The blob was getting weaker, so much blood, dead prey, ideal to lay the eggs, fresh blood to feed from, they just had to wait for the blob to succumb—
—was apparently hurt worse than Andi had assumed. George was getting closer, a siren to their right cutting through the multilayered picture Andi had of their chase, adding another dimension of utter noise to it. The police car came from Babbitt Street, cutting Holway off. Andi was now close enough to see the frantic cranking their suspect was doing with the steering wheel. The car, a shiny Alfa Romeo, the cream interior smeared with blood, did a jerking motion to the left; Holway tried to counter the movement, which had the Alfa Romeo jumping back into its lane like an anxious rabbit before it smashed into the police car blocking its way. The scrunch of metal on metal was deafening and accentuated by the blaring of another siren coming their direction. George brought the Escalade to a screeching halt only a few feet from where the Alfa Romeo was tangled with the police car.
“Suspect is stopped. We need an ambulance here ASAP. Two officers and the suspect were in a car crash, suspect also has a gunshot wound to the shoulder.” George radioed their status in before he and Andi got out of the car, their weapons drawn. The other police car arrived on scene, the two officers inside immediately starting to clear the area.
Bang, scrunch, blood, meat, metal, oil, stinking, bad, stay away, food, hunger, enticing, pain, fear, adrenaline, sweat, hunger, gas, don’t get close, need to feed—
They reached the Alfa Romeo. Fortunately, Daniel Holway had had the presence of mind to step on the brakes before the crash. The convertible had hit the back door of the police car, leaving the two officers inside shaken up and with a few cuts and bruises but mostly intact. Daniel Holway was slumped over his steering wheel, the airbag a deflated white mass with red sprinkles beneath his body. He had a heavily bleeding wound on his forehead and didn’t move. Still, Andi and George approached with caution, having seen what Holway was capable of. In the distance, the siren of the ambulance cut through the air. George reached Holway first and nudged him with his left hand. The killer’s body slowly glided toward the middle of the car, Holway doing nothing to stop his own fall. George put his weapon back into its holster when Andi was close enough to keep Holway contained with his gun. Then George started patting the unconscious killer for weapons, finding three knives and one more gun before the ambulance finally arrived. Holway was taken from the car and put on a gurney. George talked to the first responder who was in charge. “How soon do you think he can talk?”
The woman looked at him with her brows almost at her hairline. “I’m aware he’s a person of interest for you, Detective, but honestly, I don’t think you’ll be able to talk to him before tomorrow. That head wound definitely needs stitches, the chances of him having a severe concussion are at almost a hundred percent, and the wound from the gunshot needs surgery. It seems to be a through-and-through, so there’s that. I assume you’re going to send an officer with him?”
George nodded. “Not just one.” He looked at the space where two more police cars had arrived. Andi was already on his way, asking two of the officers to ride with Holway in the ambulance and to not let him out of their sight once he was out of surgery again. They promised to call Andi as soon as the man woke up and to instruct their relief accordingly. Satisfied, Andi watched the ambulance drive away. Another first responder was looking at George’s face, treating his swollen cheek and the cut on his lip. Once everything at the site was properly organized with the firefighters starting to tow the cars from the road, Andi and George went back to the Escalade.
“Want me to drive?” Andi offered out of politeness, not because he was keen on getting behind the steering wheel. George just snorted.
“I’d say I’m the better driver, even with the headache from hell.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Andi shrugged, glad he didn’t have to suffer through a drive while his senses were still too wide-open to securely determine where the boundaries between his own perception and that of the insects were. “Let’s get to my place. You can lie down while I write the report for this.” Andi made a gesture meant to indicate everything that had happened since they had set foot in the apartment building.
George didn’t argue. He drove them to Andi’s house as quickly as possible, the headache obviously getting worse, judging from the way he winced whenever the sun hit the windows of the car in a certain way. Andi could absolutely relate. The moment George had parked the Escalade, Andi was out of his seat and around the car. He opened the door for George, hovering around him in case his partner got dizzy, which was not uncommon with migraines. They somehow made it through the front door, taking off their shoes with careless motions. Andi helped George to the couch in the living room, where the man slumped into the cushions with a soft grunt. The swelling on his cheek was more prominent, the skin already darkening. Andi hurried to get George a bottle of water, two ibuprofen, and an ice pack from the fridge. He always had them there for his own migraines, and it would help with the swelling as well.
“Lay down and rest,” he ordered after George had swallowed the pills.
With his partner finally resting, Andi started his laptop to write his report of the events of the day, ignoring his own headache from his active dip into the world of arthropods. It was low anyway, on a level Andi had long ago learned to manage without drugs of any kind. After the report was written and sent, Andi checked on George, who was peacefully snoring on the couch. He then went to the kitchen, trying to figure out a meal he could prepare with what he had in the fridge and pantry before deciding that ordering takeout was the smarter choice. The pizza was delivered around six, waking George with the delicious scent of greasy cheese and salami. They ate in companionable silence, both of them too exhausted to expend much energy into societal niceties they didn’t really need anyway. George tried to stay awake for some time after their meal, surfing through the TV channels in the hope of finding something interesting. At around nine o’clock, Andi brought him another round of ibuprofen, helped him to the guest room, and tucked him in after he had stripped down to his boxers and T-shirt. Andi found it comforting to know he was doing something for George for once. He left the door to the guest room ajar, as well as his own bedroom door, in case George needed something from him. With his attention mostly on George’s bedroom, Andi pushed the images the arthropods were sending him of the night outside to the back of his mind and fell asleep almost instantly.
18. Mystery Solved
GEORGE WOKEup feeling hungover, which was a shame because he didn’t remember drinking anything worth the sluggish condition of his limbs, the wooziness in his head, and the desert in his mouth. The promising scent of coffee lured him into the kitchen after he had made a short visit to the bathroom. Andi was standing at the counter, pouring himself some tea from the kettle George knew very well by now. He came closer. “Good morning.”
Without turning around, Andi offered him a mug full of coffee, as black and strong as he needed it on this morning. His cheek hurt like hell, as did the cut on his lip.
“Good morning. How are you feeling?”
George inhaled the roasted aroma of the coffee, which instantly cleared at least his sinuses, before taking a sip. He usually preferred his coffee to pack less of a punch and be more on the smooth side, but for a tea drinker, Andi made an acceptable brew.
“Like I’ve gone five rounds with a former Army Ranger.”
“You did well. And it wasn’t five rounds. More like a very intense one.”
“At least you shot him.”
“I had to defend you.”
George snorted, which hurt his lip and cheek. Wincing, he took another sip of the coffee. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
“Are you kidding me? You’ve taken care of me so often, it’s the least I can do. Not to mention you bought me clothes.” Andi said it as if that was the best of it all.
“It was my pleasure to go shopping for you, and you were always hurt in the line of duty. Of course I’m looking after you.”
“Same goes for you. Are you hungry? I think I have everything for toast with marmalade.”
“I could eat. Fighting against a professional killer is exhausting.”
“Then sit down.” Andi rummaged in some cupboards, pulled out the toaster and a bag of bread from the pantry.
“The strawberry jam is in the first shelf on the right side, next to the raspberry jam and the butter.”
Andi raised his head from where he was staring into the fridge. “You reorganized my fridge?” It didn’t sound accusing, nor the slightest bit angry.
