Chapter 18
CONNIE BALLARD, or Skye if one chooses to use her dancing name, was found behind a Dumpster just off of East Street at six a.m. on September 4 by a guy walking his dog. This time the killer hadn’t been interrupted. Like Bethany Clark, Connie’s throat had been cut and her abdomen sliced open with several large gashes. The mutilations did not stop there, however. Upon examination, it was discovered that Connie Ballard’s uterus had been removed.
I had the television on to the local news and listened to the reports while I tapped away at my computer, searching for dirt on Tanner Boyd. While I was interested in the murder of Connie Ballard, I didn’t want to lose track of my actual job. Still, I found myself stopping every now and then to listen to some of the details. Once I’d had my fill of every record of Tanner Boyd’s life I could bring up, I went out to get the morning newspaper to see if Connie Ballard’s death had been reported yet.
She was on page four.
I was re-reading the article on the murder to see if I’d missed anything of importance. I hadn’t. The young woman had been found in an alley. No witnesses. The police weren’t going on record as saying this murder and that of Bethany Clark were connected, but anyone reading between the lines could see that they were going to proceed assuming they were. I was turning the page to find out what Bucky was up to in Get Fuzzy when I realized someone was peeking over my shoulder. Robbie had materialized behind my chair. He’d taken to wearing the sexiest clothes he’d had during his short life, and today he had on a blue mesh workout shirt that would have been tight on someone a size smaller. If he was trying to make me feel guilty over my dating decision, he was succeeding.
“I wasn’t done with that page,” Robbie said.
“I was.” I avoided looking at him. My libido couldn’t take seeing him in that outfit and since I wouldn’t be able to touch him, avoidance was my only option.
“Okay,” he said, moving around to sit on the arm of my easy chair. “But did I read that right? The uterus was removed from the second victim?”
“You read right. Our mystery man is one sick fuck.”
“And the first stripper….”
“Bethany Clark,” I filled in.
“Yeah, her. She was killed in pretty much the same fashion.”
“That’s right.”
“And this girl last night, her uterus was missing?”
“Not to linger over the gruesome, but yes.”
Robbie looked thoughtful. He hadn’t exactly been a brain in his lifetime, preferring athletics to study, so it was a treat to watch him use the noggin. “Jack the Ripper’s second victim, Annie Chapman, also had her uterus removed.”
I had to beam at him. He was, despite his hanging around after death, pretty lovable. Damn him. “Look at the brain on you!” I said. “How is it you know so much about the Jack the Ripper murders?”
He shrugged. “I did a report on them for English my senior year. I got a B on it.”
“And you remembered all that?”
Robbie looked proud of himself. “It was pretty interesting stuff, I guess. Besides—blood, guts, and gore. Interesting stuff to a guy like me.”
“So you’re suggesting that the killer is copying the Jack the Ripper killings?”
“Stranger things have happened.” His face lit up with a sudden thought. “What if they’re not copycat killings at all? What if the killer is Jack the Ripper himself?”
I raised an eyebrow at him and wished he weren’t so close. He really did look hot in that shirt, even if he looked ten years too young for me. Complications, complications. “You said it couldn’t be a ghost,” I reminded him. “So unless he’s celebrating his one hundred and fiftieth birthday or something, I don’t see how it could be him.”
“Possession,” Robbie blurted out. “Maybe the spirit of Jack the Ripper is inhabiting someone’s body and is re-enacting his old crimes.”
“Fun thought. Is that possible? A spirit that old?”
“Of course it is!” Robbie was warming to his theme. He shifted from the arm of the chair onto my lap, although there was no weight to feel. His right side went right through the newspaper so I tossed it aside. I get enough reminders that he’s a spirit. I don’t need him going through objects. “For all we know he’s been floating around since his death, just waiting for the right person to inhabit.”
“He’s a long way from home if that’s the case,” I remarked.
Robbie shrugged. “Maybe he came to America after the Whitechapel murders and died here. Or maybe he’s gone from person to person over the years, just waiting for the right body that he could take over completely.”
“And why is that theory any better than the copycat one?”
“You yourself said that he was giving off some major psychic signals. That would explain your reaction to him.”
I pondered that. He could have something. However, having him sitting on me wasn’t conducive to clear thinking. “Would you mind moving?” I asked him.
Robbie looked down and a shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Aw,” he said teasingly, “someone still loves me!”
I stood up, sending my body right through him. It’s not a pleasant sensation to pass through a spirit, but I had to get my blood circulating. “I never said that I didn’t love you. Quite the contrary, if you recall. Tell me,” I asked him seriously, “what do you see when you look at me?”
He blinked. “I see you, of course. What do you mean?”
“You see me ten years older, though. I’m aging.”
He shrugged. “I don’t even notice it. People age slowly, and you adjust to the changes.”
“There are no changes with you, though. You don’t age.”
“I can’t. If I could, I would, because I know it bothers you, but it’s out of my control.”
I moved my face as close as I could to his. “I know,” I said. “It’s not your fault you died so young.” I kissed his lips or at least the area where his lips seemed to be. It’s hard to tell if you’ve hit your mark when there is nothing solid with which to make contact. I felt a cold sensation on my lips, so I was touching some part of him. It could have been his chin for all I knew, but I always kiss with my eyes shut.
When I opened my eyes Robbie was tilting his head. “You haven’t kissed me like that in ages.”
“I know,” I said. “I should do it more often.”
“Wait a second,” he said softly. He closed his eyes in concentration. Opening them again, he leaned forward for a second kiss. This time I could feel the brush of his lips against mine. It felt wonderful to actually be kissing him again. It took so much energy from him it was something we rarely did. I heard Robbie moan and felt his tongue slip gently into my mouth. My mind flashed back a decade to when I’d been in college and Robbie had been a pizza delivery boy. Our first kiss had been at a dorm party at Purdue. I still remembered that kiss. It had been as sweet as the present one.
I opened my eyes. Robbie had given all his energy and was fading from view. “Thanks,” he said as he vanished completely.
THE trip to Wales had been successful but had taken much longer than Caleb had planned. Most of a year had passed before he returned to his home outside of London. The amulet was buried right where he’d always heard, but other challenges faced him along the way. Now that he had it, though, he wore it at all times. And the magic worked. He no longer felt the need for the flesh. He ate food like other men. He was… human.
Wearing his stolen clothes and using money he’d taken off his victims, Caleb first took a room at the Lion’s Mane. No more skulking in crypts for him. The landlord had eyed him suspiciously but had grudgingly showed Caleb his room. After settling in, Caleb had headed straight for Angela’s house. Boldly he stood on the front steps and knocked on the door. He felt some nervousness, but he was confident that Angela would agree to see him. Then he could tell her of how he had worshiped her from afar….
His knock was answered by Angela’s mother. She looked much older, more haggard, and she frowned when she saw Caleb. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“I wish,” Caleb replied in his best English, “to see Angela.”
“She ain’t here.” Angela’s mother showed no emotion. She’d apparently ceased to care. “Gone off to London. Likely living on the streets, I expect.”
And with that, Angela’s mother closed the door.