.

I had to separate myself from the task ahead, or I was going to lose it. I tried to take a few calming breaths, but the smell came thick on my tongue. I swallowed, wished I hadn't, and stared at the tips of my shoes. I stared at the ends of my Nikes as they touched the fringe of the dining room rug until the knot in my gut eased, and I felt calm. There was still a soft flutter in my chest, but it was the best I could do.

Agent Franklin said, "Ms. Blake, are you all right?"

I raised my eyes and saw what lay on the table.

I LET OUT a low, "Wow."

"Yes," Bradford said, "wow is good."

The table was pale natural pine, a pale, almost white wood. It matched the walls and the rest of the decor and made a dramatic showpiece for the thing on the table. Thing, it, no other pronouns would do. Distance, distance, mustn't think that this was once a human being.

At first all I could see was the blood and pieces of meat. It was like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing. The first thing I was sure of was the neck. I could see the broken edge of the spine sticking up above the flesh of the neck. I looked around for the head, but none of the blood-covered lumps was the right size. But there was a leg nearly perfectly whole, only ripped away from the hips, but it was intact. It had not been disjointed. Once I saw that, I found a hand lying on its back, fingers cupped as if cradling something.

I bent closer, hands in my pockets because I'd forgotten my own surgical gloves back in St. Louis. How unprofessional of me. I leaned over the hand and I wasn't smelling the stink anymore. I wasn't thinking oh, my, God, how awful. The world narrowed down to a nickel-sized lump cupped in the hand. I saw what was there. The hand had long, carefully groomed fingernails, some broken off, as if she'd struggled. She. I looked to the ring finger and found a wedding band set that looked heavy and expensive, though to be sure I'd have to move the hand and I wasn't ready for that yet. I registered all the information as if from a great distance because I'd found a clue. I concentrated on that like it was a life line, and maybe it was.

"There's something in her hand. It may be only a piece of cloth, but … " I bent so low over it that my breath caressed the skin and brought a scent up from it to me. Musty, an animal smell. My breath did one other thing. It moved the edge of the thing in her hand. The one tiny edge wasn't as blood-logged, and it moved as I blew across the hand.

I straightened. "I think it's a feather." I looked around the room trying to see where it could have come from. Except for the antler chandelier nothing else in the room seemed made of animals.

Bradford and Franklin looked at each other. "What?" I asked.

"What made you say her?" Franklin asked.

"The nails, the wedding ring set." I glanced up at the rest of the body. The only other clue that this had been a woman was maybe the size of the neck dainty. "She was small, about my size, maybe a little smaller." I heard myself say it and felt nothing. I felt empty like a shell thrown up on the sand, empty and echoing. It felt a little bit like being in shock, and I knew that later I'd pay for it. Either I'd have screaming hysterics once I had some privacy, or I'd broken something in myself that might never come back, might never fix.

"Besides the fact that it's female, what else do you see?" Franklin asked.

I didn't like being tested, but somehow I just didn't have the energy to bitch about it. "The other vics were disjointed down to their finger bones. This one isn't. When I first heard that survivors were being carefully skinned then mutilated, and that the dead were all torn apart, I thought we might dealing with a pair of killers. One very organized and in charge, the other disorganized and following. But the bodies weren't torn up. They were very carefully dissected. It was organized, very thought out. But this … " I motioned at the thing on the table. "This was not organized. Either our organized killer is beginning to dissolve and become less coherent, or we have two killers like I originally thought. If we have two killers, then the organized one in charge has lost control over his follower. This murder was not well planned. That means mistakes, which will help us. But it may also mean that anyone that crosses paths with this thing is dead. Higher body count from here on out, more frequent kills maybe, maybe not."

"Not bad, Ms. Blake. I even agree with you on most of it."

"Thank you, Agent Franklin." I wanted to ask what parts didn't he agree with, but was pretty sure where we disagreed. "You still think this is a human serial killer?"

He nodded. "I do."

I looked at the remains like lumpy red paint tossed across the table. The bloodstains had spread until I was standing in the edge of it. The cops hated to have you tracking blood everywhere. I stepped back, and the stain spread out towards me. I took another step back. My foot crunched in something. I knelt and found salt on the floor. Someone had gotten messy during lunch. I stood up.

"This is fresh kill, Agent Franklin, real fresh. How long would it take a person, even two people, to reduce another human being to this?"

His long hands played over his tie again. I wondered if he knew he did that when he was nervous. If he didn't, I'd play poker with him any day. "I really couldn't give an estimate, not and be accurate."

"Fine. Do you really think a person is strong enough to tear someone apart like this quickly enough to have the blood this fresh? The damn thing's bleeding like it's still alive, it's so damn fresh. I don't think a human being could do this much damage this quickly."

"You are entitled to your opinion."

I shook my head. "Look, Franklin, it was logical for you to assume the killer, or killers, were human. It usually is human in your line of work. I'm assuming you're with the Investigative Unit."

He nodded.

"Great. See, you hunt people. That's what you do. They are monsters but not real monsters. I don't hunt people. I hunt monsters. That's just about all I do. I don't think I've ever been called into a case where the perp was human, or at least where magic wasn't involved."

"Your point," he said, very stiff, eyes angry.

"My point is that if they had thought this was a monster to begin with, they'd have sent it over to Bradford's new unit. But they didn't, did they?"

His eyes were a little less angry, more uncertain. "No, they didn't."

"Everyone thought it was human, so why shouldn't you assume the same thing? If they'd dreamt that it was non-human, they wouldn't have sent it to you, right?"