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Cassie didn’t know how to answer. She was still unsteady on her feet and she couldn’t remember where she was or what she was doing there. When she turned back to Jessica’s grave, the memory of the woman’s ghost came back to her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Sweetheart?” the woman said. “Are you okay? Do we need to call someone?”
Cassie processed the woman in front of her. She was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and large sunglasses. A man, presumably her husband, stood behind her, shading his eyes from the sun.
“I’m okay,” Cassie said. Her mouth was dry and her tongue heavy like a ten-pound weight, but her senses came flooding back to her. She felt steadier on her feet. “Thank you.”
“The sun is brutal this time of day,” the woman said. “You should wear a hat, dear.”
Cassie forced a smile. “You’re right. I’ll go sit in my car for a minute. Cool down in the AC.”
The gentleman looked down at the gravestone covered in flowers and trinkets. “Did you know her?”
“Dear,” the woman chastised. “Don’t be nosy.”
“We were acquaintances.” Cassie said. She was surprised when it didn’t feel like she was lying but being inside another person’s head to witness their last moments of life had a bonding effect.
“Tragic,” the man shook his head. “Everyone deserves to live as long as we have.”
His wife, satisfied that Cassie wasn’t about to pass out, let go of her and patted her husband on the arm. “Even short lives can burn bright.”
He looked up at Cassie as though pulled from his reverie. “You look a bit pale, kiddo.”
“That’s my natural state.” She smiled again, and this one felt more natural. “Thank you again. I hope you have a good day.”
“You too, dear,” the woman said. “Drink some water.”
Cassie waved her acknowledgement and, taking a second to make sure her feet were steady enough, walked back down the path toward her car. She felt like she had been hit by a truck and spun around until she didn’t know which way was up.
She had experienced visions in the form of flashes or insane dreams she had to decipher. This one was clear, if not brief. It lasted ten seconds, but the images were burned inside her brain. Jessica had spent a great amount of energy ensuring Cassie saw the medical transport van and the parking garage.
If only she had been able to see the man, too. She saw he was average in height with brown hair. He wore nice clothes. Add it together and that described half the men in Savannah on any given night.
The van was a different story altogether. She hadn’t seen a company logo on the van, but the green sticker was enough to go on. Maybe there was credence to Harris’s doctor theory. It still didn’t give them the why, but it did point them in the right direction as to the who.
But finding the van would be another story. She knew it was, at least at one point in time, parked in a garage several floors up. The sounds made her think it was in the downtown Savannah area, and though that spanned several blocks, it gave her a place to start.
Jessica had spoken the same words as Hannah, too. Cassie still didn’t know what they meant, but now more than ever she felt like time was ticking away. Four women had been killed, including the latest victim, Sage Washington. If this was a ritualistic killing, their killer needed their hearts and blood for a purpose. Once he fulfilled that purpose, would he keep killing, or would he be gone forever and fade back into society like a normal person?
Cassie couldn’t let that happen, even if Detective Harris wanted to keep her out of the way. The women she connected with deserved to be laid to rest, and the women of Savannah—herself included—deserved to go outside without fear that they would be the next victim.
Cassie had made up her mind before she got back to her car. She wasn’t going to let Detective Harris’s warning stop her from doing her own investigation.
She wanted answers.
And there was only one way to get them.
Twenty-Three
Detective Harris sat in her car and aimed the AC vents at her face. She took a deep breath and held it. The Georgia heat still gripped her lungs. She’d lived in Savannah for six years, but doubted she’d ever get used to the summers. Growing up in Montana made her resilient to thin air, bitter winters, and several feet of snow over the course of just a few hours. But heat and humidity together? Forget it.
She didn’t regret leaving Missoula behind, even if she did miss her parents. It took some time to get used to the pace of the South, but the people were kind, and she was proud to serve the Savannah community.
But days like today were the most difficult. Putting her car in reverse, Harris backed out of the precinct parking lot and drove to the east side, searching until she found the address she was looking for. Sage Washington’s house, where she had lived with her mother and two younger brothers.
Not one to delay the inevitable, Harris got out of her car, walked up to the front of the house, pulled the screen door open and knocked on the front door. She took a step back and let the screen door fall shut. It was silent inside, but after about thirty seconds, a bolt slid back, and the door opened enough for the security chain to be drawn taut.
A young man of about fifteen peered at her from the crack. He stayed silent.
