The edge of the cliff face jutted out like broken teeth. A long, steep climb, Detective Hank Dolan panted heavily and waved away mosquitoes. Hearing cars on the turnpike, he cursed the morning sun silently wishing he was still in bed. He had received a tip that a body was discovered matching the description of a missing woman. He despised these assignments. They rarely turned out well. Hank closed his eyes and tried to feel the breeze that served as small comfort to the summer heat that would soon be beating down onto them. “It’s supposed to be in this general area.” Gregg said.
A relic from Hank’s better days, Gregg Summers could always be counted on to be there when needed. Round and cheeky, Gregg was the perfect opposite to Hank’s gangly and finch like stature.
Hank stepped into some thorny underbrush and grabbed a tree for support. Contrary to popular belief, not all of New Los Angeles is sprawling buildings, rail lines, and taxi-cabs. Just outside the city is picturesque landscapes and vineyards.New Los Angeles breathes with the seasons. As organic as its people, the city is layered with modernism built on the detritus of the past. Like Jerusalem or Rome, NLA’s history is right underneath all who walk its streets. From above, its symmetry reminds one of an upside down chandelier. Countless lamps and mirrored windows bounce light in all directions. The city sparkles and shines its luster polished in the night sky.
It’s not all ugly just most of it. Hank thought dryly.
He was positioning himself on a plateau overlooking the expanse when Greg called out.
“Dammit! Over here!”
Hank rolled down his sleeves and put on some latex gloves as he maneuvered to where Gregg was staring at his feet and glowering.
Just then the smell hit him. Putrid and wan, Hank felt bile rise in his throat. He shuffled over and together they gazed down at the body. There were lacerations on her back from being cut repeatedly. Her knotted brown hair covered in dirt and wet leaves reminded Hank of Ophelia.
“Do you think it’s her?” Gregg asked.
Hank grimaced and held his breath. “Possibly.”
He knelt down and rolled her to her side Her ghostly, barren eyes had been olive. High cheekbones and pouty lips completed a wiry pretty picture. He gingerly lifted her left arm and sighed. There it was. The identifying tattoo that would make her his mark.
“It’s her.” He mumbled.
Gregg walked to the opposite side and leaned down. “Look at her neck.” He said. Dark purple bruising about an inch thick covered her throat. Splotches of blood and serrated skin indicated rope as the probable cause of death.
Gregg turned to stand then stopped, his eyes narrowing. “What’s in her hand?” Her broken, naked body had been turned in a way that Hank had initially missed the scourge.
“What the hell?” Gregg picked it up and scowled. “She did this to herself?” The rope had been braided into three prongs with wax balls at the ends. Each ball was covered in pieces of glass. Largely a Christian practice, Hank knew that flagellation was used as an extreme way for the devout to feel god’s love.
Hank nodded. “The wounds on her back and legs, maybe.” Lifting her hand, Hank couldn’t help but notice her knuckles were bone white. “She’s still clutching it.” As he laid her hand back down, he noticed a piece of rope not attached to the scourge.
Hidden underneath her body and surrounded in brush, this rope was thicker and probably used to tow cars. “Wait a minute.” He cradled the back of the woman’s head and lifted it just enough to run his hand in the brush under her. They pulled four feet of frayed rope from under her body.
“Could be a cult. The city is nuts right now with all this talk of gods and goddesses.” Gregg remarked.
Hank had to admit that he brought up a good point. The flagellation alone spoke of Christian obsession. Perhaps she was a religious extremist who fell in with the wrong cult. Hank looked up to see Gregg staring at him. “What is it?”
Gregg cleared his throat. “You don’t think...maybe she was one of them?” Hank looked down at her face. They say the gods and goddesses are all beautiful. As if the fall from grace didn’t mar their physical countenance. And she was beautiful. Stunningly so. “It’s possible.”
Gregg circled back and bent down to examine the tattoo on her ribcage. “So she’s part of a cult and she’s doing this-” He points to her scourge marks. “-and her people, what, sacrifice her or something?”
Hank shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s more likely a suicide. Plus, if there had been some ritual, the brush around here would be all flattened.”
He held up the noose then glanced at the broken tree branch resting next to it. “I think she came here to die.” Hank thought back to what his partner had said about the possibility the girl was Descended.
Gregg searching his face nodded. “They’re human now right? They do die.”
Hank’s eyes lingered on her face. He noticed the sharp contours and wondered if she too should be included in the case file of the serial that had been terrorizing New Los Angeles for the past year.
That would make five now. Five bodies.
“I don’t know that they’ll ever be human. But they’re here nevertheless.”
Lilac and lemon.
That’s what Sadie Fuller thought about under the stage lights. This personal mantra had been hers for as long as she could remember. Both an affirmation and source of strength, she’d repeat the phrase whenever she needed to focus.
As she whirled in her dance routine, she let herself go free. Lilac and lemon.
She smiled as sweat and stage makeup trailed down her neck. Forty five minutes earlier, she’d thought that a blue tint would bring out the olive in her eyes. Now she realized that bluish streaks were slightly embarrassing
Modern dance was tricky. It didn’t have the meticulousness of ballet and wasn’t as hard physically, but still required a freshness of originality. Imagination was the key and if there was anything Sadie had in spades, it was a vivid inner world.
When she was little, while all the other kids were watching tv or playing outside, she’d sit quietly for hours making up worlds and friends. Her guardian David would sit next to her and ask what the story was about. Sadie would then plunge into a detailed description of her friends and their world. She always had a mother in the story. And there were brothers and sisters. Their appearances would change based on the story but they were always there.
Now she imagined a full house hanging on her every move. She spun and leapt. Could feel their eyes willing her not to stumble. She soaked it all in.
Lilac and lemon.
As Ravel’s Bolero came to a conclusion, she soared through one more twirl and flopped down on the edge of the stage. She heard one solitary clap in middle fifth row.
“You know, one clap is more insulting than no claps at all.”
From out of the darkness, a voice replied. “I’m trying to be a supportive friend. Maybe if you had the balls to dance for a real audience, I wouldn’t be here on a Saturday.”
Sadie brushed a flyaway out of her eyes. “Eli, you’ve got nothing planned today or any day. Next time, be a dear and give me three claps so I know that you love me.”
“Yeah I’ll get right on that.”
She’d known Eli Fray for the past two years now. Having met at school, the two had become fast friends. And now more often than not, Eli was the dutiful friend to Sadie’s waif.
She leaned back and closed her eyes but could still feel the heat of the stage lighting behind her eyelids. She stretched her back and kicked out her legs as Eli scooted in beside her.
“What’s up?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Oh nothing.”
Sadie frowned. “Out with it. I always know when you’re brooding. You brood really good.”
“I brood good? What does that even mean?”
Sadie smiled.
“Anyways, you going to the show this weekend?”
“Yeah prolly. He promised me backstage passes.”
“What did you have to promise him?”
Sadie glanced at him. “I’m not going to give him any, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m just going to the concert.”
Eli scoffed. “So you say.”
“Damn, Eli! Am I a whore now?”
Eli averted his eyes. “No.”
“That’s right. Besides, I was going to ask you to come pick me up after. Just so he doesn’t have to drop me off. I don’t know if I want him to know where I live.”
“Is he kind of creepy?”
“No. I just don’t like unwanted visitations.”
Eli laughed. “Unwanted visitations. You make him sound like a ghost or alien.”
“Shut up. I’m just going to call a cab”
Eli stretched his feet. “I’ll be out front waiting. Don’t be late.”
She rolled over and opened her eyes to the stage lights. As the glare filled her vision, she inhaled deeply. Lilac and Lemon.
