The Silent Ones by J S Donovan

Author:J S Donovan [Donovan, J S]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-11T16:00:00+00:00

8

Lionel

The coroner pulled back the sheet, revealing Matthew’s pale, greenish face. Rachel held her hands behind her back to keep them from trembling. The Sense went wild just being in the man’s presence.

“Take all the time you need,” The coroner said and exited the room.

Rachel swallowed a glob of spit. She completed removed the sheet, revealing the man’s naked body. Parts of his chest hair had rotted away, revealing dead muscle and yellow bone. His remaining fingers and toes were black as death. His missing limbs had been removed using a fine, serrated edge akin to a bone saw. Maybe the killer was a doctor. He’d done well preserving the body on ice before placing it at the belfry.

Rachel shuttered, knowing the limbs were removed before death. Aware that she was in for a hell of a time, she removed one plastic glove and placed her trembling hand on the man’s shoulder.

Darkness closed in on the edges of her vision, and her heartbeat increased. She regretted not bringing Peak.

Rachel’s eyes rolled back. She crumbled to the floor. Every muscle tensed before her body writhed on the cold tile floor.

Instantly, she opened her eyes. A portable light was hooked to the roof, and the smell of dry hay scratched her nose. She glanced at her bare arms and hairy manly torso. She was Matthew, seeing everything he saw and feeling everything he felt. The dark cylindrical room spun counterclockwise. She tasted bile and something she’d been injected with numbed her muscles.

Sedative.

A sharp, terrifying sound of a buzz saw sounded behind her ear.

She attempted to turn her head, but her skull was heavy. She opened her mouth to speak, but her tongue failed to move. A tear of drool trickled out the front of her mouth and landed on her hairy pecs.

The cowboy walked around to face her. He wore a leather butcher apron over his flannel shirt and jeans. His white cowboy hat rested on his head of brown hair. A life-like rubber mask concealed his features. It took Rachel a moment to realize the brown hair on the expensive mask was human. He might not be Caucasian at all. The cordless, cut-off saw fit snuggly into his gloved hand.

Silently, he leaned over Rachel and looked deep into her eyes. The saw’s tiny teeth pressed against Rachel’s arm. She felt nothing.

The man squeezed the trigger. Blood splattered up the side of Rachel’s cheek and against the saw guard, but the sound was most horrifying of all. It screamed as it hit the bone.

Rachel forced herself to wake. A tiny pool of bile rested next to her lips.

She got up and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. More vomit climbed up her throat, but she forced it down and coughed. Sickened, she sat up. Her legs bobbled. She caught her balance on the edge of the aluminum table.

Looking down at Matthew’s body, she felt his inward desires and failures, his lost hopes, and his passion for war. She had a strange affinity for war tanks.

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