Stitches (Insatiable Series Book 5) Read online

  Eliza screamed when their dark bodies completely blocked the sun.

  But cicadas don’t burrow beneath your skin…

  Eliza shuddered, and she took another sip from her flask, unsure if it was the memory of that day, or the creature—what did the Sheriff call it? A Cracker?—that made her so uneasy.

  Her eyes flicked to the nearly dozen or so Crackers that were spread out across the table, each having undergone various types of dissection. The table, room, even her tools were a mess, but it was how she worked.

  Eliza took another sip of scotch.

  It was less than a week ago when she had been awoken in the middle of the night by a phone call. An old friend from medical school turned FBI agent, Frank Ames, had a favor to ask: would she be willing to head North to investigate a crab infestation.

  And that was how she found herself here, in Askergan County, a small town with more secrets than Area 51.

  “Well,” she said out loud, picking up another instrument. “Crabs these are not, Director Ames.”

  Feeling exhaustion begin to set in, she decided that it was probably best to stop reminiscing and pick up the pace. She just wanted to finish the dissections, file her report, and return to her husband and daughter.

  And get the hell out of Askergan.

  Eliza used the scalpel to hold the top part of the orifice open again, and then used a set of forceps to peel back the lower half. Squinting hard, she peered inside, her lips moving ever so slightly as she counted the tiny, sharp teeth within. None of the eleven creatures that she had dissected to date had the same number of teeth, a variance that she found surprising. It was entirely possible that this difference was due to some having broken off, or that the Crackers might be like sharks, with new teeth pushing forward behind the existing ones when the front ones were lost.

  But she didn’t think that was the case. Instead, Eliza had a sneaking suspicion that the number of teeth was somehow related to how long they were attached to their host.

  As if they were growing, somehow, or evolving.

  The Cracker that she had removed from the boy’s leg had the most teeth—nearly twenty more than the others. In fact, all of the creatures that had been extricated from corpses had significantly more teeth than those that had been unceremoniously dumped onto her desk in garbage bags, having been collected from the street and outside the police station.

  A strange fact, but everything about these damn things was strange.

  Eliza leaned her head closer as she continued to count, subconsciously noting the lack of any scent of decay or any other sign of decomposition.

  More oddities to add to the growing list.

  She was at sixty when her cell phone rang, startling her.

  As she reached for her phone, her elbow knocked the flask and sent a stream of brown liquid onto the cracker.

  “Goddamn it,” she muttered, righting the flask. Using a discarded towel, she patted the hard shell dry.

  Her phone rang again and Eliza balled the towel up before yanking off one of her purple gloves and answering it.

  “Hello?” she said, turning her back to her workstation.

  “Dr. Dex? This is Sheriff White.”

  An image of the man, a bulky, black man with severe eyes came to her in response to his voice. Although the Sheriff hadn’t been impressed that the FBI had sent her instead of a field team, and perhaps even an army of soldiers, he had done his best to hide his unease from her, to remain stoic in his politeness.

  He was a good man, she knew.

  “Yes, Sheriff, how can I help you?”

  “Look, we are… there’s…” the man cleared his throat. “Time is tight. I need to know if you have come up with anything; anything at all that might help us. Can you tell me how he is keeping it alive?”

  Eliza shook her head, remembering what the Sheriff had told her earlier. About how after destroying the source of the Crackers, they had all died.

  Except for one; one final cracker that a deranged man was somehow keeping alive beneath his skin and using it to wreak havoc.

  She shuddered at the thought.

  The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint the desperate man on the other end of the line, but what choice did she have?

  It had taken her nearly a week to get sorted, and now that she had… well, she was no further to understanding the Crackers than she had been when he had picked her up from the train station.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but—”

  A sound from behind her, a dull crack, gave her pause.

  Slowly, Eliza turned on her heels, while at the same time backing away from her dissection table. As soon as she saw the cracker, her face went white and she nearly dropped her phone.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered.

  “Doctor? Doctor? What’s going on over there? Everything all right?”

  Chapter 3

  Seth opened his good eye and stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying to figure out exactly where he was. It was the vaulted ceilings; they kept throwing him for a loop. It reminded him a little of the nightclub that he frequented, but it lacked the strobe lighting, the loud music.

  Still, this idea persisted for a moment.

  Did I pass out in the club again? Drank too much?

  Realizing that he could only see out of one eye, he brought a hand up to probe his face. The pain, along with the strangeness of the mushy texture, like pushing fingers into raw beef at the supermarket, caused everything to suddenly come flooding back.

  He wasn’t in a club.

  He was with Walter, or the Crab, or whatever the fuck the deformed man wanted to be called.

  Walter and his brother, after the voice inside his head—coooome—had instructed him over and over again to bring the girl.

  The girl…

  Seth grunted and rolled onto his side, realizing that he was alone in a massive bed, complete with large, intricately carved bed posts that stretched upward toward the vaulted ceiling.

  He had brought the girl, but what now?

  Seth clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, tasting dried blood, then tried to open his eye again. It took a few more gentle prods with his fingers before he realized that it was already open. The problem was, he still couldn’t see out of it.

  A sound from behind him drew his attention and he turned in that direction. His head was spinning and that, combined with the strangeness of monocular vision made for a toxic combination, and he felt his stomach lurch.

  Seth shut his eyes and waited for the sensation to pass.

  “Good—you’re awake. The Crab wants to talk to you.”

  He reached out and blindly groped for the bedpost. When his outstretched fingers touched the hard wood, he griped it tightly and ground his teeth, trying to steady himself.

  “You alright, man? I mean, your eye looks fucked. We all thought that you were dead for a while.”

  A while?

  “How…how long was I out?” Seth stammered.

  “A good four days. What the fuck happened to you, anyway? Looks like you fought a tiger… and lost.”

  Seth thought back to his encounter with the man at the long-term care facility.

  No, he hadn’t lost. After all, he had brought the girl just as the voice had asked, hadn’t he?

  Seth didn’t bother replying. Instead, he concentrated on trying to stop the spinning.

  Eventually it abated enough for him to dare to open his eyes again.

  The man standing before him was lean, sporting an eighties-style jean vest. His bare arms were covered in blue ink, and he had what looked to Seth like some sort of Uzi strapped over one shoulder.

  “Well, don’t just stare—best not keep the Crab waiting. He don’t like to wait.”

  Seth nodded, a movement that threatened to send him crashing back to the bed again. But he fought the feeling and eventually managed to pull himself to his feet.

  His entire body ached, the pain so all-encompassing that it rendered his footstep
s minuscule shuffles. As he made his way toward the man, who was staring at him with a look that fell somewhere between pity and disdain, he tried to take in as much of his surroundings as possible with his one eye, trying to remember.

  He was in a massive bedroom with a TV on the wall across from the bed, which thankfully was off. There were peach floor to ceiling curtains covering what he presumed was a window, while the rest of the walls were covered by what looked like expensive oil paintings.

  Where the hell am I?

  A brief memory of a car, of twisted metal, of bikers pulling him out flashed in his mind like a beacon, but when he tried to focus on it, it was gone.

  He cleared his throat, once again tasting blood.

  And the Crab… what the hell kind of name is that?

  Seth reached out for the man’s arm for support, but he pulled away.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered, using the muzzle of the gun to indicate that Seth was to head into the hallway first.

  So that’s the kind of relationship it’s going to be… mustn’t keep the Crab waiting.

  Seth grimaced, and shuffled out of the room that he had apparently called home for the better part of a week.

  Chapter 4

  Eliza’s phone dangled loosely from her fingers, all sensation having fled them.

  “What in the fuck?”

  The cracker that she had just been inspecting had animated, and now it was poised on its spindle-like legs, the top fluttering spastically as it forced air through the tiny orifices.

  Eliza backed up as far as she could, unwilling to take her eyes off the creature.

  Her heart was racing in her chest, and her face was flushed.

  She had seen what these things could do to a human; the way it could burrow beneath your flesh like an over-sized tick.

  When her back butted up against the wall, the phone fell from her hand and clattered to the floor.

  She could still hear the Sheriff shouting through the small speaker, but she didn’t dare shout back and risk alarming the cracker.

  Eliza shuffled to her right, moving a foot closer to the door, and the cracker mimicked her movement, tilting the front part of the hard shell in that direction.

  How is this possible?

  The cracker most definitely had bee dead just a few seconds ago.

  For the first time since it had animated, Eliza glanced around quickly, horrified at the prospect that the other dozen or so crackers might have also sprung to life.

  A modicum of relief washed over her as she spied their overturned corpses, pale, hard.

  Very much dead, unlike the one that started to bloom pink and red, like a sleeping limb suddenly infused with blood.

  She slid another inch or two to her left, a movement that did not appear to go unnoticed.

  The pumping of air through the top of the shell seemed to become more coordinated, more rhythmic, something that Eliza didn’t take as a good sign.

  It’s getting stronger.

  The moving air reminded her of the cicadas, of their tiny wings powerful enough to blow the shingles from their farmhouse roof. As she watched, the air made the flask that she had spilled wobble slightly and an idea occurred to her.

  Had it? Had the alcohol…

  She shook her head.

  No—it couldn’t have.

  But it didn’t really matter what had caused the cracker to reanimate, what mattered now is what these things had done to the dozens of Askergan County residents when they had been alive.

  And what could happen to her.

  “Easy now,” she said, raising her palms slowly, as if trying to calm a rabid dog. “Easy now.”

  The creature responded by dropping a notch lower, and several resounding cracks echoed throughout the autopsy room that she had converted into a make-shift office.

  “Fuck,” she muttered.

  It was too late. She had heard the stories, rumors, facts directly from the Sheriff’s mouth. These cracks came only seconds before the thing was going to fly across the room and—

  Eliza screamed as the thing reared back, revealing the horrible mouth full of the tiny pointed teeth that she had moments ago been prodding at, and then it pounced.

  Or it didn’t.

  Eliza brought her hands up protectively in front of her face the instant it appeared that the cracker was primed to launch itself at her. But when she felt and heard nothing for at least another ten seconds, she slowly peeled her hands away from her face.

  The cracker was on its side again, the six heavily knobbed legs lying lifelessly atop one another. For a second, Eliza feared that she might have imagined the entire ordeal, that maybe she had finished the flask of whiskey and had nodded off. But as she stared closely at the shell she realized the tiny orifices were still opening and closing. Their contractions were no longer blasting in sync, and there was no longer a consistent rhythm to it.

  But they were still… fluttering.

  Eliza cautiously bent down and picked up her phone, all the while keeping her eyes locked on the creature. When the shell seemed to hitch one final time and the orifices stopped pushing air entirely, she cautiously took a step forward.

  She watched the cracker’s lifeless form for two whole minutes, before finally moving back to her table. Her hand darted out and snatched the scalpel, then she waited another minute before actually leaning close to it.

  It most definitely was dead… again.

  She poked the shell with the scalpel, but it didn’t move. Then she tapped the horrible mouth, and again it just lay there. With every uneventful poke and prod, Eliza became more courageous.

  It was then that she noticed something different about the mouth compared to before it had reanimated.

  It was wet.

  And it smelled of whiskey, confirming her previous notion.

  Eliza reached for her flask and took a large swig, aware of the irony of her actions but not caring.

  Then she brought the phone back to her ear.

  “Sheriff White? You still there?”

  There was a short pause, during which she could hear distant shouting and animated voices.

  Then the Sheriff came back on the line.

  “Eliza? Jesus, Eliza are you okay? What happened? I was just sending a car—”

  “I think… I think I know how he’s keeping them alive.”

  Chapter 5

  Sheriff White was defeated in both the literal and figurative sense.

  The speech he had given to his men a few days ago had meant something, had meant everything. It had inspired himself as well as them.

  But that had been before.

  Tears began to make fresh tracks down his soggy cheeks.

  That had been before Nancy…

  His body suddenly shuddered with sobs as the image of her pale face, eyes and mouth wide, pressed against the interior of the thick plastic bag flooded his mind.

  The truth was, all Sheriff White wanted to do was just as Coggins suggested: arm themselves to the teeth and blast the shit out of that prick Walter and the band of delinquent bikers he had holed up with.

  And take any and every man that got in their way.

  “Goddamn it,” he whispered between sobs. His head dropped, and he buried his face in his large hands. “God-fucking-damn it.”

  He had dismissed all of the deputies earlier, told them to go home and get some sleep before they started up again tomorrow. White himself had the intention of doing the same, as he hadn’t gotten more than a few hours since Nancy’s murder.

  But it was clear now that there was no way that that was going to happen.

  Death. Askergan reeked of death.

  Paul recalled sitting in the office playing poker with Coggins just as the snow had really started to fall all those years ago.

  With the first, unique flake, had come an overwhelming feeling of impending rigor that settled on the County had yet to relinquish its hold.

  It will end with Walter’s death, he promised, but even i
n his own mind, the words sounded hollow.

  There was just something about this place, something ancient, something—

  A hand rested on his shoulder, and Sheriff White pulled his head out of his hands and brushed the tears away. After instructing all of his deputies to go home, he had receded to his office where he had resumed his conversation with the pathologist that the FBI had sent on loan.

  But now, as he stared up at Coggins’s long, bearded face, he realized that not all of his men had listened.

  “Paul?”

  The Sheriff sniffed.

  “Yeah.”

  Coggins looked down at his feet.

  “I’m so sorry, Paul. So fucking unbelievably sorry.”

  Sheriff White swallowed hard, his throat so dry that he was unable to offer a response.

  Instead, he simply nodded. Part of him was grateful for the company, but part of him also wanted to be alone. And then there was the other part, a small yet persistent segment of his brain, that felt anger toward his longtime friend. After all, he had left—Coggins had abandoned him here to take care of everything on his own.

  And that said nothing of the fact that while Walter had three hostages, including Alice, it was Nancy—his Nancy—whom he had murdered.

  Which wasn’t fair.

  Perhaps Coggins felt some of this anger, as when he pulled up a chair, he didn’t lean in close as Paul might have expected. Instead, he kept his distance, leaning with his elbows on his knees, fingers interlacing.

  For a long while neither of them spoke, and Paul closed his eyes. Just as he felt some semblance of sleep begin to take hold, Coggins’s voice drew him back.

  “I promised myself I would stay away, you know?”

  Paul remained silent, eyes still closed.

  “Not just stay away from this police station, or even Askergan as a whole. But to forget everything about the County, everything that even so much as reminded me of the place. I just—I just wanted to put it all behind me. There’s something fucked up here, something that started in the storm, back at the Wharfburn Estate. Or maybe it started before that, long before—I dunno. But there is something just wrong here, as if it were built atop the gates to hell.”