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Harris returned her gaze to Cassie’s face, and her eyes were hard. “Look, I appreciate you trying to get a grasp of the case. I can tell you’ve been around the block. You’re asking all the right questions.”
“But?”
“But we’ve explored all of these options. The moon’s phases, the days of the week, solar events, everything. We’ve explored every avenue to connect these murders and there isn’t one. That’s why I came to you. I was told that you could look at the pictures of the victims and get a feeling, or whatever it is you do.”
Cassie slid Elizabeth’s photo into the folder and handed it back to the detective. “At one point in time, I could have. But Elizabeth is the first spirit I’ve seen in months, other than—”
Cassie couldn’t finish the sentence. The little boy who had disappeare
d yesterday still weighed on her, as did Elizabeth’s ghost. She resigned herself to solving one murder, not two. One more case and she could be free of this life. But it was starting to feel like that was not going to happen.
“I’m not getting any readings from the pictures,” Cassie said. “I don’t feel anything at all.”
“Does that mean something?”
“Maybe.” Cassie tried to remember if there’d ever been a time when her abilities were blocked like this. Had she ever felt a void like the one she was feeling now? “But I don’t think so. I might not be the person to help you solve this case.”
When Harris spoke again, her words felt like a sledgehammer against Cassie’s heart. “I see.”
“I’m sorry.” Cassie stood up, and the detective mirrored her movements. “I wish I could help.”
“That’s it?” Detective Harris’s disappointment was soon replaced with a mask of professional courtesy. “I understand. I assume you know not to share any of this information with anyone else?”
Cassie felt guilty. But unless Elizabeth found her voice, Cassie had nothing else to go on. “If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.”
For a second, it looked like Detective Harris was about to tell her not to bother. Instead, she stuck out her hand. “I’d appreciate it.”
Cassie shook the detective’s hand and watched her walk away with the folder of victims clutched in her grasp. Cassie thought she might feel a sense of relief. She reached out to the detective and she tried her best.
But really, she’d done nothing at all.
Eleven
The dying sun brought him a sense of purpose. This was a rebirth. As night fell, opportunity rose. He wasn’t the type to waste time on fear or hesitation, so he pushed through the door just as his phone chimed to signal sundown.
With the bucket in one hand and the small container in the other, he bounded down the stairs and out to his side yard, hustling to the third marker from the left. He had already calculated the distances between each burial spot to make sure they were equal. The preparations had been made months ahead of time. He had thought of everything.
Setting the two containers down in the grass, he walked along the shallow trench running from his house and ending in a hole about five inches deep. The trench was still neat and orderly, and with a smile on his face, he nodded at his own handiwork. He had it all in place.
Back at the hole, he popped the lid off the small container. He took a moment to appreciate the size of the human heart. Over the years, he’d heard it was roughly as big as a fist, but this one was smaller. It was amazing to think such a small organ could keep an entire human being alive and well.
That bitter taste filled his mouth again.
So important, yet so fragile. Why had humans evolved to be so delicate? Instead of armor, they had skin. Instead of claws, they had fingernails. No horns or fangs. No venom. They weren’t large or strong or fast.
But they had brains, and that was all the advantage he needed.
Shaking himself from his own misery, he pulled the heart out and felt its cool texture against his skin. Touching a human heart for the first time had caused a chill to run down his spine. It had made him uneasy, if not squeamish. But he had moved beyond that by now and was committed to using this little organ’s power to his advantage.
He placed the heart in the hole and packed the dirt down over it. The missing grass was an obvious indicator that something had been buried there, but he wasn’t worried about anyone looking in on his small, unorthodox garden. His neighbors were miles away, and the surrounding woods ensured he’d be left alone.
Giving the mound one more pat, he turned his attention to the bucket. This part required patience and a steady hand. His eagerness to complete the next step of the ritual made him want to rush through it so he could return to the basement, but his iron will held him back.
There was no point in doing any of this if it wasn’t done right the first time around.
He peeled the lid off the bucket and peered at the crimson liquid inside. The smell was not pleasant, but he had grown accustomed to the way his new hobby accosted his senses. He had never been a weak man, and he wouldn’t start now.
Not even under the current circumstances.
