born in Charlotte, but I never lived anywhere but in the South.” I studied his haggard face. Tilting my head, I stared down at him and asked the question I feared the answer to. “What happened?”
“Death, Titus. Death happened.”
I swallowed hard. Couldn’t there be anything around me that didn’t have to do with death? “I’m gonna go get that coffee, and you can tell me all about it.”
When I came back with a French press full of fresh coffee, Charlie was staring out the window, a million miles away. I, however, was grateful for the distraction. I’d just received word from my grandmother in the form of a letter—written by one of the vitsa , tribe, boys because she couldn’t read or write—that she would come to Charlotte to help me. Not because she loved me of course; she’d come because she was intrigued by my predicament.
I hadn’t seen anyone from the kumpania since I’d been cast out, and I was terrified. Hester Faa was a formidable woman, a powerful chovihani , and despite the rule of the Rom Baro —the ‘big man’ or leader of the tribe—the family deferred to her on most matters. In fact, the Rom Baro had forbidden her to come, but come she would. So yes, I was grateful for Charlie and his restive dead.
“So, it was a rough night?” I asked.
His broad shoulders expanded and contracted with the force of a deep breath. “The very worst. I shouldn’t even talk about it—and even if I do, there’s still a lot I can’t say. It’s an open investigation.”
“Sure, I understand. Why don’t you start with what put that look in your eyes.”
“I just came from the morgue, from an autopsy.”
I felt the involuntary quickening of my breath and pulse that was the result of too many years of ingrained beliefs—whether I still held to them or not. “My people believe the desecration of the dead is immoral… an unconscionable act. It angers the mulo— the spirit of the dead,” I explained. “It is said by the Rom that a person who passes before reaching old age becomes an evil spirit.”
“Do you believe that?”
I cursed myself because I could feel the pull of him, the deep down urge to give him the truth of me. However, that was far too risky. “I believe in life. I don’t doubt the presence of the mule —there’s too much evidence of them throughout history—but I imagine they have bigger problems than worrying about what happens to their earthly personage.”
Charlie gave a weak laugh. I wanted to squeeze him and kiss him, and tell the big, bad cop that everything would be all right. But he probably knew best of all that it wouldn’t be.
“There’s this person out there killing women…” Charlie began.
I was sure I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew he needed me to, he needed somebody to.
“He’s killing women and leaving no evidence. None . He never kills them the exact same way, the victims have nothing in common, and he just keeps on coming.”
“How do you know it’s the same guy then?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this…”
“You don’t have to, not at all, but you seem like you really need to unload.” God, he did. He looked like he might melt, or explode, or freak the fuck out at any moment. How did these men do this job? Didn’t they have anyone to help them deal with seeing blood every day of their lives?
“He signs them.”
“He what?”
“I can’t go into detail, but they all have something carved on their necks.”
Look. See. Know!
Rapid-fire, flashing images scrolled through my mind. The African woman, the little girl, Violet Eyes, the blond teenager, all baring their necks to me. Scours, scratches, cut deep into the skin. Was this what Charlie had seen? Was I seeing the victims of his murderer?
I suddenly felt sick. I had to tamp down the urge to run from the room, away from this man who might be the very thing that would force me to confront my tormentors. I didn’t want to care about them, I didn’t want to know
“Death, Titus. Death happened.”
I swallowed hard. Couldn’t there be anything around me that didn’t have to do with death? “I’m gonna go get that coffee, and you can tell me all about it.”
When I came back with a French press full of fresh coffee, Charlie was staring out the window, a million miles away. I, however, was grateful for the distraction. I’d just received word from my grandmother in the form of a letter—written by one of the vitsa , tribe, boys because she couldn’t read or write—that she would come to Charlotte to help me. Not because she loved me of course; she’d come because she was intrigued by my predicament.
I hadn’t seen anyone from the kumpania since I’d been cast out, and I was terrified. Hester Faa was a formidable woman, a powerful chovihani , and despite the rule of the Rom Baro —the ‘big man’ or leader of the tribe—the family deferred to her on most matters. In fact, the Rom Baro had forbidden her to come, but come she would. So yes, I was grateful for Charlie and his restive dead.
“So, it was a rough night?” I asked.
His broad shoulders expanded and contracted with the force of a deep breath. “The very worst. I shouldn’t even talk about it—and even if I do, there’s still a lot I can’t say. It’s an open investigation.”
“Sure, I understand. Why don’t you start with what put that look in your eyes.”
“I just came from the morgue, from an autopsy.”
I felt the involuntary quickening of my breath and pulse that was the result of too many years of ingrained beliefs—whether I still held to them or not. “My people believe the desecration of the dead is immoral… an unconscionable act. It angers the mulo— the spirit of the dead,” I explained. “It is said by the Rom that a person who passes before reaching old age becomes an evil spirit.”
“Do you believe that?”
I cursed myself because I could feel the pull of him, the deep down urge to give him the truth of me. However, that was far too risky. “I believe in life. I don’t doubt the presence of the mule —there’s too much evidence of them throughout history—but I imagine they have bigger problems than worrying about what happens to their earthly personage.”
Charlie gave a weak laugh. I wanted to squeeze him and kiss him, and tell the big, bad cop that everything would be all right. But he probably knew best of all that it wouldn’t be.
“There’s this person out there killing women…” Charlie began.
I was sure I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew he needed me to, he needed somebody to.
“He’s killing women and leaving no evidence. None . He never kills them the exact same way, the victims have nothing in common, and he just keeps on coming.”
“How do you know it’s the same guy then?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this…”
“You don’t have to, not at all, but you seem like you really need to unload.” God, he did. He looked like he might melt, or explode, or freak the fuck out at any moment. How did these men do this job? Didn’t they have anyone to help them deal with seeing blood every day of their lives?
“He signs them.”
“He what?”
“I can’t go into detail, but they all have something carved on their necks.”
Look. See. Know!
Rapid-fire, flashing images scrolled through my mind. The African woman, the little girl, Violet Eyes, the blond teenager, all baring their necks to me. Scours, scratches, cut deep into the skin. Was this what Charlie had seen? Was I seeing the victims of his murderer?
I suddenly felt sick. I had to tamp down the urge to run from the room, away from this man who might be the very thing that would force me to confront my tormentors. I didn’t want to care about them, I didn’t want to know
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