Grave Robber for Hire (24 page)

“Now, are we breaking into this monster’s nest or not?” Deep and
meaningfuls outside a house more than likely possessed with creatures from another realm didn’t seem appropriate.

“Fine,” the word was a pruned blunt exclamation. He flung open the door of the hired white Toyota, climbed out and stomped to the sidewalk as I scrambled out and joined him.

He faced Josey’s house. “Right,
partner,
let’s do this.”

I walked behind him and mouthed, ‘Right, partner, let’s do this.’

Near Josey’s house Tyreal pushed me behind a small bush. “Keep an eye on that cop car while I pick the lock. Be bad timing for them to wake up.”

I nodded and squatted a little to one side of the bush, for better cop car viewing. If this was what they considered surveillance of a suspected torturer, how good was the surveillance the cops were supposedly carrying out on my house? Sasha could spend five days torturing me and mine, and nobody would notice. I’d be keeping those CCTV cameras after I returned home and I really needed to hunt for those land mines.

And the Uzi.

I heard the soft scrape of metal on metal and the click of a lock’s release. “Time, Princess.” Tyreal slid inside the door. I waited our pre-planned sixty seconds. Time to go black.

I pulled down my facemask, stood, strolled the six feet to Josey’s gate then dashed inside the waiting unlocked door and closed it behind me. A wall of dark greeted me, and my mask hadn’t slipped. I blinked and felt my irises enlarge and focus. The only illumination in the foyer came from the soft glow of the streetlight through a small front window.

Tyreal was nowhere to be seen or heard. “Tyreal?”

No answer. I shifted my soft soled feet, turned the end of my pencil flashlight and headed for the kitchen.

A susurration of sound met my ears. Something slithered across the floor and scurried over my foot. I jumped back and dropped the flashlight. I went to grab it, but the traitorous little piece of shit blinked out. Movement whispered from the dark between the kitchen and laundry. Damn, Josey the bitch had the place booby-trapped with Hell’s leeches.

I swallowed some panic inducing air and choked. Or worse, there could be a lot worse than red eyed leeches waiting to suck me into Hell. She could have ones with shark teeth ready to eat me, chunk by chunk. Yeah, she’d keep
her
house safe with bigger, more evil fuckers.

OMG
, did they have Tyreal already? They must have snatched him as soon as he walked inside the door. Were they feasting on his flesh this very moment?

I stopped and held my breath and hoped Jose
y’s security monsters couldn’t scent terror or human flesh. My blood pumped so fast it whooshed in my ears and vibrated at my pulse points. I also hoped they couldn’t hear rushing blood.

Do I move? Hide behind a counter? Stay still and hope my black on black outfit blended into the shadows of the room, or run screaming out the front door? Decisions, decisions.

A soft thud came from near the laundry—um—yep—run. I twisted my body, ready for out-of-here flight, and heard the distinctive soft thud of a step … much closer. Shit, shit, shit. Shark tooth monster for sure. I froze mid foot lift, and all moisture in my mouth evaporated.

Statue. I’m a statue. I’m part of the darkness, feel the darkness, be the darkness.

A thin light beam swung across the floor and my foot. I let out a little, “Eek.”

“Just me, Princess. Checked the dungeon for Josey and any fres
h victims. No persons or mist snakes present.”

I whooshed out my breath, put my foot down and sagged. Feel the darkness? Who was I kidding? I’d been about to feel the warm liquid running down my leg.

Tyreal’s pen light flicked over my cloth covered face. “You okay?”

I licked my dry lips. “Me, yeah—I’m fine. Feel great. I’m used to this stuff. It’s cool.” Never better.

I bent and felt around for my flashlight, found it and turned it back on. The thing was I hadn’t only heard noises from the dark area of the laundry, I flicked the beam onto the floor and over to where I thought the creature had run. “Something scurried over my foot while I was looking for you.”

“Mouse, rat, giant cockroach?”

Giant cockroach?
“All nice thoughts.” I could see nothing but the closed kitchen pantry door, so I decided to go with the, I can’t see it, so nothing’s there, theory. Lying to yourself stops self-imposed cardiac arrests.

“Let’s head upstairs, see if we can find an entry into the roof space. Remember near the front of the house and windows keep your flashlight off.”

“Got it. If you feel anything run over your foot check it out.” While I run screaming.

The stairs were slick ultra-polished timber and the rail smooth metal. We wore gloves to stop any nasty finger-prints tattling on us for breaking in and entering. Upstairs my feet sunk into deep rich carpet. I flicked the tiny beam to my feet. Yep, just as I estimated due to its, ooh-
aah, that’s so nice to walk on factor, expensive and deep red. Although I couldn’t feel it, the color choice didn’t surprise me.

The first door Tyreal opened revealed a black and gold marble bathroom. Thick red towels hung from the rack. Next door was to a bedroom, but other than carpet and curtains the only furnishing was a chair in the middle of the room. Stains of the questionable variety marked the carpet and the atmosphere reeked of dread.

“This room feels sinister.”

“Yeah, sure doesn’t feel nice.”

We backed out and closed the door. I hoped we didn’t have to open it again.

The end door opened into a room lush with gold, red, and black satins and much to my horror real and very illegal tiger skins. The four poster bed had brass rings in the head and footboard, top and bottom, and was surrounded in curtains of luxurious satin layers.

Heady musk, sweet and rich, filled the room. Numerous candles and incense sticks stood on every surface and wall sconce. I bent to smell a candle. My nose tingled, a jolt of fire rushed to my breasts and between my thighs. I licked my lips and eyed my black clad partner. Black suited him. His chest, encased in thin stretch cotton was so sexy.

His black cargo pants, emphasizing his package and great ass, were so sexy.

His kisses were so sexy.

The vision of Tyreal in the midst of his lust enthrall heated my blood to steaming. I whimpered in desperate need of a bit of hot and hard. The bed was right there, full of satin, silk and softness. I started panting.

“Angel, you okay?”

I jumped away from the candle as if stung by a wasp. “Don’t smell or light any of the candles or incense.” Lust drug. If I stole a couple would she notice? My top was stretchy, and some of the candles were small. She wouldn’t notice if I nicked half a dozen. If she found herself short a few she could troll Hell’s shopping strip.

Tyreal’s beam hit the wall and then skated around two more walls. The light revealed numerous black and white photos of Josey in naked poses hot enough to rival the most elite triple X rated, girly magazines.

“Good God.”

I wasn’t sure if Tyreal’s exclamation indicated admiration or shock. Me, I chose shock with a dash of envy. “Fancies herself a bit. Whole room is like a scene from a French boudoir, porn style.”

“How do you know they look like this?”

“I don’t, just guessing.”

On the third wall he stopped. We both stared at the gilt framed painting of a naked woman standing with her red hair backlit by a fire in a hearth.

“Holy shit, it’s the Rembrandt.” I ran to the painting. Put my gloved hand on the ancient paint. “Wow, not often we get to see a master so close. But fuck it fuck it all, we can’t take it. She’s owned it or possessed it all along.” I wanted to punch her, punch Hell, punch everything. Monster or not, the Rembrandt was still hers.

My hundreds of acres of rescued animals and pastures evaporated into the ether of my dreams and trickled down to the very Hell I guessed she came from.

Tyreal came to my side. “Amazing, she had it on display and nobody in the family knew.”

“You’d think someone would have said something to the media. You know a Rembrandt is housed in one of Sydney’s most notorious Dominatrix’s home.” I looked at the bed. “It’s obvious she entertains people here, someone would have blabbed.”

Tyreal picked up an old cream colored ticket hanging off the side and read out, “
Clyde Owen Jones. 1877
.”

“Hang on, that’s handwritten.” I sidled up to the tag, tugged off my glove, took the tag out of his fingers and felt a jolt of ooze. “Might be her writing. I’ll read it.”

I opened time and found Josey dressed in a beautiful blue embroidered dress seated at a dainty writing desk. A soft smile played on her lips as she wrote Clyde Owen Jones. I saw her demurely accepting the Rembrandt. Her emotions rolled and spun with hate, greed, and lust. Lust for the painting. Lust for the power she’d gain by at last possessing the relic.

Lust for his soul.

Clyde kissed her hand. “I know you will keep this safe my beloved.”

The next scene was her lighting up Clyde’s decapitated body. She wrote 1877. “Well Clyde, turns out I killed you too soon. The painting is forged, and after all the power I gave you, you bastard. But I’ve still got your soul and your house and one day I’ll find the real Rembrandt.” The scene drifted off. I pulled out.

“She must be able to time jump, or the bitch has lived for a very very long time, because I saw Clyde give her this painting and it’s a forgery. She killed him. I saw her setting his body on fire.”

I dropped the tag, wiped my hand down my pants and tugged on my glove while Tyreal cleaned the tag with a small cloth he had in his pants pocket. “You know the day I came here, she kept saying the
real
Rembrandt and I’d forgotten. She knew of the forgery because she owned it. And she said the owner of the real Rembrandt would possess great power. She wanted the real Rembrandt and got duped.”

“Power. Well it would be worth a shitload of money and money is power in our world.”

“Makes sense.”

He ran his beam around the ceiling and stopped. “Fuck, a CCTV unit.”

I glanced up and grimaced. Sure nobody would recognize us in our black face masks and skull caps, but it could be feeding to someone else who could well activate the police.

“Is it active?”

Tyreal put his hand on my shoulder and guided me to the door. “No light to indicate it’s a live feed, still best we move on. Good chance, it’s more for making home porn.”

“Or after she’s lust drugged them she makes maim and kill porn.”

Tyreal shut the door behind us. “I doubt she’d do that in her own bedroom.”

“Yeah, she has the room next door and downstairs for that.”

“And the as yet unfound dungeons.”

In the ceiling, a square manhole cover took up a large portion of the hallway’s width. Two stainless steel handles decorated the edge nearest us. “Looks like one of those pull down and find a ladder types.”

“Rare for this area to have unused space in a house. Most use all the attic space for living.”

“Maybe she keeps dead bodies up there. Or coffins.”

“Or shit she doesn’t use.”

“I’ll bet you a dinner
out, fancy restaurant, that she keeps creepy shit up there.”

“Raise your bet with a low cut top, and define, creepy?”

“We’ll know it when we see or feel it. Has to be something, it looks as if she’s lived for about a hundred and sixty years. That’s creepy in itself.”

“True. I’ll lift you then you grab the handles.” Tyreal wrapped his arms around my hips and lifted me high. The hold was a bit finger sinking into flesh firm, but I did feel safe and surprisingly stable. I raised my arms, gripped the handles and pulled. Something gave, and the cover opened like a cupboard door held upside down, I slipped forward, butt first onto Tyreal’s face. “Oops.”

Tyreal re-positioned his grip. “I hope that’s a promise.” He lifted me off and put me on the floor. “But as enticing as that was, leave sitting on my face for when we’re back in the hotel.”

Good thing face masks and dark rooms hide blushes. A purple face isn’t my best look. I refrained from stomping on his foot and growled. He laughed and latched onto the handles and started bending, opening out the shallow stairs.

Tyreal struck a pose and did a T.V. model’s showcase hand movement. “Want first honors, Princess?”

I looked up into the black as pitch space, saw nothing but nightmares and shook my head. “
Naw, yucky, men first.”

“Yucky?” Flashlight wedged in his teeth, Tyreal started to climb. He stood three steps from the top, pulled out a larger flashlight and aimed it into the space “Shit this is tiny, no space to stand.”

“Can you fit?”

“In the highest spot I’ll be on my knees with my head bent, but yeah I’m in.” He pulled himself up. A thump, some shuffling. “Come on, Princess, no monsters I promise.”

Yet.
“Anything creepy?”

“Not even an off vibe. Don’t forget that low cut top. And wear a push up bra, a hint of nipple’s always a plus.”