In the darkness, he squinted. Was that a shadow moving outside in the hallway?
He sighed and tried to press his bladder. A thin trickle came out of the tip of his penis, dribbling into the bowl. The air grew even colder.
Curran grew more frustrated.
He cleared his throat.
— caught himself.
What the hell are you gonna say, sport? He thought. You gonna talk to the dead here in the cold confines of your bathroom? That’s a great way to start, ain’t it?
He sighed, plopped his member back on the inside of his shorts and padded back to the bedroom.
The cold followed him.
He shivered under the covers.
“What do you want?” he whispered. “What?”
It got colder.
“Jesus,” he said without thinking.
His curtains shifted. Almost fluttering in the darkness.
But the window’s closed, he thought. How the hell is that happening if the window’s closed?
Images floated into his mind. He saw Lauren. He saw himself. Curran tried to direct the flow of images to include a passionate love scene.
But it wouldn’t work.
Something else seemed to be in control. Curran saw images of Lauren scared. He saw himself scared as well. And then he saw the shadow looming over them both. Darkness and cold seeped everywhere in his consciousness.
Under the covers, Curran shivered violently.
And kept his eyes shut.
The images changed, split almost in two as if he were seeing double. He could see Lauren lying on the floor, in some kind of carved sarcophagus. Beside her, he could see Lauren smiling at him. But it was an evil wicked smile, full of hatred for him — but not just for him. For all humans.
The images changed again and Curran saw a big jar with strange writing on it. It was filled with some kind of bubbling frothy liquid. And in his mind, Curran could smell it now, the fermenting vile substance that it contained.
In his mind, he moved closer to the jar. He could see his hands reach out toward it. He came closer. He leaned toward the gunk inside. He peered closer. Was it boiling? A bubble rose to the surface and popped, coating Curran’s face.
A little dribbled toward his lips and Curran’s tongue flicked instinctively.
And tasted it.
He sat bolt upright, eyes flying open.
A dream.
His stomach rolled and churned.
Not a dream-
My God!
Curran threw off the sheets.
Ran down the hallway — hadn’t he just been here?
In the bathroom he clawed for the sink. Felt his insides buck and vault skyward the contents of his stomach. It came out of him in a rush of seething acid — chunks of undigested dinner mixed with the orange juice he’d had before bed. His throat burned.
He turned the spigot and cold water rushed out into the sink, swirling the bloated mixture around before washing it down the drain. Curran scooped some into his mouth, washing it around and spitting it back into the porcelain sink. He sucked down some more, tilted his head back and gargled it, trying to quell the burning.
He scooped more onto his suddenly hot face. It ran over his eyes and cheeks. He felt so hot, like the water would almost boil off his skin and evaporate into the night.
He drank a few mouthfuls and then finished washing the sink out. He could still smell his own puke. But thankfully his stomach seemed calm once again.
His hands found the small towel he kept beside the sink and pressed it to his face. The material sucked in the water and dried him. He dabbed it across his skin and then let it fall back to the sink edge.
In the mirror above the sink, he looked at himself.
And sighed.
What the hell was happening to him?”
Chapter Sixteen
“You look like crap, Steve.”
Curran flipped the bird to his co-worker as he walked through the doors to the homicide unit. “Last thing I need right now, pal.”
The truth was he felt like crap, too. Of course, heaving up dinner into the bathroom sink didn’t normally leave him feeling too spiffy. Coupled with the weird dream he’d had and the subsequent lack of sleep, it was no wonder the other guys in the department all gave him strange looks.
The last thing he wanted to do today was come to work.
No rest for the wicked, he thought with a wry grin.
He slid into the seat at his desk and turned on the computer. The machine beeped twice, warmed up and prompted him for his passwords. Curran typed them in. His phone rang.
“Curran.”
Kwon’s voice sounded hoarse. “It’s me.”
“You go out drinking last night after I dropped you off? You sound like you gargled sandpaper.”
“Sick, I think. Anyway, I just got the carbon-dating results on that button you found last night.”
“Already?”
“I got a lot of people in this town who owe me favors besides the likes of you, pal. I collected on one of them.”
Curran shifted some of the papers on his desk so he could take notes on what Kwon told him. “Guy know his stuff?”
“The lady actually, is a professor over at MIT, so yeah, offhand I’d say she’s pretty skilled at working the instrument.”
“And?” Curran glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet. He wanted a cigarette.
“You’re going to love this: the button dates to between 32,000 and 28,000 years ago.”
Curran leaned forward. “How old?”
“You heard right. I couldn’t believe it, either. She ran the test three times to be sure.”
Curran sighed, trying to wrap his mind around the implications. “I wasn’t even aware human bone could last that long.”
“Well, it does. And in this case, it’s been treated with something to help preserve it.”
“Did they have buttons back then?”
“That’s the other thing. This wasn’t meant to be a button per se.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it started out as a human bone. Then later, probably much later, someone decided to turn it into a button. The holes in it are much more recent.”
“Is there some type of law against this?”
“You’re asking me?” Kwon paused. “You’re the cop.”
“I’m thinking out loud is all,” said Curran.
“I can’t imagine it’d be okay if the bones were recent. But they’re not. You could make the argument that this is simply another fossil of sorts and the owner simply chose to make an adornment out of it.”
“But you don’t think that’s the case.”
Kwon paused. “To me, it seems more like some kind of trophy. I know it sounds weird, but just holding this thing kinda freaks me out.”
“I don’t have it here and I’m already freaked.”
“You want me to drop it by?”
“You coming this way?”
“Sure. I got to drop a report over there anyway. See you in twenty.”
“It’s probably an antique of some sort.”
Curran fingered the bone button again as Kwon looked on. In the office light, it looked even stranger than it had last night when he’d picked it off the sidewalk. He turned it over. It had been worn smooth and dulled to a yellowish cream color. Still, there was a faint sheen. Almost as if someone had treated it. Just like Kwon had mentioned. Curran eyed him. “You think?”
“That old, it’s got to be. I can’t imagine too many people running around with something like that locked in a curio cabinet.”
“A curio — Kwon you amaze me sometimes with what comes out of your mouth.”
“What? I keep abreast of a lot of stuff.”
Especially if there were beautiful women involved, thought Curran. He looked at the button again. “Weird to think of this as having come from someone’s body.”
“Yeah.”
“Which bone was it, do you know?”
“I could take a guess, but it’d be just that. Offhand, I’d think it came from the pelvis, given the fact it’s almost an inch and a half across.”
“Great, now I feel like I’m fondling someone’s privates.”