The Blood Dahlia (The Dark Angel Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  At that moment, waves upon waves of dust rose behind Paul. As each wave crested and fell back to the ground, people appeared. Some dressed like Paul, some in traditional skins and markings. Others in ceremonial headdresses of bright colors, feathers, and bones. They stretched as far as Lynch could see. He stood up and spied them beyond the edge of the horizon.

  “What is this? Am I dying?”

  “Lynch, you are already dead. Your body died that day in the helo. I should know. I was there. Well, your body did, but your spirit didn’t. I didn’t let you leave your body, and rejoined your physical self with your spirit. Allowing your spirit to support your body, instead of like everyone else, the other way around. Now you will live as long as your spirit will, and can exist everywhere your spirit can, no longer bound by your physical body to this world. That doesn’t mean your spirit can’t be killed. Which is why you are here. We can feel you getting weaker.”

  Lynch chuckled and then reached up to rub his head. He didn’t remember drinking anything before going to bed. That had to be it. His body was used to a scotch or two, sometimes three, before he fell asleep. This was his mind and body’s revenge on him for the decades of damage, and also for not giving it what it needed. “I gotta remember to have my scotch before I go to bed again.” He reached out and patted Paul on the shoulder, and then started to turn around. “I am going to walk myself back to bed. Good dream, old friend. Good dream.”

  Paul’s left hand reached out and grabbed Lynch’s shoulder. With the ease of a feather, Lynch collapsed to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust. “This is no dream, and you are one of us now. We are connected with you. This thing you are dealing with, it can kill your spiritual side and that will be the end of the you in the world you know. Your spirit will ascend to another plane, but all you know, and you.. well, love, will be things of the past. That is why you are here; your spirit is almost dead.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Lynch, your body and spirit are two different parts of the whole. It’s a vessel that carries your spirit here, in this world. That vessel was full of holes and sunk. I saw something great in you, something that told me you would be someone that would make a difference. So, I gave your spirit a boost, an extension you might say. That let it prop your vessel back up and, as a result, your perspective of the world changed. You no longer saw things from a body-based life, but from a spiritual plane. All the spiritual planes. You became aware of all the worlds your spirit can exist in. That is why you are able to slip in and out of them, but that is only part of what you can do. So far you haven’t done much.”

  Lynch partially rolled his eyes. He felt like he was living one of those corny moments in the old superhero movies, where the mentor tells the young hero, ‘great power comes with great responsibility’, ‘you were meant for more’, or some other cheesy crap that didn’t really match the real world. “Well, Chief,” he began with an acidic tone. “I am sorry I disappointed you.”

  A great huff from Paul’s entourage sent a devil of dust racing over and past Lynch. “It’s not just me. It’s all of them too. Like I said, you are one of us, connected in the…”

  Lynch waved his hand to interrupt what he felt was another repeated mumbo-jumbo of some spiritual connection with Paul’s ancestors. It was something he didn’t understand, and wasn’t quite sure he believed it either. “All right. What do you want me to do? I have used it a few times to help save people, solve a few crimes here and there.”

  “You stumbled into those things using what you already had. We want you to grow, open your eyes and see ALL the world around you, and save it.”

  Lynch looked back at Paul with a blank stare. He now knew he was in the middle of one of those scenes. Saving the world is what heroes did. Lynch has had trouble just saving his own skin, which he now knew was really dead.

  “Too much?” Paul chuckled.

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “Look. You have seen there is more out there than you knew before. There is just so much more you can do with the gift. Like battling and putting an end to that thing that has attacked you twice now. The Lynch I knew was a warrior who didn’t think, just helped people. That person became a cop to help people, and you have, but that is just scratching the surface of what you can do.”

  “Okay, I am ready to learn, Chief, teach me.” Lynch stood up straight, almost at attention, before the image of his friend.

  “You need to cut out the Chief stuff,” Paul said with a cockeyed smile.

  Lynch leaned around him to look at the gathered mass behind him. Not a one of them was smiling. Instead, they were frowning at him.

  “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t teach you the way. You have to find your own path, but I can give you two pieces of advice. Open your eyes to everything. Your perception of the world is what is holding you back the most right now. You started to open your mind to the possibility that the spiritual and paranormal world existed and then you started seeing it. There is more, a lot more. So as soon as you let go of your beliefs and just accept what is, the more you will know. The second tip I can offer you, try things. It works a little different for everyone. It was different for my father than it was for me. Different for his father too. We all had to learn what our connection to this world was and how to exist. You will know when something works. Trust your instincts, and don’t be afraid to matter for something. Now I am going to send you back, and you will sleep for a bit, but will wake up feeling strong again, and maybe a little something extra.”

  “Extra what?” Lynch tried to ask, but Paul, his ancestors, the barren landscape, and even the scorching sun disappeared into nothingness. Where he was now was cool and comfortable.

  “Paul! Are you still there?” he asked. There was no answer.

  His eyelids sprang open and adjusted to the darkness of the room, his bedroom. Two bedspreads were laying on top of him. A damp rag fell down across his face as he sat up and looked around. Gina was curled up asleep in the chair in the corner. Totter stood next to the bed.

  “What time is it?” Lynch asked. His voice was strong, not the ‘I just woke up’ croak his voice normally has. Come to think of it, he felt strong everywhere.

  “Just after ten in the morning, sir. You might want to ask what day it is.”

  25

  “T, clean up the mess in that corner.”

  “That mess? The pile that is probably sentient by now? It’s only been there for more than a decade.”

  “Yes, that mess.” Lynch pointed at the corner, ignoring the sass from his mechanical friend. Normally he would have threatened to make him a hubcap. Totter efficiently removed the pile of papers, cups, and takeout containers. A few of which attempted to maintain their hold on the desk they had called home for so long. Their final release was accompanied by a cloud of dust, which quickly spread around Lynch, producing several rib-rattling coughs.

  “See,” Totter said before he turned to take the pile out to the garbage.

  Lynch regained his breath and returned to his notes, which he was now going over for the fifth time. The notes consisted of detailed write-ups of each missing girl, what happened, when, and where. Not that there was a surplus of details. Other than a few surveillance shots, there were no witnesses. A quick scan through of their digital profiles gave him the next group of data points. Totter helped him cross reference each call and contact. What developed was exactly what he would expect from any female between the ages of 16 and 25. Thousands of messages between the same small circle of friends.

  Sixteen years ago, he solved a crime with just a digital profile. It was a murder that turned out to be a murder for hire. Cindy Wallace, a typical housewife to Stephen Wallace, sales executive for a national chemical company. She reported him missing after he didn’t return home from a sales trip. At first glance, neither Lynch nor Lucas saw anything special about them. Lynch took a second glance and saw what he needed, but that was all still a secret, and he didn’t even want to think
about trying to convince some junior district attorney to believe in the supernatural. The mere mention of it would cost him his badge and earn him a place where white I-Love-Me jackets were the uniform. This was the challenge that both perplexed and cursed Lynch his entire career. He knew the truth, but had to find the right evidence to prove it. All cops faced this challenge, but for them, they believed they knew the truth, he actually did.

  Lynch shared what he knew with Lucas, and while the search for the lost man continued, they pored over details and data to back up what Lynch already knew. Stephen was dead, and Cindy was involved. That was why neither of them were surprised when his body was found in a ditch midway between New Metro and Lyndale, about 200 miles away. Right where Stephen had told Lynch he would be.

  They visited the motel he stayed at, and when Lynch did his looking about, he saw nothing other than the man sleeping and leaving. His wife never left the house, but she did make several calls. It was in those calls they found what they needed. Two calls and four messages buried among the thousands of others in her data. All to the same number. All tracing back to Kevin Dolan, a self-employed plumber who’d made a service call to their home three months earlier. A check of his data showed almost daily visits at the Wallace home, with the exception of two days. Those days his phone was in Lyndale.

  With the data records of the six girls showing no irregularities, he moved on to a timeline. It started with Darlene Tolson, who was followed by Cheryl Hines, and ended with Syliva Deforno, who had only been missing less than a week. Each name listed down the left side of the line, with the dates of their abduction underneath. That is what Lynch considered it now. His instincts told him that was the case, and he was set on trusting them from this moment on.

  Along the right side he laid out the recent significant events of each of their families. After seeing the dark entity with Devon, Lynch was convinced the families were in on it. When he woke up, he pondered this while he drank a cup of coffee. Something he hadn’t done in years, and had to admit he kind of missed the taste of it. He also enjoyed Totter’s reaction when he saw him with a cup. He stopped where he was and just followed Lynch with his mechanical face as he walked by.

  There was no doubt in his head that these abductions were in some way linked to an event for the family. Either a crime or, and what he hoped wasn’t the case, something beneficial. Would a parent sell their daughter out for financial or other gain? Something deep inside him hoped not. It was a mild surprise that he met such a thought with disgust. Through the years he had seen it all and become numb to the emotions related to even the vilest of thoughts. This wouldn’t be the first time he had seen this.

  In the distance, muffled by several closed doors, Lynch heard, “Yes, sir. He is up.”

  “T, what is it?”

  The question was not answered with a verbal response. Instead, by Totter, as he came around the corner holding Lynch’s Scroll. “Must have fallen out of your pocket when we carried you up the stairs. It’s Lucas.”

  Lynch grabbed his Scroll and threw the call up in the air, something he didn’t do before.

  “Wow, is that a new suit? I almost don’t recognize you without the stains.”

  “What is it Lucas? I am onto something.” Lynch never lifted his head to look up at the image of his partner standing outside in the bright sunlight. He continued working on his timeline, logging a few details on the right.

  “Well, drop whatever it is, and come to the address I just sent you.” A map appeared next to the image of Lucas. A red dot flashed in the middle of it. “We found Miss Tolson.”

  The pen he was writing his notes with fell to the desk as he looked up and rubbed his chin. There was no question of if Lucas needed him, or his ability. Lynch gestured to close the call and then pushed away from the desk. His hand hovered over the grey sports coat hung on the back of his chair. The fingers of it touched the fine cotton of the garment, but didn’t grab it. Something Paul said rang in his ears, in his mind. Two things, to be exact, and he walked on, allowing his hand to grab his black duster off the coat rack.

  “T, take care of Gina.”

  26

  “Whoa there, big boy. I just need you to look around. What happened to the nice suit you had on in the call?”

  “Wasn’t right for what needs to be done. Where is she?” Lynch asked. The duster was on, as was his signature black hat. He walked with a purpose through the train yard, stepping over tracks and piles of gravel.

  “Right there.” Lucas pointed to an iron lattice structure that overhung four runs of tracks. A bloody mass of tissue in grey sweats hung from a chain over a gap between tracks 3 and 4. A river of matted dark hair dripped down to the ground. Below it, a pool of congealed blood stained the gravel.

  “This isn’t as fresh as the last time.”

  “Good observation. This section of the yard wasn’t used until a little after noon, yesterday. A signal man found her. My guess is this happened late last night.”

  From the state of the body, the stain, and the rotten smell, Lynch agreed.

  “Did you happen to notice the name on the sign out front?”

  “Nope. Too busy weaving past the patrol cars.” Lynch paused when it hit him. In his mind, he saw the pad of notes he’d made. In big letters, Tolson Transportation. “Well, that is rather ironic.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” added Lucas with a good helping of sarcasm. “I have cleared the scene if you want to get this over with.”

  What Lucas obviously didn’t know was that Lynch was already slipping underneath. The stain and victim looked eerily similar to the first scene. The telltale wake he saw was, too. He moved around to take a survey of what was around her on every level. First, he moved around the space. Realizing there may be things he can’t see, but might be able to feel. That was a good hunch. There, among the nothingness, were cold spots. They extended from the stain, the victim, and then back out of the train yard, in the opposite direction of where he came in. Okay Paul, I am trusting my instincts, he thought, hoping his friend might be listening.

  He followed the path. There he could feel fear and screams. Lynch couldn’t hear the screams, but his body reacted to each one he walked through as if he could. His blood curdled and skin crawled. It was obvious Darlene Tolson was still alive through every step of her death march down the walkway that split the tracks and a long warehouse. Here fear dropped breadcrumbs along the way. The creature that escorted her was pure evil and felt no remorse, but left a hell of a supernatural wake. It was like a supertanker passing through a bathtub.

  With each step, Lynch felt the wake it created through this space. Any doubt it was the same creature disappeared when he rounded the corner of the warehouse. There it was, the dark tunnel running up from the ground, through the wall of the building, just above the sign that read “Main Office”. Lynch followed, not using the door or stairs. He didn’t need to.

  At the end of the black-tunneled road, he found something more interesting than flying monkeys or the Emerald City, like Dorothy found when she followed the yellow brick road. He found a mark on the dimensions of space and time. That was the best way he could explain it. The black smudge was everywhere. So much so, it blocked his vision from seeing anything else. On a hunch, which he was letting take the reins, he braced himself for the cold and the attack on his senses and stepped through into the smear, heading to what he hoped was the center of the room.

  A part of his mind thought of all the possibilities that could occur where he was. As far as he knew, he could walk through and exit in another state, another planet, or another dimension. Of course, that was his imagination at work. He had nothing to base it on, but anything could be possible. He was now entering the “Twilight Zone”. “No more watching old shows late at night for me,” was the last thought before the paralyzing cold of the void hit him.

  Lynch felt everything in his being want to shut down. Pain traversed every physical and metaphysical nerve. In between each internal screa
m was the thought that he’d only brushed the one in Devon’s office, and never walked into it completely. Would he be able to exit? Reenforcing that concern was the overwhelming sense that there were others trapped in the tunnel. Voices, random thoughts, and emotions that were not his own ran roughshod through him. Including the sense he was being followed.

  When he looked behind him, there was nothing. Of course, there was nothing. It was a closeout sale on nothing, and he had plenty of nothing in inventory. It was everywhere. He kept going, taking fifteen steps straight ahead. This should have taken him through the outside wall of the front office and out into the parking area, but it didn’t. Lynch was lost in the most understated meaning of the word. This wasn’t as simple as retracing his steps and backing out. Something Lynch realized after he walked backward twenty steps, and then another ten, and still wasn’t anywhere.

  “Stop thinking about this as a 2-dimensional problem, dumbass,” Lynch demanded at himself. But even that didn’t help. Up and down was more of the same. Even an attempt to slide back through time to before the creature first visited the office didn’t achieve anything except the exploding headache behind his eyes, which just added to the pain-filled experience. Playing his best imitation of a host of the children’s science program, he attempted to break down the problem. Moving didn’t work, why? He was probably in a place where physical movement and location meant little or nothing at all. The same with moving back and forth through time. There were two explanations, well two he could think of out of the possibly millions he knew he couldn’t fathom. Either time didn’t mean anything here. Or where he was now. This was always here. What options were left?

  “What was it that Paul said about only scratching the surface?” he wondered aloud. “This would be a good time to have a manual or an assistance number.” Lynch paused and then yelled, “Paul, I need help!”