Page 27 of Deadly Deception
Henson’s narrowed eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged and answered, “Only that I suspect he’s one of the souls currently haunting Navarre. Regardless, now that we have his body, I can pull his soul back. I’ve got both puzzle pieces.” I wasn’t sure if removing DeWayne’s soul from Navarre’s mental orbit would offer any more peace or not. Regardless, I couldn’t imagine it would damage Navarre any further.
“Then let’s get to it.” Henson pushed out of his chair, heading for the door. Franklin stood as well.
“Not so fast,” Franklin said, turning so he could look Henson in the eyes. “Today’s taken a lot out of Boone. I’m not sure if—”
“Thank you,” I said while grasping Franklin’s wrist. I’d yet to stand and was still seated comfortably. When Franklin’s concerned eyes connected with mine, I hoped what he saw was how much I appreciated his concern and care. “I’d like to get this over with just as much as Sheriff Henson.”
Franklin’s jaw worked. The man could be stubborn at times and when it came to my well-being, Franklin O’Hare could be the king of stubborn. “You’re tired. I can tell. I don’t want you pushing yourself again. I don’t want to repeat what happened before.”
I finally stood, cradling Franklin’s cheeks within my palms. He’d opened Pandora’s box earlier when he’d kissed me in front of LaPorte County’s finest. “I love that you’re worried, but I promise you, this won’t be like what happened with McCallister and the souls he damaged. DeWayne’s soul should be intact. You’re right, I’m tired, but not too tired for this.” Going up on tiptoes, I pressed my lips against Franklin’s, relishing the warmth of his skin. Although we kept it chaste, Franklin kissed me back, making no room for misunderstanding what we meant to each other. When I pulled away, Henson was staring at us with impatience but not disgust.
“Can we get on with it now, or would you like me to give you the room first?” Henson asked snidely.
I pressed my hands against Henson’s desk and disappointedly shook my head. “I don’t believe your desk is sturdy enough to withstand what Franklin and I would put it through.” With an exaggerated sigh, I added, “Things just aren’t built as well as they used to be. Lead the way, Sherriff. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I had the pleasure of watching Sheriff Henson’s internal battle, his blotchy face growing increasingly crimson as he struggled to control his words and emotions. I’d give the man that—in the end, he pulled himself together, stormed out the door, and headed down the hall. Franklin and I followed. Thankfully, the morgue was in a building attached to the LaPorte County Sheriff’s Office.
Like all morgues, this one was cold. It was also underground. Franklin told me a lot of Midwestern morgues were underground due to the threat of tornados. The land in this area of the country was also conducive to basements, unlike some of the lower-lying areas of many of the southern states. The climate was easier to control too. It didn’t take as much to cool in the summer or heat in the winter.
Being underground meant there wasn’t a lot of natural light, and the florescent overhead lighting didn’t help my headache. Without thought, I activated another one of Pops’s pain charms and relaxed instantly.
The last body I’d seen hadn’t been in the morgue. Henson had it brought into a room upstairs. I wasn’t certain why and didn’t think the man would be open to questioning right now. In fact, Henson hadn’t said a word the entire trip to the morgue.
The sheriff pushed the door open. He didn’t hold it for Franklin and me to go through. I thought that rude, but again, kept my mouth shut. Momma wouldn’t have. She would have called the sheriff out on his bad manners. Midwesterners had a reputation for being congenial. I think Sheriff Henson missed that cultural memo somewhere along the line. Then again, maybe it was simply because I was a necromancer. I’d also laid a shit ton of work at his feet.
“Doc,” Sheriff Henson said by way of greeting. The M.E. glanced up from her clipboard. Her nametag read “Dr. Emily Scott, M.E.”. Dr. Scott’s black hair looked too dark to be naturaland made her milk-pale skin shimmer. The woman had either been blessed with fantastic skin or she’d learned the secret to skincare somewhere along the line. Dr. Scott’s paleness could have gone in the morbid or luminous direction. She seemed ethereal. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Sheriff Henson stood there like a male bird, posturing and preening, showing off his best colors.
“Sheriff Henson,” Dr. Scott replied, her voice tired but kind. “You’ve kept us very busy today.”
“Sadly, not me.” Henson appeared embarrassed, and I wondered if that was the true thorn in his side. That it was me, a necromancer, who’d found so many missing victims instead of his police force. Was the man jealous? Of the fact I was a necromancer? Not a chance. But did it stick in his craw that I’d done what he couldn’t? Yeah, that I could totally believe.
“This is Necromancer Erasmus Boone and Detective Franklin O’Hare,” Sheriff Henson introduced us with barely a hint of malice. I was beginning to like Dr. Scott more and more if only because her presence tamed a bit of Henson’s bite.
“Dr. Scott,” I said, not holding out my hand. Franklin followed my lead, only he reached out and shook Dr. Scott’s offered hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Dr. Scott’s gaze focused in on me and she amended. “Both of you.”
“Thanks,” I answered easily. Most days I tried starting out kind. I could always get bitchy later. Besides, Dr. Emily Scott struck me as benign overall. She was probably prejudiced against necromancers, but she wasn’t overly dramatic about it. She also struck me as someone who could change their mind with a little reeducation. I could work with that.
There were several bodies laid around the room. Four of them were on the floor as they’d run out of tables. Henson walked to the nearest one on the closest table. Like all the others,it was covered in a white sheet. Evidently, the sheets weren’t in as short supply as the tables.
Henson waved a hand at the sheet and simply said, “That’s him.”
While I already knew that, I nodded and offered another round of thanks. Rolling my head from side to side, I cracked my neck. It wasn’t so much to loosen up as my muscles were stiff with fatigue and cold.
“You might want to record things this time,” I offered.
“Damn.” Henson patted his pockets until he found his cell phone. “Will this be good enough?”
“Probably,” I answered before taking a step forward and getting ready. Before I called for DeWayne’s soul, I said, “From what I understand, the body’s in rough condition.”
“That’s true,” Dr. Scott answered. “I haven’t conducted a full autopsy, but a cursory exam indicates the victim went through a lot of trauma.” I’d asked them not to start cutting into DeWayne’s body, or any of the other victims’ remains, until I had a chance to bring them back.
“I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page as to how the victim is going to look and… Well, he might be upset given the state of…things.” I cringed at the last. How a soul responded was always a crapshoot. Some were very understanding. Some weren’t. I’d often wondered if the difference came from how much of their ending the soul remembered. Take someone who died suddenly in a car crash and didn’t remember their bodily trauma. Those souls were often shocked when brought back. Curiously, Cody Stevens hadn’t been.
But in the case of DeWayne… I had a feeling he’d been awake for most of it. Most likely he’d remember and wouldn’t be so surprised when he found his body so torn and disfigured.
