The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 5: The Monster That You Are (Part 7 of 7)

Barbara had hoped to watch Delgado pick the lock, but he disappointed her by pulling out a key ring.  His fingers cycled through the tightly packed loop, searching some secret system, which would locate the right one for the apartment.  These must be the keys to all their homes.

An odd sensation infused the cells of her body, like a sudden change in altitude.  It was something akin to nerves – a tingling in her joints and a fluttering in her gut. 

He has a key to my house.

The door opened to a dark room.  The air was cold and smelled of Freon.  An ancient air-conditioner rumbled, shaking in its mounting, the fan in overdrive.  The Major switched on the lights, and a scene of death took sudden shape in front of them.

Barbara's focus instantly pulled away from the filthy kitchen directly in front of them to the mess in the living room.  The coffee table was piled with takeout containers.  A half-empty bottle of JD rested on its side.  Beside it a kit was laid out on a kitchen towel and had obviously been used.  The back of the spoon had scorch marks, the baggy was empty, and the syringe's plunger was pushed all the way down.

Tray Cullen lay on the sofa, mouth and eyes wide open, with his belt still around his bicep.  His skin was a pale shade of oatmeal.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Delgado said, more a groan than words.

Barbara was impressed he didn't bother wasting time checking for a pulse.  She could tell from where she stood that he'd been dead for hours, but an amateur might have thought there was still hope.

Barbara Gracie had been going off duty when the alarm had been raised on Cullen.  He was an hour late for his shift and not answering his phone.  She was ready to file his absence under one-more-thing-I-don't-give-a-shit-about when her elevator arrived in the Security Center and she found the Major taking a pistol out of the gun cabinets and slipping it into a shoulder holster.  She was no expert, but from its all-business look, she guessed he was armed with a standard-issue SIG Sauer.

Barbara walked over to him raising her chin a notch.  "And here I thought you'd forgotten about our date."

Delgado chuckled as though she'd been joking.  "Sorry, I'll have to take a rain-check.  I need to look in on an MIA team member."  He slipped on a sports jacket.  It not only hid the pistol but all of his shirts insignias, making him look like a regular citizen, although an overdressed one for the ninety-degree temperature outside.

"You mean that prick, Cullen.  If you're looking for him, I'm going with you."

"That really isn't necessary.  It's my job to take care of things like this, so you don't have to worry about it."

"Tray reports to me.  I'm concerned about what happens to him."  Barbara was fairly certain she didn't sound any more concerned than she actually felt.  So she added, "I want to come."

At least that was the truth.  And it apparently did the trick, because Delgado relented and even held the door of his black Escalade open for her.

Seeing the young man she'd been working with for two weeks dead from an overdose, Barbara found that the only sentiment she could muster was vague curiosity – was it a careless accident or did he want to die?

"Stupid son-of-a-bitch," Delgado said again.  He strode over to the corpse and surveyed the room.  "He'd been testing clean."

"You knew he had a drug problem?"  Why didn't anyone tell her?  She should have known.

"Yeah.  I don't know what was so important about him that they'd take the risk of having someone with his... history on the base.  But yeah, I knew.  I was keeping an eye on him."  Delgado looked around, his muscles twitched like a nervous pit-bull.  He was used to the horrors of the battlefield, not dead junkies sitting in their own piss.