It took Syn several hours to trawl through all the information Gregor had found for her. But the last folders marked scrupulously with, READ LAST, caught her attention. She opened them as instructed after yawning through the rest of the digital pages. She dropped the pen she had been holding, leaned in, read a few lines, looked through images, and pushed back from her desk. More than stunned. She walked away from the screens and made stronger coffee. Syn leaned against the kitchen counter, her eyes fixed on her desk, and the horrid images that remained on the screen, the images now seared into her gray matter. A chuckle bubbled up to her lips as she rubbed her cheeks. My God, she had never seen anything like this in all her years on the force. She took a deep breath, fearing an all-nighter was in store to process the information. And the tickle of fear that crept up her back.
Her cell phone chimed, and Syn’s eyes fixed on it lying on the table next to her notepad. Her gut was telling her not to answer it, while the cop in her, told her move. She crossed to the desk, seeing her Father's number, picture, picked it up, and swiped the talk button. "Hello you."
"How is my wee lassie?" Her father, Gordon Macdonald's Scottish accent filled her ear. She smiled, loving to talk to her dad, and felt a measure of comfort after the information she had just examined. He was originally from Fort William in the Highlands, but after a stint in the Royal Air Force, immigrated to Canada and then to the US, where he had met her mother, Janet. He was a successful entrepreneur and computer guru, worth more than a couple billions. She had earned her love of gadgets and motors from him over the years, and they had grown closer. Their relationship had deepened after her mother's death. His world was hers and hers was his.
"I am fine." Syn winched hoping her apprehension didn’t ring in her voice.
No use sugar coating it, “I am fine Da really?" She knew he would hear more in that statement.
"How is that new computer program coming, any chance of seeing the code this week?"
Syn grinned, because her Dad was always a stickler for deadlines and loved to tease her. "Knowing you, you already tweaked what I sent and made it better."
"Canna put one over on you can I?"
"No. Besides Gregor wouldn't let you."
"How is that old stick?"
"Fine, getting better every day."
"And when are you going to escape the virtual world and find yourself a real mon?"
"Tomorrow." Her father laughed.
She couldn’t put it off any longer, the need for information was an addiction for her. "Dad, what is going on at home?"
"Just got the latest?"
"Yeah." Her dream came back, and bit her sharp in the ass. The pictures on her computer screamed at her.
"A young girl was killed. Don't read too much into it love. Peter says it's a random act of violence. Probably a passer."
She understood her Dad's reference to someone passing through town, and dumping the dead body to throw off authorities. The gruesome acts by the murderer hinted at more than just a passer by her assessment. She wasn’t ready to go down the rabbit hole just yet. Maybe her father was right. Port Lewis stood on the shoulders of the shores of Lake Erie between the Pennsylvania and New York borders, and had negligible crime rate. She shivered involuntarily, images of her dream matching what she had read, and now had examined vivid HDR pixilation. Her home town was just too small, and Peter Johnson was their local sheriff. Her father punched through her thoughts, "Peter thinks it was a dump."
"That is terrible."
She started to ask another question when her Dad cut in. "Sorry love, that's Stephen and the gang, we are off to golf."
"Alright, good talking to you, speak to you later in the week."
"Love you baby girl."
"Love you too."
She cut the connection and lowered her phone. She tapped the phone against her lip thinking, her instincts reading more between the lines. There was more information out there, and she itched to get her hands on it. And the first one was the medical examiners report. Better do this above board and try to gain a copy of the report through official channels using her PI license. She knew this action would raise red flags, but didn't care. She needed to see details. Knowing the archaic technology attitude of Port Lewis, Johnson might be still on a complete paper trail.
“Gregor new search.” She said, walking to her windows. She relayed her request, speaking over her shoulder, “I am going for a run, be back in half an hour.”
“Right, enjoy, let me play.” Gregor shot back, and her computer table went black.
She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, and changed. She was out the door, and hitting the docks, running from one length of the pier to the other, and then returning. She grabbed a bottled water, and returned to her desk, bringing it out of sleep mode. She sighed, dropping into a chair. There pictured on the computer screen was Death, holding his long scythe, walking across her screen. His search was a dead-end or someone had put a tight hold on information. Chills curled up her spine again at the sight of the hooded figure wondering if it was a premonition of things to come. She spoke to no one in particular, snarling. "Great...I do not want to go home." But something was really nagging at her gut, shouting for her to act. Home was calling.
Syn swiveled around in her chair, deep in thought. Her eyes drifted around the room from time to time. She did not want to leave Glasgow, didn’t want to return to that mess she had left behind. There were ghost in her closet that she wanted to stay hidden. She turned back to the computer, touched the screen, and called out for Gregor as her eyes scanned the information of her earlier search, "Gregor, road trip."
"Where are we going sweet thing?"
"Reluctantly, home. Pack it up, shout an email to Marjorie and connect, make the jump to light speed. Shut it down and build the wall." Marjorie was Dad's version of Gregor, in a computer bank at her childhood home in Port Lewis.
"Marjorie will not like my intrusion."
"You will tolerate her as she tolerates you."
"I will look forward to our own space, be quick." He growled at her.
"As fast as you can make the arrangements, the quicker we can be back in our own habitat the better."
"God helps us in limbo." Gregor disappeared from the screen and soon she felt her phone buzzing, delivering an itinerary and e-ticket for the flight to New York. She got up and trudged to her bedroom to pack.
Her grumble matched his, "Amen to that my mon."
Port Lewis, NY
Andreas Louvella smiled up at the emerging eastern light, as the sun rose over the distant hills. A peaceful, happy smile softened his features. He loved the winding road as he drove up into the hills above the city. His car purred along the highway, hugging the curves with little effort or anxiety. Last night lingered in his mind, and the images caused his heart beat to rise dramatically, the blood to pound through his veins, and his manhood to swell blissfully. It had been sheer joy to watch her die, watch her face settle in death, and his orgasm had ripped along his spine with such force, it had left him shaking in ecstasy for hours. He laughed as his rental home came into view.
He laughed because he would be enjoying the pleasure of his kill for days once the body was found. Port Lewis might be a small town in the middle of no where, but this was headline stuff. It was about time the populace stood up, took notice that they were not so isolated after all. And he had job to do, promises to keep, promises that would see the roaches that were his enemy emerge out of the shadows, and come looking for their prey. And once they did, he would execute is main directive, and score big for the fight.