The Nobody People by Bob Proehl (manga ereader TXT) 📕

feet. All the girls are screaming except Marita, who laughs. But her laughter doesn’t sound that different from a scream.

There’s a pain in Owen’s head like a bright white light. He is sure he’s about to die, and he mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” clutching his skull as if he can hold it together with his hands.

Owen, says his friend. My impetuous boy. The white light fades, and its ebbing is a mercy.

It’s the most powerful love Owen has ever felt.

The house smells like copper and spoiled meat. A breath of hot bad air comes out the front door when Avi opens it and shoves him back onto his heel. Inside, a plastic sheet is laid over the doormat, covering a lump the size of a dog. Fingers peek out from under the edge.

“Watch it,” Louis shouts from the top of the stairs. “Don’t step in that fucker’s guts and contaminate my crime scene.”

Avi steps over the lump under the sheet, wobbling on his cane as he does. The stairs are spattered with blood. It’s all Avi can do to ascend without stepping in it. At the top of the stairs, he puts his cane into a pool of blood that hasn’t dried and leaves a trail of bull’s-eye stamps behind him as he crosses the kitchen.

“They took Hargrave’s body out a half hour ago,” Louis says. “If you’re looking to get kicks in, you’re out of luck.” He holds out a jar of VapoRub. Avi dips his first two fingers in and slathers it under his nose. It doesn’t cut the smell or cover it, but it distracts. Anything helps. “You knew the guy, right? Didn’t you try to take a swing at him once on The Tonight Show or something? Shit, Avi, are you a suspect here?” Louis laughs, big and overloud. He laughs for the same reason they’re wearing VapoRub. It distracts. Anything helps.

“You see these guys?” Louis asks, leaning in to Avi and speaking quietly. “They’ll all quit in a week, I guarantee it. You can tell right away.”

“It doesn’t look that gruesome,” Avi says.

“The hot tub on the patio,” Louis says. “It’s a fucking cup o’ soup.”

Avi looks over Louis’s shoulder to the sliding doors. Every few minutes, they spit out another green-faced agent rushing to a nearby trash can to puke.

“How many?” Avi asks.

“Hargrave and three girls,” Louis says. “Plus the unlucky fucker in the front hall. We’re guessing he’s a delivery boy or something. Except there’s no car.”

“His name is Darren Helms.” In the entryway, Patrick Davenport lays the sheet back over the remains. “He was one of our students.”

“That is surprisingly helpful,” Louis says, writing the name down on his notepad. “Are you positive?”

“You only forget the nice ones,” Patrick says. “The true assholes stay with you.” Avi remembers Darren Helms from the first day he was at Bishop, the scene in Sarah’s class. Asshole is about the right word. Patrick extends one of his legs across the entire set of stairs, then pulls the rest of his body up after him. It’s a dizzying effect. Patrick used to be shy about using his ability in front of baseliners. Clearly that’s no longer an issue.

“Avi, this is Patrick Davenport,” says Louis. “He’s a liaison from the Resonant community who’s been helping us with the investigation.”

“We know each other,” Patrick says, not bothering to shake Avi’s hand.

“Of course you do,” Louis says.

“So this was Owen Curry?” Patrick asks.

Louis scratches at his eyebrow. “Your friend in the front hall I am almost sure was Curry,” he says. “Clean slice down the middle. Hargrave caught a bullet, but the body got good and fucked with afterward. Again, it looks like Curry. But the precision here…”

“He’s getting better,” Patrick says.

“Some would say worse,” Louis says.

Patrick gives Louis an annoyed look. Patrick’s expressions have a cartoonish element to them, as if he overshoots the mark and his face distorts further than it ought to. “He’s getting more adept,” he says. “We’ve seen that at other crime scenes. He’s more precise. Controlled.”

Avi turns to them. “There’ve been others?”

“Nothing like this,” Louis says. “Murders with internal organs missing and no cuts. Disappearances where we’ve found indentations and gaps in the room that don’t make sense.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this,” says Avi.

“I took you off speed dial,” Louis says before returning his attention to Patrick. “We think he’s hooked up with other people.”

“Agent Hoffman has been kind enough to keep Owen Curry’s involvement away from the press,” Patrick explains. He clearly relishes the fact that Avi’s in the dark and needs Patrick to bring him up to speed.

“Why hush it up?” Avi asks.

“Things are bad enough without me giving people a boogeyman,” Louis says.

“And yet you invited the press in on this one,” says Patrick, glaring at Avi.

“I thought you all were friends,” Louis says. Avi wants to argue that he’s not just “the press,” but his press credentials swing on a lanyard in front of his chest, a scarlet letter. “Hargrave has—had a cult behind him. We’re tracking at least three separate groups who treat him like a prophet. Two of them look a lot like militia. And they’re funded.”

“By whom?” Avi asks.

“If we knew, they wouldn’t be funded anymore,” Louis says. “There’s going to be fallout here. Given who the victim was, his followers are going to know it was you.”

“It wasn’t me,” says Patrick.

“You people,” Louis says. “Press is going to be unavoidable. The Kindred Network will be tributes for a day, then howling for blood.”

“They won’t wait a day,” Patrick says.

“I figured you’d want to go with a friendly face,” Louis says.

“Might as well go with the devil we know,” says Patrick.

“What can you tell me about the kid in the hallway?” Louis asks.

“I wouldn’t have predicted he’d be involved in something like this, but I’m not surprised,” Patrick says.

“You think he was one of the attackers?” says Avi.

“I don’t think Jefferson Hargrave