Murder On The Waterway: The Case Of The Kanaima Demon

Chapter Twenty Four

"Last night, I had another nightmare; most of it was a replay of the first crime scene, only I was pinned to the roof—the other me. I had a conflict with myself. Only the one to the ceiling seemed to have changed. Then I woke covered in blood, coughing up hair or fur," I said with a heavy sigh; each time I over-share, the words that fall out of my mouth get weirder.

"Well, I figured something was bound to start at some point today, so fate that I came earlier for more than one reason. I wanted to watch after your phone call; how do you feel in your head? Any change? Temper or anything?" he said, sounding like he was covering all bases.

"My head is fine, just the dreams and not knowing when changes will happen. It's Miss Walker, though; she's under my skin," I said, feeling a little light-headed.

To say it aloud had my pulse thumping between my ears; admitting to someone else that Miss Walker had me on the hook felt surreal. I look down at a familiar sound. My claws were to attention, all because we were talking about her.

"See," I said, showing them to Michael. "We say one thing about her and look," I said, waving them in his face.

"See, I bloody told you. Besides, I saw the way she wanted to jump your bones. I didn't need any special hearing or eyes to tell that. Look, give yourself a break; it's due. If anything good has to come of our recent cluster fuck, it may as well be you getting your leg over," he said, being a cheeky sod while relaxing in his face. He had a point, so why did it feel like I was betraying Helen?

"I'm not a dirty dog like you, or as Miss Walker put it, old dog. Get this demon bollocks under control. See how I am and decide whether it's wise to pursue. I guess I'm scared. What version of me sees the light of day on the other side of the moon?" I said pensively. My head leaned against the window and looked at the house. Peaceful makes it hard to imagine the mother of a potentially possessed serial killer lives.

"Right, you got your game face on?" he said, twitching his wrinkles in my direction.

"What, this one?" I said playfully, shifting a little and displaying my werewolf's face.

"Oh fuck off, see, you can do it now, you little shit," he said jokingly, before switching the ignition off.

Clearing the air helped a little; how long it lasts is anyone's guess. Hopefully, sharing the stress means I don't change at an inappropriate time.

"Right, let me do the talking, and you be on guard with your shit magnet radar," he said; I couldn't help but chuckle; I don't know why, but for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel all about doom and gloom.

"Sure thing, boss," I said, taking the piss before meeting the fresh air.

Low white panelled fencing with neat hedges around the edge. A flagstone pathway to an open porch with four white support pillars and a glossy black front door. The place looked nice, well looked after, and not the kind I could see involved in trouble.

'Knock knock knock,'

***

This would not be an easy conversation. Michael rapped against the door; I listened for footsteps, thankfully able to pick up on heartbeats. Only one was inside; a woman huffed her way to the front door, 'who the bloody hell is it this time,' I hear.

Credentials at the ready, the front door swung open with abrupt haste about it. There was a strange smell from inside besides the slow simmering beef stew: 'Toxins' and that dust. That's what I picked up on; they'd been here. The question is if the mother knew.

An older lady in her mid-sixties, with short curled grey hair and brown glasses shielding her brown eyes. Her face was thin and cold-looking; her heart jumped as we showed out badges. Michael introduced us, but I got distracted. My hackles ruffled, and a tingle rippled through the tiny hairs on my neck. Somebody was watching. I couldn't get a read on who, what or how far. I spin on the spot, getting Michaels's attention and getting a screwed-up face.