Deranged Specter: Street Games, #4

By L.K. Hill

All bets are off. After all she's been through, nothing will stop Kyra from finding her brother.

 

Kyra has a new disguise--a new charade--that may prove infinitely more dangerous. She now stalks the Mire with gangsters and thugs, dodging a serial killer and searching. Always searching...

Gabe searches for Kyra relentlessly, but she has once again disappeared into the darkness of the Mire. Meanwhile the serial killer still haunts Gabe's jurisdiction, the Prowlers are an ever-growing threat, and the mystery of Gabe's brother's disappearance seems to have gone cold.

But Abstreuse City never remains quiet for long. Oh no. There's a great deal of darkness in store for Kyra and Gabe. If only they can find the strength to meet and overcome it.

Join them on a pulse-pounding run through the bowels of Abstreuse City, where demons of the past and future are about to collide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liesel Hill
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393822158

L.K. Hill

L.K. Hill is a lifelong Connecticut resident. After attending community college, she married and raised two sons. Getting tired of retail jobs, she trained and became a certified nurses aide, focusing on homecare. But her lifelong interest was writing and The Viking World, so she decided to write a book about them. This novel is her dream come true, and may your dreams become a happy reality.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kyra jumped when her hand brushed across the cold, black slime. She’d leaned back in the darkness onto her right palm because her legs had begun to cramp from squatting so long, and accidentally put her hand in it.

She peered down at it in the moonlit darkness, uncomprehending, for several seconds before recognizing it as the same slime she kept seeing all over Old Abstreuse lately. Feeling distinctly disgusted, she twisted her lips and wiped her hand on her dark pants. The slime felt cold and moist yet didn’t leave her hand feeling wet. Kind of like silly putty.

The slime had probably always been in Old Abstreuse. She simply hadn’t noticed.

Having spent so much time in this part of the city during recent weeks, Kyra noticed it everywhere. Lines of it ran along the extreme sides of streets and alleys, like a citywide decoration. Moist and black, with a slightly acrid smell, she didn’t know what it consisted of or where it came from.

It didn’t truly matter. Yet another distasteful aspect of a dying city. At least it kept  her mind occupied for a few seconds. The waiting felt interminable tonight.

Old Abstreuse stood more deserted than the Mire this time of night. Mirelings didn’t walk the streets here. Only Prowlers, and only sometimes. Most of them existed underground and rarely showed their faces above.

Still, if any planned to walk down this particular street tonight, it would happen soon. That's why Kyra now squatted behind the dumpster, accidentally putting her hand in slime. She waited for a Prowler to come along.

Her scalp itched and she forced her hands down to keep from scratching it. She didn’t want to push her short, black, bobbed wig askew. She’d worn it with an off-the-shoulder shirt, short shorts and fishnet stockings to mimic the look of a working girl. Solid black sneakers covered her feet, though. She wasn’t about to engage in tonight’s activities while wearing heels.

Turning her head slowly, she peered up at the building across the way. Short and squat, it consisted of one story with a flat roof. On it, she made out the barest shape of a bump. Despite the lack of moon, she still discerned the black shape against the less-dark sky.

Had she not already known Dellaire flattened his body against the top of the roof, she would've thought it simply part of the structure, indistinguishable from the rest. Dim illumination from distant lights gave the street adequate light to see by, but Dellaire had pressed himself into the shadows, utterly invisible.

Kyra couldn’t see his face, much less his eyes. She felt them on her, though. His gaze always made her uncomfortable. He stared as if seeing into her soul. It felt a little too intimate. She didn't want him seeing into her soul. He was a gangster, and a dangerous criminal, but she also knew he felt more for her than she felt for him.

Damn you, Dellaire, she thought testily. Stop staring.

She and Dellaire had done their homework. Two or three Prowlers passed through this street each night. Dellaire suspected they ran messages for their leaders. They never followed the Prowlers to find out where they went, though, and obviously didn’t know where they came from.

After several days of stakeouts, Dellaire felt confident Prowlers would use this route tonight. They simply needed to wait for the first one to happen by.

All the waiting filled Kyra with anxiety. Not for the operation itself. She rather hoped a Prowler showed up soon so they could get this over with. All the waiting gave her time to think about recent events, though.

Inevitably, her thoughts strayed to Gabe. Anxiety and loneliness filled her. She smothered them ruthlessly. All the waiting with only the soft moaning of the wind for company and the feel of Dellaire’s eyes on her, made it difficult to distract herself from thoughts of him.

Dark clouds blocked out the moon tonight, and the smell of damp dirt filled her nose. A storm loomed overhead. She only prayed a Prowler came along before it hit. The rain might keep everyone inside or underground, foiling Kyra and Dellaire's operation.

A crunch from down the street caught her attention. Her heart beat faster. The first Prowler of the night had arrived. It couldn’t be anyone else. Kyra glanced toward Dellaire, knowing he would have heard it too.

The unmistakable crunch of shoes on gravel drew closer and Kyra made ready to jump out. When the shoes thudded on the pavement only a few feet from the dumpster, Kyra lunged. She staggered out from behind the dumpster in an aggressive fashion and startled the rail-thin man walking toward her.

The man gasped with surprise.

Kyra fell forward onto one knee, pretending to be drunk. She leaned forward, resting both palms on the pavement, as though to stop herself from face planting. Zorry, she slurred. Trying to get home. Can you show me ze way?

Before dropping her eyes, she’d caught sight of his face, and her heart skipped a beat.

The man wore black paint all over his face. Apparently, that look had become more prevalent for the Prowlers since Gaap arrived in the city and began leading them. Before that, they’d stuck mostly to ski masks.

The man also appeared to have red eyes. She and Dellaire had seen this before as well. Dellaire believed Gaap provided his followers with strange-colored contacts to make them look more threatening. The effect proved...frightening.

The Prowler glanced from side to side in confusion. He turned and glanced back down the street in the direction he’d come from before looking past her into the distance.

Then his eyes rested on her again. They took on a predatory light. He lunged forward, grasping her by the shoulders tightly enough to shove her backward. She went from kneeling on one knee and leaning forward to lying flat on her back in seconds.

The Prowler jumped on top of her and she struggled weakly, moving around and grabbing his hands when he reached for her clothing. She kept struggling only enough to keep him busy. Something small and square fell out of the Prowler’s jacket pocket and hit the pavement beside them. It clattered like plastic.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark figure jump down from the adjacent building. Dellaire had merely worn black clothing, complete with black ski mask. A soft thud sounded as his feet hit the pavement. The Prowler remained too preoccupied with trying to get control of Kyra's hands and straddle her at the same time to notice.

Just as Dellaire came up behind the Prowler, something squelched under his foot. The Prowler must have heard it because he froze, then whirled toward Dellaire, swinging his fist as he went. It connected solidly with Dellaire's gut. With a whoosh of air, Dellaire staggered backward. His heel caught on some divot in the road and he fell onto his back.

The Prowler leapt to his feet and produced a knife from somewhere. The distant, ambient light glinted on it in a sinister way. It must've been eighteen inches long.

Dellaire flipped swiftly onto his belly and pushed upward with his hands.

Standing above Dellaire, now on his hands and knees, still fighting for breath, the Prowler raised the knife above his head, aiming the point at Dellaire’s spine.

Kyra reacted quickly. Pulling her knees into her chest, she kicked out viciously and connected with the outside of the Prowler's knee.

He went down like a sack of potatoes and ended up lying in the street beside her. Twisting toward her, he raised his knife. It arced downward, aimed at her chest now.

Kyra hesitated, staring at the tip of the knife. It descended and she snapped back to reality, rolling away. She thought she felt it graze the dark wig she wore, yet it didn't touch her skin as she rolled once, twice, three times. She came to a stop laying on her belly, nose to the pavement. Her eyes fell directly onto the plastic object that fell from the Prowler’s coat.

A butane lighter.

Snatching it up, Kyra felt the man looming over her, about to attack again. She flipped onto her back, simultaneously flicking the lighter with her thumb.

The Prowler crawled forward swiftly, like a crazed alligator, his body sliding over top of hers.

Kyra jammed the now-lit lighter into the Prowler’s face, burning his cheek. He cried out and crawled backward as Dellaire’s dark figure loomed up behind him. Dellaire raised his arms above his head and brought a square object down hard on the Prowler's skull.

The man collapsed onto the street and stopped moving, his knife clattering to the pavement.

Kyra gazed up at Dellaire in the darkness. His chest heaved as he panted.

He looked down at her with hooded eyes before taking a step toward her and holding out one hand. She took it and let him pull her to her feet.

After removing his ski mask, revealing his long-dark ponytail, Dellaire took a syringe from the inside of his jacket. With frightening speed and precision, he found a vein in the Prowler's neck and shoved the needle in, quickly dispensing what Kyra knew to be anesthetic.

She looked down at the lighter in her hand. The flame had extinguished on the Prowler’s face. It looked like a standard butane lighter, the kind that could be purchased just about anywhere. Except this one had a thin strip of orange electrical tape wrapped around it, right in the center. Shrugging, Kyra pocketed the lighter.

They could hardly question the man here in the alley, especially with other Prowlers passing through every few hours. They needed to take him somewhere else, and they didn’t want to risk him waking up on them.

The Prowlers Kyra dealt with in past situations weren’t the brightest of people. They weren't stupid either. He might wake up but pretend to still be asleep and attack them when he thought he held the advantage. Much better to take every precaution and keep him from waking up for a certain amount of time.

It worked, she breathed softly.

Dellaire abruptly whirled on her. What the hell was that?

Kyra frowned at him. What the hell was what?

Will you stop trying to sacrifice yourself. Dellaire’s voice held an air of command, rather than questioning.

Kyra’s chest filled with anger and rebellion. I didn’t, she said coldly.

Bullshit. You knew when you kicked his legs out from under him, you'd be within range of his knife. When he raised it, you didn’t move right away. Do you want to die so much?

Forgive me for saving you, Kyra snarled. It's called loyalty.

Dellaire shook his head, his ponytail swaying. You didn't save me out of loyalty. You saved me because you need me to help you find your brother.

Maybe so, Kyra allowed. Maybe it's loyalty to him, not to you. It’s still loyalty.

Dellaire stared at her, face unreadable. No, he said firmly. It isn't.

This was not the time or place for them to argue. Kyra opted to simply move on.

What did you step in to tip him off?

Dellaire frowned down at the ground. This black slime.

So Dellaire had noticed it too. Do you know what that stuff is? It's everywhere around here.

Dellaire shook his head again. He leaned down to scoop some of the slime onto his index finger, then pulled it toward his nose and sniffed.

Kyra did her best not to be disgusted. She'd always half-wondered if it might be raw sewage. What do you...smell?

Alcohol, I think.

Alcohol? Kyra asked skeptically. Really?

Hard to tell, Dellaire said. I think that’s what I smell. The slime has absorbed most of the scent.

What do you think it is?

I have no idea. No way to tell unless we figure out who put it here. He straightened and wiped his hands on his dark pants, much as Kyra had earlier. It hardly matters. We have more important things to do tonight than try to determine a mystery substance behind a dumpster in an abandoned city.

Kyra still felt deeply curious about the slime, but when he put it that way, it did seem a little ridiculous.

She stepped past Dellaire to where they’d secreted a black bag—not unlike a body bag—in the shadows at the base of the building. She dragged it out beside the unconscious Prowler and Dellaire leaned down to help her stretch out the bag on the ground and stuff the Prowler into it.

They zipped it up around him and each of them took an end. He may have had all the girth of a totem pole, but he weighed more than Kyra expected. The walk back to the Carmichael district loomed, long and tiring.

They didn't speak as they went. She and Dellaire planned this evening days ago, including mapping out the route. They took the easiest way without having to crawl through tunnels or climb over buildings. Because of that, they also walked a longer distance.

They'd accomplished their first task of the night—capturing the Prowler—but were nowhere near through.

The journey through the silence of the city only allowed Kyra more time to contemplate everything. They reached the boundaries of Old Abstreuse, and Kyra noted the black slime on the streets. It looked like someone took a hose full of the stuff and walked along the outer sides of every street in Old Abstreuse, letting it leak out.

They moved stealthily into the Slip Mire. Kyra prayed they didn’t run into anybody. Dellaire, in the lead, stopped several times and held up a hand. Each time, Kyra froze and a moment later, the soft murmur of voices reached her ears. Dellaire then motioned her forward and they trudged through the alleys once again. Kyra’s back and shoulders ached from carrying the Prowler. Nothing for it except to keep going.

As they neared the border of the Mire, Kyra noticed something several blocks down. It looked like some kind of wall that reached across the street. This street stretched wide enough for cars to drive on it. One lane went in either direction and, while all seemed quiet now, she knew this road saw a decent amount of traffic during the day.

Kyra blinked, trying to understand what she saw. The wall looked...lumpy. But depth perception in the dark was a tricky thing. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Finally, she stopped, forcing Dellaire to do the same. Dellaire, she said. Look down there. What is that?

Dellaire turned to peer in the direction she pointed. He frowned.

Is that a wall across the road?

After a moment, Dellaire nodded. Looks to be.

Who would’ve put that there?

He shrugged. Looks lumpy, like it’s made of furniture and debris. Probably just Mirelings up to no good. He jerked his head in the direction they’d already been going. Come on. We've still got a ways to go.

He moved forward and Kyra followed, casting one last, bewildered glance toward the barrier. Sure, Mirelings did some weird things sometimes. Even criminal mischief, but she’d never seen a wall like that anywhere in the Mire before.

Dellaire was right, though. They needed to focus on their current task. She put the strange wall from her mind.

They eventually moved into the Carmichael district.

The Carmichael district stood far darker and more silent than the Slip Mire. Mostly it held vacant warehouses which hadn't been used in years. Gabe told her most were still privately owned. This part of the city had become so dilapidated, it wasn't worth anyone doing business from the properties they owned. It both cost and inconvenienced them more than simply working out of some other part of the city. A few of the warehouses still got a little bit of movement, but mostly during the day, and not much.

Kyra often wondered which stood emptier: Old Abstreuse, or the Carmichael district. Overall, she thought the Carmichael district won. On the surface, they seemed about equal. They weren’t. The Prowlers operated out of underground living spaces in Old Abstreuse. The Carmichael district held nothing of the sort beneath its streets.

At least, not anymore. Not since the cops took down the human trafficking operation in the warehouse weeks ago. She doubted enough time had passed for criminals to have regained the courage to resume their criminal activities yet. It happened too recently. The cops still watched too closely.

Everything in the city felt dead. It reflected the way Kyra felt inside. Perhaps she would die physically soon as well. She’d come to terms with the idea of dying to rescue Manny.

Oh sure, she had a plan. Boss promised to give her Manny’s location as soon as she took out the killer in the Mire preying on Boss’s clientele. He’d added the caveat that he wouldn't force Manny to go with Kyra if Manny didn't want to.

Kyra felt certain he’d find some way to convince Manny to stay. Things weren’t as simple as the mob boss of Abstreuse keeping his word. No, Kyra would need to do something more, and she intended to.

She would take Manny’s place and die the slow death Abstreuse eventually inflicted on most who walked its underbelly for too long. As long as Manny escaped, she could accept the rest. She simply needed to stay alive long enough to make the exchange.

Either way, taking down this killer had to come first. There was always a chance she was wrong and Boss would play nice. But she had absolutely no ground to stand on unless she did what he wanted first.

After more than an hour of walking, they finally reached the designated spot:  a warehouse Dellaire picked out days ago. It sat far enough away from anything the police patrolled that they shouldn't have to worry about unwanted visitors.

The materials in the walls made it relatively soundproof, which meant if the Prowler woke and hollered, they wouldn't arouse any unwanted attention.

They trudged into the vacant warehouse with the black body bag, Dellaire looking vaguely crippled after the long walk. The two of them dropped the bag unceremoniously onto the ground.

Breathing hard from the strain of the journey, they spent the next ten minutes pulling the Prowler from the body bag, maneuvering his unconscious form into a solid wooden chair Dellaire nailed to the ground several days before, and tying him to it. Kyra secured the man’s wrists and ankles to the wooden arms and legs of the chair while Dellaire wrapped a thicker rope around his chest.

Now they simply needed to wait for the Prowler to wake up. Then, the real work would begin.

Chapter 2

The word GAAP, spray -painted in six-inch high letters, decorated the wall above the corpse like a macabre banner over a circus act, except this Mireling truly lay dead. No tricks here.

Gabe touched his fingertips to the brick wall of the alley beside the word thoughtfully. A new development. The murders prior to this didn’t include Gaap’s name written anywhere.

He glanced down at his cell phone, noting the time. He had another appointment later tonight, in a few hours. He wouldn’t be at this scene too much longer, though.

They needed to wrap it up quickly anyway. Though the weather, as yet, remained dry, low threatening clouds hung in the sky, blocking out the moon.

Gabe smelled the storm on the air. In truth, the scent of wet desert dirt filled his nose. That smell only came when rain loomed close. They needed to transport the body before the rain arrived.

He turned to cast his gaze over the corpse. A male junkie this time, he lay sprawled across the alley. He'd been stabbed several times in the chest.

Strange. The MO, and the way he'd been left, as though the killer wanted him found quickly, matched the previous murderers. Yet, the earlier crime scenes contained female prostitutes, and with no spray-painted words above them. This murder must be related to the earlier ones, yet it felt different enough to give Gabe a headache.

The body lay in a shadowy alley in the center of the Slip Mire, not far from M street. The familiar network of narrow alleys spiraled around him, and, as usual, he left his car a little way from the crime scene. Most of the alleys in this area proved too narrow to get a car into, so he, CSU, and any unies in squad cars left their vehicles and walked a short distance to reach it.

Now the unies kept a growing crowd of Mirelings far enough away from the scene to stop them from trampling it. No matter how many died in the Mire, onlookers always showed up with their curiosity.

Though no light sources hung in this alley—the body had no doubt been purposely left in a shadowy area—the signature red light of the Mire, brought about by rusted light fixtures and sometimes even red bulbs, filtered in from adjacent alleys.

When the unies arrived, they’d set up spotlights to illuminate the scene. A mixture of urine, excrement, and body odor smells assaulted Gabe’s nose. They mingled with the gummy, rubbery smell of pavement. After working in the Slip Mire nightly for so many years, he’d grown used to it.

Gabe fought the greasy feeling around his heart. It always built up when he came to a crime scene like this one. He first felt it when these murders in the Mire started happening.

He couldn't explain the feeling, or why it came specifically with this killer. After all, he'd worked hundreds of murders in the Slip Mire, and only this killer produced the strange feeling. Gabe ignored it.

Bailey squatted near the junkie's body, collecting evidence. She’d pulled her blonde hair into a French braid and moved with efficiency and precision.

Okay, Bailey said. I'm pretty much done here, Gabe. What did you want me to help you check?

Gabe squatted down across from her, on the other side of the body. His throat. I want to see if there's a key stuffed in there.

Bailey nodded. As the head of Abstreuse’s CSU department, she’d be well aware of the more recent bodies having keys in their throats. Earlier bodies didn’t have them. It might represent an evolution of the killer’s MO.

Gabe didn't believe it to be that simple. Since being out to the ranch in the desert, Gabe felt certain the killer wove a more complex pattern here.

He snapped latex gloves onto his hands and Bailey exchanged the ones she'd been wearing for a fresh pair. You open the mouth, Gabe, she said. I'll see what I can see.

He nodded and obeyed. The mouth came open with a cringe-worthy sucking sound, but it opened easily. The victim had been found quickly and rigor mortis hadn't set in yet.

Bailey peered into the vic's mouth with a small flashlight that jettisoned a powerful stream of white light. After a few seconds she shook her head. She inserted her fingers into the mouth and felt around before shaking it again. Nope. Nada.

Gabe nodded. He didn't know whether he’d expected a key or not. After returning from the ranch, he laid out all his case files and marked which ones had held keys. Patterns would remain elusive until the results from the ranch came in and all the bodies were discovered.

What’s this killer up to?

What? Bailey asked.

Gabe didn't realize he'd spoken the thought aloud until she answered. She frowned at him quizzically, obviously waiting on an answer.

It's mostly the same MO, except his name is written there, he nodded with his chin toward the wall. More than that, though, everything about it seems sloppier to me. Less precise.

Different victimology, Bailey said pointedly.

Gabe nodded. Technically. But maybe not. Our guy is a purge killer. He targets people who are considered the dregs of society. Prostitutes, junkies, drug dealers. He’s stuck with working girls before. Maybe he's branching out now to other people he considers a detriment to society.

He studied the man on the ground in front of him. Obviously a Mireling, the victim appeared tall and lanky, obviously malnourished, and probably had pale skin even before he died. His eyes appeared sunken into his head and track marks marred his arms.

"How do we know he isn’t a prostitute? Bailey asked. He's obviously a junkie, but he might have been prostituting to support his habit."

Gabe registered mild surprise. Bailey was right, though. The man could be a prostitute. Either way, the same killer orchestrated both scenes.

You said, Bailey continued, putting her evidence collection bags into her case, it seems sloppy. How so?

Gabe shook his head. "I can’t entirely put my finger on it. Something about it feels...I don't know, rehearsed? Like they went through all the motions, but without the same passion as before. Like the killer posed the body haphazardly. We don’t know if previous bodies were posed or not. They at least seemed to have fallen naturally. This one doesn’t. The stab wounds seem less controlled than before, too."

Bailey nodded. The wounds I noticed. Like he went into more of a stabbing frenzy than with past victims.

Gabe nodded. Don't get me wrong, I do think this is the killer’s doing, but maybe he didn't do it himself. Maybe we’re looking at multiple killers.

Bailey froze in the act of shutting her CSU case. Like a copycat?

Gabe shook his head. Not exactly. I feel like the killer gave instructions to someone on how he wanted this done, and then sent them to do it. That's why it's not as clean and precise as usual.

Why? Bailey asked. Don't serial killers relish doing the killing themselves? Why assign a proxy?

I don’t know, Gabe admitted. For now, it's only a theory.

Well, Bailey said, anything else you want to do before I transport the body?

Gabe shook his head. "No, I've gotten all I can get from the scene. Give the