Equinox: Six Declinations

EQUINOX:

Six Declinations

by

Richard Freeland

Smashwords v. 2 EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

DragonLyre Publishing on Smashwords

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the publisher.

Equinox:

Six Declinations

Copyright © 2010 by Richard Freeland

Smashwords v. 2 Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

For my Dad, John Jackson Freeland, who taught me to love books.

Table of Contents

Equinox

Family Tradition

Anomalies

The Last Angel

Garbage Man

Bygones

Equinox

Kate Buchanan settled with a sigh into the plush leather seat of Andy Nations’ unmarked Ford Bronco. Welcome warmth enveloped her, dispelling a chill only partially caused by the short run from her front door through winter to the SUV. She clutched a large Snoopy mug of scalding coffee with both hands and now she took a sip, willing rigid muscles to relax. As Nations eased away from the curb, she asked without looking at him, What do we have?

She felt his eyes on her, questioning, but forced herself to stare straight ahead, through her sunglasses and the dirty windshield, into the lightening Gainesville morning.

Hospital call, he said. His voice was deep and rich, with a flavor of New Orleans. Female. Early forties. Disoriented, disheveled. Lost. He hesitated. Possible rape.

She looked at him then, quick, searching. One of them?

Maybe. From what I understand, no sign that force was used. No trauma. No bruising. He glanced away from the road, gave her a long look. Take off the shades, Kate.

She looked out the window. Ice lay everywhere. The late winter storm the experts predicted would blast through Tennessee and the North Georgia mountains had dropped further south for a surprise visit. Trees glittered and slumped under a sheath of heavy ice. Power lines sagged. Automobiles, cloaked in ice mantles, resembled bergs calved by a glacier. A raw wind buffeted the car, whirling frozen granules across the windshield.

And more scheduled to come tonight, she thought. She wrapped herself around the coffee mug, hunched deeper into her coat. Shivered. She couldn’t seem to get warm.

This is supposed to be the South, she muttered.

Did he hit you again, Kate?

Andy…

Did he?

She sipped her coffee, already going lukewarm. Said nothing.

Damn it, Kate. You don’t have to stand for this. You’re a cop, for chris’sake. Bust his ass.

She hesitated. Mike didn’t mean it. This senate campaign’s stressed him out.

The sorry son-of-a-bitch. You want me to do it? Take his pimply ass down? Any man would hit a woman…no good, cock-suckin’, fancy pants mothafucka!

She stared at him. His nut-brown, moon face was contorted in fury. Huge, blocky hands squeezed the steering wheel, twisting, as if it were a chicken whose neck he’d like to wring. His anger scared her, pissed her off…and, oddly, touched her deeply. She felt tears well, fought them off.

It’s all right, she said softly. Then, more firmly, Really. I can handle him.

You’re a good cop, Buchanan, he said after a while. I’ve seen you walk into situations I’d have hesitated to tackle when I was a Ranger. But where he’s concerned, you’re a pushover.

And you’re a goddamn busybody.

Dumb bitch.

Worry wart.

Ditzy female.

She smiled faintly. Panty-waist.

He looked at her. His thick lips twitched. Panty-waist?

She laughed, then faced eyes-front once again. Nations pulled carefully onto the freeway on-ramp, sliding a bit on a patch of black ice, then accelerated. Kate felt somewhat better. Ahead, the hospital. And the woman. The rape victim. One more piece of a puzzle they’d worked at doggedly for months.

Nations’ soft voice forced her from her reverie. One of these days, he’s gonna kill you—or you, him.

She had nothing to say to that.

* * * * *

Nation’s drove to the back of the hospital and double-parked close to the utilitarian entrance to the emergency room. The asphalt drive passed between the newly constructed Cardiac Care Unit on the right, its floors stacked high like a four-layer cake, and the pile of ugly concrete that was the hospital’s latest edition in their burgeoning building program – the employee parking deck. The area between the two structures was a canyon, with cliffs of concrete, steel and glass looming to either side.

Feels like a B Western movie in here, Kate thought. Her eyes flicked uneasily between the two structures. Expect an Indian ambush at any moment.

In truth, the canyon didn’t really bother her that much. It was the emergency room that made Kate edgy. Bright, cold, smelling of antiseptic and other things not quite so clean—an environment that made her skittish, uncomfortable. And she was insightful enough to understand why.

It was because she’d spent so much of her life—both professional and —within the close confines of emergency rooms.

Broken bones. Split lips. Bruises. Lacerations.

Accidents, she whispered under her breath. Just accidents.

Deep in her soul, a little lost girl echoed the thought.

Accidents.

They entered the emergency room through automatic sliding glass doors, chased by the opportunistic wind. A string-bean of a man stepped up to greet them.

Look what the cat dragged in – two half-frozen detectives! Dr. Anson Gregor smiled warmly, the vivid blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses kind but wary.

Hi, Doc, Nations drawled. They shook, Nations’ huge paw swallowing Gregor’s whole. We got word you had another…special case?

A taxi-driver brought her in. Found her wandering along the lakeshore, wearing nothing but an old bathrobe and clutching a purse. He thought she may have had a stroke.

He led them to an examination room and swept back a gauzy curtain.

The woman dressed in a hospital gown sat on the edge of a gurney. Her shoulders were slumped, and her arms dangled listlessly at her side. A nurse gently swabbed her raw, abraded feet.

She was barefoot when they brought her in, Dr. Gregor explained, keeping his voice low, and those scratches on her feet are her only wounds—physical, I mean.

Any signs of… Nations began, but Gregor anticipated him.

We followed procedure. Used a PERK. Performed a thorough examination. She’s had recent sexual intercourse. He looked hard at Kate. There was fluid present in the vaginal tract. No sign of forced entry, though.

Semen?

Gregor searched her face. Are you going to let me in on what’s going on here?

No, Kate said flatly. You were saying?

Gregor frowned. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He turned away from Kate, staring at the woman.

It isn’t semen. Has the consistency of K.Y. Jelly, but—no sperm. No D.N.A. He grinned without humor. How you guy’s going to identify him without a signature?

Kate waited patiently. Finally, Gregor sighed. We saved some for the crime lab boys, but I did my own analysis. Looks to be the same as the samples taken from those earlier cases. Chlorine, sodium, magnesium. Sulfur, calcium and potassium. And a handful of trace elements.

Kate felt a thrill. Sea water, she said. And us six hours from the coast.

After a moment Nations cleared his throat. Did she say she was attacked?

All she’s done is mumble under her breath.

What’s her name? Kate asked.

Gregor shrugged. According to her driver’s license, Madeline Keif. We’ve called her husband. He’s on his way.

Kate stepped closer to the woman. She was around forty, with washed-out brown hair and faded green eyes. Her body was lumpy, nondescript. Average by all accounts. And yet…

Mrs. Keif? Madeline? Can you hear me?

The woman stared at the floor. Her lips moved. Kate eased forward.

Madeline? I’m Kate Buchanan, Gainesville P.D. I’m here to help you.

Just when Kate was beginning to think she wouldn’t answer, Madeline Keif drew a deep breath, releasing it in a long, ragged sigh. She turned her head and looked at Kate. What makes you think I need help?

There’s no need to be frightened, Kate continued, as if the woman had not spoken. We only want to ask some questions. Anything you can say, any detail you might remember, can help us catch the man who did this to you.

Mrs. Keif continued to stare at Kate. Her eyes had cleared considerably, and Kate noticed a flush of color had suffused her cheeks.

Did what?

The man who attacked you. You told the cabby who brought you here you’d been raped. You told Dr. Gregor the same thing.

Keif shook her head irritably, as if trying to dislodge a worrisome fly. Yes, I…I think I said that. There was a man… She frowned.

Did you know him?

No…he was…strange…

A stranger?

The woman giggled, and Kate was startled to see the shine in her eyes. It’s happened again, she thought.

Yes…no…not a stranger…but strange.

Kate swallowed. In what way strange?

This time there was no mistaking it. Madeline Keif blushed like a teenager after her first kiss. To Kate it seemed as if years dropped from her face, leaving her seemingly young and, if not beautiful, suffused with an inner light.

"I was down stairs, in the basement. Doing the wash. I was alone…and then—not. He was there."

He’d been hiding?

No. Just…there. Gazing at me. He had the…most…beautiful…song…

Kate felt Nations move up beside her. What did he look like, she asked. Can you describe him?

The woman ignored her. She was starring into the far distance, a slow, dreamy smile on her face. An angel smile. Kate shivered.

He…touched me. My face. My eyes. My mind. And I lay down on the folding table…and…I…

Did he speak? Threaten you? Tell you his name?

He…I…don’t recall…

They tried a few more lines of questioning, but could get nothing more from the woman on the gurney. Only that shy, secret smile.

The two detectives exchanged glances. Kate nodded. Nations cleared his throat. Mrs. Keif, he said. His voice was soft, respectful. Just one more question.

She glanced at him, raised an eyebrow.

Deep inside, in your secret self, what do you yearn for most?

I…don’t understand.

What is your most cherished dream, ma’am? Your fondest hope?

Why…I don’t know…I’ve always wanted to be a painter. I used to draw when I was a girl. Beautiful charcoal sketches. Thought I might be good enough to get a scholarship, but, you know… she shrugged. My folks discouraged it. Called it a waste of time. Then, after I got pregnant and married…Joe, he wouldn’t hear of it. No woman of his was going to go to school. No way, no how…

Her voice faded away, but the dreamy look lingered.

Thank you for your time, Kate whispered. She felt shaken. We’ll need to talk with you some more, but for now, rest.

They started for the door.

Officer?

Kate turned. Madeline Keif was looking at her, and now Kate wondered how she had ever thought her unlovely.

Yes?

The man…I can’t remember anything about his appearance. Only…his eyes…his beautiful eyes…

You noticed their color?

Yes, ma’am. They were silver. Silver.

* * * * *

They were back in the car, headed down Academy Street. Gray clouds pressed down on the Ford’s roof.

Nations carefully pulled around a huge oak limb that lay half in the road. Other limbs littered the grounds of Brenau University, lay splintered and twisted on the sidewalks. Kate noticed a hoary oak on the front lawn of the administration building. A great lower limb had sheared off, taking part of the trunk with it. The wound gleamed, white and ugly.

Look at this mess, Nations said. Christ, who would believe this is officially the first day of spring?

The ice had done a number on the school’s ancient trees. Oaks and elms drooped under ice shrouds, and small clusters of pines bent towards the ground like old men under the weight of years. Isolated pines had fared worse. Several lay shattered and broken on the ground.

The sight of those lone pines—reduced to so much kindling—contributed to Kate’s darkening mood.

Figures, she said softly. Out on your own. Growing tall and strong. Carefree, independent, secure in your strength. Reaching for the sky. And then—something comes, something outside of you, beyond your understanding, a force you have no defense against. And it breaks you down. Destroys you.

Nations looked at her. Shit, Buchanan, that’s morbid, he said. Then he laughed. You got the blues, girl. Time for some of that healin’ power.

He reached over, popped a CD in the player, fiddled with the buttons. A song floated from the speakers, grainy and monophonic, a blues tune from the past.

Found this on the Internet, he said. Took me over an hour. You’ll never guess this one…

Robert Johnson, ‘Hellhound on My Trail’, Kate answered absently, after just the first few bars. Her mind was still distracted by the devastation outside her window.

Nations blinked. You’re shittin’ me. Thought sure that one would throw you. His