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A Strange Crunching Underfoot

Previously: In that moment, a loud scream rang out from somewhere inside the hotel, and we froze mid-sentence. It was a man's voice, but it wasn't the howl of a human in agony, or a desperate wail of sorrow; It was the long scream of paralyzing terror; a horror so stark, the only way your mind can express it is through screaming, for no human words exist to describe what you are going through.

"Caramba!" shouted Fernando, his glass still raised and hovering an inch from his lips.

Seconds later, the scream was followed by two gunshots.

"The pistol!"

"Upstairs or downstairs?"

"It's Room 203," gasped Fernando. "This place is cursed."

We stormed out of the office and leaped up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

"Don't take the elevator," panted Fernando. "It's too slow",

It wasn't until we faced the door to 203 I realized I was still clutching my glass of knettle. I had spilled most of the contents on the way here but right now I could have used the drink.

"Who did you put in that room?"

"No-one! not until you have cleared it."

"That's probably why we heard a scream. Just open the damn door!"

Fernando hesitated. "But, what if..."

"If there is a tentacle from hell in there, I'll throw..." I looked at my empty glass. "...this tumbler at it."

My remark was meant half as a joke and halfway in earnest. It failed at both accounts, but in that moment Fernando and I had something in common; something that bonded us together.

"You're even more loco than me." Fernando laughed.

"I'm glad you feel that way."

Fernando turned the key, and on the count of three we both crashed through the door.

The room was dark, quiet and empty. The window was closed and the bedsheets were still ruffled from my nap earlier that day.

"Well, it's all quiet now," Said Fernando.

"If there's nobody in here, then who screamed?"

Fernando's eyes widened, as we both reached the same conclusion.

"It has spread to more than one room now..."

"Who else is on this floor?"

"Chris and the nurse. Everyone else is on the ground floor."

Fernando went to check on Chris and the nurse, while I flew down the stairs. I had no idea who lived in which room, so I just banged on every door from 103 to 106, when I found Artie Phelps outside 107. He rattled the doorknob and knocked at the same time.

"I heard gunshots from in there!"

"It's Tell's room."

"Nobody answers -and the door is locked."

"Stand back!" I opened the door with the key Fernando gave me earlier that day.

"You've got a master key?" noted Phelps as he moved out of the way.

---

Mr Tell was dead, alone in the lit room and lying flat on his stomach. A 9mm Glock pistol lay next to the body just out of reach. Tell's eyes were wide open and slowly glazing over while a stream of bubbly saliva dribbled from his mouth. He looked terrified. Phelps kneeled by Tell and checked his pulse while I held my breath in silence. Eventually Phelps shook his head; "There's no pulse!"

Suddenly, the fingers on Tells right hand twitched like he was reaching for the pistol, and I flinched in surprise.

"Don't touch him," snapped Phelps with an authority I didn't anticipate from the mild mannered shoes representative. "It's only muscle spasms. He must have died seconds before we entered." Still on his knees, Phelps put his nose to the muzzle of the pistol. "Freshly fired. This could be the gun I heard."

There was no blood on the floor, and no visible wounds on the back of Tell. If he had been shot, it would be in the stomach or chest.

"Can't we turn the body over and check?"

Phelps sighed. "The cops will throw a fit if we touch anything."

I called out to Fernando from the door and asked him to phone the police. When I turned around, Phelps was still kneeling by the corpse. From where I stood it looked like he had just reached his hand inside Tell's coat pocket, but I wasn't sure. He quickly put something into his own pocket, then crawled around on all fours.

"There's got to be a shell case or two somewhere."

The night was warm and a soft breeze breathed in through the open window. As I walked towards it, something brittle crushed under my shoe, like grains of salt. Fernando who had returned with a flashlight traced the trail of salt-like crystals that ran from the window to a chair next to the corpse.

"Salt?"

I picked up a few crystals between my thumb and forefinger. They were large as grains of rice and slightly pink, like Himalayan rock salt. Only, they were tasteless.

"It's not salt."

"Drugs?" Asked Fernando concerned. "I don't want heroin in my hotel."

"I don't know what heroin tastes like."

Fernando and I were both surprised when Phelps took one of the crystals from my hand and chewed on it.

"Not drugs," he said. "It's something different."

Fernando pointed his torch at the freshly raked flowerbed outside the window.

"There are footprints on this side," he whispered. A clear set of prints was visible in the soft soil; someone had left by the window and taken two steps towards the lawn where the prints disappeared in the grass. The footprints all pointed away from the window, so whoever left this way, had entered 107 by the door.

"You think it's the tentacle monster?" Asked Fernando. He was shaking, and struggled to keep the flashlight still.

"Nope," I said, examining the imprints. "Tentacles from the abyss don't walk around barefooted."

---

Officer Ramirez turned the corpse over, so Tell rested on his back. The eyes were closing and the terrified grimace on Tell's face had relaxed to a blank, dead expression. No bullet holes or other visible signs of trauma marked the body. Ramirez searched Tell's pockets and pulled out a set of car-keys, a money clip and a pillbox of amyl-nitrite.

"He had a bad ticker," noted Ramirez when he saw the medication. "Whatever happened in here must have caused a cardiac arrest."

"Why would Mr Tell be in the company of a barefooted stranger?"

"It's Saturday night," said Ramirez. "Maybe he felt lonely and picked up a prostitute."

Fernando pointed his flashlight at the outside flowerbed. "Those are man-sized feet."

At the same time, Phelps got up from the floor with two 9mm bullet cases in his hand. They were identical to the case I found in 203, but there were no sign of the projectiles themselves. Whatever the shooter had aimed at, was hit point blank. Lt. Ramirez opened a single-use test kit for gunshot residue. He rubbed Tell's right hand with a fiberglass swab, put it into a plastic container and soaked it with a clear solution. Then he shook it a few times. "Now we wait," he said. "Two minutes and I'll have solved the case."

"Sounds simple?"

"Simple works best," Said Ramirez. "Investigations cost man-hours but a GSR kit is only twelve bucks." He kneeled and repeated the test on Tell's left hand. Two minutes later, he compared the containers. The solution in the right hand container had turned dark blue, the other remained colorless.

"That's it," said Ramirez. "The shooter was no other than the late Mr. Tell."

"And that somehow solves the case?" I asked.

"Sure!" Ramirez was all smiles. "Mr. Tell picked up a male prostitute for the night. At some point they flew into an argument and you heard them shouting. Tell got angry and shot at the rent boy who fled out of the window without getting dressed. Tell has a heart attack from the struggle and dies."

Ramirez wrote a few lines on a sheet of official looking paper and signed it.

That's what goes in my report anyway," he said and left the corpse to be picked up by the coroners.

---

If Chris Tell was shocked over the sudden death of his father, he didn't show it. He sat by the window, staring blankly into the moonlit summer night and ignoring our presence. Mr Tejon, still in his evening coat was talking quietly to the nurse. I'd expected her to be upset with the situation; after all, Tell was her employer and her future was uncertain. But the baritone rumblings of Tejon seemed to have calmed her and she was relaxed, maybe even relieved. We went downstairs to check on 110 where Slater and Darleen stayed, but got no reply when we knocked.

"Try knocking again!"

No reply.

"Open it," I barked and Fernando got out his master key. We tumbled into the room as soon as the door sprang open, only to find Slater busy playing a video game on his laptop and wearing headphones.

"Dude?" He said surprised.

"There's been a situation," I said. "Did you hear any screams, or maybe a gunshot?"

Slater paused his game and took off the headset.

"When you play Zombie Nosh, screams and gunshots are pretty much all you hear."

"And Darleen?"

"Fast asleep. We shared a bottle of wine and later she took a sleeping tablet. I guess she's out cold."

Darleen was asleep on the hotel bed. She was still dressed in the same outfit she wore when I saw her with Mr. Tejón less than an hour ago. She had looked well back then, but now she was awfully pale, her skin almost transparent.

"You're sure she's alright?"

"She's just exhausted herself, that's all."

The hotel grew quiet once the coroner left. It was past midnight now, Ramirez had left to finish his report and Phelps was off to phone his mother, but Fernando and I couldn't sleep; we both felt we had overlooked something in 107, so we paced the floor and drank far too much Knettle, just hoping for some kind of magic breakthrough. I climbed onto the window sill of the neighboring room 108 and found an unmarked spot in the flowerbed. Then I jumped, landing with both feet in the soil. The imprints of my shoes were clear, but nowhere as deep as the prints left by the escaping stranger.

"He was one big dude to leave prints this deep. Either that, or he was carrying something heavy."

"You shouldn't jump when you carry anything that heavy," slurred Fernando, the knettle hitting him hard. "It'll hurt your back."

I compared the footprints with my own. They were of the same size of mine; definitely a grown man.

I checked the walls of 107 for bullet holes, "Somebody got shot, right?"

"I suppose so?"

"Then where's all the blood? People bleed when they get shot; especially up close."

"I tell you, Mr. Wolf," whispered Fernando. "He shot at something alright - but it was no human."

---

Jack Tell's death was the subject of gossip around the breakfast buffet the next morning.

I got the impression, he was not well-liked among the hotel guests and staff. Slater described him as one totally bogus dude, and Fernando thought he was the most demanding guest of the decade. Only Catalina found him tolerable, because he took care of his kid. I tried to strike up a conversation with Darleen, but she was withdrawn and reserved this morning. She was still very pale and complained about exhaustion and aches. Miguel had driven Chris and the nurse to the morgue, which left only Mr. Tejon to talk to. He sat by himself during breakfast, quietly observing the rest of us. When he saw me asking everyone about Tell, he got up and left.

"Don't poke your nose into it," said Quinn when I called him. "Leave it to the local police-force."

"But Ramirez is an ass!" I insisted. Truth is, I was beginning to enjoy my unofficial role of investigator; Carter Wolf - paranormal investigator and part-time demon. I kinda liked the sound of it, and I was

dreaming up a badge for myself, when Quinn brought me back to earth.

"Ramirez is an ass with an official badge. You're the same, only without the badge, so forget about interrogating people."

"I... think it might be a little too late to back out."

Quinn sighed at the other end of the phone. "Just use your powers to sense if anything is wrong."

"Oh, something is wrong, man. You don't need my senses to figure that much out."

Then an idea hit me. "Hey, you have the nose of a werewolf. You could track the footprints."

Quinn paused at the other end. I knew this case was too tempting to pass and he was dying to join me. We had worked on two cases together already, and our team of therian and otherkin was growing tighter than ever -but Ra'gasso was far away from his jurisdiction.

"I can't, man" he finally grunted. "I've got a whole spree of burglaries on my hands."

"Six heists in one week!" he sighed. "One for each day of the week. They've hit everything from banks to antique shops"

"-and he rested on the seventh day?"

"Not funny," growled Quinn. "They sabotage every alarm system, every sensor and CCTV camera from thirty feet away, God only knows how. Oh, and Carter..."

"Yes?"

"Try not to get yourself involved this time."

I was already involved, but I knew what he meant: Quinn was warning me not to shift into demon form. Last time it happened, my demonic side wouldn't let go. I was losing control, and i couldn't shift back.

"Relax," I said. "I'm done changing, and it's not going to happen."

I bumped into Tejon again on my way out, this time in the hallway. He was in a long-sleeved shirt and pressed, black trousers, I guess he didn't own any casual clothes. "I can't help you with your investigations," he said. "But It is for the better I give you this."

He handed me a small box of Lucky Boat Green Tea. The cardboard box was decorated with a black and white drawing of a sailboat manned by smiling pandas, all rubbing their tummies in jubilous joy. I found myself at a loss of words over the unexpected gift and only stammered an "err...thank you," before Tejon nodded, shook my hand and left the hotel, leaving me along in the hallway with my box of green tea. Was I supposed to drink it?

If this had been a mystery novel, that box would contain a hidden message, I thought and poured out the contents on the nearest table. I admit I felt stupid close examining twenty-five bags of high quality green tea. What was I thinking? I'd been in Ra'gasso for two days and already I was expecting everyone around me to be involved in covert operations. I quickly gathered the teabags and put the box back in my room. I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, I was pale and looking worn out and I needed a shave.

"Don't worry," Slater had said. "By the end of the week, you'll be a changed man." I looked away from the mirror; When I'm stressed out my image begins to change and move around, and I grow frightened of my own image.

Slater was right; I was here for six more days and I should use the time to relax, slurp down mojitos and work on my tan, not do police work. I put a handful of Ra'gassan banknotes in my back pocket and got ready to head for the beach, when my eyes passed over a copy of the local newspaper. Today was Sunday; today was the end of the week.

I spent most of the day downtown in Ra'gasso, doing my best not to get involved, but there were too many loose ends and my mind wouldn't let go. I returned to the hotel in the late afternoon, and on my way back I came across a little shop that sold imported goods from China. The window display contained a pyramid of Lucky Boat boxes of tea.

"Popular brand?" I asked the elderly woman behind the counter.

"It's good for the stomach," she replied. "People drink it, so they don't get travel sick on their journey home."

She opened another crate of Lucky Boat green tea and stacked the boxes on top of the ever growing pyramid.

"You need some?"

"Thanks," I said. "But somebody already gave me a box as a present."

"Oh," she said and looked embarrassed.

"Something wrong?"

"It's tradition you buy it yourself before you leave. You never give it to someone, unless..."

"Unless?"

"Mister, somebody is trying to warn you, you are no longer safe in Ra'gasso."

In that moment, I decided I'd had enough. If that was the way they wanted it, fine! I'd pack my gear and head back on the next flight. Even better, I'd check myself into the cheapest sleaze-bag hotel I could afford and stay the week. I stomped back to the hotel, so full of righteous pissed-offness, I believed I was in the wrong room when I opened my door and stood face to face with Artie Phelps.

"Oops, sorry," I said. "I must have taken a wrong turn."

I then recognized my suitcase, and the smell of bad plumbing killed any remaining doubt: Artie Phelps was in my room, searching through my luggage. He dragged the only comfortable chair in the room next to the round coffee table and poured himself a large glass of brandy - MY brandy. He was also waving a 9mm Walther PPK at my midriff.

"Your room smells like raw sewage," he said.

"Feel free to leave anytime."

"Sit down, Mr Wolf." Phelps waved his pistol at an empty chair next to the coffee table. "We need to talk."

"You know my name?"

"Of course, Mr. Wolf. You have made quite an impression back at the office." Phelps flashed a leather wallet containing a metal badge.

"MI-16," I noted. "Military intelligence, scientific branch."

"There are eight guests and three staff members here," said Phelps. "I checked you all with mother, but guess who were the only ones to show up on record?"

"I think I have an idea."

"Tejon, Slater, Darleen and Amanda Richards -the nurse." Phelps shrugged. "They all returned blanks."

"I guess that only leaves..."

"Jack Tell has a record of petty crimes: writing out bad checks, small time forgery, penny stock manipulation and recently, tax evasion."

"At least he was working his way up the career ladder."

"You, on the other hand." Phelps took out a thin dossier that contained a few printed sheets. "You have quite the resume with the M.I."

"We've met on occasion."

He singled out a page containing a crime-scene photo. It was in black and white from the laser printer, but I didn't need color to know it was a picture of a mutilated corpse."

"Agent Samza," Phelps read aloud. "Terminated by Carter Wolf; unarmed attack causing severe and lethal trauma." [*]

"He tried to shoot me."

"He was only doing his job, Mr. Wolf." Phelps sounded plaintive as if he had expected me to play by the rules. "Finding a suitable replacement for him wasn't cheap."

"My apologies."

Phelps turned a page in the report. "Then there's agent Bruckner - terminated by C. Wolf; thrown against wall. Massive internal hemorrhaging." [**]

"He also tried to shoot me."

"-And agent Burris; terminated by C. Wolf, head torn off." [**]

Phelps paused and looked at me, incredulous he tried to connect the description in the report to the skinny chain-smoker sitting in front of him.

"You... actually tore his head off?"

When I didn't reply, Phelps collected the prints and folded them back into the dossier. "The command must have a damn good reason for keeping you alive. Are you that valuable, Mr. Wolf?"

"Your mother seems to think so."

Phelps unscrewed a plastic bottle and poured out a pile of semi precious stones; emeralds, garnets, topaz and sapphires, hundreds of them and all the size of peppercorns.

"What do you make of this?" He asked.

"I saw you sneaking it out of Tell's jacket before Ramirez arrived."

Phelps smiled. "No need to confuse the local police with unnecessary details. Ramirez can put heart failure in his report and everybody wins."

The gems were attractive, but common in size and color. I'd seen rocks like these for sale at RPG and steam-punk conventions for a few bucks a piece.

"Maybe Tell was trying to go legit," I suggested. "He's got a kid to look after."

"There's one type of stone missing, don't you think?"

"Diamonds?"

"Rubies." Phelps reached into his pocket and unwrapped the ruby he'd bitten into earlier that night.

"It's pure," he said. "Down to zero PPM impurities. We've never seen anything like it."

"Nice, if you're a jeweler."

"Or a crook; these have the ideal composition for making small, powerful lasers."

"Quinn mentioned something about alarms not working."

"It's become a spree. Criminals take out alarm systems and CCTVs with portable lasers. Point it at a surveillance camera and it fritzes out the circuit."

"And Tell was smuggling rubies?"

"He was the only dealer we know of. Tell was an opportunist -a small time crook, but he wasn't bright enough to manufacture anything like this."

"So you followed him to track his source."

"New York, Berlin, London, Stockholm. I've trailed him everywhere and he never meets with anyone. He just keeps selling those damn rocks. I finally follow him to this place and BOOM! You show up and Tell drops dead. That's nine months of wasted work right there."

"Surely you don't think I had anything to do with Tell's heart attack."

"Mr. Wolf," said Phelps and his voice was no longer that of a friendly sales representative. "All I know is whenever you show up, that's when people start dying in violent ways."

• TO BE CONTINUED -

[*] in "A Fall From Grace"

[**] in "My Guardian Demons"