mug.
"Tell me,” I whispered, not wanting to know, but needing to. My hands wrapped around the oversized mug, as if to leach the warmth out of it and into the iciness of my body.
"He was laid out on the embalming table, nude. Blood completely drained from his body. One of those small drainage tubes—” His voice broke as he talked. We sat in complete silence; the only sound penetrating our awareness was an occasional drip of water from the kitchen faucet. I sipped my coffee, eyes closed, trying to not imagine exactly what Ruben must have seen and failing. I couldn't erase the scene that had immediately been etched on my mind's eye—the same exact scene I'd witnessed in my damned-further-expletives-deleted nightmares. So much for avoiding what my brain had viciously conjured up.
Looked like today wouldn't be any better than yesterday. In fact, it was already worse. Was there some twisted fuck sitting somewhere in the netherworld thinking, “I'm going to screw with Keira Kelly's life now"? I gulped as I realized how selfish that thought was. Marty was dead.
Carlton's fist slammed down on the kitchen table, causing me to spill what was left of my coffee. “This shouldn't be happening here! Damn it, I came back to Rio Seco to get away from evil, from senseless killing—and it followed me anyway.” His head dropped into his hands.
I started to reach over to comfort him, but before my hand touched his shoulder, he stood, slapped his hat on his head and adjusted his Sam Browne belt. The lawman had returned, leaving the emotion behind.
"I've got to go back there, Keira.” He reached over and took my chin in his hand, tilting my face to look at his. “I only came over here so that I could be the one to tell you. Now, I've got work to do.” He dropped his hand and hooked his thumb in his belt again. “You going to be okay?"
I nodded, still silent, still seeing my cousin's body motionless and white on the table, blood dripping from his body, just like the spilled coffee dribbled onto my floor.
"Go on, Carlton. I'll manage.” My voice was quiet, but steady. I had to manage. If I really stopped to think, I might run screaming out into the day. “Do you need me to...” I let my voice fade as I asked, but he knew what I meant.
"To ID him? No. But if you need to, I can arrange for you to view the ... him. Before the autopsy."
I nodded. I didn't want to, but I had to. In order to convince myself this wasn't all part of the same bad dream that had started yesterday or the day before, or whenever the hell it had been. Whatever had happened, I needed to know for the clan's sake. They may have disowned Marty, but they would want to know.
"Take your time,” he said. “It'll take us some time to finish at the mortuary. We don't have much in the way of up-to-date forensics here, but I called in a favor. A friend of mine is coming in from SAPD to help. I'll call you when we're ready for you.” Carlton walked out the front door and turned as he reached the bottom porch step. I stood there staring at him, still not saying a word.
"Keira, until we find out what's happening here, please be careful. Keep all your doors and windows locked. We don't know who's done this.” He adjusted his hat like some mockery of a movie cowboy and walked away.
I knew I'd have to try to reach Tucker to let him know about Marty, but not right this second. Before I called anyone, I wanted to think. I needed to put a little distance between what I'd just heard and talking to my brother.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and sank into my favorite easy chair. Who on earth would have wanted to hurt my cousin? Obnoxious? Yes. Annoying? Absolutely. But I couldn't think of why he'd been marked for death. Poor Marty, his life span was so short anyway. To have it cut even shorter was pure irony.
* * * *
Nightmare was not the word for what I experienced during the rest of the morning. Bizarre phantasms and kaleidoscope horrors blended together with
"Tell me,” I whispered, not wanting to know, but needing to. My hands wrapped around the oversized mug, as if to leach the warmth out of it and into the iciness of my body.
"He was laid out on the embalming table, nude. Blood completely drained from his body. One of those small drainage tubes—” His voice broke as he talked. We sat in complete silence; the only sound penetrating our awareness was an occasional drip of water from the kitchen faucet. I sipped my coffee, eyes closed, trying to not imagine exactly what Ruben must have seen and failing. I couldn't erase the scene that had immediately been etched on my mind's eye—the same exact scene I'd witnessed in my damned-further-expletives-deleted nightmares. So much for avoiding what my brain had viciously conjured up.
Looked like today wouldn't be any better than yesterday. In fact, it was already worse. Was there some twisted fuck sitting somewhere in the netherworld thinking, “I'm going to screw with Keira Kelly's life now"? I gulped as I realized how selfish that thought was. Marty was dead.
Carlton's fist slammed down on the kitchen table, causing me to spill what was left of my coffee. “This shouldn't be happening here! Damn it, I came back to Rio Seco to get away from evil, from senseless killing—and it followed me anyway.” His head dropped into his hands.
I started to reach over to comfort him, but before my hand touched his shoulder, he stood, slapped his hat on his head and adjusted his Sam Browne belt. The lawman had returned, leaving the emotion behind.
"I've got to go back there, Keira.” He reached over and took my chin in his hand, tilting my face to look at his. “I only came over here so that I could be the one to tell you. Now, I've got work to do.” He dropped his hand and hooked his thumb in his belt again. “You going to be okay?"
I nodded, still silent, still seeing my cousin's body motionless and white on the table, blood dripping from his body, just like the spilled coffee dribbled onto my floor.
"Go on, Carlton. I'll manage.” My voice was quiet, but steady. I had to manage. If I really stopped to think, I might run screaming out into the day. “Do you need me to...” I let my voice fade as I asked, but he knew what I meant.
"To ID him? No. But if you need to, I can arrange for you to view the ... him. Before the autopsy."
I nodded. I didn't want to, but I had to. In order to convince myself this wasn't all part of the same bad dream that had started yesterday or the day before, or whenever the hell it had been. Whatever had happened, I needed to know for the clan's sake. They may have disowned Marty, but they would want to know.
"Take your time,” he said. “It'll take us some time to finish at the mortuary. We don't have much in the way of up-to-date forensics here, but I called in a favor. A friend of mine is coming in from SAPD to help. I'll call you when we're ready for you.” Carlton walked out the front door and turned as he reached the bottom porch step. I stood there staring at him, still not saying a word.
"Keira, until we find out what's happening here, please be careful. Keep all your doors and windows locked. We don't know who's done this.” He adjusted his hat like some mockery of a movie cowboy and walked away.
I knew I'd have to try to reach Tucker to let him know about Marty, but not right this second. Before I called anyone, I wanted to think. I needed to put a little distance between what I'd just heard and talking to my brother.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and sank into my favorite easy chair. Who on earth would have wanted to hurt my cousin? Obnoxious? Yes. Annoying? Absolutely. But I couldn't think of why he'd been marked for death. Poor Marty, his life span was so short anyway. To have it cut even shorter was pure irony.
* * * *
Nightmare was not the word for what I experienced during the rest of the morning. Bizarre phantasms and kaleidoscope horrors blended together with
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