Page 2 of Darkness

Please let the kids not have seen.

Voices drifted from the back of the house, indicating more cops. So, maybe this wasn’t the worst of what he’d see. Blood stained the middle couch cushion, like someone sat in blood, then on the seat.

Pink toenails peeked out from under the couch, lying in a pool of blood. There wasn’t enough room under the couch for an entire body.

A woman. No. Morrisey couldn’t imagine her as a living person. Not right now. He knew better. She was a victim. One of six, dispatch said.

Morrisey steeled his nerves and rounded the couch. The rest of the victim. A stuffed elephant lay on the carpet, likely dropped by a child. A live child, simply unconscious. Thank God for some mercy.

“Oh, shit,” Will gasped behind Morrisey. He shouldn’t have to see this shit. What the actual fuck was he doing here?

Morrisey attempted to control his voice and not yell. “I told you to question our witnesses, Will. Find out what the neighbors saw. I’ll take the house. Don’t walk through. Leave the way you came in.”

Quick footsteps left the room. Crimes involving children affected Will much more since he’d become a father of three. He didn't have to witness the horrors they might find in the remainder of the house.

Three dead women. Three unconscious kids. Morrisey cracked his neck left and right. No use putting things off. He’d have nightmares tonight for sure unless he drank enough to manage a dreamless sleep.

He ought not to do this. He really shouldn’t, but fate had given him gifts—or curses—for a reason. Morrisey slipped off one glove enough to uncover his index finger, checked over his shoulder to assure no witnesses, then placed his knuckle on a bit of unbloodied skin. Just enough for contact.

Impressions filled his mind, not like he’d lived them, but like secondhand smoke. Happiness, excitement. Love for her son. Helena. The woman’s name was Helena.

She’d been in the kitchen. The doorbell rang. Through a stranger’s eyes, Morrisey watched Helena tell the others around her she’d be right back, then hurry toward the door. A small boy toddled after her, clutching the toy elephant. She greeted the new arrival with a warm smile.

Fear, terrifying, paralyzing, sudden fear. No! A scream stuck in her throat. Pain! Oh, God, the pain! Falling, pleading, hitting the couch, crawling. Someone, help me! Please, no! Why?

Her last thought rang in Morrisey’s head. He snatched his hand away, breathing hard, heart pounding, shaking his head to dislodge the connection. Regardless of how many times he secretly witnessed crimes, the process never got easier. The woman knew her attacker, but Morrisey mostly felt emotions and didn’t see who stood at the door.

He glanced around the room, clinically noting the position of each piece of evidence, cataloging information internally to keep from dwelling on the victims. A shoe here. A knocked over table there. Morrisey couldn’t help the victims now except to find justice.

He mapped out in his mind a scene he’d commit to paper later, with no need to measure. A picture above the TV showed the woman, a small boy, and a man. A happy family destroyed by some lunatic.

Voices led him to the kitchen. He ambled down the hallway in a daze. Two officers left the room at Morrisey’s approach, giving him access. Oh, God. Yeah. Will couldn’t see this. A birthday cake sat on the dining table. Cheery yellow letters spelled out “Happy Birthday Johnny.”

Unopened presents were stacked beside a child-size ballcap. Dispatch reports showed none of the kids had been older than three or four. So young. Seeing their mothers killed during a birthday party.

A pair of forensics investigators descended, a small woman in a hazmat suit taking measurements while a man Morrisey would bet on to be the ultimate champion in a contest with a Mack truck took pictures, the two working silently in tandem, as though long-used to working together. White numbered cards marked pieces of evidence. Morrisey removed his notepad and pen from his suit jacket and took notes despite it being unnecessary. Everything sank into his memory with startling clarity. One adult accounted for, and two more to go. “Where’re the others?”

A cop in the hallway hollered, “Backyard. I hope you didn’t eat a big lunch.” His partner gave a nervous chuckle.

Morrisey crossed the kitchen, careful not to contaminate the scene, and exited by the back door.

There had to be more than one killer to violently murder three adults in broad daylight before anyone escaped.

Or a single fast one.

The backyard looked like Armageddon. An overgrown privacy fence kept the neighbors from seeing what nobody ought to. Blood. Everywhere. Morrisey pitied the medical examiner who'd have to decipher the carnage.

He clenched his teeth to avoid retching. No, he’d been at this too long to lose his shit. As Will had said, someone had to. Might as well be someone with a reputation for not having a heart rather than some kindhearted soul who’d never recover.

A pained moan pulled his attention to the other side of the yard and through an open gate. Will stood just inside, hands to his mouth. He turned and fled. Why was he even here?

Dark hair, dark, unseeing eyes staring at nothing. Damn! The woman lying on the table could’ve been a sister to Will’s wife. A blood trail led to the third victim, who’d collapsed at the far end of the yard.

Fuck. Will did not need to see this.

All this blood and no bloody footprints. Like a ghost materialized, killed these people, then vanished. Please let the case not go cold this time.

Morrisey owed Johnny and the others to find the sick fucks who’d done this.

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