Chapter 24: Marina Murders (4)

Skins and mirrors.  That’s all it was.

“Just swear to me you’re not going to suck my blood and ditch me on the side of the road.”

“Cross my heart.”  Lev replied.

“But if you were a vampire you wouldn’t have a heart to cross.”  I argued.

“Well, I didn’t know that.”  Lev said happily and turned a corner.

The road opened up fully as we came over the hill.  The truck got a nice overlook into a small town nestled in between two valleys.  A fog had settled over the town, giving it a steampunk, industrial-era look.

Going down the road, I tried to absorb everything I could.  A factory lay on top of a hill; locked behind chain fences and belching great stacks of smoke even in this weather.  Maybe it was a power plant, providing precious electricity for people to survive the blizzard.  The houses weren’t old exactly, but they weren’t brand new either.

Lev drove us down through the main road which cut across the middle of town.  There was a faded signpost that said ‘Welcome to Annaville’.

“We’re near the water.”  Penelope commented and I could feel the chill creeping in through truck’s crevices.

I saw an old bait and tackle shop.  Next to it was a rundown bar with an actual swinging saloon door.  More often than not, all the businesses were local with hints of commercialization sprinkled here and there.  From what I could see though, most of the commerce had to come from that factory.  

Not a ghetto.  But not the heart of gentrification either.

Most people from New York forget, most of America are small towns like this one.  Cities like Los Angeles, Chicago and Miami; they’re the exceptions –which is perhaps why they stand out so much.  But take a look at the map; small-town America makes up a good chunk of the country.

This was another one of those towns.  A town that wasn’t attractive enough to pull people to evolve with the times.  The paint, the roads, the businesses that were barely hanging on; they all told the same story.  The story of a town full of people too old to start somewhere else, and empty of people looking for new opportunities.  

Of course, there was the distinct possibility that people who stayed here, were happy.

Ugh.  Survivorship Bias.

“So, now what?”  I hugged my backpack a little closer.

The truck continued going through the main road.  Lev’s eyes flashed on the rearview mirror.  

Huh.  I could’ve sworn they were dark brown before.  They looked a shade lighter now.

“To the most recent site of murder.”  Penelope answered.  “It was only two weeks ago.”

Hoooo, boy.

All the reasons why I shouldn’t have agreed to their request came rushing back.  I’ve heard of a thing called imposter syndrome before.  It’s this thing where people are afraid they are not actually good enough or qualified for their role.  Or that their accomplishments were unearned.  Mine was more of the former.

“Ok.”  I said.

“Anyone hungry?”  Lev asked.

“No.”  I lied.  I was famished.

“So, these murders.”  I needed more information.  Information to back-up my meager ability to do actual magic.  How the hell was summoning folktales supposed to help me solve a freaking murder?  “How long did you say this has been going on?”

“Auntie really only invested in this place about a year ago.  At least, that’s the story.”  Penelope explained, she grabbed the manilla envelope and took out the pictures again.  I turned my head away, quick, actively trying not to look at them.

“So we really only know the story from about a few months ago.”  Penelope continued, “But who knows?  It could be years.  Decades.  Maybe even longer; if it indeed is a supernatural entity.”

“Any chance this is just a…. I don’t know, just a regular serial killer?”  I offered helpfully.

Jesus.  Since when did my life get so fucked up that I was actively wishing it was just a serial killer?

“No.  We were here two weeks ago to check out the murder.”  Penelope frowned at the pictures, “The place was full of…”  She trailed off, trying to grasp the right verbage,  “There’s signs, if you know where to look for them.  Depending on who you are.”

‘You mean what you are.’  But I didn’t voice that out loud.

“Ok.”  I sighed, “Anything else you can tell me?”

“Nothing that you haven’t seen yourself.  These photos, plus some stories that the locals told.  The killings always happen at night.  There’s no discriminating factor; men, women, children.”  Penelope tossed over the photos.

Swallowing bile, I took another look.  I managed about a total of five minutes and flipped them over again, blaming it on car sickness.

“Any guesses on what it could be?”  Penelope asked.

“I… you should know, I’m new to this.  Or you wouldn’t have had to save me on that subway car.”

“I know.  But you have access to resources that we don’t have.”  She gave a pointed look at my backpack.  “I heard that practitioners enchant their books, so that they can’t be read by others.”

Wondering if that was true, I took out one of the books.  Genus: The Classification of All Things & In-Between.  I hesitated before handing it over.

“I promise to give it back.”

“...Right away.”  I added.

“You sure you’re new to this?”  But she smiled and nodded in assent.  Her eyes trailed over the book, then the petite blonde scoffed and passed it back.  “I can’t read a word of it.”

A hidden part of me both rejoiced and relaxed, taking the book back from her.  I opened it, tracing some of the passages that I read yesterday.  “Doubt it’d help here.”

“Still.  Better than nothing.”  Penelope replied.

I thought back to the entries in shamanism, comparing my feeble memory against the photos.  “...I don’t think it’s a spirit.  Or the traditional classification of spirit.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Spirits have patterns.  Behaviors.”  I explained, reviewing what I knew.  “Ghosts.  Haunts.  Vestiges.  Spirit-animals.  Animal-spirits.  They all have a pattern to their behavior.  A… predictability among the unpredictability.  Like people.”

I was paraphrasing now.  This wasn’t exactly what was outlined in the book, but it was my own understanding of what the book was saying between the lines without actually having it written down.  

“A tiger-spirit will behave somewhat like a tiger.  Claws, teeth, and the like.  A ghost… depending on how they died, leaves signatures.  Burns, freezing, stabbing, whatever.  Haunts are even more fixed in their behavior, same wound patterns around a specific place.  Sometimes, even at a specific time.”  I licked my lips.  “Spirits can hold grudges.  But you guys said there’s no relation between the victims, right?”

“No.”  Penelope was listening, and I could feel the weight of her attention.

“They all had their faces ripped off though.”  Lev chimed in cheerfully.

“I noticed that too, but it was all different.  Some looked like… I don’t know.  Ripped off.  Others, looked like surgery.”  I closed my eyes and told myself that I wasn’t scared, no matter how fucked up those photos were.  “I don’t know how likely it is that these people all pissed off the same spirit.”

“Maybe it’s just pissed off at people.”  Lev made a sharp turn and the car slid on a spot of ice, leaving me annoyed.  Ever since yesterday, I couldn’t help but feel jumpy at every turn and corner, expecting something to be staring back at me.

I shook my head.

“Again, all the bodies look… too mangled.  Mangled in different ways.  Some of them look like they were broken to pieces, while others look cut up.  There’s a…”  I hesitated at giving my own take.  “Take my advice with a grain of salt, but I don’t see a similarity in how they died.  Except the gruesome murder part.”

“And spirits are supposed to leave a pattern.”

“Exactly.  But…”  I closed my eyes, recalling the photos without actually looking at them.  “I don’t know if you guys noticed, but the face.  The face was always the worst.”

Penelope took the photos again.  “You’re right.  Sometimes it’s cut up, sometimes it’s bashed in.  But it’s definitely more… worked on, then the other parts.”

“And going back to Lev’s point, it could be a Japanese Ghost.”  I surmised.

“Huh?”

“Japanese Ghosts.”  I said, feeling a sudden chill.  I rubbed my shoulders.  “No reason.  They kill you just for being near them.  Or being alive.  Same thing, I guess.  They could be vicious enough to do this kind of thing, mangle the bodies so bad that there’s seemingly no pattern.  The viciousness itself could be the pattern.”

“Modus operandi.”  Penelope said, suddenly all fancy and snooty.

Look at Ms. Fancypants over here, bringing out the big words.

“But on this scale,”  I finished lamely. “We should look at other possibilities.”

“So spirits are off the list.”  Penelope concluded, “Where does that leave us?”

“Outside my comfort zone.”  I answered honestly.  

That was about all I could scrounge from my meager reading last night.  

“Honestly, I’m not even sure about my spirit theory.  It could be…”  An uncomfortable feeling traveled from my spine to the back of my throat, watering my eyes.  “...an intelligent spirit that knows how to cover its tracks.”  I whispered.

Just the idea that a spirit was smart enough to do all that, to be so self-aware that people might be looking for it and took the effort to vary its murders…

I kept thinking of the Fox-sister and her eyes.  That sinuous thin voice of hers, asking me, getting me to turn around.

The car was quiet.

“You’re kind of creepy.”  Lev said suddenly.

“Only when trying to catch the supernatural equivalent of Jack the Ripper.”  I continued, “But I don’t think… I uh, I don’t think ghosts and haunts can do that.  Veer so far away from their innate nature, I mean.  It would have to be a very powerful spirit.” I swallowed, “So spirits are back on the table.”

“Great.”