Thicker than Blood - Mike Omer Page 0,1

on the familiar face, and she blinked, beseeching him mutely to let her go.

“This will only take a few moments,” he said, sounding almost apologetic. He held something. A needle.

He pulled her right hand toward him and raised the needle, about to stick her. She let out a muffled scream, tried to pull her hand away. She was weak, and his grip was strong enough to hurt, but the sudden jerk surprised him, and he missed his mark. She gasped as the needle plunged into her arm.

“Look what you made me do!” he snarled, angry, and she saw that gleam in his eyes again. His grip tightened on her wrist, hurting her, and he stuck the needle again. She tried to claw at his face with her other hand, and he slapped her.

“I can’t hit your vein like that,” he muttered. The needle went in again. He shook his head and mumbled to himself, frustrated.

She wrenched her hand away, a blinding pain flaring through her arm as the needle twisted. Blood seeped from the ragged hole in her arm. She felt dizzy, thought she was about to faint.

“Damn it!” He tossed the needle away in fury, and it clattered in the corner of the room. He looked at her, gritting his teeth in anger. Then he glanced down at her bleeding arm. His eyes widened. His throat constricted as he swallowed.

He lowered his head to her arm and, to her revulsion, licked the blood. The rough feeling of his tongue on her skin made her squirm in disgust and horror. She tried to pull away, but he held her arm tight, making a strange sound. A snarl.

His lips tightened on her skin, and he began to slurp. She stared mutely as he sucked blood from her torn skin. He finally pulled back, a trickle of blood running down his chin.

“I had to.” His face twisted in shame. “I’m sorry.”

The world faded again.

When she came back to her senses, he was gone. A strange keening noise echoed somewhere nearby. Crying? Yes. It was him. He was still in her home, and he was crying.

The police. She had to call the police. She tried to force herself to move, to get up, but her limbs wouldn’t obey her. Blood seeped from her arm, dripping to the floor.

Finally she managed to budge. To pull the gag from her mouth. She was about to rise when a noise behind her made her freeze.

And then a fabric tightened around her throat, choking her. She clawed at it, couldn’t get a grip on the noose, her mouth opening wide as she tried to scream. No sound. No breath. Spots danced in her eyes as her vision clouded.

A low chuckle, full of malice, and a growling voice whispered in her ear. “Now for the fun part.”

CHAPTER 2

Saturday, October 15, 2016

Detective Holly O’Donnell stood in the hall and watched as the medical staff gently placed Catherine Lamb’s body on the stretcher. The body had been zipped in a body bag, out of sight. But the image was seared in her mind. The strands of matted hair, glued to the victim’s cheek with dried blood. The bruises on the skin, contrasting with the paleness of death. The torn clothes, Catherine’s final unavoidable indignity. Sometimes, O’Donnell could summon a barrier of professional aloofness. Not today.

The two men carrying the stretcher took a moment to maneuver out of the living room, doing their best to avoid stepping in the large smeared stain of dried blood. As they left, O’Donnell gave herself a moment to refocus. The murder scene’s atmosphere always changed when the body was removed. Voices grew louder. Officers moved around more freely, their actions businesslike. Someone would crack a joke. A general sense of relief settled over everyone. The dead were gone. It was time for the living to tie up the loose ends.

She scrutinized her surroundings in the soft light filtering through the window. It was a small house, and she imagined that before the recent gruesome events it had been a sweet place. A cozy bedroom, a pleasant living room with a couch and a small TV. The kitchen was a bit cramped, but Catherine Lamb had done wonders with the space, hanging pots and pans on the wall in a way that almost made them seem like part of the decor. Through the window in the kitchen, a glimpse of the backyard could be seen. Lawn gone wild, spotted with weeds and dry leaves.

O’Donnell turned toward