The Restorer

Thirty-Eight

I woke up the next day to sunlight and a ringing telephone. I was in my bedroom, but I had no idea how I’d gotten there. The details of last evening were cloudy. Something told me I was better off that way.

Drawing the covers over my head, I waited for the caller to give up. I wasn’t up to dealing with real life. I wanted to drift a little while longer, but little by little, everything came back to me and I felt very alone and afraid. I had no one to talk to, no one to turn to. I couldn’t tell Papa. I couldn’t bear to see the look in his eyes. I couldn’t tell Devlin, either, because he would never understand, no matter how hard he tried.

He’d spent the night on my front porch, only inches from where I lay curled on the floor in the foyer. But he may as well have been a million miles away for all that it mattered. I couldn’t open the door to him. I imagined them out there, circling like vultures. As long as I remained in my sanctuary, they couldn’t touch me. As long as I stayed away from Devlin, they wouldn’t want me.

Or so I told myself. But I wouldn’t know for sure until dusk.

He’d finally left at sunup and taken his ghosts with him. I’d pulled myself up off the floor and staggered into the bedroom to collapse fully dressed on top of the covers. I didn’t remember nodding off, but I must have slept deeply because now I had that sluggish, hungover feeling of daytime slumber.

I wished I could doze off again, but I couldn’t afford to sleep the day away. I had work, things to take care of. Life went on for me and for Devlin…just not together. Unless I could find a way to shut out the ghosts. But even here in my sanctuary I wasn’t safe. Not from Devlin.

The phone started ringing again. This time I picked it up, thinking it might be him, though I hadn’t a clue what I would say to him. I wasn’t ready to face him. That much I did know.

“Hello?”

“Amelia? It’s Ethan. Did you forget our date?”

I sat up. “Our date?”

“You were going to come by the morgue today. Unless you changed your mind.”

I pressed my fingertips into my temple. “We talked about this last night, right? At your father’s party?”

“Yes. Are you all right?”

“Just a little groggy. I guess I overslept.”

A pause. “Overslept? It’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon.”

My gaze flew to the clock. “That’s impossible.” But there it was in bright, neon blue.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ethan asked worriedly.

“I just need a minute to pull myself together.” Of course, I needed a whole lot more than that, but it was a relief to have something to think about other than the ghosts. Other than Devlin. Suddenly, I had an overpowering urge to be out among the living. A morgue would not have been my first choice, but the appointment had already been set with Ethan and I was curious about the skeletal remains we’d found in the chamber. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Call when you arrive so I can walk you in. And, Amelia?”

“Yes?”

Another pause. “Nothing. I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up the phone with one thought uppermost in my mind. How many hours did I have until twilight?

Ethan came out to greet me at MUSC. As we rode the elevator down to the morgue, I could feel his inquisitive gaze on me. He must have wondered about my appearance, but was too much of a gentleman to ask. One glance in the mirror after my shower had confirmed a cold suspicion. My eyes were sunken, my cheeks hollow. Already I had assumed the gaunt visage of the haunted.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ethan asked as we walked down a short hallway.

I offered him the first excuse I could think of. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather today. It’s nothing serious.”

“If you have a weak stomach, this probably isn’t the place for you,” he warned.

“No, I’m okay.”

Famous last words.

He pulled open a door and we were met with a swoosh of cold air and the pungent aroma of antiseptic layered over the putrid, slightly sweet scent of death. My stomach recoiled as he led me into the locker room of the autopsy suites. He handed me a set of scrubs and then disappeared while I changed out of my street clothes. After a few minutes, he came back to collect me and we went into one of the rooms where the skeletal remains had been placed on a stainless-steel table.

“He’s just a number right now,” Ethan said. “No name, no face, but we actually know quite a bit about him.”

“Him?”

“The shape of the hip bone tells us the remains are those of a male.”

The other victims were female. The pattern had changed yet again. If there was a pattern. “Does Devlin know?” Ethan nodded.

“What did he say?”

“You know John. He doesn’t give a lot away.”

I thought it odd that even here, Devlin’s presence was with us.

Ethan walked around the table as we talked, but I stood in one place, not wanting to jostle my stomach, though there wasn’t much smell in here and the bones looked scrubbed and disinfected. Still, we were dealing with human remains.

“The skull indicates that he was Caucasoid. Around five-ten, stocky build. He was young—between eighteen and twenty-five. His bones were still growing.” Ethan traced a finger along the collarbone. “The raised ridges indicate a young adult. You can feel them if you like.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

He flashed a grin. “Some of the teeth are still in their sockets, but in poor condition. We can’t identify him that way.”

“How long was he in that chamber?”

“Going by the lack of articulation and the gnawing—”

“The what?”

“Rats,” he said. “Over time, they can do a lot of damage. I’ve noted tooth marks on the ribs, pelvis, carpals and meta-carpal bases…” He gestured toward the skeleton. “There’s also a hole in the skull, probably made by rodents or insects, and a good amount of bone and cartilage rot. He had to have been down there at least a decade.”

“That long?”

“Maybe longer.”

I went over the kills in my head. Afton Delacourt was murdered fifteen years ago, this unknown male at least ten years ago, Jane Rice nine years ago, and Hannah Fischer and Camille Ashby mere weeks ago. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the timeline. No continuity to the killer’s victims or methods, although such a large gap might indicate he’d been out of commission for whatever reason until recently. It might also mean all the bodies had yet to be discovered.

“Do you think more bodies will turn up?”

“John seems to think so.”

“How do we find them?” I murmured. “A combination of electrical resistivity and terrain conductivity? Ground penetrating radar? It would take forever to check every grave.”

“I imagine the simplest way is to find the killer,” Ethan said.

My gaze dropped to the skeleton. “He must have family, friends. Someone who’s been missing him all this time.”

“One would think.”

I studied the remains, a tightness in my chest. He’d been left in that chamber to be forgotten. “You said last night you’d identified some interesting characteristics.”

“Yes. I can’t tell you who he is, but I can tell you how he died. The breastbone is punctured and cuts in the ribs indicate wounds to both sides of the front chest and two more in the upper back. Seven major wounds altogether. And more could have penetrated the soft tissue without touching bone. It was a vicious kill.” He noticed my grimace and said, “Let’s move on to something a little less gruesome.”

I nodded.

He opened a black plastic bag and displayed the contents. “Interestingly enough, the clothing that was found with the remains may be our best hope of identification.”

“Really? I only saw bits of fabric. Hardly anything.”

“On the body, yes, but some other items were found nearby. Shoes, belt and, more important, a leather letterman jacket. The rats didn’t leave us much—”

“Wait a minute.” The room started to spin. I put a hand on the wall to steady myself. “Did you say a letterman jacket?”

“Maroon with a gold letter, possibly a V or W.” He glanced at me in concern, then closed the bag. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. You’ve gone as white as that sheet.”

It was a gold W, in fact. I knew because I’d seen that jacket on a ghost lurking in the garden at Rapture and again last night as he’d leered at me through the shackle that dangled from his wrist.