Every Friday I post excerpts from my work-in-progress (WIP for those in the know). These will mostly be rough drafts of chapters, but in some cases I’ll drop in a full short story. Once the full story is completed (or the short story published) the draft will go away, so enjoy it while you can!
Higgins woke to the sound of crackling wildfire, the flames licking his skin. He wanted to open his eyes, to find an escape. But the fear was too strong. The demons might see him.
When the last vestiges of sleep left, he realized it was cold. So cold the nerves in his limbs were sending desperate pleas to move. His brain, addled as usual, refused to transmit the appropriate orders. As a minor concession, it allowed him to raise his eyelids.
It was pitch black. He wasn’t at home—it smelled all wrong. Too much rot and decay. And the gut-churning scent of rodents.
He sighed. Another day when he couldn’t remember where he was or where he’d been.
Again came the crackling noise, but now he recognized it—dried leaves crunching underfoot.
“Where should we put her?”
A young voice. Male. Nervous. Either that or a natural soprano.
“All the boss said was in the park where someone will find her sooner rather than later.”
A man’s voice. Deep and gravelly. All business. No emotion.
“What about the gazebo? At least the animals won’t get to her.”
Higgins turned his head towards the lantern light filtering in through the screens. He was in the gazebo.
“I don’t care if they eat her for breakfast as long as someone finds her before there’s nothing left. Let’s put her on the picnic table.”
“Kids use this path to get to school.”
“Perfect. They’ll find her first thing.”
More footsteps in the leaves, a dull thud as the body hit wood.
“Let me fix her dress,” the young one said. “I’d hate for some kid to see her half naked.”
“Why should you care? It’ll make the press happy. And the boss. He likes his warnings to be graphic.”
“If you say so.” Young voice didn’t sound happy.
“Let’s get out of here.” The man was used to giving orders, even if not the boss. “We need to check on the lab before going back to the motel, and I’d like to beat daybreak.”
The light and footsteps faded away. Higgins tried to sit up, but only rolled off the low bench and onto the floor. A field mouse, startled by the movement, squeaked and ran through a hole in the wall. He could hear it hit the leaves and move off.
He eventually struggled to his feet, wondering the whole time why he was sleeping in the park. The last thing he remembered was taking his medication. One day he’d have to get a better system for recognizing the different pills. Clarisse used to do it for him, but not anymore.
He tiptoed to the door and, seeing no one about, stepped out of the gazebo. The moon shown full and bright in the crisp night air. He stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the new conditions. Not a quick process at his age. When they did, he shuffled over to the picnic table.
“Poor lass.”
He didn’t recognize her, and he knew all the local girls. Most only by sight. Some stopped to talk when they saw him, but mostly in the summer. He wasn’t out much in winter.
Higgins shook his head to clear a train of thought that threatened derailment. He bent over to examine the body. No obvious injuries. No blood, thank heavens. But her skin lay tight across a slight frame, ribs and pelvic bone protruding into the night air. She was an anorexic. Or food was scarce.
He put his hand on her chest. Cold as the night. Not recently dead.
Her open eyes, set in dark sockets, stared lifeless at the sky. The only thing covering her body, besides many tattoos, was a dress of sheer fabric. It had gathered up near the shoulders, leaving the rest of her body exposed. He felt the fabric. Could be silk, more likely satin. Not a dress to wear about the house with the weather turning. More like something a girl would wear to bed if she expected more than sleep. If his memory was accurate. No way to know these days.
Higgins walked into the woods a short way, down to the stream. He rummaged around and found two flat stones. Maybe water-polished granite, but hard to tell without a light. He placed them over her open eyes, then did his best to pull down her dress. Even the dead deserved modesty.
Satisfied that she was presentable, he set off on a path that headed northeast out of the park and towards the abandoned warehouses near the railroad tracks. He’d phone the police from the last working pay phone in one of the derelict guard shacks. No reason to wait until a kid found the body. That would be a life-scarring experience.
Just to be safe, he’d call in the tip anonymously. He didn’t need to get involved with the police. They’d love an excuse to get him off the streets and out of town. Why make it easy for them?
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