Chapter Thirteen
Don’t do anything.Wait for me to call you. Maybe take the morning off and clean. Those journals are priceless. I’m sure B will want to take a look.
Jesse had read the note a half dozen times and his heart still raced at the implications. Bryce had been there. He hadn’t hallucinated sleeping in his arms. He wasn’t sure when Bryce had left, though it had to be sometime after dawn. Jesse had woken up once, used the bathroom, and gone right back to sleep in Bryce’s arms.
Despite the threat of nightmares, it was one of the more restful nights he’d had in a long while.
However good Bryce’s advice had been the night before, Jesse wasn’t about to follow the note’s instructions. Without a guarantee that he could partner with the DWO on the case, he needed to continue building the leads he had. Something drove Stan Lawson to commit the thefts, and if Jesse could prove that the Crowley Construction building was a danger to public safety, then he might have a legitimate case.
Gaining access to Lawson’s apartment was criminally easy. The building manager had seen too many crime dramas and didn’t know nearly enough about proper procedure. Technically, Jesse should have had a search warrant in order to enter Lawson’s apartment, but he waved his badge, told the manager that Lawson was a person of interest, and that was enough for the woman. She showed Jesse to the apartment, unceremoniously opened the door for him, and then handed him the key, not really caring if he gave it back or not. Or so her attitude seemed.
Jesse was ecstatic his bluff worked, and a little dismayed at the lack of security. But, since he couldn’t possibly get a search warrant, he wasn’t going to look an ignorant gift horse in the mouth. He snapped on the lights in Lawson’s apartment and walked in.
The apartment smelled like stale air. Garbage filled the trashcan in the kitchen and the overflow of empty food containers rested on the counter next to it. Curtains blocked out any chance of natural light, giving a cave-like feeling. Stacks of paper covered a coffee table in front of a television. Dirty clothes were scattered through the living room. The small kitchen table bore notebooks and more stacks of paper.
Considering what his own apartment looked like, Jesse didn’t have a lot of room to judge. At least he took out the garbage.
“Though Bryce might have had a point about needing to clean my place,” Jesse muttered. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves. His search was illegal. Better if he didn’t leave any traces.
Jesse walked over to the kitchen table and sifted through some of the papers. Pages and pages of text. Most of it wasn’t in English. It looked like Lawson had downloaded one of the cryptic fonts Jesse had seen on some of the more fringe websites.
If Jesse couldn’t discover wrongdoing with the construction company, then cult activity could be his case. He found a thin black book underneath one pile and slid it into a plastic evidence bag before putting it into his messenger bag.
Jesse made his way over to Lawson’s bedroom and flipped on the light.
A statue of a tentacle creature sat in the middle of a maze of candles. Most of them had burned down to puddles, pooling white and black wax around the base of the crude clay statue. It was similar to the one from the museum, and while it didn’t have the same life-like presence, it brought back memories of that other place. Jesse held on to the doorframe and fought the urge to throw up. He could still see the creature stretching toward him.
This statue wasn’t a whirlpool. Jesse pushed away from the doorframe and walked into the room. Last night he’d dived into research about psychic abilities. Jesse pulled out a pair of motion sickness wristbands from his pockets and slid them on. The slight pressure gave him a focal point for his body, which supposedly would help his mind from making any trips without his say-so.
He went to the makeshift altar first. The swirls of wax almost had to be intentional, but there were no signs that the candles had been moved after being lit. Since some of the wax ran up against the statue, it seemed that the statue had always sat at the center of the altar. What had happened to the one Lawson stole from the Valless mansion? Why hadn’t it taken the place of worship?
Jesse reached out and touched the statue. It was cool to the touch, even through the latex barrier, but he stayed in Lawson’s stinky apartment instead of getting transported. So, it wasn’t every statue of the creature. Either the other statue had more of an effect, Lawson had done something in the interrogation room, or Alex was a strong enough psychic to accidentally activate the psychic tuning function. Evidence pointed to the conclusion that the statues weren’t active all the time, so innocent bystanders weren’t at risk for getting sucked into hellscapes.
That was one nightmare he could put to rest. Jesse took out his phone and snapped a few pictures of the altar. Then he took a deep breath and focused on the statue. Psychic powerhouse or not, it still unnerved him, but he managed a few quick pics.
He didn’t sense anyone else in the apartment until a fraction of a second before the cord went around his neck. Without even a breath to process, he lost air as the cord yanked his throat closed. Jesse dropped his phone, reached for the cord, for any kind of purchase on the person holding it. But he was pulled back, off balance. Pulling forward would cut off his air faster, but he was already beginning to black out. He twisted, but the person was too strong, not letting him move.
Gun. He had a gun. Jesse fumbled for his holster and struggled to get the gun out. His attacker loosened his hold, having to use one hand to knock Jesse’s hand away from his gun before he could pull it. The struggle renewed, though Jesse was still on the losing side. His attacker shoved his head forward, and Jesse scrambled for another weapon. The candles were melted into place, impossible to pull up. While he could grasp the statue, he couldn’t lift it with one hand and he had to use his other to keep the cord from closing around his throat.
The door to the apartment opened. A woman said, “He said he was FBI. He had a badge. I thought I was supposed to let him in.”
Jesse’s air came back in a sudden rush. His throathurt, and he sagged forward, having to catch himself on the damn altar before he collided with the statue.
But someone else was in the damn apartment. And someone had just tried to murder him.
Jesse spun around. The person who’d tried to kill him was running through the bathroom, heading straight for the open window. Jesse pushed himself up to his feet. “Stop! FBI!” His words came out like a croak and a cough threatened to spasm his throat closed again. Jesse staggered toward the bathroom, but his lungs weren’t cooperating yet.
Bryce came into the bedroom with Celia Sanchez on his tail. Jesse pointed toward the bathroom window and they turned. The would-be murderer was hurrying onto the fire escape.
Bryce ran through the door and chased the perp out the window. Celia slipped out after him.
Jesse leaned against the doorframe, half afraid of what his assailant would try to do to them and half hopeful they would overpower the attacker.
“What’s all the noise?” the landlady asked.
Jesse drew in a deep breath, but that hurt and he wound up coughing instead of answering her. Apparently, coughing wasn’t worrying enough for her, since she closed the door with ahmph.
He made his way over to the living room couch and pushed aside a pizza box in order to sit down.
