July 24, 2012
One of them washed up on the beach while he was out for his morning jog. Salvador ran for miles at sunrise every day, up and then down the still cool sands, in no more than a pair of cotton sweats. He caught the scent several dozen yards before he came upon the body and slowed gradually in his run.
The Dockside district was half a mile yet up the strand. Often he took his run to the first pier, circled the post, and ran back toward home. This morning he stumbled upon a curious roadblock that put an end to his usual routine.
The body was pale and bloated by the time he reached it. Long dark hair clung in tangles to bare and glistening flesh. Strands of seaweed had stuck into the mix as if some great sea god had put in one last ditch effort to make the girl pretty. He knew she was a girl when he rolled her over; breasts that had once been voluptuous in life had become little more than shriveled gray and wrinkled lumps in death.
By what remained of her attire, it was likely the woman had once been a Dockside whore. There were plenty of them. One likely wasn't going to be missed. "Except she is not the only one," said a soft and passionless voice behind him.
Salvador rose up from his crouch with a start and turned abruptly to blink at his mother. The dawn breezes teased at the fabric of her white dress and the fall of her long, too dark hair. Like any other fae she could have been mistaken for beautiful, but she lacked the mind-numbing glamors of so many others of the varying species. Her magics were of a more subtle and disastrous nature.
"Madre," he said respectfully, bowing his head. He knew he did not need to ask why she was here. Where the deceased were concerned, She Who Tends the Dead was never far.
"Good morning, Salvador," said the woman in white. As ever her voice was a librarian's dull monotone of apathy. She dipped her chin slightly, an acknowledgement of his deference, and then looked beyond him to regard the bloated corpse with her usually cold stoicism.
He turned aside to return his attention to the body as well. "Have you come to claim this one?"
"Not yet," she said. Though her bare feet made no sound and left no prints, he could feel her stepping closer to him and his discovery.
Salvador knelt again into the night-chilled sands and brushed aside a cluster of hair and seaweed to get a better look at the woman's face. Her eyes were missing, and that immediately caused him to frown. They were missing their eyes, Sal. Riley's words came back to him as easy as a splinter. He felt his lips peel away from his teeth as they clenched. Either someone was trying to frame him, or this was a damned inconvenient coincidence.
"Do you know who's doing this?" he asked his mother as he rose back up to his feet.
The long silence before she said anything spoke volumes more than her actual, cryptic words. "The one responsible does me great honor with these offerings," she said.
Several years before he would have been belligerently angry with her, demanding straight answers, but he had learned a bit more patience since then, during his self-exiled solitude in Barcelona. He tipped his head and absorbed her words, mulled over what she was and was not saying at great length. Riley had said there had been many bodies in Little Tokyo. When his mother arrived, she had said that this one on the beach was not the only one.
Curiosity had won the better of him after his brief encounter with Riley, where her broaching of the topic had been a near accusation. The reports he had read claimed that what remained of the victims had been left to rot. As he had told the ex-minister, he himself never would have left the bodies if he was responsible. He would have claimed them all, perhaps gifted some to his mother.
Her rules were simple, he knew. If a body was not claimed within three days time of its death, it was hers to claim. This worked especially well for animals. Sentient creatures with rites of reverence and mourning were another matter entirely. For She Who Tends the Dead, they were a rare treat.
"Take this one," he said, stepping away from the corpse and waving an arm at it flippantly. "She was just a whore." A whore who was missing her jewels and her baubles, as well as her eyes and her tongue. "Nobody's going to be looking for her." Besides, he could always find other bodies. As he had told Riley yesterday, there were an abundance of them piling up in the WestEnd these days. The eyes and tongue being removed was a new development, however, that spoke of an entirely different killer. Of course, this was Rhy'Din. There was no shortage of murderers.
He walked away before his mother could protest, though she wasn't likely to do so. All these deaths were becoming an epidemic. Whoever this new cannibal was -- evident in the way the corpses had been chewed up, half-eaten -- he or she was giving more civilized monsters like himself a bad name. Funny how he could consider himself civilized for a change.
_____________________________________________
(In response to Nothing sacred, nowhere safe.)
One of them washed up on the beach while he was out for his morning jog. Salvador ran for miles at sunrise every day, up and then down the still cool sands, in no more than a pair of cotton sweats. He caught the scent several dozen yards before he came upon the body and slowed gradually in his run.
The Dockside district was half a mile yet up the strand. Often he took his run to the first pier, circled the post, and ran back toward home. This morning he stumbled upon a curious roadblock that put an end to his usual routine.
The body was pale and bloated by the time he reached it. Long dark hair clung in tangles to bare and glistening flesh. Strands of seaweed had stuck into the mix as if some great sea god had put in one last ditch effort to make the girl pretty. He knew she was a girl when he rolled her over; breasts that had once been voluptuous in life had become little more than shriveled gray and wrinkled lumps in death.
By what remained of her attire, it was likely the woman had once been a Dockside whore. There were plenty of them. One likely wasn't going to be missed. "Except she is not the only one," said a soft and passionless voice behind him.
Salvador rose up from his crouch with a start and turned abruptly to blink at his mother. The dawn breezes teased at the fabric of her white dress and the fall of her long, too dark hair. Like any other fae she could have been mistaken for beautiful, but she lacked the mind-numbing glamors of so many others of the varying species. Her magics were of a more subtle and disastrous nature.
"Madre," he said respectfully, bowing his head. He knew he did not need to ask why she was here. Where the deceased were concerned, She Who Tends the Dead was never far.
"Good morning, Salvador," said the woman in white. As ever her voice was a librarian's dull monotone of apathy. She dipped her chin slightly, an acknowledgement of his deference, and then looked beyond him to regard the bloated corpse with her usually cold stoicism.
He turned aside to return his attention to the body as well. "Have you come to claim this one?"
"Not yet," she said. Though her bare feet made no sound and left no prints, he could feel her stepping closer to him and his discovery.
Salvador knelt again into the night-chilled sands and brushed aside a cluster of hair and seaweed to get a better look at the woman's face. Her eyes were missing, and that immediately caused him to frown. They were missing their eyes, Sal. Riley's words came back to him as easy as a splinter. He felt his lips peel away from his teeth as they clenched. Either someone was trying to frame him, or this was a damned inconvenient coincidence.
"Do you know who's doing this?" he asked his mother as he rose back up to his feet.
The long silence before she said anything spoke volumes more than her actual, cryptic words. "The one responsible does me great honor with these offerings," she said.
Several years before he would have been belligerently angry with her, demanding straight answers, but he had learned a bit more patience since then, during his self-exiled solitude in Barcelona. He tipped his head and absorbed her words, mulled over what she was and was not saying at great length. Riley had said there had been many bodies in Little Tokyo. When his mother arrived, she had said that this one on the beach was not the only one.
Curiosity had won the better of him after his brief encounter with Riley, where her broaching of the topic had been a near accusation. The reports he had read claimed that what remained of the victims had been left to rot. As he had told the ex-minister, he himself never would have left the bodies if he was responsible. He would have claimed them all, perhaps gifted some to his mother.
Her rules were simple, he knew. If a body was not claimed within three days time of its death, it was hers to claim. This worked especially well for animals. Sentient creatures with rites of reverence and mourning were another matter entirely. For She Who Tends the Dead, they were a rare treat.
"Take this one," he said, stepping away from the corpse and waving an arm at it flippantly. "She was just a whore." A whore who was missing her jewels and her baubles, as well as her eyes and her tongue. "Nobody's going to be looking for her." Besides, he could always find other bodies. As he had told Riley yesterday, there were an abundance of them piling up in the WestEnd these days. The eyes and tongue being removed was a new development, however, that spoke of an entirely different killer. Of course, this was Rhy'Din. There was no shortage of murderers.
He walked away before his mother could protest, though she wasn't likely to do so. All these deaths were becoming an epidemic. Whoever this new cannibal was -- evident in the way the corpses had been chewed up, half-eaten -- he or she was giving more civilized monsters like himself a bad name. Funny how he could consider himself civilized for a change.
_____________________________________________
(In response to Nothing sacred, nowhere safe.)