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“I’ve got to go! Hurry!”
“Ma’am, do not get close to the fire, the fire department is coming…”
Click.
I throw the phone on the bed as I dart to the door, snatching clothes on the way out. I yank the shirt over my head as I run down the stairs and shove my feet into the pants at the bottom as I storm out the door. As the screen door slams behind me on the back porch, I hear Ignatius yell as he looks into the outbuilding from the door. “Holy mother of God!”
Something’s in there, something absolutely horrifying.
“What is it?!” I yell. I can feel the heat of the flames from here.
“Do not come over here, Dominique! Get some things to carry water with!”
I turn and run back into the house and into the kitchen. I fling everything out of my way to get to the largest pots in the back of the cabinet, large enough to boil crab legs in. I dash back outside with three pots and head directly to the running hose. Ignatius is throwing dirt on the flames trying to douse them. “Here!” I yell to him after I get one of the pots filled and start on the others.
That’s how we work for a few minutes, me filling the pots and him coming back to switch them out. The flames are already lessening when the official vehicles arrive. Police cars, fire trucks, and a couple of ambulances.
Firemen come charging past us with the hose and blast the fire. Fortunately, it was contained to only the outbuilding and goes out quickly.
The sun hasn’t even come up, and yet the property is full of people and vehicles and lights and commotion.
An officer approaches us. “Mr. Beauchamp?”
I think we’re both crashing from the initial adrenaline rush from discovering the fire. Ignatius is covered in dirt and soot.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“This is your house?” the officer questions.
“It is, and I know where you’re going with this. This is Detective Chavelle, she’s working on the Voodoo Burning crimes.”
“So, you know what was found in there?” The officer steadies an accusatory glare at Ignatius as he motions to the building.
Oh, dear God no! I avert my attention to the building as my knees quake and my stomach churns while images of the last crime rushing through my mind.
“Yes, I saw it, for Christ sake, but the detective hasn’t, we were in the house.” His arm slips around me, instantly soothing the rush of emotions the incident has evoked. I turn my face to him. His gaze is fixed on me. There’s another victim in that building, and by the expression on Ignatius’ face, I’m sure it’s the worst one yet.
“He was here.” I say. It’s a statement, a confirmation because the evidence is the fire.
“Yes,” Ignatius responds, his gaze not faltering.
“Have you been to the front of the house?” the officer asks, his tone level.
We both turn our attention to him. Ignatius replies cautiously, “No, we both came back here to take care of the fire.”
The officer’s eyes slide warily to me, then back to Ignatius. “The rest of her is up there.”
My eyes widen as every imaginable horror flashes through my mind of what he could be referring to. “What are you talking about?”
“Shit,” Ignatius grumbles as he shakes his head. To the officer, he asks, “Could you give us a minute?”
“Sure,” he responds, then walks away after sparing me another glance.
I step out of Ignatius’ hold and face him. “What did he mean, ‘the rest of her’?”
“Dominique,” he pauses, then scrubs a hand across his forehead, smearing another black line across it. “Shit,” he grumbles, apparently searching for the right words to tell me what exactly is going on. Finally, he breathes deeply as his eyes meet mine. “He was here. There’s another victim in there. The sick fuck cut her head off. And apparently left it at the front of the house.”
Where we had sex like savages just a few hours ago. He was here. He probably watched!
