Thank you for the wonderful reviews, I loved reading them. Always good to hear from my readers, please continue. Thanks also for the favorites and alerts; I hope you will all continue to enjoy this story.
Black Moon Rising – A god's wrath?
Another step, another second ticks by, and the man's eyes lock with Stella's. Hollow black circles, not baring a soul. Just a piercing stare. Stella doesn't blink, she has some glares of her own. Another step, and he swerves to the right, flaps down on the nearest bench, gazing ahead. He doesn't stop muttering.
What a freak. True, it might not be his fault, he might be ill. But she thinks it's far more likely that he blew his own mind doing drugs. And she doesn't like the fact that he's prancing about here scaring people. Never mind that he might step up any time and do something worse.
She's glad when the train arrives. Not because she wants to get out of this place, though that's a plus. She wants to get to work. Solve this case, for the sake of the city … and for the sake of Mac. When was the last time he has slept properly? She sighs, solve this case and there'll be another one to keep him awake too soon. That's the way he is. She smiles. That's the way she is too. And each telling the other one to go home and get some rest. She doesn't let the rattling purr of the train lull her.
-o-
Adam bows over a piece of evidence they have gathered from the first victim. Hoping to find out more. A male in his early twenties, fair hair, fair complexion, pale blue eyes. That much they know. Probably didn't go outside much, and if he worked hard it was not with his hands. Nobody misses him. No family, friends, colleagues, neighbors. Nobody seems to say too bad he had to die.
He glances over at Kendall on the other side of the table. She looks tired, having agreed like the others to do a double shift. He feels a bit sorry for her, but also pleasantly reminded of something. Waking up next to her, her looking so tousled and sleepy. It's been a while now and he still doesn't know how it happened. Not because he had a blackout, he just doesn't understand. It doesn't seem to be her style, and much less is it his. And what has happened since then? What are they to each other? What evidence does he have? With a sigh his thoughts are back on the case again.
-o-
Lindsay rubs her eyes and focuses on the screen again. It doesn't help, too many hours of staring at an assemblage of bright pixels. Her eyes burn. Trying to work out who their second victim might have been. She hates this; she wants a name to the number. Facing parents or partners and telling them a loved one was murdered is bad. Letting them still have the hope of a reunion is worse.
Missing persons. She lets her eyes travel across the features displayed before her again and again. She blinks as they seem to morph, rubs her eyes again. But she keeps seeing Ruben, and Rikki, … and Danny. She turns away from the monitor but the image of him lingers on. Thoughts begin to fill her head like cobwebs.
The moment she had heard what happened. Ruben, stretched out, so still. The look on Danny's face and how he had closed up. She knows she can't expect him to be over it yet. How long had it taken her? Has she gotten over it or is she just able to talk about it? That he doesn't talk to her … no, she can't blame him. Not when she had closed herself up too. Maybe it's childish to bear a grudge. When children die … and given the circumstances of Ruben's death she knows that Danny feels guilty.
She had felt guilty, knowing full well that she couldn't have done anything to prevent the massacre of her friends. If she hadn't gone to the restroom then … nothing would have changed but the number of victims. And she would never have met Danny. The murderer might not have been brought to justice without her testimony. Danny wouldn't have come to Montana. A tired moan escapes from between her hands where her head has sunk.
"You okay?" She hears Hawkes' voice.
Her head pops up again. "Yeah." She brushes a stray lock of hair from her face. "Yeah, just thinking …"
"How about some coffee?" he asks.
"Sounds great!" She rubs her hands over her face and sends him a smile.
"And then I'll take over. Those monitors" he points to one, "may not be as bad for your eyes as the old ones, but they are not good for them either."
-o-
Stella maneuvers Flack away from the little gathering of uniforms and pedestrians who seem to have a heated discussion about the freedom of the press and the right of people to be informed. And what about the human right of dignity? she wonders. Information or just sensation? Flack tells her what he knows, which in this case extends little further than to who called it in.
"Where's Danny?" Stella asks as Angell joins them.
"Should be here soon. No idea where I caught him, but I'm pretty sure he was there on two wheels … so traffic shouldn't be a problem." Flack smirks.
Stella nods and moves away to have a closer look at the victim. Her flashlight wanders over the woman's face. Shadows flicker over the lifeless features. The light is absorbed by the woman's clothing, darkness emanating from her. Uneasiness is in the air. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes, Stella thinks. Only it is more the pricking of the soles of her feet. Like they want to tell her to get away.
Not a very scientific approach, that's true, but often enough it had been her instincts that told her when something was wrong and where to look for more evidence. Stella takes a few steps away from the body and looks around. She doesn't think the woman died in this place.
A shriek of light tears through the sky, boiling air crashes behind it. Crackling sparks fly from its point of impact, a flaming hand exercising a deadly grip. Feathered flames hiss away along conductive material.
Then everything is dark and silent. Nobody sees the motes of dust floating down from the fire escape.
-o-
Mac has seen the man approaching his door. He contains a frown, Sinclair in the lab, and at this late hour, that can't be good. But he waves the visitor in anyway, before he has time to knock edgily.
Sinclair steps in and addresses Mac immediately. But his agitation sounds cold. Mac knows it's all just politics. Politics and press, great combination. For a moment he feels like all evils in the world start with a 'p'. He quickly shoves aside the thought of Peyton. Painful, yes, but evil … that would be spiteful of him.
"No information has left or will leave this lab. And it is not my job to roam every single street of this city and make sure that not a single person out there takes or fakes a picture of some crime scene and puts it up on the net." Mac makes clear.
A cold steel reflection pales Sinclair's face before he has time to raise his arms for protection. Mac swirls around to catch a glimpse of its source. Where did that flash come from? He scans the sky, hazy, layered with mist, yes. But clouds?
He has not missed their gathering, there are none. And it feels like a manifestation of mythology, like Zeus throwing lightning down from the Olympus at people who have angered him.
Science tells Mac immediately that there has to be a cloud somewhere. He has heard of flashes covering a distance of five miles or more, it must be out of sight for him. He has not seen the lightning strike either but from its duration and course he knows that it did. He sighs without making a sound. Science or mythology, there may have been people at the receiving end of this. And they may not have deserved it.
I guess the cliff has just got bigger …
Thank you very much for taking the time to read. As always I'd love to know what you think of it so please don't hesitate to leave a review. All thoughts and comments are appreciated any time, and replied to where possible.