Page 88 of Crow
A couple of hours later, Angie jotted down a few notes from her last appointment, then slung her purse strap over her shoulder and strode toward Abe’s apartment. Having a soft spot for him, she always tried to stop by and check in on the disabled man since his siblings never visited, and he seemed to spend a lot of time alone. When Angie stopped in front of Abe’s apartment, she made a mental note to come by the following day and bring him his favorite sub— the Italian with extra pepperoni, salami, hot peppers and onions.
She knocked on the door twice, but there was no answer.
“Abe, it’s Angie Morelli. I want to see how you’re doing.”
She waited. There was still no answer, so she tried the doorknob, and it turned. Pushing open the door, she called into the residence, “Abe, are you there? It’s me, Angie.”
The quiet alarmed her. Angie tried to still the sudden apprehensive feeling that swept over her.
“Abe?” Her voice sound tinny and weak to her own ears.
She stepped inside, then stopped and stared. The small living room was a mess. The coffee table had been overturned and all the items on it were strewn across the floor. The glass doors on the TV stand hung from broken hinges, DVDs littering the area in front. By the tattered couch, Abe’s wheelchair was on its side.
Angie stood frozen as shock and fear slid down her spine.What the hell happened here?She moved toward the bedroom and gingerly pushed open the half-closed door. A strong acetone odor invaded her nostrils, and she covered her nose. The blinds were closed and the drapes drawn over them, making the room dark even though it was daylight.
“Abe? Are you hurt?”
There was no answer. The room was still like a tomb.
As dread mounted, she fumbled along the wall for the light switch.Where is the damn thing? Wait … here it is.The overhead fixture snapped on, blinding her for a minute as her eyes adjusted to the light, and then she saw him. Abe—lying on his back in a pool of blood on the floor—was dead.
“Abe!”
Angie rushed over to his motionless body, then stopped short. Reality and rationality tried to push their way into her mind like sunlight filtering through a crack.This isn’t real.But the blood splattered walls contradicted that thought.It’s not true.She kept repeating the words in her head like a mantra, as though they would build a firewall between what she wanted to believe and reality.
This can’t be happening.She forced herself to glance over at Abe, and the sight of his lifeless body and scarred legs spread out grotesquely pierced through her. A significant amount of blood stained the front of his shirt. There were numerous slash marks on his arms, hands, and legs, and a large wound gaped open at his throat.
Angie tore her gaze from the gore and swallowed the bile rising in her throat.Oh God.A sob slipped through her lips.I can’t believe this. Poor Abe.Tears streamed down her cheeks, as shaking hands covered her face.It’s so horrible.She stumbled out of the bedroom, then hurried out of the apartment.
Leaning against the wall in the corridor, she sucked in a deep breath. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly as she fought to calm her racing pulse and regain her composure before she called the police. Images of Abe’s tortured body flashed in her mind.Stop it!Then, she took another deep breath and a controlled release.
“You okay, lady?”
Her eyes flew open, and she stared into Pedro’s earnest face.
“I thought you were sleeping or something.”
Angie pushed away from the wall. “I’m just taking a breather, but I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I have to make a phone call, so you should go to your apartment.”
“That’s where I was going. See you.” Pedro shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged down the hallway.
She waited until he disappeared into his apartment before she called the sheriff’s office. In less than ten minutes, sirens blared all over town, and the third floor was abuzz with cops swarming Abe’s place. Placing two fingers against her pounding right temple, Angie tried to slink away, but a dark-haired man approached her.
“Are you Ms. Morelli?”
Dropping her hand to her side, she nodded.
“I’m Detective Contreras. I’d like to hear what happened.”
And so it begins.Sighing, she pulled her shoulders back and began to recount how her afternoon had turned into a nightmare.
What seemed like an eternity later, Angie—ignoring all the perplexed expressions coming from a group of residents gathered in the lobby—pushed through the front doors and exited the building. Sunlight washed warm across her skin. Overhead, in the gnarled branches of an oak tree, flutters of wings whispered as birds flitted about and occasionally broke into song. A wave of sadness swept over her as she looked up at the green-leafed treetops etched against a clear blue sky.
“Abe.” Her voice hitched.
The sounds of rumbling engines roared like thunder. Turning in the direction of the noise, she held her breath as a group of motorcycles pulled up in front of the apartment building. Her eyes darted from one biker to another as she searched for Crow, but he wasn’t among the group of leather-clad men. The urge to speak with him, to tell him about Abe, seized her, and she walked up to a tall, black-haired man.
“Excuse me, but do you know Crow?”
