Chapter 261 Not Human
Chapter 261 Not Human
“So what do we have here?” Detective Dalgote asked, adjusting his glasses as he ducked beneath the yellow crime scene tape.
Detective Riggs followed a step behind, lazily chewing a piece of gum as he surveyed the scene.
The parking lot behind the abandoned warehouses looked like a slaughterhouse. Blood streaked the concrete in dark, drying pools. A dented sedan sat beneath the lone working streetlight. Three bodies remained exactly where they had fallen.
Rico's throat had been ripped open, flesh and cartilage shredded. Tony's skull was crushed on one side, the impact so severe fragments of bone were visible. Mike lay several feet away with a massive cavity punched through his chest where his heart should have been.
Dr. Patel, the medical examiner, finished covering the last victim before turning toward them.
“Morning, Detectives. Three adult males. Estimated time of death within the last several hours. Cause of death appears obvious in all three, though I'll confirm after autopsy.”
She gestured toward Rico.
“Massive neck trauma with deep lacerations. Tony suffered repeated blunt-force impacts. As for the third...” She glanced at Mike. “The chest wound is unlike anything I've seen. It doesn't look consistent with a blade.”
Riggs raised an eyebrow.
“So what does it look like?”
She hesitated.
“Almost as if something punched straight through him.”
Riggs let out a low whistle.
“Well... somebody really hated these guys.”
Dalgote crouched beside Rico's body.
“Full names?”
A uniformed officer checked his notebook.
“Rico Mendez. Tony Ruiz. Mike Stuart. All three have prior arrests, assault, robbery, narcotics.”
He flipped the page.
“One more thing. Witnesses say there were four men together yesterday. The fourth, Ricky Stanford, was admitted to Mount Sinai yesterday afternoon with severe head trauma.”
Riggs snorted.
“One guy lands in the ICU. The other three wind up in the morgue. Hell of a twenty-four hours.”
“No cameras either,” the officer continued. “The warehouse owner says they've been dead for months. Nobody around here wants to talk either.”
Dalgote stood.
“You'll have preliminary findings tomorrow?”
“I'll make this my priority,” Dr. Patel replied. “I'm also ordering toxicology. The injuries are... unusual. They're excessively violent, but oddly focused.”
Riggs folded his arms.
“Unusual how?”
She chose her words carefully.
“Almost animalistic.”
Riggs smirked.
“Great. We're hunting a bear in Manhattan.”
“Or,” Dalgote said dryly, “someone who wanted these men dead.”
Riggs shrugged.
“Either way, this wasn't random.”
After another few minutes with the responding officers, the detectives headed back to their unmarked car.
Dalgote pulled into traffic.
“Mount Sinai?”
Riggs nodded.
“Only witness we've got. Let's hope he's in better shape than his friends.”
“You're buying coffee if he gives us something useful.”
Riggs grinned.
“If he gives us a killer, you're buying donuts too.”
They drove through the morning traffic, their conversation fading beneath the hum of the city.
Mount Sinai's ICU was quiet, washed in sterile white light.
Ricky Stanford lay motionless beneath a tangle of wires and monitors. Thick bandages wrapped his head, while bruises darkened the left side of his face.
The door opened.
His eyelids slowly lifted.
Riggs leaned against the doorframe, lazily chewing his gum, but Dalgote silenced him with a look before stepping farther into the ICU. A nurse hovered beside Ricky's bed, keeping a close eye on the monitors.
“Mr. Stanford,” Dalgote said, holding up his badge. “I'm Detective Dalgote, NYPD Homicide. This is my partner, Detective Riggs. We'd like to ask you a few questions about yesterday, if you're feeling up to it. The doctors said you can manage a few minutes.”
Ricky looked at him through swollen, bloodshot eyes, fear lingering beneath the haze of pain medication.
Riggs spoke first, his tone surprisingly even. “Your friends Rico, Tony, and Mike are dead. We just came from the scene. Do you remember who attacked you?”
The heart monitor immediately began beeping faster.
Ricky's breathing hitched as the memories crashed back and his fingers tightened around the bedsheet.
Dalgote raised a reassuring hand toward the nurse. “We'll keep this brief.” Then he turned back to Ricky. “Just tell us what you remember. Who did this?”
Ricky stared at the ceiling for several long seconds before whispering hoarsely,
“He... he wasn't human.”
The detectives exchanged a glance.
Riggs quietly popped his gum. “Not human? You mean some guy high out of his mind, or something else?”
Dalgote ignored the comment and leaned closer.
“Anything you remember could help. His appearance. The way he spoke. Start wherever you can.”
Ricky swallowed painfully.
“I... I wasn't there when they died. We were together earlier... after the girl.”
“The girl?” Dalgote prompted. “Tell me about her.”
“She was in an alley. Short with Curly hair. Wearing some guy's shirt like a dress.” His voice shook. “We were just... messing with her. Then he showed up.”
His eyes unfocused.
“He lifted me off the ground with one hand.” Ricky's voice dropped to a whisper. “His claws... his eyes... they weren't right.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“It was him. He killed them because we touched her.”
“Did you get the girl's name?” Dalgote asked. “Anything else?”
Ricky shook his head.
“She had... some African accent and she fought like hell. Kept screaming in some language I didn't understand.” His breathing quickened. “He said we touched what was his. He's coming back... for me too.”
His gaze suddenly locked onto the dark corner of the room.
His entire body went rigid.
“No...” he whispered.
His eyes widened in absolute terror.
“No! He's here!”
The monitor erupted into frantic alarms as Ricky thrashed against the restraints.
“He's watching! In the shadows! Those eyes... he sees me!”
“He's coming back!” Ricky screamed. “For her! For me!”
The nurse rushed forward.
“Out! Both of you! Now!”
Medical staff flooded into the room as Dalgote and Riggs backed into the hallway.
Ricky's screams echoed through the corridor.
“He's not human... he's not...”
The ICU door slammed shut.
Riggs stared at it for a moment before slowly popping another piece of gum.
“Well,” he said, “that could've gone better.”
Dalgote rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“A terrified girl in an alley. A man strong enough to tear three people apart with his bare hands. One survivor who's either traumatized or telling the truth.”
He looked back at the closed door.
“Either way, this case just got a hell of a lot stranger.”
Miles away, the girl Ricky feared for was safe inside a penthouse.
She had no idea the consequences of that afternoon were only beginning.