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Thirteen
8 Days Until Mardi Gras
Ican’t believe it.
I really shouldn’t be shocked, not after the shit we’ve seen, but this? What the fuck is this supposed to be? Me and Dominique still believe, maybe now more than we did before, that this is all about The Seven Deadly Sins. Mardi Gras is coming, and Ash Wednesday the day after.
I don’t think most people know how Mardi Gras came into being. It was because of Lent, which begins on Ash Wednesday. For Christ’s sake, the name says it all. Mardi Gras is French for Fat Tuesday, which all began because it was the last day to indulge in things that would be given up during the Lenten season that leads to Easter. And the gluttonous pigs that humans are took that shit to the highest level, feasting on all depravities known to man, gorging on anything we can get our hands on.
The whole goddamn festival only happens because of religion. A festival that belongs to a city famous for its magic and voodoo and hoodoo. It’s all related, all of it. Religion and voodoo, Catholicism and hoodoo, it’s all one big circle.
Some sick fuck has taken it upon himself to remind us how we’ve gone astray, how the sheep have abandoned the shepherd, and are beyond redemption.
At least that’s what I think, anyway.
Someone has dangled Dominique in front of his face, like a toy to a child, presenting her as a challenge he’ll never win.
It’s the worst thing that could happen.
The stakes have been amped up, bets are on the table, and the dealer has rolled the motherfucking dice. It’s goddamn show time.
Four murders down, three more to go, and if Dominique and I are right, it’s all going down within a week’s time. The bodies will be popping up like zits on a teenager’s face. The city is going to be one big crime scene. And Dominique is going to be smack in the middle of it.
Jesus motherfucking Christ!
I scrub a hand up and down my face as I wait for Dominique to get in the car. I can’t wait to be gone from this place. It just feels bad, everything about it feels evil. And this poor woman has to wallow around in the depravity. It’s her job.
Fuck. That.
When they’d gotten the fire out and all the hotspots had been cleared, after everything was considered safe, I called the captain and asked if we could let Detective Chavelle go in and walk the scene before the mobs arrived and scrubbed the place clean. He said yes.
Being who I am has its privileges.
I didn’t want to take her. I knew it was going to be really bad. It was.
Everything within me, all that I am, screams at me to take her away, far away, and lock her up somewhere, and keep her because she is mine and no one else can have her.
That is some barbaric shit right there. I want to laugh. Today that would be called kidnapping and is not looked upon favorably, although I do like the way it sounds.
“Ready to go?” I ask her as calmly as I can, which is difficult because I’m this close to ripping some son-of-a-bitch apart. The psycho responsible for the horror show we just exited in particular.
Just what in the actual fuck?!
She gives me a solemn, quiet nod. I close her door, and I walk around the car and get in the driver’s side. I glance at Dominique. She’s staring out the passenger side window, and she appears to be in a daze. I hope she’s numb. I hope she’s gone somewhere in that beautiful head of hers, away from all this shit.
This was tough. Having to stand back and watch a woman you want nothing more than to protect go through what Dominique endured, has endured, is pure torture. Yes, she’s strong, yes, she knows what she’s doing, but to willingly have to bear witness to a mutilated woman, burned beyond recognition, knowing she’d been tortured, is hell, pure hell.
We sit in the loud silence of the car, the sound so still and so heavy, it almost seems to echo and reverberate off the glass. Finally, I turn to her. “How are you?” Stupid fucking question. She puked, heaved until she couldn’t stand up anymore. She’s shit, dumb ass.
She slowly turns to face me. Her expression guts me, beaten up and exhausted, but she’s hanging tough. There’s nothing I can do. “I’ve had better days.” She attempts a smile, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.
I reach over and slip a hand around her neck and pull her close. Bringing my face close to hers, I stare into her eyes. “You’re a goddamn warrior, Dominique.” She doesn’t respond with words, but her eyelids close and her lips press into a hard line. She’s not feeling it. I press my lips firmly against the center of her forehead. I feel her take in a lungful of air, then slowly let it out, and hopefully along with all the bad shit from today. Not letting her go, I ask, “Where to?” my lips graze her skin.
Another heavy breath, this one sounds a bit more defeated. “The precinct,” is her reply.
That would explain it.
“All right.” I squeeze her neck gently, hopefully it gives her a little encouragement, then start the car. “Let’s do this.”
