Here's the beginning of Out for Blood, the 4th story from my new book, "Coming Into Focus: Another Collection of Stories." It's a continuation from the story, "Thicker than Water" from my book, Falling into Place. It's about Dr. Rebecca Miller, who knows how Det. Jeff Mancini was murdered and finds herself the target of the same vicious killer.
“And so, we commit Jefferson Mancini to eternal rest, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
From where Rebecca was standing, she could hear the words stick in the priest’s throat. It was a trying day for everyone, the air filled with raw emotions which finally threatened to overwhelm the holy man. Father Thomas Murphy, a long-time Mancini family friend, had known Jeff since birth, having baptized, communed and confirmed the deceased officer. He’d watched the boy grow into one of the finest men he ever knew. As the police honor guard moved toward the coffin, the clergyman finally broke down. He covered his face with his hands, openly sobbing. After a few moments, he looked skyward, giving the sign of the Cross before approaching Jeff’s mother and standing beside her. Mrs. Mancini clutched the priest’s hand in both of hers and pressed it against her cheek, her lips quivering in anguish.
The American flag draped over the casket was folded in perfect triangles by the officers before handing it to Patricia Mancini, who managed a grimaced nod for their efforts. The elderly woman embraced Father Thomas tightly, her frail body shaking as she wept uncontrollably. Jeff was her only son and, with the death of his father 9 years ago, the matriarch of the Mancini family was now all alone for the first time in her life. A few of the other mourners moved closer to comfort the grief-stricken mother, trying to alleviate her all-consuming sorrow. Dr. Rebecca Miller wanted to join them, her heart breaking for the poor old lady, but having never met the woman, she felt it more than a little inappropriate.
Instead, she retreated under a nearby tree, hoping to avoid attracting any attention. She’d spent the entire day successfully blending in with the other mourners. Toward this end, she’d worn a simple, conservative, high collared, black dress, a large black hat that covered most of her face and modest, unassuming flats instead of her usual high heels. Rebecca arrived at the church purposely late, sat in the back and left before anyone else. She took a circuitous route to the cemetery, delaying her arrival to avoid any awkward conversations or interactions. She felt it was her only option.
Of all the people at the cemetery: Jeff’s fellow officers, the media and everyone coming to pay their respects to the fallen police detective, only she knew of the vast conspiracy that led to Jeff Mancini’s death. As Rebecca scanned the area, she wondered who else was in on it? Did these officers know what really happened? Did they know the true nature of the recent killings and the monster responsible? The paranoid scientist couldn’t know how many pawns Mikhail had on the police force, working in the government or in the press, for that matter but she knew there was no one she could trust. No one knew she’d seen what transpired on the night Jeff was gunned down, while investigating Emily Sheppard’s murder. She needed to keep it that way. She had to play it cool even though Jeff Mancini’s murderer was in attendance, pretending to grieve with all the other mourners.
Behind her oversized sunglasses, Rebecca’s eyes narrowed as she focused her gaze on Detective Kevin Crawley, hatred steadily building inside her. The betrayer had an oversized bandage on his nose, his face still covered in bruises and cuts from his donnybrook with Mancini on the night Crawley killed his partner. The very sight of him made her sick, his disingenuous grief infuriating her. Throughout the funeral service and here at the gravesite, she’d noticed him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Her glasses made it easy to catch him but his furtive glances repeatedly sparked her anger. Now, Crawley was kneeling next to Mrs. Mancini, offering the kind, old woman his most heartfelt sympathies. Dr. Miller could hear him whining an apology for not being able to save her son that fateful night. That bastard! The hematologist’s blood started to boil at his unmitigated gall, his unending hypocrisy. Someone needed to make this Judas pay for his betrayal. The usually mild-mannered woman wanted to kill him with extreme prejudice, to rend him limb from limb.
Rebecca took a deep breath as she closed her eyes, desperately trying to regain some semblance of composure. Her mind flashed to her first meeting with the charismatic detective, her hand touching Jeff Mancini’s, lingering for the briefest of electric moments. She remembered her heart fluttering as his eyes met hers, somehow seeing right through her steely facade. The thought of their spontaneous kiss, filled with such passion and potential made her heart ache. As adept as she was at walling off her emotions, Jeff Mancini had taken a wrecking ball to her defenses and stirred something deep inside the repressed scientist. Her body trembled as the image of Jeff in Ava Vazquez’s open casket coming back to her unbidden. Once more, she could see the shock on his face as he recognized Ava and Emily at the edge of the open grave. She envisions the coward, Crawley appearing between the two women and murdering him in cold blood with one deadly shot. Rage filled her entire being as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Suddenly, Dr. Rebecca Miller felt the softness of Kevin Crawley’s throat in her right hand, her fingers squeezing with all their might. The audible gasps of the people nearby only spurred her to increase the pressure. She smiled deviously as the murderer’s eyes bulged, his airway completely cut off. His arms flailed wildly, ineffectually hitting her shoulders and midsection as she continued choking the life out of him. The hematologist gave a throaty laugh at his inconsequential attempts to escape, her joy escalating with each moment he came closer to death. When Crawley collapsed onto his back, Rebecca placed her knee on his sternum while putting all her weight on her arms. She could feel his throat give a little as she doubled her efforts. Without warning, her fingernails grew into razor sharp claws so the scientist dug them into his flesh, drawing tiny rivulets of blood from each entry wound. With an ease that surprised her, Rebecca ripped the sprawled murderer’s throat out, holding it above her head and letting the blood drip down over her face and neck. Exhilaration filled her soul, watching Crawley’s last death rattles, as she laughed maniacally at his misery.
“Dr. Miller?” Caroline Mooney said, as she touched Rebecca’s shoulder. “Dr. Miller, are you okay?”
Recognizing the voice, Rebecca snapped back to reality, blinking her eyes rapidly. The scientist looked around frantically, confused and frightened for a moment. She was once again standing under the tree as the other mourners began to slowly file out of the cemetery. The funeral service was over. Mooney, the medical examiner, was standing directly in front of her with another woman she didn’t know, both dressed all in black.
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