Sacrifice (11 page)

She spotted April almost immediately and smiled wide. April was staring at Delilah’s nude body in astonishment but did not look away. The young mambo was surprised by how good it felt to have the young woman’s eyes on her. She danced over to April and took her hand.

April resisted for a moment. This was her first time receiving the gift this way and Delilah could sense her fear and apprehension. She had never been to a ritual before. Until now it had always been done in private, in Delilah’s bedroom, in Delilah’s bed. She had never received the gift through blood. Delilah had sucked out her pain through other body fluids. But the blood was so much more powerful.

Delilah kissed her passionately on the lips. April visibly relaxed and allowed herself to be pulled away from her friends and into the circle. She didn’t know whether it was the demon inside her or her own lust, but her desire for the timid young woman was overwhelming.

“You will be first tonight, my love.”

Delilah held April’s small body tight against her bosom, letting her tongue slip between the woman’s thin trembling lips, and then she turned and walked over to where a man with skinny arms and legs, a big round belly, and long graying dreadlocks stood in his underwear and dark sunglasses holding a wicker basket. The man took the lid off the basket and removed a long black snake, a black mamba. Taking the serpent in her hands, Delilah quickly bit its head off and began drinking its blood. She turned back to April and spit the blood in the woman’s face.

April recoiled, scowling in disgust, swiping at the blood on her face. Delilah seized her arm and jerked her forward. She drew the dagger across April’s wrist and brought the wound to her lips, sucking out the blood along with all of April’s pain. April moaned in ecstasy and Delilah felt a pang of remorse as she wondered if April would ever want to receive the gift any other way.

Chapter 15

“You know, I kind of thought that was odd myself,” Detective Edward Little said as he scratched his scruffy goatee with one hand and readjusted his wire-framed glasses with the other. “I noticed it right away. There weren’t any pictures of her at all. There were no pictures of the little girl anywhere. There were those other pictures though.”

“What kind of pictures?” Malloy asked.

“There was a tiny photograph on the mantle at the Wells’s place of this black woman with long dreadlocks. The woman was dressed in white robes and looked really young, like a college kid. There was something in the way the two of them were looking at her that was almost reverent. I asked them about it and they quickly changed the subject. I’m telling you, there was something weird about that photo.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way they were looking at that black chick … with something like awe on their faces, like they were standing next to the pope or God himself or something. I got the impression it was taken at some type of religious retreat or ceremony or something. You could see other couples in the background with drums and tambourines and stuff.”

“Drums and tambourines? You mean like the Krishnas?” Malloy asked.

“Yeah, something like that. But the black chick didn’t have her head shaved, and she was the only one wearing those funky pajamas. Besides, I ain’t never heard of a Hare Krishna kidnapping children. This has to be something different.”

“There’s a first time for everything, Ed. We’ve got black serial killers now, female serial killers, why not a Hindu one?”

“I just can’t see it. That Hare Krishna stuff attracts a certain type of people and it ain’t the type who would do this.”

Malloy remained unconvinced. He made a mental note to check out a few Krishna temples and see if any of them were run by a black chick with dreadlocks.

“Did you ask them about the picture? Who the girl was? Where it was taken?”

“They said it was taken when they were on vacation in Barbados, but it was obvious they were lying. They said the woman was just a local girl they stopped and took a photo with. Who would keep a photo of some random stranger on their mantel instead of their kids? It was bullshit and I knew it. I should have pressed them on it, but it didn’t seem important at the time. I figured it was some sex thing. Like maybe she was a prostitute they hired when they were on vacation to spice up the marriage or something.”

Malloy shook his head and scratched his scalp with a jagged nail that he’d gnawed down to the cuticle.

“I looked everywhere in that room. There was no picture like that when we were there. They must have noticed you looking at it and took it down,” Malloy offered.

“And those pictures being gone before Missing Persons got there looks real suspicious,” Mohammed added.

“Well, I’m just glad it’s not my case any more. This one is just gonna get weirder. You boys have fun with it. I need to get back to work.”

Detectives Malloy and Rafik shook Little’s hand.

“Mohammed. Malloy. I’ll see you guys around. Good luck with this one. Let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks.”

They left the precinct, mulling over what Detective Little had told them about the black woman with dreadlocks. The sun had set and twilight was just now darkening into night. Another day was gone and they were no closer to finding any of the missing girls.

“You think we’re dealing with some kind of cult?” Malloy asked, turning to Rafik.

“It’s beginning to look that way. Maybe we need to stake out the Wells house and find out whose collection plate they’re filling.”

“First let’s go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Neilson. We’ll let them know that their child was spotted near the scene of a murder and see what kind of reaction we get. Whatever the hell is going on I’m positive the parents are involved.”

Malloy looked at his watch. Twelve hours they’d been going without a break.

“You ever notice that everyone calls us ‘Mohammed and Malloy’? Everyone. ‘There goes Mohammed and Malloy.’ ‘Hey! It’s Mohammed and Malloy!’”

“That’s just because we’ve been partners for so long.”

“Why do they call you by your first name and I’m just Malloy?”

“Because ‘Mohammed and John’ doesn’t have the same rhythm to it.”

“Mohammed and John,” Malloy repeated. “Sounds like a chapter from the Bible. And why does your name always have to come first?”

“Because I’m sexier.”

They both laughed. As if on cue, Mohammed’s cell phone rang.

“You said you’d be home three hours ago! What the fuck is going on? Are you trying to avoid me?” the voice on the other end of the phone shrieked.

“No, baby, you know that’s not true. We’re on an important case. There are missing children involved. I can’t just drop everything and leave my partner here to handle it all.”

“Hey, man, I understand if you need to go home.”

Mohammed shook his head and waved him off.

“What, are you fuckin’ Malloy now or something? You spend more time with that redneck than you do with me.”

“Malloy is not a fuckin’ redneck. I told you, his dad is black.”

“His stepdad. He’s as white as a ghost. Can’t he handle anything without you?”

“Baby, I’ve got to go. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“When? What time?”

“I don’t know. As soon as I can.”

“But-“

“Sorry, baby. I’ll talk to you later.” Mohammed hung up. He turned his head and stared out the window, trying his best to keep his partner from seeing the stress on his face.

Malloy kept driving. In his mind, Mohammed was the living embodiment of the terms “hen-pecked” and “pussy-whipped.” His wife had him by the balls. She had completely emasculated him. From what Malloy could see, that relationship was in trouble and nothing he could say was going to help it.

Silence smothered them as they pulled onto the freeway. Almost half an hour went by before they were happily discussing the case once more. The conversation stalled as they pulled into the driveway of Mr. and Mrs. Neilson.

“What do you think we’re going to find here?” Malloy asked.

“More weird shit.”

Chapter 16

Delilah left her yard where her congregation continued to exalt in the ecstasy she had given them. Their blood sloshed in her belly and their pain singed her soul.

Her little group of worshipers was growing and so was the Loa’s appetite. It was growing stronger off the negative energy she fed it, too strong. She no longer heard its voice in her head. Its voice had become hers. Even its thoughts were becoming her thoughts, its desires, its wants. She could no longer distinguish between them. She only hoped that she was changing it as much as it was changing her. She knew what the Loa was and prayed she would never become that. But she didn’t know if she could stop it, if she could control it.

She wondered how much of what she felt for April was her own emotions and how much were the demon’s perverse lusts. She had never felt for a woman before though she had made love to dozens of them during the rituals, when the demon was in control.
Was it in control now?
She didn’t know if there was even a difference anymore.
But would it hurt April? Would she hurt April?
Delilah couldn’t be certain she wouldn’t, not if the Loa continued getting stronger.

Drums echoed from the backyard through the house. Delilah staggered down the hallway toward the stairs, choking back the screams threatening to tear out of her. She lost her balance and tripped into the wall, slamming hard against it as her mind reeled from the assault of so many horrific emotions. The sounds of passion filled the house. Screams and moans rising and falling like the thundering crescendos of a symphony. Her followers had abandoned all modesty and were furiously fucking as the Loa made use of their flesh to appease their lusts. Delilah was oblivious. All she could hear was the chaos raging in her own head. Their pain raged like a tempest within her, setting every nerve aflame.

No one followed her out of the yard, and for this small mercy she was thankful. She crept alone up to her bedroom, trembling and shaking with fear and rage not her own, the violent emotions she’d absorbed from her followers. Her mind was in agony. People were so evil and hateful, so tragic and pitiful. She didn’t know how they could stand to live with themselves. The thoughts and images going through Delilah’s mind were terrifying and depressing, worse than those of the demon. She wanted to reach into her skull and claw them out of her head. She needed to get rid of them before they destroyed her. She needed another sacrifice.

Delilah’s legs wobbled as she carried the weight of several lifetimes of misery with her up the stairs to her bedroom. She pushed open the door with one limp hand and stumbled into the room. The painful memories of her entire congregation flashed before her eyes. She fell upon the bed and curled up into a fetal position as the images and emotions buffeted her, bludgeoning her down into a fitful sleep.

She wept as she slumbered. Tears flowed like blood from an open artery, soaking her pillow. Occasionally she cried out, eventually screaming herself awake. She sat up in a bed soaked with her sweat and tears. Her eyes darted around the room until they fixed on a familiar silhouette. April.

In the corner, watching as Delilah convulsed in agony, sweating and moaning beneath the sheets, April sat unmoving. Delilah hadn’t seen her young lover come in, didn’t know how long she had been there watching her.

“Come lay with me, chile’.” Delilah whispered, reaching out a hand for her lover.

April stood and walked slowly across the room. She pulled her shirt over her head and unzipped her shorts, stepping out of them. Delilah smiled as April curled up beside her, holding her tight, trying to take back some of the pain she had given. It helped a little, but Delilah was afraid that what was inside her might seep into April. She scooted away from April, just far enough to be safe, but still close enough to feel her lover’s warmth. She fell into a sleep filled with nightmares.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” April wept, rubbing Delilah’s back with her fingertips. Delilah let out a loud scream and then fell back into a rhythm of spastic twitches, moans, and contortions, fighting to overcome the multifarious demons she’d taken on.

Chapter 17

Detectives Rafik and Malloy rang the doorbell of the Neilson residence and waited. The curtains were drawn and newspapers had accumulated on the front walkway. Moisture stained their outline into the concrete. The detectives had to ring several more times before a frazzled Mrs. Neilson swung open the door, struggling to cinch her robe closed, and looking as if she’d just been ridden hard and put away wet.

“Who is it?”

“I’m Detective Malloy and this is Detective Rafik. We’re with Las Vegas Metro Homicide. We’ve been assigned to your daughter’s case.”

“Homicide? Oh my God! Is she dead?” Mrs. Neilson’s eyes filled with genuine grief and her hands flew to her mouth, leaving her robe to fall open. Beneath it she wore only a pair of lace crotchless panties encircling a neatly shaven vagina still leaking seminal fluid. Her body was plump and cross-hatched with varicose veins and stretch marks, but her breasts were firm and full. Scars encircled the areola from a recent breast augmentation. Detective Rafik looked away, but Malloy couldn’t help but stare.

“As far as we know, your daughter is still alive. We haven’t located her yet, but we have eyewitnesses who spotted her at the Learning Tree Elementary school.”

“Oh, thank God!”

Two large hands wrapped around Mrs. Neilson’s waist, simultaneously closing her robe and pushing her aside and back into the house.

“Detectives.” Mr. Neilson stepped into the doorway, filling it completely. He reached out a large calloused hand and shook theirs. His eyes looked hard but not mean, the look of a man who expected to work hard for everything and to fight for everything he wanted to keep.

“So, if our daughter is still alive, why is this a matter for two homicide detectives?”

Mr. Neilson was a large man over six feet tall and nearly three hundred pounds. He reminded Mohammed of a lumberjack with his big bushy beard and long rat brown hair. He wore blue jeans with the zipper undone and the belt hanging loose in the loops. His white wife-beater tank top was stained with sweat, and perspiration dotted his forehead. There was little doubt between the two detectives that they had just interrupted a moment of intimacy between the Neilsons.