No Peace for the Damned

some sealed title work from the seventies. Another Network team scouted the building and they found something. Evidence that David Sasser had been held there.”
    “David Sasser?” I had to think for a moment. “One of the missing Network members. The guy you thought might have been at Batalkis’s house.”
    Thirteen nodded.
    “We want you to come with us!” Heather exclaimed. “To check out the place like you did at Batalkis’s!” She glanced at Thirteen and stifled some of her enthusiasm. “Everybody else is still checking out other locations. I offered to accompany you and Thirteen to this new location.”
    I looked back at Thirteen. Obviously he wasn’t as excited about this field trip as she was.
    “Why do they think Sasser was there?” I asked.
    Thirteen hesitated as Heather turned eager eyes to him. “There was blood,” he said finally. “And, er, fingerprints.”
    He was holding something back. I peeked at his thoughts but his mental walls were rock solid.
    “Well, let’s get going,” I said and threw back the rest of my whiskey. I slid on my shoes and followed Heather to the car. She took the backseat.
    “You seem awfully excited about going to a crime scene,” I said to her.
    She tried to hide her lingering grin and failed. “I know, and it’s just awful of me. I’ve never met David, and I’d probably be a lot different if we were going somewhere else, but I hardly ever get to go to the crime scenes. I do research for the Network more than anything else. But when I found out that he was going to have youcome out and look at the site, I begged Thirteen to let me come this time.”
    She looked a little sheepish.
What do you know? I had a fan
.
    About twenty minutes later we turned onto a worn side street just south of downtown. Three buildings were crowded next to what remained of a gas station. The long exposed wall of the end building was decorated with colorful gang graffiti, and all three storefronts displayed handmade “For Rent” signs. Thirteen parked in front of the last building.
    The windows were barred and the front door was chained shut so we walked to the alley next to the building. Thirteen had a key. I didn’t ask how—the man had access everywhere—and we let ourselves in.
    The floor inside was littered with papers, trash, and leaves that had blown in from a broken window somewhere in the back. It was hot as a sauna and the heat only amplified the stench. Thirteen directed us down a hall, past empty offices on either side, until we reached an open area in the rear—a storage room most likely, given the shelving units on the far wall. In the center of the floor sat a plastic waiting room chair, spattered with stains of brown and red. Blood.
    I took a step closer. Heather gasped and I stopped.
    “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What
is
that?”
    She pointed to the chair and at first I didn’t see anything. But then I saw it, hanging from a string off the back of the chair. I inched forward to get a better look. Thirteen mirrored my movements, walking around the other side of the chair until we were both facing what appeared to be half of a hand—a thumb and two fingers—dangling from a long piece of stringy flesh off the back of the chair.
    I looked up at Thirteen. “Fingerprints?”
    He nodded.
    “The blade must have caught on some of the flesh,” I said, “peeling off this long string of skin in the process. Then it got stuck in the crack of the chair here at the top, and whoever was playing butcher was too busy or too cocky to care and just left.”
    Thirteen crouched down on his haunches to examine the fingers closer. I looked around the room for anything else that might have been left behind. Then I saw Heather. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her stomach, her face white and pasty as soap.
    “Heather? You OK over there?”
    She slowly shook her head back and forth.
    “Heather?” I said again and turned to Thirteen.
    He went to her and put a big arm around her shoulder. “Close your eyes if that helps,” he said softly. She did, then buried her face in Thirteen’s chest.
    He looked back at me, his face still the same serious expression he had when he walked into the farmhouse. “What do you feel, Magnolia?”
    Oh, yeah. I was supposed to be sensing the power here. Right.
    I concentrated on the air in the room. The dank smell of mildew and sweat hung heavy in the room. Somewhere an animal had made a nest among the debris.