Disconnection Read Free

that she was immortal in her youth, and that her death would come from the slow decay of time, from cancer or heart failure, something natural, murder being only what happened to everyone else.
    Wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything that she had thought before—wrong.
    The Fishhook sign had been drawn in red blood on the mirror over the sink. What it was—what it looked like—was the standard Christian fish symbol with an upside down cross stuck through it. Dee had seen an illustration of it in one of the local newspapers, and mimics of the design that were scattered all over the city’s walls in white chalk or spray paint, jokish scribbles from kids who found the serial killings titillating.
    Dee had never thought she would see the real thing up close. Too close.
    And then Dee heard the voice.
    “Oh Lord, thine hand shall find out all enemies; thy right hand shall find those that hate thee.”
    Hearing those words again made Dee’s blood freeze. She knew what would happen next. Oh God, did she know.
    “Oh Lord, thine hand shall find out all enemies.”
    Dee did not have to open her eyes. She could hear the man attack her. She remembered what he had done—he’d placed one hand over her mouth and whispered in her ear. His breath had smelled like a grave. She was glad she did not have to smell him again. Hearing it again was enough. Hearing it again was more than enough.
    “Thy right hand shall find those that hate thee.”
    The struggle was loud. Dee almost smiled to herself. She had put up a good fight. She had thrown herself backward, squeezing the black cloaked man between herself and the wall. She heard him groan. Dee heard herself scream, at first scared, and then a loud roar of courage, and finally, when she knew she was defeated, her cry dwindling to a soft moan.
    Dee heard the crucifix come down on her head, the crunch of the impact.
Yes
, she thought, placing her hand once more to her forehead. That was where the gash came from. He had knocked her unconscious. And then had taken her here, to this nightmare. And here was where she was.
    Dee opened her eyes and stared at the puddle. The puddle was just a puddle, as seemingly harmless as any puddle before it. And the voice was gone.
    Dee looked around her and realized that the air had dissolved from gray clouds to thin layers of black on black, and that the light from the crevices above were no longer shining as they were before. Day had passed. Night was coming.
    Dee slid her back along the wall until she was lying flat on the ground, facing the muddy ceiling above her. She clenched her eyes tight and willed herself to remain calm, no matter what happened next. Some might say that she was waiting to die, but Dee knew that she was as sure as dead the moment she had stepped off the plane in New Orleans.

CHAPTER
2
     
    D etective Lewis Kline was in a foul mood when he arrived at the crime scene. His fattest hemorrhoid had flared to the size of a ripe grape that morning. The damn thing hurt so bad he was surprised it hadn’t crawled up his ass and taken over his entire digestive system.
    “You’re not getting enough fiber,” his wife, Tabitha, had said as she crawled sleepily out of bed to wipe Preparation H on his rectum while he hiked one leg up over the bathroom counter, his hands spread his ass cheeks apart.
    Tabitha, God bless her
, Lewis thought. She was always there when he needed her, rain or shine, never complaining. And Lord knows, being a cop’s wife, she had dealt with her share of rainy days.
    She had been a true champ, making the very awkward situation more endurable, using humor the way a doctor used anesthetics. While applying the greasy film onto Lewis’s nether regions, she had said, “You know something, Lew? I think I’ll call this hemorrhoid Fred.”
    “Fred?” Lewis had asked, watching her in the mirror’s reflection. “Why Fred?”
    “Because it’s a man’s name.”
    “So?”
    “All men are pains in the ass.”
    Lewis laughed as