Midnight Ash (A Blushing Death Novel) (10 page)

I stood before the deep mahogany desk, my hands clasped behind my back almost at ease. I’d seen my dad stand like that a thousand times and at the thought, I released the grip I had on my wrist. Patrick paced behind his chair, his eyes fixed on the Persian rug on the floor, his hands tight fists at his side.

Danny sat on the couch with a comfortable and confident smug smile on his face. He’d entered Patrick’s office with a different air about him, a swagger that hadn’t been there before.
Great!

“Are you absolutely sure you smelled it?” Patrick asked for the third time as he stopped pacing long enough to meet my eyes. I nodded again and he continued his back and forth parade of one. He stopped. “And you smelled nothing?” he asked, pointing a long, threatening finger at Danny. The smug ass sat on the couch his fingers laced behind his head, cool and casual, as if nothing could touch him. I rolled my eyes.

“Like I said, nothing,” Danny answered as he draped his arms over the back of the couch.

“ALEX!” Patrick bellowed, his voice echoing through the house like a single drop of water in a cave.

Alex sauntered into the office without a glance in either Danny’s or my direction. I snorted at the slight, ignoring the tingle in the tips of my fingers as anger tightened my gut. My phone beeped and vibrated with an incoming text in my back pocket and I huffed, thankful for the distraction.

I yanked the phone from my back pocket and touched the screen.

Turn on the news!!! J

Middle East troubles again?
I didn’t have time for this shit.

I’m a little busy. Can it wait? Dahlia

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and turned my attention to Patrick and Alex. If Alex didn’t have an answer, I was pretty much fucked. Patrick and Alex whispered behind the desk, in an all-out snit that made my pulse quicken. What the hell was going on?

I’d only seen Patrick raise his voice once and that was when I was about to be slaughtered by the Ahriman demon Ethan had summoned. Plan B was looking better and better every moment. I wonder what Tuscany was like this time of year.

Turn on the local news NOW!!! J

Okay. Okay.
I don’t argue when someone yells at me over text messaging. That’s hard to do.

“Hey.” Patrick and Alex were still whispering to each other with their heads together like a couple of school kids. Neither of them was paying one bit of attention to me. “HEY!”

Their heads snapped up in unison. Creepy. I wouldn’t even have asked but I couldn’t work the high-tech remote for the television Patrick had hidden in the wall. There was a series of buttons to push and I could never remember the order to make the damned thing work.
Stupid technology!
I just wanted to turn the damned thing on. There should be a button for ‘power.’ Simple.

“Local news, please,” I asked, shoving my phone back into my pocket.

Patrick grabbed the remote, pushing a mysterious series of buttons and the television flickered to life.

The breaking news streamed along the bottom ticker as a reporter stood outside a line crime-scene tape. I recognized that house, that street, and the little dog yapping in the background.

“That’s a few doors down from my house,” I muttered. To no one. To everyone.

“Police are releasing very few details at this hour pertaining to the random act of violence that occurred just a little over an hour ago on this quiet residential street. The police are saying that the unusual nature of the crime may demand a more specialized investigation. Back to you,” the field reporter said as Patrick turned down the volume.

“Take me home,” I ordered. A small quake rocked my voice. I turned to grab my coat and bag. Patrick was close on my heels as I stormed out the door.

The police had closed off the street and we had to walk the two blocks from where Patrick’s Audi was parked to the crime scene. Crime scene tape circled an area three houses down from my own front door, covering the entire street, sidewalk, and some yards of the surrounding houses. My breath quickened and my hands started to sweat even in the cold as we approached the yellow police tape. The area was surrounded by the bright fluorescent lights of the crime-scene techs, giving everything an exaggerated eerie brightness. My stomach sank a little more with each step as we got closer to that damned yellow tape.

The cold air was brutal as it blew through my clothing, whipping my hair around my face, and sending gooseflesh to creep across my skin.

I knew the little dog immediately. I hated that dog. Pumpkin. All that damned little Shih Tzu did was yelp and bark anytime someone came within twenty feet of it. The little bastard’s owners, Dr. and Mrs. Corning, were pleasant enough so I forgave the yapping mongrel.

Dr. Corning stood alone on the sidewalk with that damned dog in his arms and clutched tight against his chest. The dog squirmed and yelped but couldn’t get away from Dr. Corning’s crushing grip. Dr. Corning had a stricken, almost lost, expression on his face. I made my way to him. My stomach tightened as I followed his sightline to the cluster of police huddled behind the crime-scene tape. Beyond the police officers was what appeared to be a body. I could see the slightest flash of white hair through the shoes of the cops as they hemmed and hawed.

I didn’t know what to say to him that didn’t sound cliché or contrived. I wasn’t very good with people. I, however, needed to know what happened. I needed him talking. So cliché and contrived it was.

“Dr. Corning?” I asked, my voice soft and consoling. He looked through me, showing no recognition of who I was for a very long moment. “Dr. Corning?” I couldn’t hide the concern in my voice as I spoke. He’d always seemed larger than life, so strong and younger than his 67 years. As I laid my hand on his broad shoulder, he suddenly looked all of those 67 years and then some.

His pupils were dilated and his entire body trembled under my hand. One of the EMT’s should’ve been looking at him, probably in shock. He shouldn’t have been standing on the sidelines watching the hordes of police maneuver around what had to be his wife.

His eyelids fluttered as awareness filled him and he finally
saw
me.

A small, sad smile crept over his face, lighting his eyes with the anguish he tried to hide from me. He clutched me into his surprisingly strong arms, crushing me against him and the dog. It was like hugging your uncle; it’s not unpleasant just uncomfortable. I lingered there as long as he needed me, being uncomfortable and on edge. After a few silent moments, he pulled away and looked down at me with tears in his eyes.

“Dahlia, my dear, how are you?” he asked, as if it mattered.

“What happened?” I whispered. I turned my head, following his line of sight to the cluster of uniform police officers and plainclothes detectives further up the sidewalk. He tried hard to hold his tears back so I wouldn’t see him cry.

“Joyce and Pumpkin had gone for a walk. They were only gone a few minutes . . .” He paused. “When Pumpkin scratched at the door, I opened it, thinking that Joyce had forgotten her key but she wasn’t there. Pumpkin’s tail was between his legs and the leash still attached.” Dr. Corning wiped a stray tear from his cheek but his eyes were still blurry and full of his unshed anguish as he stared off into the blaring lights of the crime scene. “I ran down the front porch steps,” he said, his eyes wide and no longer lost as he turned to me. He was instantly in sharp focus as if he could see the whole thing again, vivid and clear. “I thought maybe she’d tripped or had a heart attack or something of that nature. I never imagined . . .” His eyes drifted back to the police barricade and the jumble of people on either side of the street as his words fell away. His hand covered his mouth in horror. “Oh God, I never imagined . . .”

“What did you see, Dr. Corning?” I asked, stepping into his line of sight. I needed him focused on me and not what was going on around his wife.

“Umm . . .” He hesitated. He closed his eyes tight and shook his head as he tried to push his words out. “She was lying there on the ground. As I ran to her, I tripped on something in the middle of the sidewalk.” He opened his eyes and stared down at the dog, squirming in arms. He glanced up at me with eyes that begged me to make the hurt go away but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure that anyone could take that pain away.

“I thought I’d kicked Pumpkin, you see,” he said, his bottom lip trembling as his eyes welled up with tears. “I tripped . . . I tripped . . . on Joyce’s head,” he said, swallowing hard as he wiped away the salty tears streaming down his face. “They cut off her head. Why would someone do that?” he whispered, horrified. The look on his face made my heart ache and lit a rage filled fire in my gut that burned bright, hot, and wild.

“There was very little blood,” he whispered. “Dahlia, they cut off her head.”

My mind quieted and my body relaxed as the idea of killing whatever had hurt this man and his wife shifted easily, too easily, into place. His fingers tightened on my arm and he held on to me in quiet desperation, digging his fingers into my biceps hard enough to bruise.

“With a wound like that, the pavement should’ve been covered in blood,” he whispered. He looked at the crowd again as if none of them were actually there, like all he could see was the crumpled lifeless heap that had once been his life. “There was barely a drop on the pavement. She wasn’t gone that long.”

I took him by the arm and led him back to his house. “Come on, Dr. Corning, let me take you home. It’s too cold for you to be out here all night without a coat.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he mumbled absently. “Nothing matters anymore.”

This, his pain and her death, were both my fault. All of the carnage was meant for me, a message.
Well, message received, you stupid ninja bitch.

I escorted Dr. Corning to his door, keeping the tension that stiffened my shoulders from my grip on his arm. He was hurt enough already.

“Take care of yourself, Dahlia. She always liked you, you know.”

I hadn’t known either of them very well but they’d always said hello, were kind. They didn’t deserve this.

I stood on his porch, waiting for the dreadful gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach to go away. I was left with the sickening acidic feeling of responsibility to eat a hole in me. I’d let this happen.

Patrick stepped up behind me on Dr. Corning’s porch, his cool power wrapping around me in the even colder night air. His hands fell on my shoulders in a light touch of comfort and stood behind me silent, solid and strong. It wasn’t enough to wipe the putrid taste of responsibility from my mouth.

“Did you hear that?” Staring at the Cornings’ front door seemed like a much better idea than letting him see the quiet shame that I knew filled my eyes.

“I did.” Patrick wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back against him in a firm embrace against his cool body. “We should examine the body,” he whispered, regret making his voice rough and husky, his cool breath caressing my neck and ear.

“How the FUCK are
WE
supposed to examine the body?” I hissed. I let my anger bubble up and take over as I clenched my jaw. I was tapped emotionally. Nothing left in the tank to even pretend I could keep my temper. There was just too much fear, anguish, regret, and failure in me to remain calm. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I wanted to collapse into a heap and disappear from the world, my life, Patrick, and everything that went with him. I wore every emotion I had on my sleeve, unable to shield anything from him. Rage was the only emotion I knew how to deal with so I pushed that to the front and let it consume me, ignoring everything else.

Patrick took a cautious step back from me, putting a bit of distance between him and me.

“Perhaps you’d prefer the mutt,” he bit out, anger and venom dripping from his voice.

I dropped my head and let the cold night air fill my lungs. I knew in the back of my mind Patrick would smell everything on me but I’d been so caught up in Jackson and Dean that I’d pushed it away to the back of my mind. And now, he was shoving it in my face. My patience had worn terribly thin and my nerves were shot. I didn’t want to have this argument on Dr. Corning’s front porch. I didn’t really want to have it at all, actually. I already felt like shit about the whole thing.

“Is this really the time to discuss it?” I ground out through clenched teeth. I licked my lips and tasted the salt of my tears. I pulled my hands into tight fists at my sides and dug my nails into my palms to curb my frustration, my anger, my guilt.

“No, it is not,” he said, stiff and formal. I heard the hurt in his stern voice and the distance he put between us. “This is a conversation best left for later,” he growled, turning his back to me. He stalked back down the stairs toward the media trucks camped out on the street and surrounding the area, leaving me alone and angry.

“Oh good, something to look forward to,” I snapped, following him down the porch stairs.

I stormed to the edge of the crime scene tape and waited for my opening. Why couldn’t Patrick go in there and look around himself?
It’s perfectly fine for me to end up in jail.
I
won’t burst into flames when the sun comes in my cell.
So, I suppose I already knew the answer to my own question.

My way in presented itself like a ray of sunshine through the clouds. Derek.

Derek Hamlin had been a friend of Jade’s. He’d been at the accident scene when Candace had run us off the road in one of several of Candace’s attempts to kill me a few months ago. Jade and Derek had dated briefly—very, very briefly—like half a date brief. It hadn’t ended well. They had an unofficial détente declared, which worked for me since Derek had become a friend of mine. He was fun and low maintenance. I needed low maintenance . . . normal.

I whistled, quick and high pitched, catching Derek’s attention, and the attention of every person within a 15-foot radius. He turned and smiled at me, sauntering over as Patrick disappeared into the crowd behind me. I guess I really was on my own.
Sonovabitch!