Breach of Peace (The Lawful Times #0.5)(10)

A bucket’s worth of corrupted blood splashed over her face. The smell consumed her.

Reality disappeared for Khlid.

“What the fuck just happened?” Chapman’s voice seemed to come from across an ocean. “What is that thing?”

“Oh, God. Khlid!” Samuel’s voice found her in the void.

A weight was pulled off of her chest. Something began to wipe the foul blood from her eyes and mouth.

“Can you hear me? Khlid, answer me!”

She wanted to answer him, but everything felt… incorporeal. Khlid was adrift. She was not sure where she was or how she got there. Her senses were numb. She had barely felt the massive creature being lifted from her, like a dream half forgotten.

Fingers peeled her eyes open. Samuel’s wonderful face appeared before her. She smiled deliriously and said, “Hey, hon.” Suddenly, the instinct of panic crashed back in on Khlid. Her dazed eyes shot open. She lunged up, knocking Samuel off-balance and onto his ass. A startling amount of blood continued to pour from the creature’s head and shoulder. At least it seemed to be the monster’s equivalent of blood, although it was viscous, like the pus of an exploded cyst.

I swallowed some.

The thought sent her to her hands and knees to retch. Three times her stomach emptied itself. Samuel was rubbing her back. Once she was sure her stomach was empty, she looked over to the creature once again.

Chapman donned his gloves and crouched over the gray mass of loose flesh. He lifted its head in both of his hands and seemed to marvel at the continuing blood flow. Without warning, he dropped the head, picked up his pistol from where he laid it on the ground, and shot the thing in the chest two more times.

More black blood than Khlid had thought possible sprayed into the air at each shot. Chapman glared at the thing for a moment, then began to rummage in his pockets.

Samuel broke the silence, “Was it still alive?”

Chapman found what he was looking for, an empty vial. “No.”

“Then why keep fucking shooting it?!” The three inspectors turned to Rollins, sitting against the wine rack, uncharacteristically panicking. Sweat poured from his brow, and the kerchief he had pulled from his pocket shook violently.

Chapman held the vial to the creature’s neck, still dribbling the viscous blood. “Because the blood was still flowing, as if the heart was beating.”

“Then it was alive!” Rollins exclaimed, more frightened boy than veteran cop.

Chapman did not look up. “No. Just pressure, I believe.”

Fluid continued to froth out of the creature.

Samuel looked down to Khlid. “Are you okay?”

She nodded in response, got off her knees, and observed what Chapman was doing. “Please,” she said in a rattled voice. “With no fucking snark, explain.”

Chapman obliged her. “Look at yourself, Khlid. I’ve seen the spray from a headshot before, but you haven't been sprayed. It looks like someone painted you. This damn thing was filled like a balloon with... whatever this is,” he said, shaking the vial, now full to the cork with black ooze, for emphasis. “Whatever was done to this man, the answers will be right here.”

“‘Man’?” Rollins asked, regaining a measure of composure.

The sound of a small army of officers storming the basement cut off conversation. Samuel stood up and called out their position, and that the situation had been handled. Khlid watched Chapman pocket the vial and raise a finger to his lips.

Twelve officers arrived, weapons drawn. Samuel showed them the body, which caused one rookie to turn on his heel and vomit. Four men were assigned to keep a watch on the beast while the medical team was summoned. They would take the corpse to the Ministry of Health. After a thorough examination, a report would be sent back to the Seventh Precinct with all the information they could glean.

“We have to finish the search down here, then re-sweep upstairs. I have a feeling this thing’s teeth will match the marks on the wife.” As Khlid spoke, an image of the creature tearing at her own flesh danced in her mind.

Rollins was busy commanding the men in the cellar to secure the scene, but Chapman and Samuel both turned to her.

“You do not need to worry about that,” said Samuel, looking her over. “Get back to the precinct and shower.” He looked to Chapman. “We can finish here.”

Khlid wanted to protest, but he was right. She was covered in a fluid they had been calling blood—Almighty knew if that was even accurate—and her mind continued to swim. A shower and change of clothes would do wonders. Plus, the eventful morning had already generated more notes and evidence than most cases did in their entirety. Samuel and Chapman would finish up here, and by the time they were back, not only would Khlid be clean, but she would have begun the real part of the investigation: Research. Examination. Deduction.

“Fine. Give me your notes so far and I will.” Samuel and, after some pushing, Chapman, tore the morning’s pages from their books and gave them to Khlid. Only then was she willing to leave the manor.

Samuel walked her all the way to her carriage. He almost moved to kiss her goodbye, but after failing to find a spot unsmeared by black fluid, settled for brushing some matted hair from her face and an “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And with that, Khlid left the last crime scene of her career.