Page 75 of Darkness

At first glance, only a pile of tattered rags showed—shredded shirt, bloody tie—until Farren rose and stepped behind the dumpster. Bloody rags and a rib cage. The low light hid details, but some of the team set up floodlights.

Farren kind of wished they hadn’t. Morrisey maintained his composed facade as he approached, only his heart rate spiked. Sour notes invaded his scent.

What? Farren had never noticed a heartbeat or change in a human’s scent before. Was this specific to Morrisey, or were new abilities coming online?

“Shit,” Morrisey grumbled. Ah, the king of understatement.

Farren quirked an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Uh-uh.” Morrisey tugged on gloves, kneeled, then gently moved remnants of the T-shirt to view the damage beneath. He released a soft whistle. “I’ve seen gang fights, crimes of passion, and even sadistic motherfuckers, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Farren squatted next to Morrisey, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard by Atlanta PD officers. “Some less than savory travelers fed from the victim’s fear. They might still be hungry because fear doesn’t nourish the body well. This is rage. This is a tantrum. There’s no sign of the murder weapon.”

Morrisey indicated the dumpster with a tilt of his head. “Yet. My bet’s on in there. Did he have ID?”

“Not that they’ve found.”

Morrisey bent close to whisper, “Can you do your… you know… thing?”

Farren shook his head. “The victim is too far gone.” Judging by the condition of the body, even attempting might cause Farren irreversible trauma.

Morrisey pulled off one glove and rested the knuckles of two fingers against a patch of clear skin. He closed his eyes, drawing in a long breath. His eyes popped open. “Nothing.”

“What did you just do?” Farren hadn't commented on similar behavior before.

Morrisey turned away, but not before displaying a momentary flicker of guilt. “Sometimes I get… impressions from victims. Just what they were feeling right before death.”

Farren had met a few psychics throughout the years who'd claimed they could do the same. They couldn’t. But if Morrisey could... What a brave sonofabitch to voluntarily experience the poor victim's feelings. “Who knows about this hidden talent of yours?”

“Counting you?”

“Yes.”

Morrisey kept his voice to a nearly indistinct mumble. “Two. Me and you.”

So many questions Farren wanted to ask. They must wait for later when he got Morrisey alone.

A member of the task force took pictures from the angles Morrisey had first viewed. Atlanta PD held back as the officers waited for the FBI to finish their initial investigation. Some grumbled about delays, while others were in no hurry to come nearer. The task force’s presence usually meant situations the average person wanted no part of.

Unless they were a sick fuck.

Morrisey rose, offering a hand up.

Farren took the gesture he saw as a peace offering—especially after being avoided all day—rising to his feet but not actually needing help. “Thank you. Now let’s let forensics get to work. Come with me.”

Morrisey cocked his head to the side but fell into step beside Farren. "Where are we headed?"

“I want to check the perimeter.”

“For what?”

"Unless someone stumbles into this world accidentally, moving between realms calls for a portal. Those require a great deal of energy, and hints linger for days, sometimes weeks."

One of the rookies approached before they could leave the alley. “Sir? You need to see this.”

Farren retraced his steps, Morrisey on his heels.

A bloody blob lay on the ground, partially obscured by shadow. The rookie turned the blob. A face. A head?

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