Making Monsters (2 page)

She threw her arms out, grabbing hold of the desk’s edge in a pale knuckle grip. His stones
drew up close to his body. He bit the inside of his cheek, determined for Malia to have the first
orgasm. Her wails bounded around the room. The walls of her honey pot clamped down around
his member.

Their shadows were an erotic, moving picture on the far wall.
Paul gripped her shoulders, and her torso bowed in an inverted arch. She tossed her head
back, shouting his name. Her cream flowed over his cock, shoving him over the edge and into his

own release. Pleasurable sensations skittered along his nerve endings as her passage undulated
around him, milking his essence. His grunts mingled with her whines.

 

He collapsed on top of her.

 

Pressed against the desk, her words were spoken between pants. “Paul, honey? You’re
heavy.”

He shifted, rising to move off her. His slacks fell down around his ankles. He took a few
steps back, pulled his pants up and fell into the small couch situated along the wall. Combing his
fingers through his hair, he watched Malia dress.

“I’m sorry.”

 

Her head snapped up. “For what?”

 

“That I haven’t been around lately.” He slid the spent condom off and dropped it into the
wastebasket next to the loveseat. “I can’t seem to get a handle on what’s killing these men.”

Malia pushed off the desk and sauntered to the sofa, falling down into the cushions next to
him. She scooted up against his side and stared off into the distance. They were both quiet until
she broke the silence.

“If anybody can figure this out, Paul Egan, it’s you.”

“I don’t know babe. It looks like this stuff kills within twelve hours once it’s introduced into
the body, and it’s doing something strange to the tissue, almost like the cells are shriveling up
and drying out. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Stop thinking so hard. Come on, let’s go home. We’ll come back in the morning, and I’ll
help you clean up. I bet your head will be clearer after you get a good rest.” She wrapped her
hand around his.

“I’m worried, Malia.”
“Why?” She twisted to look at him. Her big brown eyes churned with concern.

“What if I don’t figure this out in time to stop the next death?” He fina
lly voiced the issue
that ate at him. So many thoughts chased themselves around in his head. He knew she couldn’t
answer his questions. How could she when she didn’t know all the variables? He pressed his lips
together in a firm line. Guilt continued to gnaw at him. He couldn’t tell the one person he truly
trusted everything he knew.

Chapter Two

The commotion, coming from somewhere deep within the bowels of the funeral home, had
people turning to glance anxiously at the foyer’s entrance. The screaming grew louder, and
someone turned up the classical music in an effort to drown out the angry voices. Malia rose
from her seat, glanced around the room, and smoothing her dress, went in search of the
disturbance.

She ambled along the ornate passageway decorated in red velvet wall paper with a gilded
Fleur-de-Lis design stamped into the flocking, and gold sconces brandished false candlelight
every few feet. Serene black and white photos littered the wall in small, dark wood frames.
Oversized chairs, upholstered in black leather, lined the corridor at intervals. Malia made the
conscious decision to get the fuck out of there if the lights started flickering.
Why the hell would
Elise pick this funeral home?
She wondered as she passed the opening to another hallway. The
long passageway was wrought with shadows, and one lone lamp gave off a sickly, yellow glow
at the far end.

Malia lingered at the mouth of the entry, when the door at the other end was thrown open,
hitting the wall with a sharp
crack
. Elise stepped out, waving her hands. A man followed her, his
rotund frame stuffed in to a plain, navy suit. His neck tie pushed the excess skin on his throat up
and over the collar of his dress shirt. He shook his head, and the protrusion looked like a waddle,
bobbing to and fro. His thinning combover didn’t hide the hint of shine from his balding scalp.

“Mrs. Walt, I can assure you this has never happened. The body was fully intact when we
inspected it—when picking it up from the morgue.” The man’s high pitched whine pierced
Malia’s ears.

“Yet, you wait till the day before interment to tell me. Explain to me again, Mr. Stein, how
the hell do you lose body parts between here and the morgue?” Elise’s voice was tight with
controlled anger.

“No one noticed the missing limbs
until early this morning, when the mortician started to
prepare the body. We had a late start—we’ve been rather busy, as I’m sure you know.” Mr. Stein
reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He patted his brow.
“How the hell do you miss a pelvic bone and left leg?” Elise screamed.

The shouting spurred Malia into action. Scurrying down the hall, she placed a hand on
Elise’s arm. Closer to her friend and under the pale yellow glow, she could see the tears that
clung to Elise’s lashes. With a swipe of her hand, Elise hurriedly brushed at her eyes, smearing
eyeliner across her cheek. Her mouth worked for several moments before she actually spoke.

“He can’t be buried with missing body parts, Malia.” Elise wobbled on her heels as she
turned into Malia’s embrace.

 

“Let’s just get through the wake.” Malia looked at the funeral home director.

 

His head bobbed in an up and down motion; his hair fluttered forward. “Yes, yes, we can
straighten this out after the wake.”

Malia wrapped her other arm around her friend, gently tugging her along, anxious to get her
out of the gloom. She refused to look behind her, focusing instead on taking one step at a time.
Making sure she got Elise a little closer to the light that flooded the front rooms, and away from
the malevolency which hung in the very edge of the shadows. She grimaced from the bite of
Elise’s nails into her forearm. By the time they made it to their reserve seats set before the
casket, the sitting room had filled to capacity.

She sat Elise with R
ich’s parents and gave a quick rub to her friend’s shoulder before
stepping away. She straightened and stared at the half open casket. Rich lay nestled in ivory
satin. The peaceful appearance of sleep etched his face. He was a good man, you could tell
simply by the show of people that came to pay their respects.

A short nod at acquaintances as she passed them, she hoped her grimace had some
semblance of a smile. She headed toward the wide porch which wrapped around the funeral
home. Malia pulled her cell phone from the side pocket of her purse and quickly tapped Paul’s
number. He answered on the first ring.

“Egan.”

 

“Hey, baby. Have any of your bodies been missing parts?” She cut to the chase. The idea of
someone removing the limbs sent chills slithering along her skin.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m at Rich’s tribute, and I found Elise having a conniption—something about some of
Rich’s limbs being missing.”

 

“Shit. He was completely intact when I signed off on his removal. Do you know which
pieces were missing?”

 

“I think she said pelvis and leg.” Malia walked to the far corner of the deck. “Left leg! Yeah,
it was his left leg. What the fuck is going on, Paul?”

 

“Well.” He was hedging.

 

Malia pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it like it was foreign object. She returned
it and whispered harshly into the mouth piece, “Paul?”

 

“Listen, per the powers that be … i.e. the mayor, police chief, and the head coroner … this
is supposed to be hushhush.”

 

She started taping her foot on the worn wood. Her temper flared,
who the hell used the word
i.e. in a sentence
? She spoke through clenched teeth. “Tell me.”

 

“Somewhere between leaving the morgue and arriving at the funeral homes, the bodies are
showing up with missing sections.”

 

“Which parts?”

 

“Depends on the body.”

“Why
hasn’t anyone mentioned this to me?” She posed that question, instead of asking why
he didn’t tell her. The idea that he didn’t trust her niggled at the back of her mind, clawing its
way into her subconscious.

“Everybody’s a suspect.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Listen—” Paul began.

Malia didn’t wait for an explanation. She slid the pad of her finger over the End button and
dropped into one of the wicker chairs dotting the porch. There was no doubt that the man could
try the patience of a saint, and Malia knew for a fact that she was far from saint hood. The burn
of disappointment licked in her belly. Exhaling, she rested her head on the back of the chair.

She and Paul were lovers, but she wanted so much more. He was her hero; albeit he had a
couple flaws that at least made him human. Malia knew he didn’t understand why she chose to
stay with him. When she looked at him, she didn’t see the geek he thought he was. She saw a
tall, intelligent, sexy man.

Paul’s six
-two height towered over her five-seven frame. His sable brown hair curled around
the collar of his shirts, and he had a lock that constantly fell in his face. Frameless glasses hid his
expressive hazel eyes, and he filled out his clothing rather nicely. His morning running regime
kept him in shape.

If onlyhe trusted her … and that was the crux of her discontentment.

Malia rose from her seat, raising her hands high above her head and stretched. She loved
him, dammit, even if she wanted to throttle him at the moment. She looked around, stalking
toward the funeral home’s entrance. There was nothing she could do about their issues for the
time being. However, she could be there for her friend.

***

Pain shot through Paul’s head; he’d banged it on the cabinet’s corner when he bent to
replace the files. That’s what he got for not paying attention. He’d hurt her, and he knew it. Her
pain was evident through her voice. He slammed the drawer shut and scrubbed his face with his
hands, gingerly fingering his temple. This case was giving him health issues, first indigestion and
now headaches. He strode to his chair and rifled through the other reports he’d pulled. A missing
arm here—a lost torso there—by all accounts, his home town should have body parts littering the
streets. He settled in his seat, picked up his glasses, and started perusing the different colored
sticky-notes for the common denominator to the case. Reaching for another stick of gum from
the pack, he leaned back and pulled the trash pail from beneath the counter to spit the old piece
into. Blood red, sling-back heels came into view.

“Trouble in paradise, Paul?” Chief Coroner Victoria Franks slid her slim, skirt encased butt
onto the stool next to his. Her voice was a soothing combination of calmness and authority.

 

“No, why do you ask?” He lifted his head to look at her.

 

“I accidentally overheard part of your conversation, so I discreetly left. I didn’t want to
intrude.”

 

“Okay.” He un-wrapped the piece of gum and slid it between his lips.

 

“I mean, you do realize I hold you in high esteem within our o
ffice. If I ask you not to
mention something, I trust you won’t tell.”

 

“When have I ever failed you, Victoria?”

 

“I wonder if Malia realizes how lucky she is to have you.”

 

“I’ll ask when she decides to start speaking to me again.” He chuckled.

 

“You’d never have to worry about something like that ever happening between us.” She
rubbed a palm against his bicep.

 

Paul eased away from her touch and pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not.”

“I was thinking, Paul, if you ever need someone to talk to … I’d be happy to listen to
anything you have to say.” Victoria rose from her perch on the stool and trailed her nails along
his back as she circled him.

“That won’t be necessary.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll work it out with Malia.
Thanks for the offer though.” He picked up a folder and thrust it into his boss’s hands.

 

“What’s this?” She opened the thin binder.

 

“My report. That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

“Umm, yes, actually it is.”
Paul stood. Intertwining his arm with Victoria’s, he walked her to his lab’s exit. “I
highlighted the poisons that I’m still testing. You can let the mayor and police chief know I

should have more information by close of business tomorrow.” He shuttled her out and shut the
door behind her. The
click-clack
of the soles of her heels receded as she moved away from his
office.

He shook his head and headed back to his work station. Dragging the papers before him, he
looked for the common denominator. Paul re-read the words on each statement. The letters were
starting to blur, and his eyes burned. Then he saw it. He closed his eyes and opened them, to
stare at the sheets. There it was, one of the missing links to his oversized puzzle.

Chapter Three

Malia hunched down behind Paul. A large transport van, parked at Killiman Ambulatory
Services, hid them as Paul surveyed the area. He leaned forward and hastily fell back, turning to
rest against the vehicle’s wheel well.

“The building looks deserted.” Paul glanced at her.

 

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Malia commented dryly and arched a brow.

 

“You should’ve stayed home if you’re still pissed at me.”

“I’m simply trying to understand why you’ve brought me to this place. You rushed through
the door, asked me to grab my gun, and then said to come on. Idon’t think it’s an unreasonable
question.”

“I found the connection.”

 

“Connection to what, babe? Fill in the gaps for us mere mortals.” She crossed her arms over
her bosom.

 

“This company has picked up every body from the morgue and moved them to the
individual funeral homes.”

 

“Okay … ohh. You’re talking about the link to the missing body parts.”