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“This isn’t the right spot,” someone in the front complained.
“I’m aware, but Bulberry is closed for an investigation. This is the temporary drop-off,” the driver stated.
“This is bullshit,” grumbled the complainer as the doors opened.
I hustled my ass off and walked a block over to see the street cordoned off and full of police.
A young fellow saw me approaching and held up his hand. “Sorry, ma’am. The street is closed for an active investigation.”
I pointed to Crack Kitchen Housewares. “I work there.”
“Doubt you’ll be getting any business today.”
“Yeah, but if I don’t go in, then the boss doesn’t pay me.” I shrugged.
“Fine. But don’t go near any of the taped-off areas.”
I didn’t plan to. I kept my gaze averted lest I see the bloodstains bound within the yellow tape. There were cops all over, some dressed in hazmat-style suits. Others manned the barricades at either end of the road or chatted over coffee and donuts.
I headed for my work and found the sign still flipped to closed but the door unlocked. I walked in, the bell tinkling to announce my arrival, to find my boss, Enzo, pacing and talking to someone in Italian on his phone. The moment he saw me, he chirped, “By-ah,” and hung up. “Sadie! Did you hear? We had a killer strike right out front!”
“I know. I was here,” I stated, heading for the back to hang up my coat and purse.
“What?” he screeched. “Are you okay? What happened? Why didn’t you call and tell me?” The last being the most important bit, as Enzo did love to gossip.
“Sorry, my phone got wet. I should have borrowed someone’s cell to text you, but I was so frazzled that I just wanted to go home.”
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the little bistro set we kept in the storage room as a place to have lunch. “Spill.”
I plopped into the seat and sighed. “You might not want to hear this. It’s pretty gory.”
Those words just whetted his appetite. His eyes got even wider and brighter as he turned from the coffee machine with a mug for me. “You saw it happen?”
“Yeah.” A dull admission as I accepted the drink and took a grateful sip.
“I heard it was an addict who went on a murder spree,” he blurted out.
I couldn’t blame him for the salacious interest. Usually, I would be the one dying for details, but I found myself strangely reluctant to admit what I’d seen. In the light of day, it seemed impossible. Blame the darkness and rain for muddling what I thought I’d witnessed.
“Honestly, I’m not sure who did it. It was hard to see, and once the screaming started, I hid inside the shop.” Only a half-lie.
“That must have been terrifying.”
I nodded as I cradled the hot mug of java. “Super scary. I mean, whoever attacked had some serious issues. They went after anything that moved.”
“I heard some people got away and are trying to claim it was as if the very air itself attacked them.”
That pursed my lips. “Surely someone got a video or pictures?” It had been more than twelve hours since the attack. Plenty of time for folks to upload footage. If my damn phone would turn on, I could have shown off the footage I’d gotten. Prove to that cop I told the truth!
Enzo shook his head. “Nothing that shows anything. Like you said, the weather was pretty bad, and that fog was thick. It hid everything. You can just hear the screaming.” I almost interrupted him to ask about the fog, which I hadn’t mentioned since I didn’t remember it, but he kept talking. “What’s weird is the videos after the cops arrive are all clear. No hint of a mist at all. Strange that.”
No shit, seeing as how I didn’t remember any kind of murk other than the rain. “Do they have any suspects?” I asked since he seemed well-informed for a dude who’d not even been present.
“Nope, so people are freaking. I mean there’s at least one if not more murderers on the loose. Some rumors say there’s at least two, maybe up to four perps.” His giddy excitement was macabre. Never mind I’d reacted the same way in the past. It felt different since it happened to me.
“Here’s to hoping they catch them,” I exclaimed vehemently. I intentionally neglected to mention the guy with the scythe who mowed down the sewer aliens. Last thing I needed was for my boss to think I needed professional psychiatric help.
“On a different note, the store won’t be open today. The cops say they’ll be processing the crime scene for hours. I tried to call and tell you to stay home. but your phone went right to voicemail and the text message wouldn’t deliver.”
