Pandora: An Urban Fantasy Anthology Read online

  "Hey, Art…" said one of the uniforms. Tully recognized the face but couldn't put a finger on the name. "You okay? Look like you just rolled out of bed."

  "I did." The victim was young. Male. Long, dark hair, wet from the rain, fanned out around his head. Pale. He was almost…pretty. Tully paused for a second as he noticed the kid's pointed ears peeking out through that hair and his clothing looked medieval… "Is there a Renn Faire going on?"

  "You see those ears? Renn Faire's not for another month," nameless officer said. "And my partner went to check on any anime conventions or fantasy costume shops nearby. Nothing. So we don't know why he's dressed like a Tolkien elf."

  Tully yanked latex gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on. He turned the face to the side and pushed the hair back, looking for the ear's seam. When he didn't see one, he assumed it was because of the dim, early morning light, and lifted the bloody vest and saw the hole through the silk shirt.

  "Hey, Tully." Ezra Maynard, County Medical Examiner and one of Tully's oldest friends, knelt at the head of the victim and ran through the pertinents. "No I.D. on him. I'm guessing he's between nineteen and twenty-five, in good shape except for the hole in his side. It looks like what he was attacked with punctured a lung, but I won't know for sure till I get him on a table."

  "The ears?"

  "I'm not gonna say anything about those yet, either, till I get him on the table. Right now I can't find a seam. But I'm pretty sure they'll have a make or model or serial number on them. Could lead us back to who bought them if his prints aren't in the system."

  "He look familiar to you?"

  "No." Maynard shook his head. "But I see so many dead faces a day they all blend together. I'll do the standard workup."

  Tully looked again at the boy's clothing as the Crime Scene Photographer's camera flashed. He rose and stepped around the boy's arm toward the officers in a huddle. "What's got everyone so worked up?"

  "Hey, Tully…you're the one that needs to see this." Officer Ken Grayson turned and motioned Tully closer in the misting rain. "You used to own a bike, didn't you?"

  "Yeah." Tully knew by bike the kid meant motorcycle. "I had a Harley, Softail. Why?"

  The uniformed men parted to reveal the gleaming chrome of a motorcycle. Tully's jaw dropped at the bike's striking beauty. It seemed to glow beneath the gray overcast sky.

  "What is it, Tully?" one of the others asked. "I can't place the design or lines. It's like a…mishmash of manufacturers."

  Tully moved in close and knelt for the second time that morning. He reached out gloved hand and hesitantly touched the chrome pipe along the side. His fingers snapped back as if he'd touched a live circuit. A look at the ground proved to him he might have. The asphalt was dark and half melted in some places. When he stood, he held out his arms so that everyone would stand back.

  The melted, sooted pattern encircled the bike. "Everyone stay clear of it. I think it got struck by lightening. And recently." He rubbed his tingling fingers against his wet jacket. "Anyone else touch it?"

  "No. Just you. Got a tow coming. No registration on it and no one's claimed it," Officer Grayson said. "You think it was that kid's?"

  "He's not exactly dressed for riding a piece of work like this," one of the other officers said, and started forward.

  For some reason, his instinct to protect other people's property kicked in and Tully knocked the cop's hand away. "Don't…we need to check for fingerprints just in case it was the kid's. And you're not gloved."

  "Right." The struck cop stepped back. "Like Legolas over there would own something like this."

  Tully turned to Grayson. "I want you to follow this one. Make sure it gets on the tow and log it into impound. Then send me the paperwork. I'll take care of it."

  "Sure, Tully." Grayson, young and shiny like Tully once was, beamed at his assignment and motioned for everyone to step away.

  The bus arrived for the body and Tully meandered back to his car. He'd caught a real weird one this morning and it was enough to take his mind off his personal troubles. Till he looked at his phone. Seven missed calls. The woman was turning into a stalker.

  He sat in his car and waited for the tow as he filled out paperwork. Once he saw Grayson supervise the bike, he went into Tsao's and ate lunch at a table facing the alley.

  ME’s Findings

  The Stars Are Fire: Three

  Tully's desk phone rang just as he grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. It was after six and he was technically off duty. But…what the hell. Maybe whatever it was could keep him from going home just yet. "Tully."

  "Hey, Art," Maynard said on the other end. "We got an I.D. on that kid in the costume, the one next to Tsao's?"

  "Oh right. You didn't have to call me. Just send the paperwork over in the morning."

  "I know. But you might want to pull this up yourself."

  Tully didn't like the sound of Ezra's voice. "What? Do I know him?"

  "No. Kid's name was Jeremy Donavan, age twenty. Go ahead, pull it up."

  Tully set the receiver on the desk and logged back into his laptop. He typed the name into the database and sat back when the file and case logs came up.

  Jeremy Donavan, age twenty, vanished almost to the day twenty years ago while walking his girlfriend home after a movie. Tully skimmed the files until he heard Ezra's voice in the receiver. He absently picked it up back up and put it to his ear. "This can't be right. Twenty years?"

  "No mistake. I checked it twice."

  "But if he vanished twenty years ago…why doesn't he look twenty years older?" Tully pulled up Jeremy's picture on file. It was the exact same kid, only with shorter hair and no pointed ears. Good looking. But not as pretty as Tully remembered.

  "That's what I said. And I'm looking at him as we speak. I took tissue samples and ran a few tests. He's young, healthy and has all the earmarks for someone in their early twenties, not in their forties. Blood type matches. He's in better shape now than his last reported physical."

  "Except he's dead."

  "And his ears are pointed."

  Tully paused. "You couldn't get the fake ones off?"

  "That's just it. They're not fake. I biopsied them. No seams, Art. The kid's ears were really pointed, and naturally so. I couldn't find a single surgery scar anywhere on them."

  Tully rubbed at his chin. "That's…just weird."

  "Yeah…and another weird thing was whatever he was struck with isn't your normal weapon. The wound is in a weird oblong shape that tapers off on either end into points. Think of a spear head. The way they're shaped."

  "You're telling me someone stuck this kid with a spear? Like, warrior Viking spear or Watusi warrior spear?"

  "Neither. And it was more than stuck. This thing ripped into him at a high velocity. Blew through several organs. And it did nick his lung like I thought. He bled out and drowned at the same time."

  Someone killed the victim…with a spear? A victim with pointed ears. "Ezra—"

  "I know. You can't do much with this, but I wanted you to know what I found, not what you'll see in that report."

  "You lied?"

  "You want me to say this kid's actually younger twenty years later and he's got better points on his ears than Peter Jackson could make? I made it a mystery so you can investigate. But if you don't find his murderer fast, I'm sure Captain Brooks will shut it down and put you back on that north end rapist."

  Ezra was right.

  "Oh, and the clothes… there was no manufacturer anywhere on any part of them. Not the shirt, the vest or even the boots. I'd almost guarantee those boots are hand tooled, just like the clothing."

  "How can you tell that?"

  "Industrial manufacturing makes things uniform. All the stitches in clothing are the same. But these clothes had irregularities all over the place. They're well sewn, but they're also one of a kind. And the materials are all natural. No synthetics."

  "Okay. I'll see what I can find out about this kid."

&nb
sp; "All right, Tully. And…let me know. This one's giving me the creeps."

  Tully hung up and looked at the smiling boy in the picture and compared it to the memory of the dead boy he'd seen in the alley. They were the same.

  But how does someone who disappeared twenty years ago show up looking exactly the same twenty years later?

  With elf ears?

  Jeremy’s Mother

  The Stars Are Fire: Four

  Tully met Jeremy's mother at the morgue at eight the following morning. She'd been pretty upset when he showed up at her doorstep the night before. She wanted to come see her son immediately, but he knew the morgue was closed and Maynard was doing a few more tests on Mr. Donavan on his own.

  He also wanted to see her face when she saw Jeremy. And he wasn't disappointed. Maynard's assistant, Beth Gabriel, rolled up the blind of the viewing window. Jeremy was already on a gurney, a sheet over his body. When Beth pulled the sheet down, Mrs. Donavan gasped, then pressed her hands against the glass.

  She didn't say anything for a long time.

  "Mrs. Donavan?"

  "This…this can't be possible. This isn't possible." She turned a stricken face to Tully. "He looks exactly the same…like he did that day. Detective, it's been twenty years—this can't be him." Her voice rose just a little and Tully wondered if showing her the body had been a good idea.

  Tully was happy Maynard had had the forethought to cover the kid's pointed ears with his hair. "Mrs. Donavan—"

  She backed away. "It's not possible…."

  "I know how this looks—"

  "You have no idea how this looks!" Her voice overpowered his own. Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened to the size of golf balls. "My son disappeared twenty years ago…twenty years, detective. How is it possible he's here, now. Dead? How did he die?"

  The jump in context made him hesitate. "Uh…he was stabbed, ma'am."

  "Stabbed." She clasped her hands at her chest and turned back to the window.

  Tully looked at Beth and motioned her away from the body for now. "Ma'am, was your son ever into period clothing?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "Like…did he ever go to the Renn Faire? Or was he into costumes? Maybe liked to do those anachronistic games?"

  She turned a confused expression to him. "No, detective. He was studying to be an engineer. What kind of questions are these?"

  "I need you to sit down with me and tell me exactly what happened that night. From the beginning."

  "The beginning? That starts from the time I had him, detective. Jeremy was my life. He was beautiful from the time he came into the world to the time he left it…" she said as she looked away from the view of her beautiful boy.

  Tully didn't say anything. Sometimes it was better to let the family speak when they could.

  "He always had problems in school—not because of his grades. He was so…so smart. But he got picked on because people always thought he was a girl. He had the face of an angel, detective. As you can see. It was as if God had decided to give me one of his own." She rubbed her nose with a tissue. "The taunting and the bullying continued into high school. He was called so many names. They put a caption under one of his pictures, his ninth year annual, as Prettiest Gay Boy. He was so angry with everyone.

  "And then he met Rachael…" She smiled. "And everything changed. She loved him and he loved her. He started working out and building his strength to fight the bullying, but once they started dating and it was obvious my boy wasn't into other boys, they left him alone."

  Mrs. Donavan stared at the boy for a few seconds more before she finally joined Tully on a bench across the hall. Once seated, they could see Jeremy's still, pale profile. "It was close to Christmas, like it is now. And the weather was like it is now—warmer than usual. And raining. Made fog in the mornings and mist in the evenings. Jeremy and Rachael decided to walk down the road to the theater to see a movie. They were going to come back to the house after the movie finished and have dinner with me. I made spaghetti." Her gaze became distant as she clutched her purse to her chest and focused on a point in time. "It was Jeremy's favorite. He was…he was, ah….going to ask her to marry him that night. Worked hard to get the money to buy her a half-carat solitaire—something she'd always wanted."

  Tully licked his lips. "They never came home?" He didn't remember seeing a file for a missing girl that same night.

  "No. I waited for an hour after I knew the movie would be over. I called the theater, too, but they were already into the second showing. I went outside…but I never saw him."

  "Witnesses near the theater reported seeing a group of motorcycles and their riders." He thought of the bike from the alley, now in the impound yard. "Was Jeremy into riding?"

  "No. In fact, he was terrified of motorcycles. The detective that gave my son's disappearance a minute of his time told me about the motorcycles. They all thought Jeremy ran away with them."

  "What about his girlfriend?"

  The question seemed to shake her out of her reverie and she looked at Tully. "I didn't know she was missing until her mother called me early the next morning. She wanted to know if Rachael stayed at our house. I told her neither of them came home. Of course her husband blamed Jeremy…said some pretty nasty things." Mrs. Donavan looked away. "Then Rachael showed up the next night, wandering around where they disappeared. The police said she was disoriented and bruised, and for a while they thought Jeremy did it. Especially when they never found a trace of him."

  Tully pulled out his phone and thumbed to his Notes app. "What was her full name?"

  "Rachael Mendez. She was beautiful, detective. And my son loved her." She closed her eyes as tears streamed silently down her cheeks. "Jeremy was a good boy…he wouldn't have hurt her."

  "I'm sure he wouldn't have, Mrs. Donavan. You wouldn't happen to know what happened to Rachael Mendez? Did she get married, or is she still nearby?"

  "Detective…" Mrs. Donavan wiped at her eyes. "Rachael was committed to a mental institution a week after she showed up. The doctors said she had a psychotic break. Talked about hounds and armored men on horses. Told the doctors they came for Jeremy and she fought to get away."

  Hounds and armored men? "What about the bike riders the witnesses saw?"

  "As far as I know, she never mentioned them."

  "Do you know where she is now?"

  Mrs. Donavan nodded and sniffed. "Yes, detective. I do. She's in Forever Home Cemetery. She died a year after Jeremy disappeared."

  The Impound Yard

  The Stars Are Fire: Five

  Tully didn't recognize the number on his cell as he waited for his hotdog from the food truck. "Tully."

  "Detective Art Tully?" It was a man's voice.

  "Yeah. Hold on." He took his dog and his soda and handed the guy cash and motioned for him to keep the change. The drizzle continued, but that didn't stop downtown from popping open umbrellas to grab a good lunch for little money.

  He moved back to his car, parked a few feet away next to a fire hydrant and dropped his phone in his pocket. Once inside with his dog ready and his soda in a holder, he retrieved the phone. "You still there?"

  "Yeah. Sounds like you're over on Tenth Street. Heavenly Dog's out today?"

  "Sure is. And there's quite a line." Tully bit into the salsa-covered package of nitrates. "So," he said around a mouthful. "Who are you?"

  "Oh damn, Art. Sorry. It's Mac Goldman, over at the impound yard."

  Oh. Right. Tully recognized the name. An image of a short, round African American man in a brown uniform came to mind. "What can I do for you?"

  "Your name's on this motorcycle that came in yesterday."

  "Right. Was it stolen?"

  "No…but it's creeping me out. Can you come down here?"

  Tully checked his phone for the time. "I don't know. I'm supposed to go talk to someone."

  "I really have to talk to you, Art. And I need to do it in person."

  Something about the way he a
sked slowed Tully's rabid consumption of his dog. He swallowed. "You okay?"

  "Yeah…just get here. Before dark."

  When he disconnected Tully sat in the sprinkling rain, eating, until a uniformed officer tapped on his glass. Tully showed him his badge and the officer moved on. What could be so upsetting that the impound supervisor would call him personally? Whatever it was, it had his curiosity up, and it extended his day.

  He finished the meal and checked his blocked calls. Twenty from Cherish. He'd avoided her last night and went to his own apartment, which had smelled like bad chicken. He was going to have to talk to her soon and just be honest.

  He wasn't ready for marriage. Didn't know if he ever would be.

  Tully called Mr. Mendez and rescheduled their meeting for later in the evening, then drove the hour and a half to the impound yard.

  The wire gate was open when he pulled in. The place was little more than a warehouse in the center of a parking lot. The more recent impounds were kept inside out of the weather so CSU could take a look at them if they were part of a murder scene. The ones impounded for parking violations and older cases were moved outside. Some of them had been there since Tully got his gold badge.

  Mac met him at his car and shut the door after Tully got out. "Good to see you," Mac said as he offered his hand.

  Tully shook it as the rain picked up from a drizzle to more substantial drops. "Good to see you. Let's get inside."

  The warehouse door was open. Tully breathed in the ever-present aroma of oil and gas as he took off his coat and shook the rain off of it. He was wondering if he'd ever be dry again.

  Mac didn't say anything as he lead Tully past two rows of cars of various makes, models, and conditions, to a row of smaller slots for two-wheeled vehicles. The only one there was the bike from the alley.

  Seeing it in the brighter light of day and under the fluorescents of the warehouse reaffirmed Tully's original assessment of the motorcycle: it was a one of a kind. A custom-made job that sort of resembled a softtail but had the earmarks of a touring bike, like the larger control panel atop the handlebars. "So, what's the problem?"