The Light Who Shines (6 page)

“What am I going to do with you, shadow-walker?”

He looks up at me with questioning eyes.

I put my hand on my hip and say, “You had better come with
me.”

He walks by my side on the way to the car, seemingly
oblivious to his wound, and waits patiently while I pop the trunk. I pull out a
blanket and arrange it over the back seat. When all is set, I wave the wolf in.
He immediately hops in the back seat of my car like he’s been doing it all of
his days. He takes up the entire back seat when he lies down.

I slide into the driver’s seat and immediately wrinkle my
nose at the stench of wet, dirty animal. Reaching over, I spring the latch on
the glove box and pull out a granola bar to feed him. I think he eats it,
though it’s really hard to tell because it disappears so quickly. He certainly
didn’t taste it, and there was absolutely no chewing action going on. I think that
maybe a bath, medical care, and food are in order. I definitely prefer my
wolves well fed.

Bluebell Kildare: May 27, 2022, Red Ages

I pull my car to a stop in front of the shop my neighbor Alexis
owns. It’s located in the middle of Dunnwell Street, a thriving business community
in our neighborhood. The storefronts are well kept and have old quality
craftsmanship in their design. Alexis Demetriou’s storefront is intricately
paneled and painted in sage green, burgundy, and cream. Whimsical stenciling on
her large front windows announces “Herbal Enchantments” with smaller print
below that says “Amulets, potions, charms, etcetera.” I’m here for the
etcetera.

I let the wolf out and look at him closely. He looks smaller
now, just about the size of a large dog. I shake my head. I must be going mad!
My state of panic surely played tricks on my mind.

As I walk in with the wolf pushing in front of me, the door
chimes merrily announce our arrival. Alexis has her back turned toward the door
as she places little bottles of potions on a shelf. She’s wearing a neatly
pressed, pale blue pantsuit that makes her dark chocolate curls stand out
beautifully.

The store is filled with bottles of all shapes and colors
with neatly printed labels. The colored glass sparkles even in the dim light filtering
through the clouds and the large storefront windows. Aside from the shelves of
potions, there are walls of charms and several amulet trees. The place is in
pristine and orderly condition. I don’t blame the place at all. I wouldn’t get
out of line either if I were Alexis’ store.

Alexis is tall and fit, but curvy in a generous way—as
opposed to me, who is curvy in a barely noticeable way. I like to think that
her generous bosom reflects her generous personality. She has brown skin, large
brown eyes, and beautifully thick hair. She also has a lot of sass. It seems
like when she’s not pointing her finger, she’s crossing her arms or putting her
hands on her hips or raising her eyebrows. And look out if she starts shaking
her head at you.

Alexis turns around and her eyes widen, showing an
extraordinary amount of eyeball, but in a good way. “Great Demon of the Abyss!”
she exclaims. “You have a wolf with you!”

She rushes forward, but a few paces away from him she seems
to remember he is a wolf. She stops and offers her hand slowly. He sniffs her
hand, giving it a perfunctory lick. Then he starts casing the shop, sniffing
fervently at the abundance of scented goods.

I spit out in one breath, “I was attacked in an alley behind
our building this morning—a man from a case I’m working on, but don’t worry,
I’m fine. This wolf appeared out of nowhere and tore into him like an avenging angel.
The guy disappeared and got away. I don’t think he’s dangerous unless he’s
threatened.” I pause for breath.

Alexis puts her hands on her hips, clearly outraged. “What
do you mean you don’t think he’s dangerous? He jumped you in the alley, and you
have dried blood on your neck!”

I widen my eyes and grab my neck. “Shoot, I forgot about
that! But I meant I don’t think the wolf is dangerous. I’m going to keep him.
The man is definitely dangerous. The wolf got cut by him, and he is in far
worse condition than I am.”

Alexis’ eyes flit to the wolf and then back to me. Then she
immediately springs to action, her healing nature taking over.

She squats down and informs the wolf, “Now, I’m going to
touch you gently by your wound, and you are going to remain calm and stay
still.”

She tentatively parts the bloody hair on his left flank, and
he abides by her orders, standing still through her ministrations. I watch
carefully for signs of aggression but see none.

Alexis looks up at me, and I can feel her relief as she says,
“Thankfully it is not that bad. His fur protected him a good deal, and the rain
seems to have helped. It looks like the knife nicked some surface blood vessels,
but the wound isn’t deep.”

Then she looks at the wolf and starts cooing, “You poor thing,
you look so starved! Let’s get you something to eat and take care of that cut.”

This is not an unexpected response. Alexis does two things
very well. She can cook up herbal potions like no one’s business, and she also
does her best to feed everyone in sight. I personally agree that feeding him
before taking care of the injury is a wise idea.

Alexis leads us to a back room equipped with a small
commercial kitchen decorated in a mix of stainless steel and country charm. She
does most of her potion mixing in this comfortable and efficient space. Alexis’
assistant, Penelope, is busy ladling some mixture into bottles with a funnel.
She turns to say something to Alexis and immediately drops the ladle back into
the pot with a plop when she sees the wolf.

Alexis smiles and says, “Penelope, we have a patient today.
Do you want to mind the front while I take care of him back here?”

Penelope is a pretty, young girl with rosy cheeks and curly
hair that frequently escapes her bun. She is usually hardworking but a little
silly. Right now I think the term slack-jawed most adequately describes her as
she stares, mouth agape, at the wolf. The wolf, in return, is utterly ignoring
her. Eventually Alexis’ words seem to penetrate Penelope’s temporarily addled brain
because she wrings her apron in her hands and promptly runs up front.

I hop up on the edge of the butcher block island as Alexis
starts pulling things from the cabinets. She opens a purple bottle and pours a
green substance on some gauze pads. Handing them to me, she instructs, “Dab
this around your injury while I care for the wolf. What are you going to call
him, anyway? ”She turns her back to me and starts pulling things from the fridge.

I consider her question for a minute before replying, “Well,
the only real memory I have of my mother is of her telling me a bedtime story
about a wolf. It’s hazy, only a wisp of a memory really, but I think she called
the wolf Varg. So that’s his name.”

Alexis turns around to look at me as I tell her that story.
Her eyes go soft and warm. Then she turns around again and starts briskly heating
things in stainless steel pots on the red porcelain stove. “Varg is the perfect
name,” she says.

“So, do you have any remedies for fleas and worms handy as
well? I think he’s been traveling a long way without any care. I also need a
strong soap for his coat.”

Alexis looks up thoughtfully. “I usually don’t sell
veterinary supplies out of the store. I do make them, but I make them in
batches when I get requests. I’ll have to make some from scratch.”

“Do you mind? I’ll pay you, of course.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, I insist. But it’s going to take a
little time.” She turns to me with narrowed eyes. “And I’m not going to let him
go wandering around town with you when he’s full of potions. Even though they’re
natural, they do take a lot out of a body. He’s hurt, and he’s going to need
protection against viruses and diseases as well. We don’t know where he has
been, but here in the city with the dog population, he’s at risk. And good Lord!“
She sniffs. “He needs a bath.” Alexis finishes this with a nod like it is all
decided now.

She turns back to the stove and handles the long wooden
spoon like a master while I hop down to rummage through her cabinets. I locate
a large, green glass bowl, fill it with cold water, and set it on the brick floor.
Varg starts lapping the water up with a terrific thirst but stops as soon as
Alexis puts down another huge glass bowl filled with rice, ground beef, and
garlic.

“Wow! Just wow!” I say as we watch him move over to that
bowl and devour it like it’s nothing.

Alexis crosses her arms and says, “Yeah. He’d better stay
with me today. I’ll get him in shape.”

I give Alexis a big smile. “Thanks so much. I’ve got a new
case, so I’ll be running around all day. I’m so glad he doesn’t have to wait
for the end of the day to get fixed up.”

“Of course he shouldn’t wait with that injury. Now, don’t
worry about him. I’ll see you when you get off work. If the shop is closed, you
know where to find me.”

Then she wets a paper towel and leans over me to dab at my neck.
“There, you’re all clean now.”

I hug her and affect a serious tone. “Now I owe you one. If
anyone ever murders you, remember, I’m the one you should call.”

Alexis laughs and pushes me toward the swinging door. “Go, get,
scoot!”

I start to leave with a smile on my lips. Then I remember
something, so I spin around. “Hey Alexis, I have one more question. If you
wanted to learn more about a certain magical artifact, where would you go?”

“Easy. The Dragomir Magical Artifact Shop. Make sure you
speak with the owner.”

“Thanks again!” I shout, running out the door on my way to
the Medical Examiner’s office.

Bluebell Kildare: May 27, 2022, Red Ages

I think to myself how ugly the new Medical Examiner’s
building is as I eat up the sidewalk on the way in. It rises out of the
mountainside as a cement and steel square oddity in disaccord with the rustic
countryside. Hopefully it was gentle on the taxpayers’ pocketbooks because it
certainly isn’t an asset to our architecture.

By now the rain has stopped, and a steady, cooling breeze
blows my straight brown hair across my face. I tuck it behind my ear as I enter
the building.

Inside, the receptionist accepts my ID and gives her
reluctant assent for me to proceed to the autopsy room. I gather by the way her
mouth sours upon sight of me that she doesn’t care for my kind. I don’t care
for her kind either—the breedist kind.

Pushing past the steel door, I enter the heart of the
operation. Dr. Nathan Perlman, with a two-day shadow on his chin and a
clipboard in his hand, is standing over a body. He looks up, and I see his affable
smile is a bit forced today. He looks tired and worn but tries to put up a cheerful
front. “Good morning, Bluebell. I was expecting you.”

He covers the body on his table with a white sheet and
pushes it through a cooler door while whistling. I think the whistling is for
his benefit more than mine. He pulls out another table and maneuvers it toward
the examining area. “This is our boy.”

“Well, I’m afraid to ask what you’ve found.”

Nathan nods solemnly. “The only good thing about telling you
what I’m about to is that I know you’re going to find the person who did this.
That thought has been my saving grace today.”

I say softly and firmly, meaning it from the bottom of my
soul, “I promise, Nathan. I will do my very best.”

Nathan nods and pulls back the sheet. He picks up another
clipboard and starts his report. “This is a summary of my preliminary findings.
The cause of death appears to be due to blunt force head trauma caused by a
vehicular collision.” Nathan points to an area on the front of the boy’s skull.
“The frontal bone was crushed on impact, causing fracture contusions on his
brain, massive hemorrhage, and immediate death. Fragments of glass were found
in the wound area.”

Nathan points to the back of the boy’s skull. “The occipital
bone was also fractured, causing brain contusions and additional hemorrhage. Abrasions
on this site of injury show fragments of asphalt embedded in the wound area.”

Nathan pulls the sheet down further and points to the boy’s
hip. “His left pelvis is crushed, and his right pelvis has multiple fractures.
This pattern of contusions here appears to be a car’s grill pattern.” He points
to a crosshatch pattern of bloody stripes on the boy’s skin extending from his
left hip down over his left thigh.

Nathan pulls the sheet down further still and points to the lower
left leg where the bone protrudes. “His left tibia and his left fibula both
have complete fractures and several incomplete fractures. The tibia on his
right leg has one incomplete fracture. Green paint chips were found embedded in
his thigh.”

Nathan pauses and looks at me. “All of these injuries and
evidence so far indicate that his death was caused by impact with a passenger
vehicle driving at moderate speeds. It appears the car hit him at a slight
angle from the left. His leg was immediately broken by the bumper, and his hip
and thigh hit the grill at an angle. His forehead hit the windshield, causing instantaneous
death. At that time, I believe the driver put on his breaks, and the boy’s body
was thrown back onto the asphalt where the road impacted his skull again and
left the asphalt in the back of his head. His back side is also covered in
contusions and is embedded with asphalt.”

I feel nausea and tension building in my stomach. It is not
that what Nathan has told me and shown me so far is too much. I’ve been doing
this for a while. It’s that I know there is still much more to come and it’s a
lot to handle at once. I ask, “Can you give me just a minute?”

Nathan nods. “Sure. Take as much time as you need.” He
gently covers the boy’s body again with the sheet.

I turn my back on the table and walk away. Keeping my back
to the table, I start to pace briskly, but the sound of my heels clicking on
the cold cement floor reverberates through the room and agitates me more. I halt,
turn toward the opposite corner of the room, and close my eyes. I feel the
tension built up in my body, and horror reels in the back of my mind, threatening
to overcome me. I roll my neck and do some slow, deep breathing to contain it.
When I finally restore some calm to my body, I return.

“Okay, Doc. I’m ready. What else do you have?”

Nathan mercifully keeps the sheet over the body for a bit
longer and says, “During my internal examination, I found that the body is well
hydrated, but the gall bladder is distended, and the stomach and intestines are
empty. The total body weight is 112 pounds, and with a height of five eleven,
that gives the deceased a BMI of 15.6. This information combined with his labs tells
me that this boy was dangerously undernourished.”

“Can you tell how long he was without food?” I ask.

Nathan replies, “I can tell you that he did not have food
recently, but it’s unclear if his malnourishment came from having no food at
all for a shorter period or if he had inadequate food for a longer period. The
amount of time a person can survive on little or no sustenance really depends
on their starting weight and their basic metabolic rate. I can say that the
extent of his other injuries prior to the collision would have increased his
energy requirements significantly.”

“Okay,” I say, taking that in. I cross my arms over my chest
as if I can shield myself from the information. “What else do you have?”

Nathan draws the sheet aside to reveal one hand and points
at the boy’s wrist. “Both wrists are completely encircled in calluses about two
inches wide. Bruising and contusions encircle the base of his hands.”

He points to the upper arm and shoulder. “Behind the
shoulder, the teres major muscle is torn on both sides, and the ligament tissue
connecting the long head of the triceps brachii muscle to the bone is torn. Both
ankles show similar calluses and contusions at the top of the foot. The
injuries and bruising on both the ankles and the wrists show all stages of
healing, which means that the wounds were continuously afflicted over a period
of time lasting at least two weeks.”

Holding my hand up for a pause, I probe, “Is it possible he
was tied with a rope or handcuffed?”

Nathan’s face turns into a deep scowl. “If it was rope, I
would have expected to see fibers embedded and a rash. The skin is clean as
though it was metal encasing his hands and feet. But handcuffs are too narrow
to provide the wide grooving and callusing I see here. These injuries are more consistent
with having feet shackled and hands shackled over the head.”

Nathan moves to the end of the table and gently folds back the
sheet that covers the boy’s feet and lower legs. A foul odor fills the air,
making my stomach roil in protest. I reluctantly join Nathan at that side of
the table.

Nathan points to the bottom of the boy’s feet, which are black,
wrinkled, and covered in sores. “This boy had a condition commonly known as trench
foot. This is evidenced by the wrinkled skin on the bottoms of his feet and the
blisters and open sores on the bottoms and sides of his feet.”

He points to the black, rotting toe and says, “Fungal
infection and gangrene had set in. This stage of trench foot lasts from two to
six weeks. Additionally, I found evidence of human fecal matter and urine on
the bottoms of his feet. Trench foot occurs when the foot is in damp and cold
but not freezing conditions for an extended period of time.” Nathan steps back
and covers the feet again.

Nathan sighs. “I have one last area of injury to show you.”
He gently rolls the boy over on his side and lifts the sheet to show his back.
I can see wounds and bruising extending from his waist to his neck. “First of
all, he has a mark, a green circle on his lower back. I assume it’s a magic
mark, but you are a better judge of that than I am. As you observed at the
scene, this boy had lacerations and bruising covering his entire back. They’re in
various stages of healing. Because the wounds are deeper in this area,” Nathan explains
as he points to the boy’s mid-back where the skin is stripped away and muscle
is exposed, “I can estimate that some of this healing took place over the
course of three to four weeks. The forensic report will take some time, but I
found fibers in these wounds that appeared to be made of some sort of leather.
Preliminarily, I believe these injuries were sustained from a leather whip.”

I step back, turn away, and clasp my shaking hands as I’m
filled with insurmountable rage. The sound of my blood pulsing through my body
fills my ears with a wild rushing sound as my head buzzes. I try to regain some
control, but the image of the boy is vivid in my mind. I see him starving,
chained, and shackled in some cold, dark place. I see him being whipped day
after day until his flesh peels away like the skin of an onion. With great
effort, I push the image into a corner of my mind. I need to carry on. My job is
to find the monster who did it. I will find him.

With my back still turned, I ask, “Anything else?”

Nathan answers, “No. But I did check for sexual assault and am
at least relieved that there are no signs he had to endure that indignity as
well.”

“Well, thank goodness for small miracles. Our perpetrator is
a real saint, isn’t he?” Spinning around to face Nathan and the body again, I
inquire, “Did you send the preliminary report over to Detective Gambino?”

Nathan smiles wryly. “Yes, about an hour ago. I included
images and measurements of the grill pattern.”

I give Nathan a tip of my hat and a slight bow of gratitude.
“Thank you so much, Nathan, for doing that which needs to be done. Please give
me a call if you find anything else significant or when the pathology and
forensic results come back.”

“I certainly will. But can I ask you a personal question?”

I nod my assent and Nathan asks, “Why do you insist on
coming here for the preliminary results rather than just accepting my report?
Wouldn’t it be easier to take in writing? I can see how much it affects you.”

I look Nathan directly in the eyes to divulge my logic.
“There are two reasons. First, as you know, I’m a Sensitive. While I can’t feel
anything from a body when the soul has left, by looking at it and hearing and
seeing what happened, I can get a feel for the shape of the evilness that possessed
the perpetrator. When I encounter a soul that has the feel of someone capable
of that sort of evilness, I can sometimes see a potential match. My sense can’t
be conclusive, but it can tell me if a person could possibly be the
perpetrator. I can also rule people out. The second reason is that I need to
feel the pain. That will drive me to find the perpetrator. I’ll turn back to remember
today countless times when I am frustrated and at a loss, and because of today,
I’ll keep on.”

Nathan looks at me with understanding dawning on his face,
and I feel his empathy wafting toward me. “I can’t imagine what it is to feel
the soul of a person who does things like this.”

I accept his empathy with a nod. Then I turn and walk out,
remarking over my shoulder, “In case you’re wondering, you have a good soul,
Nathan.” He has a very good soul.