open it, huh?"
"Yeah." A ferocious frown twisted Artie's face. "I don't want you
to. But he does. And I'm worried what he'll escalate to if you don't."
"Okay. Okay." He reached out, grabbed the book with both hands and
started unwrapping the butcher paper. Butcher paper, not regular paper.
Butcher. By the time his fingers got to the book, sticky slick with
blood, he was falling.
Dark. Still. Fuck, it was dark and wet, so wet it hurt to breathe. He shook his head, trying to get away from the smell.
"Greg! Shit. Come on, Greg. Let it go. Let go of the ... come on."
Artie was gagging, pulling at his hands, prying his fingers open.
No. No. He could almost see. Almost. Red lights. Red lights.
"I swear to God, if you puke on the evidence I'll set Duke loose in
your kitchen. Babe. Please." He was retching, too, dry heaves, his
whole body shaking. Artie finally pried his grip loose, the whole mess
plopping on the floor with a horrible wet sound.
"Oh, God. Oh. Out. Out." He stood up and ran for the elevator,
slamming his hand against the call button over and over. Water. He
needed a shower. A bath. Bleach. Air. Light. Something.
"Stop." Arms going around him, Artie practically tackled him,
holding him so he could barely move. Fuck. Strong. "Stop touching
things. You'll just spread it all over and then what the fuck will you
do? We'll get it off. We'll get you clean."
It was the rough edge of panic in Artie's voice as much as anything that stilled him. Artie never panicked.
"Please." He closed his eyes, started reciting the peripheral
nerves, proximal to distal. "Spinal accessory, levator scapulae,
thoracic, dorsal scapular, subclavian, suprascapular..."
The elevator came down and Artie hauled him in, Duke's sleek body
slipping in between his feet. His stomach turned as they went up, but
soon enough he stood at his sink, the water running warm and cleansing
over his hands. Washing it all away.
"Artie. He's got another one. He's got another one in the dark. What was that?"
"I don't know. I need to go back down there and secure it, see what
all it is. I. Babe." Artie had let him go and he stood there scrubbing,
his skin getting raw. "I don't want to leave you alone, but I have to.
Can you? Will you be all right? With Duke? Just for maybe a half hour.
I swear."
"Go. I'm okay. I'm fine." Greg almost laughed, almost, because if he
started, he'd never stop. He'd just laugh and laugh until he couldn't
remember anything.
"Look at me." Those gray eyes held his when he turned, boring in.
"I'll be right back. Go sit down. Let Duke tell you about the burrito.
I'll be right back."
"Okay. Don't let Alice in there. She'll be pissed."
"No kidding. Sit. Breathe."
Then Artie left him, and the only thing left was the whooshing of
the water and the sound of Duke purring as the silly cat rubbed around
his ankles. He let himself sink to the floor, cheek against the sink,
listening to the water run. "Oh, fuck. Duke. Guys like us weren't meant
for shit like that."
Duke pushed against his belly, marking him, whiskers tickling through his shirt in a feline "no shit."
* * * *
Bile rose in Artie's throat.
It was a kidney. Perfectly removed, excellently wrapped. The box
around it had been shaped like a large book, hand cut to really give
the look. The butcher paper could have come from anywhere, and goddamn
it, there wasn't a fucking thing to go on.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay, thanks."
Leah flipped her cell closed. She looked greener around the gills
than he felt. Bless her, she came though. "Dave says he'll run the
blood and all tonight. The paper isn't likely to yield anything, and
neither is the box. The handwriting is the same. You should take the
rest of your night off."
"So should you."
She smiled at him, the lines around her eyes deep, her mouth tense.
"It's just getting worse, Artie. Gimme the go ahead to check Greg out."
"No. Let me talk to him first, okay? We did a lot of digging already."
Hell, he'd looked at everything in Greg's file
"Yeah." A ferocious frown twisted Artie's face. "I don't want you
to. But he does. And I'm worried what he'll escalate to if you don't."
"Okay. Okay." He reached out, grabbed the book with both hands and
started unwrapping the butcher paper. Butcher paper, not regular paper.
Butcher. By the time his fingers got to the book, sticky slick with
blood, he was falling.
Dark. Still. Fuck, it was dark and wet, so wet it hurt to breathe. He shook his head, trying to get away from the smell.
"Greg! Shit. Come on, Greg. Let it go. Let go of the ... come on."
Artie was gagging, pulling at his hands, prying his fingers open.
No. No. He could almost see. Almost. Red lights. Red lights.
"I swear to God, if you puke on the evidence I'll set Duke loose in
your kitchen. Babe. Please." He was retching, too, dry heaves, his
whole body shaking. Artie finally pried his grip loose, the whole mess
plopping on the floor with a horrible wet sound.
"Oh, God. Oh. Out. Out." He stood up and ran for the elevator,
slamming his hand against the call button over and over. Water. He
needed a shower. A bath. Bleach. Air. Light. Something.
"Stop." Arms going around him, Artie practically tackled him,
holding him so he could barely move. Fuck. Strong. "Stop touching
things. You'll just spread it all over and then what the fuck will you
do? We'll get it off. We'll get you clean."
It was the rough edge of panic in Artie's voice as much as anything that stilled him. Artie never panicked.
"Please." He closed his eyes, started reciting the peripheral
nerves, proximal to distal. "Spinal accessory, levator scapulae,
thoracic, dorsal scapular, subclavian, suprascapular..."
The elevator came down and Artie hauled him in, Duke's sleek body
slipping in between his feet. His stomach turned as they went up, but
soon enough he stood at his sink, the water running warm and cleansing
over his hands. Washing it all away.
"Artie. He's got another one. He's got another one in the dark. What was that?"
"I don't know. I need to go back down there and secure it, see what
all it is. I. Babe." Artie had let him go and he stood there scrubbing,
his skin getting raw. "I don't want to leave you alone, but I have to.
Can you? Will you be all right? With Duke? Just for maybe a half hour.
I swear."
"Go. I'm okay. I'm fine." Greg almost laughed, almost, because if he
started, he'd never stop. He'd just laugh and laugh until he couldn't
remember anything.
"Look at me." Those gray eyes held his when he turned, boring in.
"I'll be right back. Go sit down. Let Duke tell you about the burrito.
I'll be right back."
"Okay. Don't let Alice in there. She'll be pissed."
"No kidding. Sit. Breathe."
Then Artie left him, and the only thing left was the whooshing of
the water and the sound of Duke purring as the silly cat rubbed around
his ankles. He let himself sink to the floor, cheek against the sink,
listening to the water run. "Oh, fuck. Duke. Guys like us weren't meant
for shit like that."
Duke pushed against his belly, marking him, whiskers tickling through his shirt in a feline "no shit."
* * * *
Bile rose in Artie's throat.
It was a kidney. Perfectly removed, excellently wrapped. The box
around it had been shaped like a large book, hand cut to really give
the look. The butcher paper could have come from anywhere, and goddamn
it, there wasn't a fucking thing to go on.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay, thanks."
Leah flipped her cell closed. She looked greener around the gills
than he felt. Bless her, she came though. "Dave says he'll run the
blood and all tonight. The paper isn't likely to yield anything, and
neither is the box. The handwriting is the same. You should take the
rest of your night off."
"So should you."
She smiled at him, the lines around her eyes deep, her mouth tense.
"It's just getting worse, Artie. Gimme the go ahead to check Greg out."
"No. Let me talk to him first, okay? We did a lot of digging already."
Hell, he'd looked at everything in Greg's file
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