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  “Did they come out?”

  “They shot him through the front door with a single shotgun blast.”

  Lauren didn’t say anything. She just sat there with wide eyes.

  “Took him right off his feet and tossed him back down the steps. He bled out pretty fast, having the front of his chest cavity ripped open like that.”

  “Did you get the guys?”

  Curran looked away. “Two of them. Yeah.”

  “Did they stand trial?”

  “They never got that far.”

  Curran watched Lauren stop breathing. After a minute of staring at her, she exhaled slowly. She said nothing.

  “So,” continued Curran. “To answer your question, yes, I have felt a sense of premonition before and that was it. I somehow knew there was going to be trouble that day. Luckily, I listened to it. That could have just as easily been me taking that shotgun blast in the chest.”

  Lauren finished her coffee. “Steve...I...I felt something earlier today when I was researching the Soul Eater.”

  “Felt something? Like what?”

  “A presence in the library with me while I was reading.”

  “You mean like a ghost?”

  “Possibly. But I don't think so. It felt different than a ghost.”

  Curran eyed her. “You've felt ghosts before?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m not going to touch that one, thought Curran. “Okay. Tell me about it.”

  “The library seemed to close in on me. But at the same time there was a breeze. It made my hair stand on end. It flipped the pages of the book I was reading until the chapter about Soul Eaters came up. Later on, it got incredibly cold in the room but I started sweating. I suddenly felt like someone was there with me.”

  “Could it have been another person in the library with you?”

  “I thought of that, too, but it wasn't. The only other person there was an old nun. And she was far too busy studying to have been it. But Steve...something else was in there with me.”

  “You think it was this Soul Eater guy?”

  Lauren shook her head. “I doubt it. I don’t think his power extends to invisibility. But something, some kind of presence, was in that room.”

  “And you think it’s related?”

  “I think so. I heard something that sounded like a voice.”

  Curran stopped drinking his coffee. “Did you say a voice?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did it say?”

  Lauren looked away. “Don’t think me foolish. But it sounded like it said ‘soon.’”

  Curran’s heart jumped. Could it be that she heard the same thing Curran heard in his dreams? He frowned. Ridiculous. They were just dreams. Weren’t they?

  “Steve?”

  He snapped back to reality. “Yeah?”

  “You look concerned. Everything all right?”

  A buzzing on his left hip made him jump. The cell phone. He exhaled and grabbed it. “Yeah?”

  What he heard didn’t make him feel any better. He hung up and got to his feet.

  Lauren stood. “Steve, what is it?”

  “We’ll have to continue this some other time.”

  “Why?”

  “They just found another body. Looks like the Soul Eater – whatever we end up calling him – has struck again.”

  Chapter Eight

  They’d found the body on the top part of Prince Street in Jamaica Plain. Woods bordered the street on both sides a short throw from Jamaica Pond. The leafless trees leaned in on the police cruisers, their bent and broken branches threatening to scratch the tops of heads and cars alike.

  By the time Curran arrived, Kwon and his meat wagon were already there. Kwon didn’t look happy.

  “Another one,” he said by way of introduction.

  Curran lit a cigarette, inhaled and held it for a few seconds before letting the smoke stream out of his mouth. “Who’s the lucky stiff?”

  “Tell me that’s not supposed to be funny.”

  “Okay.”

  Kwon bent down and unzipped the body bag. “Name’s Jeremiah Simpson. Ring any bells?”

  Curran frowned. “Wasn’t he the pedophile that judge went real easy on over in Cambridge? Got herself disbarred for it, too, I heard.”

  “He was. You guys would know more about him than I would. But judging from how the uniforms are talking, this guy wasn’t the nicest dude on the planet.”

  “Understatement,” said Curran. “If I recall the case right, Cambridge PD busted him for ten counts of sodomy on children, a handful of kiddie porn possession charges, and they suspected him in the deaths of at least four kids. They never had enough evidence to press those on him though.”

  “Dude’s dressed like a woman,” said Kwon. “Even down to the bra, for crying out loud.”

  Curran nodded. “That was his thing. He apparently thought that he projected a less threatening demeanor towards kids as a woman.”

  “Piece of work,” said Kwon. “And he’s got the same marks as our friend from the other night.”

  “Nothing.”

  Kwon nodded. “Exactly.”

  Curran glanced around. Through the trees he could see Jamaica Pond’s icy glacial waters. “But what’s he doing over here?”

  Kwon shrugged. “Someone mentioned he’d been paroled recently. There’s a school up on Moss Hill. Maybe he was scouting it out.”

  Curran frowned. Pedophiles deserved to die. On any other day, he would have been thrilled to see a piece of garbage like Simpson end up in Kwon’s body bag.

  But now.

  “He was looking for victims.”

  Kwon nodded. Looks that way.”

  Curran looked at the sky. The sun had already descended and the first tendrils of the night had bled across the sky. It would be dark in fifteen minutes. The cold November winds blew through the trees and rustled the yellow crime scene tape strung from light pole to light pole.

  “He must have lived around here.”

  Kwon glanced up from writing something on his clipboard. “What makes you say that?”

  “He was found like this? Just out and all alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No car nearby,” said Curran. “We’re a bit isolated here. Maybe he was out for a walk. That’s when it happened.”

  “No identification on him,” said Kwon.

  “We can get his address from his parole officer.” Curran dug into the cigarette again keeping the tip bright red. Another damned death.

  “I can do the PM right away if you want,” said Kwon.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “I’m still backlogged, but I know it means a lot to you.” He stood and placed his hand under Curran’s elbow. “What the hell is going on here, man?”

  Curran tossed his cigarette and watched the tip burn out as it hit a puddle of brackish water. “Wish I knew.”

  “No theories?”

  “Lauren has one.”

  “How about sharing?”

  “She’s done some research. Found out there have been recorded instances of this activity in the history of the Roman Catholic Church.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Book she found says the culprit is something called a Soul Eater.”

  Kwon stopped walking. “You aren’t freaking with me, are you Steve?”

  “Wish I was, pal. That’s what she found out.”

  “Great.” Kwon sighed.

  “For a science geek, you’re taking the prospect of supernatural involvement pretty well.”

  “First of all, I’m not a geek.” Kwon crossed his arms. “And secondly, I’m not devoid of interest in stuff like this.”

  “You dig the occult?” Kwon never ceased to amaze Curran.

  “Not like how you make it sound,” said Kwon. “But my upbringing in Korea was surrounded with myths and legends. Some of them weren’t all that far-fetched.”

  “Y
eah, but something like this living in the modern world?” Curran shook his head. “Seems like it’s way out there to me.”

  “Even today, sometimes we have to go on faith rather than facts.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Lauren.”

  “Great minds,” said Kwon. “So this thing…what’s it doing this for?”

  “We’re still trying to find out.”

  Kwon sighed. “I hate it when things aren’t all neat and orderly.”

  Curran tried to grin but it failed him again. “Welcome to my world.”

  ***

  By the time ten o’clock rolled around that night, Curran’s eyes felt sticky and hot. Darkness covered the rest of the floor at police headquarters. And in the room where Curran sat, the only illumination came from the dull glow of his computer screen.

  Eerie shadows drawn out to funhouse lengths stretched across the room. Outside, cars whizzed past on Columbus Avenue, their headlights streaking across the walls behind Curran.

  Kwon hadn’t gotten to the post mortem on the transvestite pedophile yet. A relative of the mayor had died from an apparent stroke and Kwon had been tapped to make sure.

  Curran meanwhile had spent the last few hours composing requests for information about strange deaths. He’d sent them to all the various bulletin boards used by the police network around the country.

  He belched, and in the silence of the room, the croak seemed to echo off the walls. Remnants of the barbecued rib dinner he'd gotten from a take-out place around the corner at the foot of Mission Hill splayed across his workstation in the form of a plastic container, an empty can of orange soda and several piles of sauce-stained napkins.

  Curran rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep.

  I wonder what Lauren’s doing, he thought. He smiled halfway and then tried to shut the image of her from his mind.

  His email alert dinged.

  He clicked on the icon at the bottom of his screen. At the same time, he heard a series of tiny scrapes echo across the linoleum floor behind him. Curran smiled. Harry was back. The homicide detectives had nicknamed the gray field mouse some months before, feeding the little guy bits of candy bars and sandwiches.

  As a way of saying thanks, Harry had doubled his size and become increasingly friendly. He’d appear at odd times of the day looking for more food. And the shock of white fur on his head always made him look like he had a Mohawk hair cut.

  But Harry didn’t usually scrounge this late at night.

  The mail window popped open. Curran saw the response had come in from the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. He frowned. Another big city?

  He watched as the words blossomed on to his screen.

  In response to your query regarding a series of unsolved

  murders, we had several cases two years ago that defied logical

  explanation. At this time, they remain open. I will fax you the

  files tomorrow. Heading home for some long overdue sleep.

  Had a helluva day.

  You and me both, sighed Curran.

  He stretched back and shrugged his shoulders. Tiny pops sounded from his back. As the years had rolled by, the number of creaks and dings had increased.

  Outside, another spell of cold drizzle splattered the windows. Curran watched the rivulets run down in odd patterns.

  The room went silent.

  A blast of cold air swept into the room.

  Napkins and papers scattered on his desk. Curran nearly fell out of his chair, jumping as the sudden burst of energy broke the relative calm.

  Curran looked into the gloom. His eyes saw little, unable to penetrate the deep shadows.

  “Hello?”

  Curran’s skin suddenly felt hot and clammy. Sweat broke out on his face.

  He stood.

  His right hand slid back to his right hip, feeling the quiet reassurance of his pistol.

  He walked toward the office door.

  Another blast of cold air pushed him toward the door.

  Curran unsnapped his holster.

  His hair felt on edge.

  Then he caught a whiff of something.

  “What th-”

  It smelled like rotten garbage, like something had been in a state of decay for weeks. Curran had smelled death before, but this made his stomach churn.

  His right foot kicked something.

  He bent down.

  Harry's lifeless body lay by the doorway. Curran frowned. The stench made his eyes water.

  Hadn't he just heard Harry running around a few minutes earlier?

  Now he was dead?

  It didn't make any sense.

  But Harry's dead body lay there as proof.

  Curran pulled on a latex glove and prodded the corpse. It felt bloated. Harry's stomach gave when Curran pushed it in.

  The stink swept over him again.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Sooooooooooooooooooon…”

  Curran wheeled, ripping his gun out and aiming it at…

  …nothing.

  Only the shadows stared back at him.

  A low rolling chuckle filled the air.

  Curran spun again but found nothing to shoot.

  Abruptly, the cold wind vanished.

  And the quiet returned.

  Curran slumped to the floor.

  He’s really here, he thought.

  The Soul Eater.

  Curran grabbed an evidence bag and scooped Harry's body into it. Then he walked out of the office.

  Working late didn't seem so appealing anymore.

  Chapter Nine

  “Can you do it?”

  Kwon sighed. “I’m really starting to wonder about you, Steve. First you go bonkers over some chick who's going to be a nun. Now you bring me a dead mouse that smells like the bathroom after an all-you-can-eat burrito contest and you want me to do an autopsy on it.”

  “Nice analogy.”

  Kwon sighed. “You brought him home with you last night?”

  “Your office was closed.”

  “And now it’s almost twelve hours later.” Kwon frowned. “Did you at least put him the fridge?”

  “Right next to a six-pack.” It was true. Curran had stored Harry’s limp body next to the bottles of the Sam Adams Boston Lager he liked so much.

  Kwon took the bag. “You owe me big for this.”

  “I’ll score you some Celtics tickets.” He looked around the office. “How long’s it going to take?”

  Kwon shook his head. “Well, gee, I have to get my miniature drill, saw, and scalpel. Then I'll just rig up a freaking electron microscope so I can actually see the guy's insides.”

  “How long, Kwon?”

  “You see that corpse over there?”

  Curran glanced at the closest gurney. “What about it?”

  “That’s a human. Or it was. That’s what I get paid to cut open. Mice tend to fall outside my job description.” He sighed. “It’ll be a few hours.”

  “You do the pedophile we tagged yesterday?”

  Kwon pointed at the gurney again. “That’s him. I was all set to start until you brought me the shake-and-bake furry dude here.”

  “Maybe I’ll stick around then,” said Curran.

  “What – now you got a green brain fetish?” Kwon shook his head. “Just for your sake then, I’ll change the order of the PM so we can get to the brain first.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “I’m the damned ME, Steve. I’ll cut him open proper after I show you his skull. I don’t think anyone will be upset if we aren’t all that proper with a scumbag chicken hawk like this.”

  “Probably not.”

  “Remember the drill?” Kwon drew back the sheet and took out the body block. Curran placed it under the pedophile’s head.

  Kwon leaned in and began cutting with a scalpel behind the right ear.

  “Shouldn’t I have my apron on for this?�
� asked Curran.

  Kwon glanced up. “Why? This isn’t the bloody part. I’m saving you from the organ removal.”

  “Kind of you.”

  “Get some gloves though, we have to do the double yank thing now to expose the skull.”

  Curran pulled on the latex gloves. “I’ll take the front again.”

  Kwon nodded. “On three.”

  On the count, Curran pulled hard and found the skin actually came off easier than it had on Lauren’s brother the other night.

  Kwon cranked up the Stryker saw and began cutting around the top of the skull. He finished and set the machine down. “Okay, off with the top and we can confirm if this is another one of the Soul Eater’s victims.”

  Curran frowned. It sounded so odd hearing Kwon use it matter-of-factly like that. “You going to put that down in the case file as cause of death?”

  “Hell no. Business and personal beliefs don’t coincide very often in this world. I’ll keep my opinions to myself.”

  “Pop it.”

  Kwon tugged the top of the skull and it came off with the same squishy sound Curran heard before.

  “Crap.”

  Kwon nodded. “Green as an Irishman drinking beer on St. Patty’s day.”

  Curran started to say something but stopped.

  The green brain said enough.

  ***

  He drove back to headquarters and got himself situated at his desk within twenty minutes. He had ten emails waiting for him as well as a pile of faxes about four inches thick on his desk.

  “Popular guy today, Steve,” said one of his fellow detectives. “The fax machine’s got diarrhea for you today. Been beeping since this morning when you left.”

  Curran fingered the piles of paper on his desk. “This everything?”

  The detective nodded. “So far. Day ain't over yet, though.”

  Curran took the next three hours and pored through the faxes, most of which were case files from the cop in California. There'd been eight murders in Los Angeles. Eight! Each one more mysterious than the last. In each case, the chief medical examiner ruled the cause of death as heart attack brought on by acute spike in adrenaline levels.

  Like they'd been scared to death.