Forty-eight
The peacocks were screaming again and Water rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He shuffled to the window but there were no birds in sight. He yawned and hit the Nurse Call button.
Fire’s caul snapped back and he yawned too, breath extra funky from the heat of the caul.
Jesus, those fucking birds! I swear if I could I would kill the entire gaggle, he wheezed.
Ostentation, Water reminded him. Not gaggle, ostentation.
Fuck you too, Fire said. Did you call the nurse? I would kill for a cup of coffee. Or at the very least, break a few knees.
Babies are born without kneecaps, Water said.
Really, Fire said. This early? Fuck, I’m too old for this shit.
“Senectitude” means old age, Water said.
And shut up or I’ll fuck you up means shut up or I’ll fuck you up.
We shed skin particles as we get older, Water continued, as though Fire hadn’t spoken. We shed two pounds a year and by the time we’re seventy, we’ve shed one hundred and five pounds of dead skin.
Jesus, you fucker. I’m trying to think about breakfast.
The food that is digested in your stomach is called chyme.
Fire took a swing at Water’s face, but his arms weren’t coordinated and it just looked like Water was swinging a puppet around.
Good morning, gentlemen, the nurse said, responding to the call button. How can I help?
Coffee and some food, Fire wheezed.
It’s too early for breakfast, but I’ll rustle up some coffee and see if I can’t find a couple of cookies.
Do you all have special courses in talking to patients in a condescending tone?
In 1670, Dorothy Jones of Boston was granted the first American license to sell coffee, Water said.
Why can’t you be nice like your brother, the nurse asked, smiling at Water, before shutting the door behind him.
And where the fuck is the doctor, Fire asked. He’s been gone a whole day. How are we going to get out of here?
Water smiled. Fred is coming for us, he said.
Forty-nine
The crucified horned figure stopped Sunil.
I know, Salazar said gently, handing him a cup of coffee. It’s pretty grim.
Naked except for white boxer shorts, the horned figure was nailed to a rough wooden cross, his tattooed arms spread like wings. His throat had been cut nearly through, so that the horned head dangled dangerously close to falling off.
The cross itself was rising out of a heap of corpses.
What the fuck! Sunil said.
Are you going to be okay?
Yes. Is that Horny Nick?
Yes.
Why would anyone want to do this?
I don’t know. You’re the expert on sick fucks, Salazar said.
Sunil shook his head, watching as the forensic unit took photos and collected samples as though they were inspecting an elaborate movie set. Shit, he said.
I know, right, Salazar said.
Shaking his head, Sunil tried to focus, forcing himself into damage-control mode.
I’m not sure this killing is related to the ones from two years ago. For a start, those body dumps weren’t ritualized like this; neither was the most recent one you saw two months ago, right? This is so radically different. Completely different pattern, different signature. Serial killers are very fixed in their patterns. If this is a serial killer, then you have two different people, Sunil said.
Don’t tell me that, Salazar said. I don’t want to have to think that there may be more than one.
Sunil wanted to allay Salazar’s fears, to tell him that the killings from two years earlier, as well as these, were the work of the institute. His work. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. This wasn’t Brewster’s work. At least, Horny Nick wasn’t. There had to be another killer. Probably the same one who killed that girl two years before.
Anything you want to tell me, he asked.
At least we know the twins aren’t the killers you’re looking for, Sunil said. They’ve been locked up.
Why do you think the killer targeted Horny Nick?
I don’t know. Are the other kids safe?
Yes.
Good, Sunil said, not knowing why.
Salazar was watching him closely.
What is it, Detective, Sunil asked.
Salazar shrugged. Nothing, he said.
Sunil turned his attention to the crucified kid. Poor devil, he muttered.
Listen, I looked into your situation on your way here.
What situation, Sunil asked.
You know, your concerns about your apartment and your worry about being targeted. I mean, normally I wouldn’t do that, but you asked me to assign protection to your girlfriend and I needed to know. Anyway, turns out several apartments in your building were vandalized too, so I don’t think you are the target. It was just random. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.
You have to trust me on this one, Detective.
See, now, that’s the kind of crazy talk that just sends up red flags to old policemen like me. I don’t even trust the evidence half the time, so why should I trust you?
There are things I can’t tell you.
As they spoke, Horny Nick was taken down from the cross. Sunil watched as the coroner and his officers stood on the other bodies to get him. He was laid out on a stretcher, and slowly the other bodies were laid out too. He and Salazar watched the men work, the careful attention to detail as they dismantled the rise of corpses, as though solving a puzzle, each step carefully photographed, each body systematically mined for evidence. It was slow, the work, and it took nearly an hour for the bodies to be separated. Sunil counted twelve lying there, with Horny Nick making thirteen.
Twelve bodies, Sunil said out loud.
What’s that, Salazar asked.
The twelve bodies match the twelve apostles, with the crucified Christ making thirteen. Except this was no Christ but a horned figure, a devil on a cross. The devil and his twelve apostles.
Fuck, that’s some dark shit, Salazar said. You have to give me something.
Sunil shook his head. I’m not a profiler, he said. You might need an expert from the FBI. I’ve given you all I have.
I don’t trust the fucking FBI. You helped me two years ago, and I need your help now.
No, I didn’t help two years ago. If I had, we wouldn’t be here today.
We have to try, Salazar said. He grabbed Sunil by the arm and dragged him over to where Horny Nick lay. Look at him. That kid didn’t deserve to die. Look at him! Now, tell me, do you think you might know who did this?
Sunil stared at the lifeless eyes of the teenager and the jagged line where his throat had been cut.
No, Sunil said. No, I don’t know who could have done this.
Fifty
Asia was gone by the time Sunil got back. She had left a note saying she was going home. In that moment he had to confront the fact that he had no idea where Asia lived. It was true that she had always deflected his attempts to come round, but still, in retrospect, he could have tried harder.
He called her. It went straight to voice mail.
Asia, he said. You aren’t safe on your own. When you get this, ditch this phone — it can be tracked — and then pack some things and come stay here with me. It was stupid and he knew it. She was no safer with him than at her place. Fuck, he said, and hung up. He had to get to the institute, but first a shower and change of clothing.
On the way out, he stopped by the doorman’s desk. There was a new guy, which he didn’t mind since he hated the last one.
Good morning, Dr. Singh.
Could you arrange for a reliable service to clean my apartment?