Zach followed her gaze. On the back of the wooden door, someone had crudely carved the number seven.
The energy closed over him, smothering. Suffocating. He lunged for the door, yanked it open and strode out of the apartment, down the stairs and outside. There, he puked into a trash barrel.
Chapter Seventeen
Tuesday, July 9
3:55 P.M.
Micki found Zach bent over a trash barrel. She gave him his space until he straightened up. He was pale, sweating. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It must have been something I ate.”
“Right.” She looked back at the young woman hovering in the doorway. “Could you get Detective Harris a glass of water?”
She nodded mutely and hurried back up the stairs.
Micki turned back to him. “That thing about something you ate, we both know that was bullshit. What’s going on?”
He hesitated a moment. “Energy. Big and bad.”
He was dead serious, she realized. Micki nodded, dealing with it. “Like the energy you followed from the Ritchie scene?”
“Like that. Only stronger.”
What the hell did she do with that?
The roommate reappeared, a bottle of Kentwood water in her hands. She crossed to Zach and held it out.
He took it; Micki noticed their fingers brushed—and the tiny tremor that rippled over him. So small, that if she didn’t know what he was, she wouldn’t have noticed it.
“Thanks,” he said. He took a swig, swished water around his mouth, then spit it into the trash can. After doing that again, he took a swallow.
His color had returned. “Ready to go back in?” she asked.
He nodded tersely. “Let’s do it.”
Leaving Nora in the living room, they headed down the hall, both donning Latex gloves.
“I shouldn’t touch anything,” he said softly.
“Got it. You tell me what you need me to do.”
They entered the bathroom; Zach flinched but didn’t bolt. A good sign, Micki decided.
The house was old, the single panel door solid. It had the look of wood that had been painted many times. The most recent color was a brick red.
The seven had been dug dead center into the door.
Micki leaned in. The jagged edges of the carving revealed the many layers of paint in a rainbow of colors.
Carving. The word conjured thoughts of an artist. Of deliberate, controlled actions resulting in a beautiful creation.
Whoever had done this had hacked at the wood as if in a frenzy. Chips and splinters littered the floor around the door. With the carnage, drops of blood. Smears of it on the door, not as visible, blending with the red. A partial, bloody handprint.
Micki held her own hand up to the print. Comparing its size to hers, it most probably belonged to a man.
She turned to Zach, and found him staring intently at the door. “Yo, dude.” She waved at him. “Call HQ. We need to get an evidence crew out here.”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve got to get a better look at this monster.”
As if it wasn’t evidence, but the perp himself.
He inched around her and squatted so he was eye level with the seven. He lifted his right hand, palm out.
Micki frowned. “I thought you couldn’t touch anything.”
“I want to try something.”
“Just so you know, I don’t clean up barf.”
A smile touched his mouth. “Neither do I. That’s why I’m taking this slow.”
He moved in slowly, passing his gloved hand in front of the door panel, inching closer until his hand floated a fraction of an inch above.
His hand trembled. The trembling spread to his entire body. Something in the air changed. Became electric. The hair on Micki’s arms stood straight up.
She rubbed them, feeling light-headed. She opened her mouth to suggest he back off when he tumbled backward, landing smack on his ass. He looked comically dumbfounded. She would have laughed if she wasn’t certain she looked the same way.
“You okay, Hollywood?”
He got to his feet. “Holy shit! Did you feel that?”
“That depends. What did you feel?”
“Like a shock of static electricity. But on steroids.” He flexed his fingers, as if trying to wake them up.
She wished she could tell him he was full of crap, but she’d felt the charge in the air, too. She rubbed her arms again. “So, what’re we dealing with here?”
“No frickin’ clue.”
“And I believe in the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy too.”
“I’m being totally legit,” he said. “This is twilight zone time for me too.”
“Great,” she muttered and yanked off her gloves. “But you’re still thinking Miller’s disappearance is related to the Ritchie homicide?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said it was the same energy—”
“I’m not so sure now.”
Better and better. “Considering this—” She motioned the door. “—we can agree Ms. Miller is in some sort of trouble?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Is she alive?”
“I don’t know.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “What do you think?”
“Nothing here suggests otherwise.”