Evil Dreams Pt 1 Grimm, Nick/Monroe
Nick Burkhart stood looking at the taller man. Tilting his head back he wet his lips then threw Monroe the biggest smile he could muster. The Blutbad did not look impressed. But he did watch the pink tip of the younger man’s tongue as it made its way slowly across the younger man’s full lips. Nick narrowed his eyes seeing it for the victory it was, “Thanks a bunch, Monroe.”
Grizzling under his breath the taller man stood back bowing slightly at the waist, “Oh please come in Detective Burkhart. I do so love these constant intrusions in my life.”
“Oh come on!” Nick chirped, and for a fleeting minute the blutbad conjured the image of a baby bird hopping joyfully around his feet. Uttering a long drawn out sigh Monroe stepped through the foyer of his house and into the living room proper. Nick paused only long enough to flip through the manila folder clutched in his hand, “At least your life isn’t boring with me around.”
Shooting the Grimm a pained frown Monroe huffed, “I didn’t think it was boring before you were around.” But he knew that was a lie, and at least Nick had the good grace not to call him on it.
“Anyway…” Nick began but he paused sniffing the air, “Hey, what’re you cooking? It smells good.”
“Vegan stir-fry with brown rice. Can you just get to what you came here for?” Monroe added grumpily, but the wolf inside him begged for just a few more minutes breathing in the younger man’s scent. Monroe kicked it hard, and the wolf whimpered. Nick shuffled through the pages of the news clippings and a few typed sheets before handing a photograph to the blutbad. Monroe took it then shrugged. Nick frowned and Monroe looked at the grainy black and white photocopied image a little harder. Then he shrugged again.
Nick sighed and Monroe deflated like a popped balloon. Finally the Grimm turned the picture slightly as if the new angle might make it more recognizable, “Do you know him?”
“No; should I?” Monroe queried. Nick shrugged.
“Well, I thought…”
Monroe huffed again, “What? That because he’s a wesen I’d automatically know him? We don’t have a wesen social network, Nick.”
“Hey, those eisbeiber sure got the word out about me pretty damn quick.”
“Those guys are all terrible gossips.” Monroe said then swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. Nick seemed fascinated by the entire process, and the wolf inside Monroe wriggled in glee. “Besides most of the wesen community, and I use that term loosely, tend to avoid any social interaction with Blutbaden. I think the prospect of becoming dinner might hamper relations between us.”
“Relations between us?” Nick said making a waving gesture between himself and the taller man. Monroe was irked wondering if the Grimm was playing him.
“Between Blutbaden and other wesen,” the clock-maker deadpanned. Nick shot him a smarmy grin, and Monroe knew he was being played.
“Oh, it was worth a shot,” Nick said tucking the clippings and the photo away. He stood shuffling from one foot to the other and Monroe folded his arms across his chest. After a few moments he relented, and felt like slapping himself silly for it.
“I would invite you to dinner, but I’m sure you have a home to go to…” he said hedging his bets.
“Not anymore.” Nick said and Monroe could smell the sorrow, deep and abiding, on the younger man.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dude. That’s rough.”
“Yeah, after the whole Adalind and the cat thing…” Nick said waving one hand vaguely in the air. And Monroe nodded.
“And the forgetting all about you thing.”
Nick squeezed his eyes closed, “Yeah and that. Juliette hasn’t been picking up her phone.” And Monroe could see Nick calling, phone held to his ear, waiting. “Anyway she wanted a couple of weeks to get her stuff out of the house, and then she said her dad… her divorce attorney dad, would call me about the ‘disposition of the community property’. So I’ve been staying at a hotel downtown near the station.”
And Monroe was utterly screwed. He shuffled a few steps back from the Grimm, “Uhhh, I’ll just go check dinner. You wanna beer?”
&&&&&&
David Gilford settled onto the bed of his hotel room flicking the television on. He could just make out the thin, reedy voice of his wife Gertrude as she painstakingly “put on her face” in the small en suite bathroom. Gertrude cocked her head peeking around the bathroom door, “Are you sure that you don’t want to come to the tournament with me? We could use a spare fourth in case Mitzi Hamner pulls one of her phony-baloney fainting spells every time she and her partner go belly up.”
David sighed, “No thanks dear. The hockey game is on in fifteen.”
“Hockey, Pfft,” Gertrude said rolling her eyes. David sighed again. “Oh don’t sigh at me.”
David smiled as she gathered up her purse and sweater, “Hey old girl, give us a kiss.”
Snorting Gertrude waddled over to the bed planting a loud smack on her husband’s head, “Enjoy your hockey.”
“Believe me I will,” he responded but she was already disappearing out the door, “Oh hey…Gertie?”
David looked around, “Ahh, damn it.”
Thumbing the volume up on the TV he settled back reaching for his glasses. In ten minutes the gold rimmed spectacles were draped over his nose as David snored away. Suddenly his body twitched.
Jerking David moaned low in his throat as the faint red glow of the late afternoon sun faded into total darkness. Gasping he came away thrusting his hands up as his fingers clawed at the darkness above his face. He was in a hole, black earth spilling through his fingertips. Thrashing David began clawing at the dirt, tearing large clods of earth and tiny roots away from his nose and mouth, but more dirt began spilling into the hole surrounding him. With a shout David dug into the oft ground as it crumbled around him covering his eyes and nose. He snorted trying to sneeze mouth opening in a silent scream as more and more dirt fell onto his face.
Not quite an hour later the keys jangled in the hotel door, and Gertrude Gilford shoved the door in with her hip scowling angrily at no one in particular. She spied her husband stretched out on the bed, unmoving. “See, I told you so, David. I told you Mitzi Hamner would pull some stunt. I should have told her they had already given out the Academy Awards this year. I should have told her…David? David, honey?”
Stumbling forward Gertrude let her hand fall on his shoulder, shaking gentle. David rolled slightly and she gasped at the sight of his frozen face, mouth gaping open in sheer terror. From the rigid fixed features she could see he was dead. Uttering a sharp cry the elderly woman jerked back a tinny scream rising up in the still afternoon air.
&&&&&&
Captain Renard stepped out of his private office into the main office space of the precinct. Two of his detectives were seated at their desks, Hank Griffin looking for all the world like he would love to climb the walls and Nick Burkhart carefully pouring over a few typed sheets of paper that must comprise the final paperwork on their last case. Some three weeks ago.
Hank sighed shuffling through the assorted detritus accumulated on his desk top. First arranging tape, stapler and paperclips then shuffling through then again. The captain smiled, both Hank and Burkhart had reputations as hands-on kind of detectives, not desk jockey types at all. Maybe that was why they we fast becoming the Portland PDs go to guys for homicides.
Renard shifted silently until Hank cast a glance over his shoulder offering the captain a smirk, “Anything I can do for you Cap? And I mean that… anything at all?”
Nick looked up frowning, “Hey, we’re partners; if Hank gets to go I should go too.”
“What is this kindergarten?” Renard asked with a faked grimace, “Hank is a big boy. I think he can find the way by himself.”
“Yeah,” Hank said leaping to his feet. “Besides somebody’s gotta finish all this paperwork.”
Nick frowned, “All this…it’s like three pages, man. Come on, Hank.”
Hank shot the younger man a blinding smile, “Sorry kid, duty calls.”
Chuckling Renard handed the senior detective a thin manila folder containing a lonely sheet of paper, “Meet Sergeant Wu at the Granville-Mason Resort.”
Now Hank pulled to a halt a frown marring his features, “Granville-Mason resort? Isn’t there’s some sort of senior citizen vacation deal going on there? What did somebody get a parking ticket on their golf cart?”
Waving over his shoulder the captain disappeared into his office, “Just go meet, Wu. There’s a dead body in it for you.”
Nick grinned at Hank and the other man snarled, “Probably some old geezer kicked the bucket in his sleep. Where’s the glamour in that?”
“I’ll trade you.”
Shuffling into his jacket Hank waved a hand at his partner, “Oh hell no. See you later.”
&&&&&&&
Sergeant Wu was standing beside the open door to a hotel room when Hank got to the Granville-Mason Resort building. Wu’s partner Shelly Longe was talking quietly to an elderly woman sitting in a chair in the hallway, occasional she glanced up at Wu and then the detective as he made his way into down the hall.
Wu pulled Hank into the room motioning to the CSI agents meticulously combing over the duvet beside the rigor stiffened form of an elderly man. As the CSIs worked Hank moved to the bedside pulling on a pair of latex gloves, “So anything yet?”
“Well,” the younger woman said frowning up at Hank, “Detective…it’s kinda weird.”
“Yeah,” Hank said shooting her a grin, “Weird is my middle name. Hit me.”
Chuckling she picked up one of the corpse’s hands, “He has dirt under his fingernails. Black soil almost like potting soil, but there are no potted plants in the room. “And a look at this,” she tilted the victims’ head. “He has dirt in and around his mouth and nose. But he was found on the bed and his wife says he was not outside all day.”
Standing the young woman brushed the knees of her trousers then shrugged, “Damned if I know what to make of it. Coroner’s here. We’re done, unless you want to see something else.”
Shaking his head Hank stepped back as the coroner’s men pulled a gurney into the room. “Nope I’m good. I’m gonna head back to the station and pick up my partner. By the time we get to the morgue the ME should have something to give us?”
The CSI agent nodded, “I’ll tell the medical examiner to expect you.”
&&&&&&
Nick was standing at the doors to the medical examiner’s office when Hank pulled up in their unmarked police car. The younger man had spent that last couple of hours finishing up all their tardy paperwork and was pacing briskly when his partner arrived.
Grinning the older man pulled the doors open, “Glad to see you could pull yourself away from all that tantalizing typing, Nick.”
The Grimm shot him a look then motioned the other man ahead, “Yeah, next time you get to be the one mesmerized…”
“I believe I said tantalized,” Hank offered. Nick rolled his eyes.
“So gimme the 411,” he said and the other man shrugged. Finally Hank stepped into the antiseptic and formaldehyde smelling room that always made his skin crawl.
“I got nothin’.” He said with a sigh, “Well, I got plenty of questions, just no answers.”
The medical examiner was just pulling off a pair of blue latex gloves as both men walked into the room. She turned offering them both a puzzled frown, “You are absolutely sure that this body was found in a hotel room?”
Nodding Hank flipped the corner of the sheet draping Gilford’s body then turned to the short, stout form. “Yep…his wife found him laid out on the bed like he was all settled in for a nap. When we got there she confirmed it with Wu. Mr. Gilford hadn’t been out of the room since dinner last night. They even called room service for lunch before Mrs. Gilford went to her bridge tournament.”
“That’s damned odd,” She walked over to the Formica topped shelves lining one wall. Pulling a silver tray out the medical examiner carried it back to the two detectives. “I pulled about 250 milliliters of this out of his mouth and throat. It’s the cause of death…”
“And that would be…” Nick prompted. She smiled.
“Asphyxiation,” Laying the tray gently on the corpse’s chest she tugged the sheet back before using the corner to lift one eye lid, “See all this vetreal hemorrhaging? Clear sign of asphyxiation. He had about a cup of black soil in his mouth and throat, and smaller amounts in his lungs. I’d say he was buried alive.”
&&&&&&
As the two men left the coroner’s office they headed for their car. It was a short drive a few blocks to the police station where they parted company. Hank headed home and Nick leaning against the side of his truck. Quickly he pulled his cell phone out of a pocket punching up a now familiar number.
The phone jangled briefly then a husky voice answered, sounding a bit annoyed. Nick grinned to himself, “Hey, Monroe…we just opened a case today and it sort of pinged something on my Grimm radar…”
Nick could almost see the blutbad’s puzzled expression on the other end. He heard Monroe sucked in a deep breath, “Grimm radar? Is that like a real thing or is it a euphemism?”
Nick shook his head even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him, “I don’t know. It’s like a feeling I get, that this case involves something that might be wesen connected. It feels off.”
Sighing Monroe cast a quick glance at the clock on his mantle then carefully lay the clock he was working on down. “I’m getting wrapped up for the day and I thought that I’d get something going for dinner. Uhh, you wanna come on by, maybe eat and talk.”
Smiling Nick opened his car door, dropping a slim manila folder onto the seat, “Yeah that sounds great. I really appreciate it. I….ummm.”
Monroe barely contained his grin, “You own me one, I know. See you in what…half an hour.”
“Traffic looks good, so yeah, half an hour.”
Monroe tucked his phone away and quickly walked to the kitchen. After a few minutes he cleared the repair manuals and morning paper off the breakfast table before wiping it down. On a whim he went to the cabinet pulling out two plates and wine glasses. He laid out the table finishing it with the cloth napkins and silver flatware that had belonged to his grandmother. Things he rarely used.
When the table was set to his satisfaction the blutbad went to the fridge pulling out all the ingredients for grilled portabella burgers covered in Swiss cheese and cider roasted vegetables, before taking a bottle of Bordeaux out of the cooler.
He was half way through tossing the salad when Monroe hurried into his living room to retrieve the candlesticks from the mantle. He set them in the center of the table with the bread basket just as there was a firm knock on the door.
Nick was standing on the porch with a lopsided grin on his face, “I’m sorry that I just run to you when ever…”
Monroe waved him inside taking the younger man’s jacket when he stripped it off, lying on the back of the sofa just inside the living room. Quickly the blutbad motioned Nick to follow, “I thought we’d eat in the kitchen.”
Nodding Nick followed him inside only to pull up short once he caught sight of the warm golden glow of the candles, and sparkle of crystal and silver.
“Wow, it looks great. You really go all out for dinner, don’t you?”
Shrugging Monroe blushed, “Sometimes you just want it to be special.”
Nick paused staring up at the taller man. Monroe swallowed heavily licking his lips. Nick smiled and the blutbad took a deep breath. He could smell the thin layer of perspiration lying over the younger man’s skin, the crisp salty ripeness of Nick’s underlying natural body scent.
Biting his lips Monroe turned to the stove making a vague waving motion at the table, “You want to pour the wine? I’ll dish this up.”
When he turned around the Grimm was seated at the table looking at a file tucked under his right hand. Nick glanced up when Monroe placed the plate in front of him watching as the older man walked around to the opposite side of the table before taking a seat. Monroe watched Nick take another sip of his wine, followed the movement of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with each swallow.
Clearing his throat the blutbad realized he had been staring. Quickly he looked away taking a sip from his own glass, letting the rich red wine flow over his tongue. Still Monroe couldn’t repress a shiver that ran along his spine, as he imagined he could see the tick of the younger man’s pulse in his throat, imagined the rich red blood flowing through Nick’s veins.
The detective picked up a forkful of vegetables them shut his eyes, “Ummm, this is great, Monroe.”
“Uh, thanks,” the blutbad began picking at his own food, “So what is it you wanted to see me about?”
“Oh, yeah,” Nick said motioning to the folder with his fork, “It pretty much screams wesen related. I thought we go over it later.”
Monroe nodded, “Sure we’ll do it after dinner.”
Blinking Nick flushed from the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair. Monroe swallowed the wrong way and hacked out a cough.
“I mean we’ll talk about it after we eat.”
After the meal had been consumed and the dishes washed the two men wandered into the living room. Nick was sprawled on the sofa as Monroe paced the length of the rug before turning quickly and pacing back again. He flipped through the few pages muttering; then dropped the file on the coffee table spreading out the flimsy sheets.
Monroe looked at the sheets of paper scattered on the table then back up at the young detective’s earnest gray eyes. He felt a shiver crawl down the length of his spine. “Nick,” Monroe paused scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “Look, this…this is a little heavy for you right now.”
“Oh and the Seigbarst wasn’t? I’m a Grimm, Monroe.”
“Yeah but this…it looks like this might be a Schlafen Fee.”
“A what? English please, Monroe.”
“You’re gonna laugh. Everybody does… at first. A Schlafen Fee is a sleep fairy.”
Nick sat back flabbergasted, “I’m lookin’ for Tinkerbelle?”
Monroe snarled, “That’s the kind of attitude that’ll get you dead, Grimm. A Schlafen Fee ain’t no tiny chick with iridescent wings and a green miniskirt.”
The blutbad moved across the room settling heavily on the sofa by the younger man. Quickly Monroe grabbed Nick’s arm tugging the Grimm around to look at him, “Schlafen Fee are dream warriors. Yeah, they exist in the real world, but they do their dirty work in the nether realm, the sleep world. And with a Schlafen Fee if you die in your dreams, you die in real life.”
&&&&&&
Betty Harper turned into the parking lot of the resort building on the main strip of downtown Portland. With a sign she glanced up at the multi-storied structure. At the far end of the row she could just make out the large blue and white shuttle from the United Airlines terminal at the airport. That meant that her sister and her bratty kids were probably already waiting in the lobby. Betty seriously wished that she had not allowed herself to be talked into this little drama. But her niece, her only sister’s oldest child was getting married. They had all decided to meet that the Granville because it was so closed to the convention center and the bridal show.
Closing her eyes briefly Betty settled her forehead against the steering wheel. She could hear the swish of cars behind her and quickly turned off the engine before some passerby decided she had dropped dead in her car. The last thing she needed was to pay for a new window if someone decided to go all Good Samaritan on her.
As she turned top tug her purse out of the backseat Betty thought she saw a shadow flicker across the windshield. Gasping she jerked around in the seat. A faint play of sunlight through the dappled tree branches caused a figure to form against the brink wall in front of her car. Betty watched as the figure coalesced into the shape of a man. Laughing nervously the woman turned again reaching for her purse. She felt a yawn overcoming her.
Keeping one eye on the dark figure that now appeared to be standing beside the hood of her Chevy Betty leaned back in the driver’s seat. She yawned again. Her head lolled forward as a tiny snore slipped past her lips.
The Betty found herself seated, not in her vehicle, but in a ridiculously over padded chair on the deck of a ship. She glanced around at the beautiful table setting and flicked a smile up at the waiter. Carefully the young man poured a glass of wine. As Betty reached for the crystal goblet she felt a tremor run through the table. The wine slopped over the rim of the glass splattering the white linen of the table cloth.
Another more pronounced tremor rattled the table causing the silver the clink against the china and Betty rose with a gasp.
The deck pitched wildly under her feet as the woman tried vainly to run to the door. A loud explosion thundered through the room and the deck suddenly pitched forward sending her sprawling. From across the room shouts and cried echoed. Betty struggled to her feet trying to flag down a passing crew member. The younger woman turned shooting her a solemn look, “You’d better head for the deck. They’re filling the lifeboats.”
Betty nodded, “Please I don’t understand. Where am I?”
“Miss,” the steward said taking her arm, “Please come with me.”
Numbly Betty nodded casting a glance at the man’s face, but some trick of the light kept his features swathed in shadow. “I…know you. You were outside my car…”
“Hurry now!” the steward said grabbing the woman by the arm. She struggled briefly.
“No! This isn’t right! Let me go,” Betty tried to pulled free, tried to run but the man scowled then grabbed her by the waist hauling her physically to the deck. Betty turned screaming as he flung her over. She hit the water with bone breaking force, and began sinking. Struggling weakly Betty tried to push above the slick smooth surface of the cold sea. “I was in my car. I was…”
The dark shape of the steward crashed own from the deck of the ship. With a snarl he grabbed Betty by the nape of the neck forcing her head under the water. As the cold overtook her she floated limply to the surface water streaming out of her nose and mouth.
The steward watched as Betty’s corpse sank into the cold black depths. “Sorry dear. Can’t allow you to wake now can I?”
Part One A
Grizzling under his breath the taller man stood back bowing slightly at the waist, “Oh please come in Detective Burkhart. I do so love these constant intrusions in my life.”
“Oh come on!” Nick chirped, and for a fleeting minute the blutbad conjured the image of a baby bird hopping joyfully around his feet. Uttering a long drawn out sigh Monroe stepped through the foyer of his house and into the living room proper. Nick paused only long enough to flip through the manila folder clutched in his hand, “At least your life isn’t boring with me around.”
Shooting the Grimm a pained frown Monroe huffed, “I didn’t think it was boring before you were around.” But he knew that was a lie, and at least Nick had the good grace not to call him on it.
“Anyway…” Nick began but he paused sniffing the air, “Hey, what’re you cooking? It smells good.”
“Vegan stir-fry with brown rice. Can you just get to what you came here for?” Monroe added grumpily, but the wolf inside him begged for just a few more minutes breathing in the younger man’s scent. Monroe kicked it hard, and the wolf whimpered. Nick shuffled through the pages of the news clippings and a few typed sheets before handing a photograph to the blutbad. Monroe took it then shrugged. Nick frowned and Monroe looked at the grainy black and white photocopied image a little harder. Then he shrugged again.
Nick sighed and Monroe deflated like a popped balloon. Finally the Grimm turned the picture slightly as if the new angle might make it more recognizable, “Do you know him?”
“No; should I?” Monroe queried. Nick shrugged.
“Well, I thought…”
Monroe huffed again, “What? That because he’s a wesen I’d automatically know him? We don’t have a wesen social network, Nick.”
“Hey, those eisbeiber sure got the word out about me pretty damn quick.”
“Those guys are all terrible gossips.” Monroe said then swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. Nick seemed fascinated by the entire process, and the wolf inside Monroe wriggled in glee. “Besides most of the wesen community, and I use that term loosely, tend to avoid any social interaction with Blutbaden. I think the prospect of becoming dinner might hamper relations between us.”
“Relations between us?” Nick said making a waving gesture between himself and the taller man. Monroe was irked wondering if the Grimm was playing him.
“Between Blutbaden and other wesen,” the clock-maker deadpanned. Nick shot him a smarmy grin, and Monroe knew he was being played.
“Oh, it was worth a shot,” Nick said tucking the clippings and the photo away. He stood shuffling from one foot to the other and Monroe folded his arms across his chest. After a few moments he relented, and felt like slapping himself silly for it.
“I would invite you to dinner, but I’m sure you have a home to go to…” he said hedging his bets.
“Not anymore.” Nick said and Monroe could smell the sorrow, deep and abiding, on the younger man.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dude. That’s rough.”
“Yeah, after the whole Adalind and the cat thing…” Nick said waving one hand vaguely in the air. And Monroe nodded.
“And the forgetting all about you thing.”
Nick squeezed his eyes closed, “Yeah and that. Juliette hasn’t been picking up her phone.” And Monroe could see Nick calling, phone held to his ear, waiting. “Anyway she wanted a couple of weeks to get her stuff out of the house, and then she said her dad… her divorce attorney dad, would call me about the ‘disposition of the community property’. So I’ve been staying at a hotel downtown near the station.”
And Monroe was utterly screwed. He shuffled a few steps back from the Grimm, “Uhhh, I’ll just go check dinner. You wanna beer?”
&&&&&&
David Gilford settled onto the bed of his hotel room flicking the television on. He could just make out the thin, reedy voice of his wife Gertrude as she painstakingly “put on her face” in the small en suite bathroom. Gertrude cocked her head peeking around the bathroom door, “Are you sure that you don’t want to come to the tournament with me? We could use a spare fourth in case Mitzi Hamner pulls one of her phony-baloney fainting spells every time she and her partner go belly up.”
David sighed, “No thanks dear. The hockey game is on in fifteen.”
“Hockey, Pfft,” Gertrude said rolling her eyes. David sighed again. “Oh don’t sigh at me.”
David smiled as she gathered up her purse and sweater, “Hey old girl, give us a kiss.”
Snorting Gertrude waddled over to the bed planting a loud smack on her husband’s head, “Enjoy your hockey.”
“Believe me I will,” he responded but she was already disappearing out the door, “Oh hey…Gertie?”
David looked around, “Ahh, damn it.”
Thumbing the volume up on the TV he settled back reaching for his glasses. In ten minutes the gold rimmed spectacles were draped over his nose as David snored away. Suddenly his body twitched.
Jerking David moaned low in his throat as the faint red glow of the late afternoon sun faded into total darkness. Gasping he came away thrusting his hands up as his fingers clawed at the darkness above his face. He was in a hole, black earth spilling through his fingertips. Thrashing David began clawing at the dirt, tearing large clods of earth and tiny roots away from his nose and mouth, but more dirt began spilling into the hole surrounding him. With a shout David dug into the oft ground as it crumbled around him covering his eyes and nose. He snorted trying to sneeze mouth opening in a silent scream as more and more dirt fell onto his face.
Not quite an hour later the keys jangled in the hotel door, and Gertrude Gilford shoved the door in with her hip scowling angrily at no one in particular. She spied her husband stretched out on the bed, unmoving. “See, I told you so, David. I told you Mitzi Hamner would pull some stunt. I should have told her they had already given out the Academy Awards this year. I should have told her…David? David, honey?”
Stumbling forward Gertrude let her hand fall on his shoulder, shaking gentle. David rolled slightly and she gasped at the sight of his frozen face, mouth gaping open in sheer terror. From the rigid fixed features she could see he was dead. Uttering a sharp cry the elderly woman jerked back a tinny scream rising up in the still afternoon air.
&&&&&&
Captain Renard stepped out of his private office into the main office space of the precinct. Two of his detectives were seated at their desks, Hank Griffin looking for all the world like he would love to climb the walls and Nick Burkhart carefully pouring over a few typed sheets of paper that must comprise the final paperwork on their last case. Some three weeks ago.
Hank sighed shuffling through the assorted detritus accumulated on his desk top. First arranging tape, stapler and paperclips then shuffling through then again. The captain smiled, both Hank and Burkhart had reputations as hands-on kind of detectives, not desk jockey types at all. Maybe that was why they we fast becoming the Portland PDs go to guys for homicides.
Renard shifted silently until Hank cast a glance over his shoulder offering the captain a smirk, “Anything I can do for you Cap? And I mean that… anything at all?”
Nick looked up frowning, “Hey, we’re partners; if Hank gets to go I should go too.”
“What is this kindergarten?” Renard asked with a faked grimace, “Hank is a big boy. I think he can find the way by himself.”
“Yeah,” Hank said leaping to his feet. “Besides somebody’s gotta finish all this paperwork.”
Nick frowned, “All this…it’s like three pages, man. Come on, Hank.”
Hank shot the younger man a blinding smile, “Sorry kid, duty calls.”
Chuckling Renard handed the senior detective a thin manila folder containing a lonely sheet of paper, “Meet Sergeant Wu at the Granville-Mason Resort.”
Now Hank pulled to a halt a frown marring his features, “Granville-Mason resort? Isn’t there’s some sort of senior citizen vacation deal going on there? What did somebody get a parking ticket on their golf cart?”
Waving over his shoulder the captain disappeared into his office, “Just go meet, Wu. There’s a dead body in it for you.”
Nick grinned at Hank and the other man snarled, “Probably some old geezer kicked the bucket in his sleep. Where’s the glamour in that?”
“I’ll trade you.”
Shuffling into his jacket Hank waved a hand at his partner, “Oh hell no. See you later.”
&&&&&&&
Sergeant Wu was standing beside the open door to a hotel room when Hank got to the Granville-Mason Resort building. Wu’s partner Shelly Longe was talking quietly to an elderly woman sitting in a chair in the hallway, occasional she glanced up at Wu and then the detective as he made his way into down the hall.
Wu pulled Hank into the room motioning to the CSI agents meticulously combing over the duvet beside the rigor stiffened form of an elderly man. As the CSIs worked Hank moved to the bedside pulling on a pair of latex gloves, “So anything yet?”
“Well,” the younger woman said frowning up at Hank, “Detective…it’s kinda weird.”
“Yeah,” Hank said shooting her a grin, “Weird is my middle name. Hit me.”
Chuckling she picked up one of the corpse’s hands, “He has dirt under his fingernails. Black soil almost like potting soil, but there are no potted plants in the room. “And a look at this,” she tilted the victims’ head. “He has dirt in and around his mouth and nose. But he was found on the bed and his wife says he was not outside all day.”
Standing the young woman brushed the knees of her trousers then shrugged, “Damned if I know what to make of it. Coroner’s here. We’re done, unless you want to see something else.”
Shaking his head Hank stepped back as the coroner’s men pulled a gurney into the room. “Nope I’m good. I’m gonna head back to the station and pick up my partner. By the time we get to the morgue the ME should have something to give us?”
The CSI agent nodded, “I’ll tell the medical examiner to expect you.”
&&&&&&
Nick was standing at the doors to the medical examiner’s office when Hank pulled up in their unmarked police car. The younger man had spent that last couple of hours finishing up all their tardy paperwork and was pacing briskly when his partner arrived.
Grinning the older man pulled the doors open, “Glad to see you could pull yourself away from all that tantalizing typing, Nick.”
The Grimm shot him a look then motioned the other man ahead, “Yeah, next time you get to be the one mesmerized…”
“I believe I said tantalized,” Hank offered. Nick rolled his eyes.
“So gimme the 411,” he said and the other man shrugged. Finally Hank stepped into the antiseptic and formaldehyde smelling room that always made his skin crawl.
“I got nothin’.” He said with a sigh, “Well, I got plenty of questions, just no answers.”
The medical examiner was just pulling off a pair of blue latex gloves as both men walked into the room. She turned offering them both a puzzled frown, “You are absolutely sure that this body was found in a hotel room?”
Nodding Hank flipped the corner of the sheet draping Gilford’s body then turned to the short, stout form. “Yep…his wife found him laid out on the bed like he was all settled in for a nap. When we got there she confirmed it with Wu. Mr. Gilford hadn’t been out of the room since dinner last night. They even called room service for lunch before Mrs. Gilford went to her bridge tournament.”
“That’s damned odd,” She walked over to the Formica topped shelves lining one wall. Pulling a silver tray out the medical examiner carried it back to the two detectives. “I pulled about 250 milliliters of this out of his mouth and throat. It’s the cause of death…”
“And that would be…” Nick prompted. She smiled.
“Asphyxiation,” Laying the tray gently on the corpse’s chest she tugged the sheet back before using the corner to lift one eye lid, “See all this vetreal hemorrhaging? Clear sign of asphyxiation. He had about a cup of black soil in his mouth and throat, and smaller amounts in his lungs. I’d say he was buried alive.”
&&&&&&
As the two men left the coroner’s office they headed for their car. It was a short drive a few blocks to the police station where they parted company. Hank headed home and Nick leaning against the side of his truck. Quickly he pulled his cell phone out of a pocket punching up a now familiar number.
The phone jangled briefly then a husky voice answered, sounding a bit annoyed. Nick grinned to himself, “Hey, Monroe…we just opened a case today and it sort of pinged something on my Grimm radar…”
Nick could almost see the blutbad’s puzzled expression on the other end. He heard Monroe sucked in a deep breath, “Grimm radar? Is that like a real thing or is it a euphemism?”
Nick shook his head even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him, “I don’t know. It’s like a feeling I get, that this case involves something that might be wesen connected. It feels off.”
Sighing Monroe cast a quick glance at the clock on his mantle then carefully lay the clock he was working on down. “I’m getting wrapped up for the day and I thought that I’d get something going for dinner. Uhh, you wanna come on by, maybe eat and talk.”
Smiling Nick opened his car door, dropping a slim manila folder onto the seat, “Yeah that sounds great. I really appreciate it. I….ummm.”
Monroe barely contained his grin, “You own me one, I know. See you in what…half an hour.”
“Traffic looks good, so yeah, half an hour.”
Monroe tucked his phone away and quickly walked to the kitchen. After a few minutes he cleared the repair manuals and morning paper off the breakfast table before wiping it down. On a whim he went to the cabinet pulling out two plates and wine glasses. He laid out the table finishing it with the cloth napkins and silver flatware that had belonged to his grandmother. Things he rarely used.
When the table was set to his satisfaction the blutbad went to the fridge pulling out all the ingredients for grilled portabella burgers covered in Swiss cheese and cider roasted vegetables, before taking a bottle of Bordeaux out of the cooler.
He was half way through tossing the salad when Monroe hurried into his living room to retrieve the candlesticks from the mantle. He set them in the center of the table with the bread basket just as there was a firm knock on the door.
Nick was standing on the porch with a lopsided grin on his face, “I’m sorry that I just run to you when ever…”
Monroe waved him inside taking the younger man’s jacket when he stripped it off, lying on the back of the sofa just inside the living room. Quickly the blutbad motioned Nick to follow, “I thought we’d eat in the kitchen.”
Nodding Nick followed him inside only to pull up short once he caught sight of the warm golden glow of the candles, and sparkle of crystal and silver.
“Wow, it looks great. You really go all out for dinner, don’t you?”
Shrugging Monroe blushed, “Sometimes you just want it to be special.”
Nick paused staring up at the taller man. Monroe swallowed heavily licking his lips. Nick smiled and the blutbad took a deep breath. He could smell the thin layer of perspiration lying over the younger man’s skin, the crisp salty ripeness of Nick’s underlying natural body scent.
Biting his lips Monroe turned to the stove making a vague waving motion at the table, “You want to pour the wine? I’ll dish this up.”
When he turned around the Grimm was seated at the table looking at a file tucked under his right hand. Nick glanced up when Monroe placed the plate in front of him watching as the older man walked around to the opposite side of the table before taking a seat. Monroe watched Nick take another sip of his wine, followed the movement of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed with each swallow.
Clearing his throat the blutbad realized he had been staring. Quickly he looked away taking a sip from his own glass, letting the rich red wine flow over his tongue. Still Monroe couldn’t repress a shiver that ran along his spine, as he imagined he could see the tick of the younger man’s pulse in his throat, imagined the rich red blood flowing through Nick’s veins.
The detective picked up a forkful of vegetables them shut his eyes, “Ummm, this is great, Monroe.”
“Uh, thanks,” the blutbad began picking at his own food, “So what is it you wanted to see me about?”
“Oh, yeah,” Nick said motioning to the folder with his fork, “It pretty much screams wesen related. I thought we go over it later.”
Monroe nodded, “Sure we’ll do it after dinner.”
Blinking Nick flushed from the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair. Monroe swallowed the wrong way and hacked out a cough.
“I mean we’ll talk about it after we eat.”
After the meal had been consumed and the dishes washed the two men wandered into the living room. Nick was sprawled on the sofa as Monroe paced the length of the rug before turning quickly and pacing back again. He flipped through the few pages muttering; then dropped the file on the coffee table spreading out the flimsy sheets.
Monroe looked at the sheets of paper scattered on the table then back up at the young detective’s earnest gray eyes. He felt a shiver crawl down the length of his spine. “Nick,” Monroe paused scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “Look, this…this is a little heavy for you right now.”
“Oh and the Seigbarst wasn’t? I’m a Grimm, Monroe.”
“Yeah but this…it looks like this might be a Schlafen Fee.”
“A what? English please, Monroe.”
“You’re gonna laugh. Everybody does… at first. A Schlafen Fee is a sleep fairy.”
Nick sat back flabbergasted, “I’m lookin’ for Tinkerbelle?”
Monroe snarled, “That’s the kind of attitude that’ll get you dead, Grimm. A Schlafen Fee ain’t no tiny chick with iridescent wings and a green miniskirt.”
The blutbad moved across the room settling heavily on the sofa by the younger man. Quickly Monroe grabbed Nick’s arm tugging the Grimm around to look at him, “Schlafen Fee are dream warriors. Yeah, they exist in the real world, but they do their dirty work in the nether realm, the sleep world. And with a Schlafen Fee if you die in your dreams, you die in real life.”
&&&&&&
Betty Harper turned into the parking lot of the resort building on the main strip of downtown Portland. With a sign she glanced up at the multi-storied structure. At the far end of the row she could just make out the large blue and white shuttle from the United Airlines terminal at the airport. That meant that her sister and her bratty kids were probably already waiting in the lobby. Betty seriously wished that she had not allowed herself to be talked into this little drama. But her niece, her only sister’s oldest child was getting married. They had all decided to meet that the Granville because it was so closed to the convention center and the bridal show.
Closing her eyes briefly Betty settled her forehead against the steering wheel. She could hear the swish of cars behind her and quickly turned off the engine before some passerby decided she had dropped dead in her car. The last thing she needed was to pay for a new window if someone decided to go all Good Samaritan on her.
As she turned top tug her purse out of the backseat Betty thought she saw a shadow flicker across the windshield. Gasping she jerked around in the seat. A faint play of sunlight through the dappled tree branches caused a figure to form against the brink wall in front of her car. Betty watched as the figure coalesced into the shape of a man. Laughing nervously the woman turned again reaching for her purse. She felt a yawn overcoming her.
Keeping one eye on the dark figure that now appeared to be standing beside the hood of her Chevy Betty leaned back in the driver’s seat. She yawned again. Her head lolled forward as a tiny snore slipped past her lips.
The Betty found herself seated, not in her vehicle, but in a ridiculously over padded chair on the deck of a ship. She glanced around at the beautiful table setting and flicked a smile up at the waiter. Carefully the young man poured a glass of wine. As Betty reached for the crystal goblet she felt a tremor run through the table. The wine slopped over the rim of the glass splattering the white linen of the table cloth.
Another more pronounced tremor rattled the table causing the silver the clink against the china and Betty rose with a gasp.
The deck pitched wildly under her feet as the woman tried vainly to run to the door. A loud explosion thundered through the room and the deck suddenly pitched forward sending her sprawling. From across the room shouts and cried echoed. Betty struggled to her feet trying to flag down a passing crew member. The younger woman turned shooting her a solemn look, “You’d better head for the deck. They’re filling the lifeboats.”
Betty nodded, “Please I don’t understand. Where am I?”
“Miss,” the steward said taking her arm, “Please come with me.”
Numbly Betty nodded casting a glance at the man’s face, but some trick of the light kept his features swathed in shadow. “I…know you. You were outside my car…”
“Hurry now!” the steward said grabbing the woman by the arm. She struggled briefly.
“No! This isn’t right! Let me go,” Betty tried to pulled free, tried to run but the man scowled then grabbed her by the waist hauling her physically to the deck. Betty turned screaming as he flung her over. She hit the water with bone breaking force, and began sinking. Struggling weakly Betty tried to push above the slick smooth surface of the cold sea. “I was in my car. I was…”
The dark shape of the steward crashed own from the deck of the ship. With a snarl he grabbed Betty by the nape of the neck forcing her head under the water. As the cold overtook her she floated limply to the surface water streaming out of her nose and mouth.
The steward watched as Betty’s corpse sank into the cold black depths. “Sorry dear. Can’t allow you to wake now can I?”
Part One A