God of the Dead (Seasons of Blood #1): A dark paranormal crime thriller novel by Elias Anderson Page A

twisted it away, looking down at it and seeing for the first time that a wide, black mouth opened on her inner forearm. Inside that dark, meaty cavern he could see tendon, he could see the insides of her wrist, layers of skin, and a thin, yellow layer of yellow fat and red muscle, slit almost down to the bone. He screamed and she turned her hand, the skin around the wound somehow loose, slippery with blood and water, and he lost his grip. His hand slid down her wrist and his thumb went inside her arm . It was cold and gristly, like when he would help his mom as a kid by reaching inside the half-thawed Thanksgiving turkey to get the giblets and the neck out.
    She lurched forward another step, once more groping for his throat. He put his hands up to block her seeking fingers and now he could see those black, gaping rings around both her wrists. She was clutching him for purchase now, hugging him close like a lover, her bare breasts pressed against him, wetting his shirt, sticking to his skin. They tottered a few steps across his living room in some obscene parody of a slow dance. AJ surged forward and used his height and weight against her, finally knocking her back. Her bare, white feet slipped in the pink mixture of water and blood on the floor and she turned enough for him to see her back. It looked like one giant bruise, not just on her back, but the back of her arms, legs, her ass. He came forward again and shoved her out into the hall, slamming and locking the door behind her.
    “Oh what the fuck,” he said, his voice high and keening. He grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
    “911, what’s your emergency?”
    “Hi, yes,” he said, out of breath and panting. “I was, I’m being attacked, this woman, I don’t know, she’s covered in blood and—”
    “Sir, is your call coming from 1524 Clarkson, Apartment 3B?”
    “What? Yes, yes it is.”
    “Okay, Mr. Lancaster, we have an officer on the scene—”
    “You what?”
    “—I’m sending him in now. Is the intruder still in your home?”
    “No, I shoved her out into the hall.”
    “Lock the door and wait for the officer to knock, it’s Officer Fenster, he’ll identify himself. Do not open the door for anyone but Officer Fenster, do you understand?”
    There was a pounding on the door and his name being screamed.
    “Oh shit,” AJ said.
    “Is your door locked?”
    “It is.”
    “Okay, the officer is entering your building now—”
    AJ dropped the phone with numb fingers and collapsed back onto the couch. He heard footsteps running up the stairs and a surprised cry of disgust.
    Another howl of his name came from the hall.
    “Ma’am, put your hands above your head and—back! Get back!” Officer Fenster screamed in the hall. “ Back or I’ll shoot !”
    There were two more dragging footsteps and then a gunshot.
    AJ covered his ears, though it was too late as they were already ringing, and just sat there for a while. He didn’t know how long Fenster had been pounding on the door to be let in when he finally stood from the couch. AJ only knew Fenster was now threatening to break the door down.
    AJ unlocked it, his hand dropping from the lock to his side with a clap. He didn’t have the energy for this. He turned the knob and pulled the door open just a little, and this seemed at that time a monumental feat. It drained him. His throat ached with thirst and from being throttled for the second time in two days. He ignored Fenster’s questions and padded slowly, like an injured, old man, into his kitchen, for a glass of water.
    Ten minutes later he was sitting in the back of a police car, watching the city roll past around him, headed once more for the police station uptown. The neighborhood he’d come to call home rolled past, meaning nothing. The landmarks through which he’d navigated the last few years of his life were no more to him than stock footage in the background of an old movie.
    He hadn’t grabbed a jacket when he left and his shirt was