WINDWALKER (THE PROPHECY SERIES) (2 page)

****

Two blocks of city streets had been marked off with yellow crime scene tape. What was left of the nine gang members were right where they’d fallen – some of them in pieces, a couple of them too damaged to identify. The one with the skin peeled off his body was the most puzzling, but the Coroner, Dr. Chin, was already doing initial observations with the detectives right behind him, hoping there would be identification in the clothing.

Detective Billy Wallis of the New Orleans P.D. was a twenty-year veteran on the force; fifty-one years old with a thick head of graying hair and a body as square as his jaw. He caught lead on the case, and met up with his partner, Thomas Pomeroy on scene. They’d been trying to make sense of it ever since. Pomeroy was leaning toward it being some kind of gang fight caught by the storm, when a beat cop appeared with a handful of security tapes that blew through the theory.

“Technology at its finest,” the cop said. “All of the businesses on this street were closed when this happened, but four of the nine coughed up security tapes. I think you need to see these. There was another person here. I saw her on the tape and I think you need to see it ASAP. Also, there’s a purse and a knife over there behind that trash can pertaining to the case.”

“A woman was in the middle of this? Son-of-a-bitch. We’ve got another body to look for.”

Wallis walked over to the trash cans and looked behind them. Sure enough, there was a woman’s tooled leather purse right where he said it would be, and a pig-sticker knife with a wicked looking blade.

“There’s a purse here all right, but some pickpocket could have dumped it there after stripping it clean. If there was a woman in all this, then where is the body?”

The cop shrugged. “Watch the tape and figure it out for yourself.”

Wallis frowned. “This is no time to go all mystic on me. What do I need to see?”

The cop shrugged. “On the tape, it looks like she got sucked up into some kind of whirlwind and disappeared.”

“Fuck,” Wallis muttered, then yelled at his partner. “Hey Pomeroy! Call the weather bureau and ask if there was a tornado down here with last night’s storm.”

Pomeroy pulled out his phone as Wallis waved at a crime scene tech.

“Yo! Rivera. Come get a shot of this purse and knife, then see if you can find any ID inside the bag.”

The crime scene tech stepped back from the bodies he’d been photographing and moved over to where the detectives were standing.

“Where?” he asked.

Wallis pointed.

Rivera took a trio of shots, then moved the trash can, bagged the knife, and squatted beside the purse. He lifted the loose flap with his pen and poked inside.

“There’s a wallet,” he said, then gloved up and pulled it out by the edges. It fell open, revealing the face of an attractive young woman with an Arizona driver’s license.

“Layla Birdsong, twenty-eight years old, out of Arizona. Name and face looks Native American. What in hell was she doing down here?”

Rivera saw the edge of a plastic room key sticking out of the wallet and pushed it out with the tip of the pen.

“Here’s a room key. She was staying at the Marriott.”

“Hold that wallet still,” Wallis said, and took a photo of the driver’s license and room key with his cell phone, then stood up as Rivera bagged the purse as well. “You got a couple of extra evidence bags?”

Rivera dug them out of his shoulder pack.

“Security tapes,” Wallis said. “I’ll log them into evidence after we stop by the hotel. We’ll be viewing them in investigations later today.”

Rivera made a note in his notebook. “Anything else you want me to shoot here?”

“No. Carry on,” Wallis said. “Pomeroy and I are going to the Marriot from here.” Then he waved Pomeroy down and headed for the car.

“Find out anything from the weather bureau?” Wallis asked, as Pomeroy slid into the seat beside him.

“Definitely no tornado warnings, only what they called a brief downburst as the storm cell collapsed.”

“What about top wind speed?”

“Gusts up to 40 to 45 mph. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Wallis frowned. “That does not help the theory of a storm causing this bodily destruction.”

“Maybe it’ll be on those mysterious tapes,” Pomeroy said.

“Maybe, but I’m stopping at the Marriot first. If we’re lucky we’ll find answers in Birdsong’s hotel room.”

It wasn’t far from their crime scene to the hotel. They pulled up at Valet Parking, flashed their badges as they got out, strode into the hotel and up to the check-in desk where they flashed their badges again.

“We need to speak with your manager,” Wallis said.

A clerk hastened to fill their request. Moments later, a tall, elegant black man appeared, smiling cordially.

“Detectives. I’m John Samuels. Would you mind coming to my office so that we don’t block check-in lines?”

“Lead the way,” Wallis said, as he and Pomeroy followed the man into his office.

“Please, have a seat,” Samuels said. He sat then leaned forward. “How may I be of assistance?”

Wallis pulled up the photo of Layla Birdsong’s driver’s license and room key.

“Do you recognize this woman?” he asked.

Samuels shook his head. “No, but I just came on duty today after two days off. Is she dead?”

“We don’t know where she is, but she’s a person of interest in a case we’re working,” Wallis said. “Would you please see if she’s still registered in this hotel?”

“Of course,” Samuels said, and swung his chair around to the computer and typed in the name. A few moments later he paused and looked up. “She’s still registered here. Room 404.”

Wallis nodded in satisfaction. “We need to see it.”

Samuels opened his desk and pulled out a master key.

“If you’ll follow me.”

They were on their way out when a clerk burst into the room.

“Mr. Samuels! One of the maids found a body in Room 404. She doesn’t know if the woman is dead or alive.”

“Call 911 and have hotel security meet us there,” Samuels snapped, and increased his stride.

“Shit,” Pomeroy muttered, following Samuels out of the office.

“This way. It’s faster,” Samuels said, and headed for a service elevator.

The ride was short. As they got off the elevator they heard a woman screaming and ran. It was the maid, squatting down in the hall with her hands over her head, praying between shrieks. Hotel security came out of a stairwell at the other end of the hall and joined them.

Samuels picked out a man from their security and pointed at the maid. “Take her to the break room. The police will want to talk to her.”

As it turned out, they had no need for the pass key. The maid had gone in to change the sheets and the door was still ajar. As they entered, they saw the woman’s nude, bloody body lying on the floor. She wasn’t moving.

“Oh dear lord,” Samuels said, and took a step forward.

“Stay back!” Wallis snapped, then countered the order with an apology. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bark. If you would direct the rest of the officers and crime scene techs to this room when they arrive, we would greatly appreciate it.”

“Of course,” the manager said. He shuddered as he gave the body one last glance and quickly left the scene.

Wallis squatted down beside her to check for a pulse, expecting a flat-line. When it thumped beneath his touch, he rocked back on his heels.

“She’s alive! Call a bus!” he yelled.

Pomeroy grabbed his phone as Wallis leaned closer. He wouldn’t move her for fear of exacerbating the injuries, but made sure there was no obstruction to her breathing. When he was satisfied her airway was open, he assessed the visible injuries.

The bruising on her body was massive, and there was blood, both dried and seeping in different locations. One eye was swollen shut, and there was a long slash down the back of one arm, as well as cuts and scrapes on the palms of her hands. What he couldn’t figure out was how she got from the crime scene to here, or why she was still alive when everyone else on the scene had been decimated?

“Bus on the way,” Pomeroy said, as the sound of an approaching siren could already be heard.

Wallis touched her arm. “Hang in there, lady. Help is coming.”

Pomeroy had been moving around the room, and from what he could see, nothing made much sense.

“The bed is bloody as hell, and so are the clothes on the floor. At one time, she was obviously in bed in this condition, because there’s too much blood in too many places, for it to be scatter.”

“I agree,” Wallis said. “We’ll leave this for the crime scene techs to figure out. Right now we’ve got a live witness. I just need her to wake up and tell us what the hell happened out there.”

Moments later they heard footsteps running down the hall. Pomeroy stepped out to flag them down, and then moved aside as they rushed inside.

Wallis gave the woman up to the EMTs, and the room up to another team from crime scene, and as soon as they transported her, he and his partner followed the ambulance to the hospital.

****

Pain was the first thing Layla felt as she began to regain consciousness. Her eyelids were heavy, like she’d been drugged. She heard someone calling her name and struggled to wake up.

“Layla! Layla Birdsong! I’m Dr. Toussaint. You’ve been injured and are in the emergency room. Can you tell me where you hurt?”

Layla licked her lips, her voice just above a whisper. “Everywhere.”

She heard a woman’s soft, Cajun voice near her ear.

“We’re taking good care of you, cher.”

Layla tried to take a breath, but her belly hurt. She reached for her midriff, but someone grabbed her hand. It was the same woman with the soft voice.

“No, baby… don’t move. Let Doctor Toussaint work his magic on you.”

The doctor was talking, but Layla lost focus when she began hearing the drums again. He was near! She could feel it. And there was something else that she knew. He didn’t belong in this world.

Chapter Two

Detectives Wallis and Pomeroy were waiting for Toussaint when the doctor emerged from the exam bay.

“Is she conscious?” Wallis said.

“She’s in and out,” Toussaint said. “We’re moving her upstairs as soon as a room is available.”

“Can we talk to her? I have nine bodies in pieces out in a street and she’s my only witness.”

Toussaint frowned. “You can try, but if it rattles her, you’re out.”

The detectives nodded and quickly strode into the room. There was a nurse checking vitals that gave them a sharp glance, then saw their badges and looked away.

Pomeroy paused, shocked by the brutality she had endured. “It’s a freakin’ miracle she’s still breathing,” he muttered.

Wallis moved toward the bed.

“Miss Birdsong? Miss Birdsong? Can you hear me?”

Layla heard the voice and registered the question, but it was a struggle to answer.

“Um… hear.”

“I’m Detective Wallis, and this is my partner, Detective Pomeroy. We’re with the New Orleans Police Department. We need to talk about what happened to you.”

“Gang,” she mumbled, and then reached toward the pain in her belly.

The nurse stopped her. “Don’t touch it, honey. There are bandages.”

“Hurts,” she whispered.

“Doctor Toussaint ordered pain meds. They’ll be here shortly,” she said.

Tears rolled from the corners of Layla’s eyes.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Wallis asked. “Do you remember?”

She shook her head. “Not much.”

Wallis persisted. “Tell us what you do remember. It’s very important. You said there was a gang.”

She thought back, remembering the dark street and the oncoming storm. The men! They’d come out of the shadows without warning.

“One grabbed me here.” She touched her breast. “Another had a knife. Cut my stomach… my arm. Thought I would die.”

Pomeroy glanced at Walllis, sickened by the violence she was describing.

“What happened then?” Wallis asked.

“Not sure… I fought. I think… no, I know that I killed the one with the knife.”

Wallis’s eyes widened. “You took one down? What did the others do?”

She frowned again, trying to remember. “Watched. Shouting. Laughing…until he died. Then the storm came.”

“Did you see what was happening during the storm? Think hard. What tore those men up?”

She finally opened her eyes. Both men were leaning over her bed, waiting. She heard the drums again.

Answer truthfully.

“The whirlwind… it was a whirlwind.”

Layla exhaled slowly then closed her eyes.

The nurse frowned. “She’s had enough. You need to leave now.”

Wallis nodded. “If we have any other questions, we’ll come back tomorrow.”

Layla didn’t answer. Like she had a choice? The man – the spirit - whatever he was, said there would be tapes. He said they would be leaked and bad people would come. It was beginning, just like he said it would.

She was scared – as scared as she’d ever been in her life. The only thing that kept her from coming undone was the promise he’d made to come back.

****

They’d watched the tapes – all of them. Some were better than others depending on the angle of the cameras, but they all told the same story. A gang of nine had come out of an alley and attacked Layla Birdsong. What she had neglected to mention was that after they’d cut her twice and were about to close circle and finish her off, she backed off like she was gearing up for a race, smeared her own blood on her face and gone after the one with the knife without hesitation.

Wallis had gotten chills watching, and was resisting the urge to rewind it again. She was one tough cookie. Once she and her attacker went down, the gang had closed circle. The cameras didn’t catch how she’d managed to win the battle, but it was all too clear she was the only one who got up when it was over.

And that was when everything got weird.

There was a huge flash of light on the tape, which they took to be lightning, and then all of the shots from the cameras became blurry as the air became filled with debris. By the time it cleared enough to see what was happening, the wind had begun gathering, spinning and turning into a swirl of contained power unlike anything they’d ever seen.