Chapter 1
July 8th, 7:05 AM
The morning sun filtered through the weeping willows on the cemetery's East side, giving the dissipating fog an eerie aura that only served to remind visitors that they were treading on the dead. And many were being stepped upon this morning, as crowds of police officers milled around the cemetery, speaking loudly and mashing down the perfectly manicured lawn.
Ordinarily there wouldn't have been such a grand turnout for a relatively minor case. But the man who had been roughly unburied the night before had been rich and locally famous in life, being mentioned in the newspapers at least once a month for various reasons, both favorable and nefarious. And if he was noteworthy while alive, he was paparazzi material in death. It took nearly a dozen uniformed officers just to keep the growing throngs of onlookers and reporters outside the graveyard's confines.
Detective Nick O'Malley took a drink of coffee and glanced around at the group of police that were within talking distance, listening in as each said to what they believed had occurred the previous evening. The general consensus was that it was a cult act - though which cult and why seemed to escape any explanation. The dark-haired man let out a quick laugh, garnering looks of exasperation from the regular police officers that surrounded him.
"Do you have a better theory?" one of them asked.
Nick shook his head. "Nope. You guys seem to have it covered," he laughed. "Definitely a cult act." Winking and grinning, he thus excused himself from the dubious pleasure of their company.
O'Malley and his partner wouldn't have even been there had the detective not received a twice-removed phone message from an informant. And by that time word had been not only spread across the television, but newspapers, private citizens, and the police department had taken numerous photographs of the scene. That made containment impossible, and all that Special Unit Two could do at that point was to send in observers to see if this was indeed a cult act or the work of something even more sinister. From what Nick could see, he was ready to bet good money on the latter.
Ignoring, for a moment, the gruesome situation at hand, the detective let himself enjoy the wide-open space around him. Though reserved for the rich and haut monde, Pastor's rest was not as overbearingly ornate as some might have expected. Instead, it was a large four acre lawn with a mere five-hundred and eighteen burials to its short thirteen year history. That was, in truth, what made the cemetery so appealing a place to be interred - a surplus of space, with the neighbors quite some distance away.
Barely any of the graves were simplistically decorated and none held flat markers. Nearly all of the plots had some type of memorial statue atop them, whether the residents were of Jewish, Catholic, Protestant, or even atheist leanings. The nonsectarian yard drew all kinds, provided those kinds could afford the staggering seventeen- to twenty-three hundred dollars it cost to secure a plot. Mausoleum lots were even more costly, extending well up to the cost of a living person's suburban home - a fact that accounted for the few above-ground tombs in the area.
Strolling slowly South, O'Malley took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of freshly-mowed grass and caring not in the least that the grass was covering over five-hundred bodies in the exclusive cemetery. He let his eyes slide from memorial to memorial, reading the names, dates, and epitaphs that were carved into the stone. Off to his left a glint of light attacked his vision and he turned to look head-on at whatever it had been that had reflected it.
Several feet away, small garden of stones was set off from the main body of the graveyard. A low fence surrounded the group, further separating the spot from the richly ornamented cemetery surrounding it. O'Malley shifted his steps, walking away from the cacophony behind him, bound for the curious sight ahead. As he grew closer he could see metal plates set into the headstones and small American flags jutting up from the ground. These stones, unlike the ones beyond the short barrier, were spaced closely together - nearly crowded into the relatively tiny area.
Stopping at the knee-tall wooden fence, Nick finally saw what the plates were: officers' badges and detectives' shields. The stones being granted no shade, the metal shone with polished luster, bouncing the light off in all directions like prisms. There were nine graves there, each one as perfectly tended as each and every other sepulcher in the rich-man's cemetery. It was almost as if the officers there were still standing in formation, lined up for an inspection.
Each name was preceded by rank and followed by not only the dates of birth and death, but by the years in service. Nick noted, with some measure of regret, that the last year of service and the year of death always matched - that each of these officers had died while on the job. Off to the right of the body of aligned stones lay a patch of clear grass - room enough for perhaps six more graves.
O'Malley stared at the vacant space for a while, then turned his back to the fallen and walked away. Ahead of him he could see more officers - living ones, but nearly as silent as the dead he had just left behind. They stood contemplatively around an open grave, staring down without a word, as if expecting an answer to the mystery of the day to suddenly present itself. He stopped in their midst, glancing at each officer, then over at his own partner.
Kate Benson, like the other detectives around her, was looking down at the freshly disinterred body. The sunlight diffusing through the lifting mist gave her strawberry blond hair golden hues and her hazel eyes reflected the light like mirrors, revealing a certain beauty that did not go wholly unnoticed in the macabre environment.
The woman's equanimity and compassion seemed to make her the mental mirror-opposite of her partner, but that, O'Malley believed, was what made them the effective team that they were - that difference was what made the whole of their partnership far greater than the sum of its parts. For a person who had been found out of pure serendipity and brought into SU2 as a neophyte, Benson had proven to be a dynamic addition to the agency - and had become a fast friend of Nick's.
Though staring at the woman's face, O'Malley's mind shifted back to the small enclosed yard he had just left behind. Nine officers. Nine partners who had been lost in the line of duty. Partners like Kate - and like the woman that Nick had served with before her. She had died, as it has been said, with her boots on. A fate that O'Malley had been unable to prevent, and now swore to himself every day that he would not let happen to another of his partners. Another of his friends.
Sensing eyes upon her, Kate stood up straight and looked over at the man standing by her side. "What do you think?" she asked, nearly whispering.
Nick blinked, realizing that he had been staring, then kneeled and looked down into the pit. His eyes focused on the post-mortem victim still lying on his stomach in the smashed-open coffin, seeming for all the world like he had endured every moment of the ordeal that had taken place after his death. The detective's glance slid down from the relic's skull to the deep gouges on the his back. Nick nodded, half-smiling despite the morbidity of the sight, then stood and looked over at Kate. "Most everyone here is certain it was a cult thing, and I've heard a couple mentions of voodoo rituals," he said, then paused, taking a sip of coffee. "But I'd say these guys are beating the drum on the wrong battlefield."
O'Malley motioned with his head, indicating the woman should join him as he walked away from the scene. Kate fell into step beside him as he neared what looked like just another mausoleum. Stopping a few yards away, they looked on as several more police officers spoke to a septuagenarian, who was obviously annoyed by the constant questioning. The old man had a bandage wrapped around his right ankle and was covered with dirt, but otherwise looked none the worse for his experience. He glanced up at the two distant detectives from where he sat on the mausoleum's stoop.
"That's Michael Billmeyer, the caretaker," Kate said. "He found the body just after five AM."
"Talk to him yet?"
"No," the woman said. "But from what I understand, he actually fell in the grave - on top of the deceased. So do you think you know what happened?"
"I'm not totally sure. But I think Sean might know," O'Malley said, turning towards their car where it was parked on the cemetery's access road. "I'll let him do the dirty work."
Kate looked back at the old man for a few seconds before running to catch up with her partner. "We aren't even going to talk to the caretaker?" she asked.
"Nope," Nick told her. "He wouldn't be able to tell us anything we don't already know."
The woman looked at him over the vehicle's roof. "And what, exactly, do we know?"
"What they don't know," O'Malley pointed at the police several yards away.
"So, this is our case?"
He emptied what was left of his coffee onto the ground and opened his door. "You bet your ass it is."
As Benson opened her own door, Nick looked behind him at the graveyard one last time. His eyes moved from the crowd surrounding the open grave to the lawn beyond. He focused his sight on the fenced-in area for several long moments. Lowering his eyes, Nick climbed into the car and started the engine without a word.
< } * { >
July 8th, 1:49 PM
Deep underground, beneath an apparently innocent laundry in downtown Chicago, an abandoned subway station housed the base of operations for Special Unit Two. Voices mumbled in the early afternoon hour, each detective and officer curious as to why such a sudden Sunday meeting had been called. Some of them were worried, others were annoyed, and still others had been in the unit long enough to have grown used to the unanticipated assemblies. But all of them were of the opinion that they had better places to be at that moment.
Sean Radmon, the unit's resident cryptobiologist, rubbed the center of his forehead and grimaced. He had been called out of bed at half-past seven AM and told to do a rush search on an obscure Link that he had only heard referred to once in his earlier college days, and had since only mentioned to one other member of SU2. It had been that one particular officer, Nick O'Malley, that had called the biologist on what was supposed to have been his day off. Sean knew it had not been his imagination that noticed a hint of pleasure in Nick's voice when he discovered that Sean had been out raving until four that morning and that a sleep of three hours had barely been obtained before duty called.
Sean glanced over at O'Malley and Benson, who stood customarily next to one another. The woman had her arms crossed and was looking at her partner out of the corner of her eye. Nick, on the other hand, was busy staring into his coffee cup, sticking his finger into the liquid and flicking it over the rim. He had a confused look on his face that the biologist was certain had nothing to do with the case at hand, but rather the nature of his beverage. Wagner, Delgado, and Alston all mirrored O'Malley's expression, glaring into their own mugs at the drink that, if they had not needed the caffeine so badly, they would have long since consigned to the swirling drain of a water fountain.
Off to the left of the group, in a reclined computer chair, sat Carl - a Link known as a gnome. As well, Carl was a kleptomaniac whose illegal actions had landed him in deep trouble with the unit. As part of a plea bargain, he now reluctantly worked for Special Unit Two. Having connections among both Links and humans, it was often Carl's informants that led to breakthroughs in many of SU2's cases. The assignment was mostly against his will, but it was easy to tell that Carl acquired some measure of personal satisfaction from helping the humans to rid the city of the most vicious of Links.
But after he had been called in that morning, Carl realized that his expertise was not yet required and felt the need to catch up on his rest. The gnome had his feet up on a desk and his eyes were tightly shut; every once in a while he would let out a loud snore, reminding all present that he was, indeed, asleep. In his slumber, he mumbled something, which attracted several glances from the humans around him. Carl began to laugh softly, then settled back into silence.
"I don't mind that he snores and talks in his sleep," Captain Page said, walking to the center of the gathered crew, "but it annoys the hell out of me when he just chuckles."
"What's wrong, sir?" Nick said, smiling. "Don't you trust him?"
"About as far as I could..." the large man paused in his statement, realizing that he could, indeed, throw Carl quite far. "No, I don't."
Sean looked at the gnome and then the captain, who gave him a nod, indicating that he should begin the briefing. The younger man turned towards his computer and hit a single key, calling up a screen with a capture of a well-dressed older gentleman on it. Radmon waited a few seconds to be certain everyone was looking, then took a deep breath and began to speak.
"This is a picture of Alfred Easkoot. It was taken at four-thirty-nine this morning by the outside security camera of a 7-11, three blocks from Pastor's Rest cemetery," he said.
"Alfred Easkoot?" Alston asked, tilting her head. "Isn't he supposed to be dead?"
Nick raised an eyebrow. "Looks good on him."
"He is dead," Sean said, uncharacteristically ignoring O'Malley's comment. "Let me start from the beginning. That is, grave robberies. The weird kind. As if digging up the dead weren't weird enough." Contorting his face into an expression of disgust, the scientist hit another key, revealing the exhumed body that Kate and Nick had seen in person earlier that morning. Sean did not look at the image for more than a second, having been sickened the first and only time he had studied it that morning and not wishing to put his stomach through the ordeal again. "This is the real Mr. Easkoot. Dead, buried, unburied, and... skinned."
Murmurs worked their way through the group.
"You're saying that person in front of the 7-11 is wearing this man's skin?" Wagner asked, his nose wrinkling as he stared at the image.
"And his burial clothes," Nick said. "And it wasn't a person. At least, not a human one."
"For once I don't have to correct O'Malley," Sean commented. "This was a Link's handiwork, but it took me a while to track down just what kind it was. I don't even have any pictures of it to show you. Not that it would matter, 'cause every time you see it there will be a different --" he choked back a gag, "-- skin on its frame. There's no technical name for it, basically because it's so rare it has yet to acquire one. What it is, is a Link that was born human. As far as I can figure, at some point in its life it lost the ability to produce its own skin."
"Produce skin?" Kate asked. "But you're born with skin, how could you lose the ability --"
"The human body is constantly producing new skin to replace the old," Sean interrupted. "Almost like a snake, but not so dramatically. We're literally shedding our dermal cells every day. As a matter of fact, most household dust consists of dried human skin. That's what dust mites feed on."
"Okay, now this is thoroughly disgusting," Nick said. "Can we just get on with the briefing?"
Sean let out a quick, sarcastic laugh. "A man who doesn't flinch looking at a flayed human corpse cringes at the mention of dust mites," he said, then turned towards his computer, avoiding looking into the dead man's un-lidded eyes. "Anyway, like I was saying, this Link lost the ability to produce skin. Most likely because of some congenital abnormality. Whenever the recessive gene decided to show itself it also produced four secondary link characteristics - almost like secondary sex characteristics."
"What are those?" Nick asked, suddenly paying an unusual amount of attention.
"Leave it to O'Malley to be all ears when the word sex is mentioned," the biologist said, then continued speaking without taking more than half a breath. "Secondary sex characteristics are genetically conveyed behavioral and physiological traits that don't have a direct reproductive function but still serve to differentiate between the sexes," Sean said, speaking so rapidly that it was difficult for the others to follow along. "Facial hair in men and enlarged breasts in women, for example.
"A secondary Link characteristic is almost the same in the fact that it serves to differentiate between Link and human, but doesn't need to be present in order for the Link to be what it is. A woman would still be a woman without breasts and a man would still be a man without facial hair, but without the heavy equipment they wouldn't be what they are. In this Link's case a lack of skin is the most obvious and driving factor, but in addition to that there have been four other changes that serve to differentiate it from regular humans.
"Number one: the genetic abnormality caused it to produce longer, stronger, sharper fingernails - almost like claws. It has taken advantage of the abnormality by using it to get the skin off its victim. It slices through the dead person's back and peels it away, using its claws to cut under the dermis to make it easier to remove. Like you would do if you were skinning a chicken," Radmon paused and swallowed, trying to chase the image from his own mind.
"Those were the gouges that Nick and I saw," Kate stated.
Sean nodded. "Number two: it lost its moral center. It doesn't give a damn what it does to get what it needs. Now, I haven't had a chance to examine this Link, so I am only assuming here, but from the evidence present I'd say it is a pretty safe bet that the only thing it understands is that if it didn't have any skin it would be open to all the harms of the outside world. It's thinking in human terms about how we all need that protective layer to keep out germs and bacteria, to protect us from the elements, and because we'd look funny going into a grocery store without it.
"And that leads to number three: the fact that it has a higher tolerance to most of these dangers. Except for the grocery store one. If it didn't have an increased tolerance, the mere fact that it's wearing someone else's skin would be dangerous in and of itself - leading to infections and a host of other problems from the act of contacting the dead tissue with its own bare musculature.
"Four: this Link is incredibly fast and strong - evident from the way it dug out the grave by hand in a matter of a couple hours and how easy it was for it to smash through a wood and steel coffin. It may or may not be a factor of the genetic abnormality, but the speed and strength certainly exist. And, of course, that'll also make it harder to track down."
He clicked the keyboard again and a map popped into view, revealing a path leading from New Orleans to Chicago, dotted periodically by red X's. "I did a search, and this is possibly the course the Link took. In Louisiana about a year back there were three grave robberies, each time the victim was skinned in the same manner as our Mr. Easkoot, and each time the local PD claimed it was the act of cultists or a voodoo ritual."
"Imagine that," Nick grinned.
"And in each case our local agency peers were unable to determine otherwise," Captain Page added. "That is, until O'Malley had the --" the captain paused, hardly believing what he was about to say, "-- forthright thinking to bring it to the attention of the one person among us who had actually heard of this type of Link."
Sean nodded, understanding that the captain was paying both he and Nick a complement in the same sentence. The biologist looked up at O'Malley, who was smiling proudly and, despite himself, Sean smiled back - a rare occurrence for the two men. Page cleared his throat and Radmon straightened his face, returning his attention to the computer monitor.
"You can see that the trail leads up our way, each X indicating where at least one skinned body was discovered," Sean continued, tracing the path with his finger. "It looks like it just got to town a couple of days ago."
"So, all we're looking for is a grave robber?" Kate said skeptically. "It can't be as simple as that."
"It's not," O'Malley told her, nodding his head at Sean. "Is it?"
The biologist sighed nervously. "Not really." He hesitated a few seconds, then clicked once again, pulling up a four-way screen. Each fraction of the monitor showed a different body laid out on a coroner's cart, and each of the cadavers were skinned in the same manner as Easkoot. The unexpected sight sent a ripple of disgusted shock through the crowd.
"These people weren't dead until the Link got hold of them," Sean said, focusing his eyes on the feet of the officers around him. "It seems that, if there are no fresh burials for the Link to choose from, it does the only other thing it can: it kills to get its skin. There were also three more that no photos were available for. But I think you get the idea well enough.
"All of the murders were from small towns," Captain Page said. "So a large city like Chicago will probably be a less likely place for it to have to seek out its own victims. There are always fresh bodies around here ripe for the exhuming."
"Great," Benson said flatly. "So what are we supposed to do, stake out every graveyard in Chicago? Do you know what the death rate in this city is?"
"One per person," O'Malley quipped.
Kate rolled her eyes at her partner. "Forget the needle, we won't even be able to find the haystack."
"According to what I've found out so far, once it finds a good source it will stick around for a while," Sean said. "In three of the cities it struck twice in the same graveyard, in others it didn't wander far from the first one it hit. So it might possibly return to Pastor's Rest or any of the other graveyards in that area."
"How many times has this thing --" Nick paused, searching for the right word, "-- changed its skin?"
"From what I can tell, thirty-eight times over the past year. Maybe more, if the data I have is incomplete," Sean said.
"And nobody thought to work out a pattern until now?" Alston asked, shocked.
"I have no idea," Sean said. "Maybe they all thought it was isolated to their area."
"Or maybe the Link only hangs around cities where the police couldn't find their own asses with both hands," Nick spoke up. "Not that it matters, 'cause now we're on it."
Kate took a deep breath, turning towards Radmon. "How long can it keep its skin before it needs a new one?"
"It depends. An embalmed skin will last about two weeks, a fresh kill will start to decay in a matter of a couple days," he said.
"So at least we have a couple weeks to track it down," Nick said.
"Uhm... not really," Sean said. "See, old man Eskoot was dead for a nearly a week before he was discovered. His body had already started to decay by the time he was buried and he was in -- well, pretty nasty shape. The reason he looked so good in the photo was because of the post-mortem makeup artists that worked on his face - but from the neck down you can only imagine. Add to that the heat this time of year and, despite the embalming, the skin won't last more than a few days, maybe no longer than a fresh kill."
"We will do the best that we can, given our limited numbers," Captain Page spoke up. "It is highly unlikely that the Link will strike this evening, so we will begin our stakeout tomorrow night. You will split into teams and be assigned to observe as many cemeteries as possible where there has been a recent burial. Hopefully that will produce some results. Any questions?"
"Just one," Nick said, looking down into his cup. "Who made the coffee this morning?"
"Carl. Why?"
The detective grimaced. "That explains why it's crunchy."
"You are all dismissed," Page said, sighing.
The group dissipated, leaving Nick and Kate the only ones still next to Sean. The woman stared intently at the picture on the screen, then looked over into the biologist's eyes.
"I'm almost afraid to ask this --" Kate began.
"No," the man interrupted, anticipating her question. "They weren't dead when the link started skinning them."
Kate wrapped her arms around herself and turned away. "Thanks. I think."
Still reclined in the chair, Carl laughed in his sleep once again. Nick looked at him for a few moments, then over at Kate as the two began walking away from Radmon.
"You okay?" Nick asked.
"Fine. Why?" she replied past clenched teeth.
He shrugged. "No reason."
As the two passed by Carl, Nick stopped and held his cup out over the gnome's lap. With a slightly malicious grin, the detective tilted the cup, sending the tepid liquid splashing onto the little man's pants. Carl jumped up, falling back in the chair and yelling something about drowning as he woke up from a dream. Nick laughed and walked on beside his partner.
The pair stopped together beside O'Malley's desk and Kate leaned against it, her eyes searching the distant air as she chewed absentmindedly on her lower lip. Setting his empty mug down on the desk, Nick pulled out his chair and spun it around, straddling it and placing his elbows on the backrest. He looked up at Benson and raised an eyebrow. He knew he didn't have to ask again what was on her mind - the expression she wore revealed that she was going to tell him, anyway.
"You know, its almost frightening," she said, confirming his expectations. "You can be born human and still end up a Link."
"What? You didn't think that was possible?" Nick asked. "Remember the Thropes? Remember the bite?" he pointed at the left side of his neck, where the Lycanthrope's teeth marks had long since vanished from his skin. "It can happen. Trust me on that one."
Kate shook her head. "No, that was different. That was being affected by an outside force. This Link that we're tracking was born normal, but its own body turned on it. It's scary thinking that inside every one of us is the potential for --" she looked across the room at the bodies still displayed on Radmon's monitor, "-- doing that."
Nick let out a breath and opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by another voice loudly emanating from Captain Page's office.
"O'Malley!" the older man called out. "Benson!"
Nick stood. "No rest for the weary," he said.
"That's no rest for the wicked," Kate corrected him as they strode together towards the office.
Stepping through the open door, the two were ordered, with a motion, to sit down across from him. They complied, looking on as he perused the report they had given him earlier that day. Presently, he cleared his throat and laid the open folder down on the desk.
"As I understand it, you didn't speak with the graveyard's caretaker," Page said, wasting no time in getting down to the subject. "Would you like to tell me why?"
Kate straightened in her seat. "Well, sir, we were going to. But --" she looked over at her partner.
"But we didn't think it was necessary, since we had already seen the evidence for ourselves," Nick finished.
"I see," Page said, leaning forward and grabbing his lit cigarette from the ashtray at the desk's right edge. "And so you decided to ignore procedure."
"Procedure, sir?" Nick asked, confused.
Page placed the filter between his teeth. "Interviewing witnesses is standard procedure when dealing with an unknown Link."
"I figured that since the old guy didn't actually see the Link that it didn't technically make him a witness," O'Malley said.
The captain sat back, glaring at the detective. "Old guy?" he said, a note of offense in his voice.
"I mean, the old... I mean older man," Nick stuttered. "Older gentleman --"
"Try using his name, O'Malley. I'm certain he has one," Captain Page grumbled.
Nick nodded. "Michael --" his eyes focused on the desk as his mind searched for the name. "-- Billma -- Billmi --"
"Billmeyer," Kate said softly.
"Billmeyer," Nick repeated.
Captain Page sat forward again and handed Nick the file folder, then took a long drag of his cigarette. "Regardless of the fact that you can't remember his name or that you didn't personally consider him as a witness, I want you to talk to him. Have you even read the police report?"
"Yes," O'Malley said, flipping through the folder. "And he said that he didn't actually see anything this morning."
"Let me." Kate grabbed the folder out of her partner's grip and turned a few pages, giving it more attention than the cursory glance that Nick had provided. The woman's eyes widened and she looked up at the captain. "Mr. Billmeyer didn't call the police. He called his son."
O'Malley snatched the folder back from her and began to read more thoroughly. "An officer caught his son cutting the chain to the gate," he said as his eyes scanned the document.
"The officer and the younger Mr. Billmeyer discovered the elder in the grave," Page continued. "And the caretaker seemed genuinely disturbed to know that the police had become involved."
"Do you think there's something more going on?" Kate asked.
If it had been Page's nature, he would have shrugged. Instead, he furrowed his brow and tilted his chin upwards. "Perhaps Mr. Billmeyer has more insight into the incident than either one of you realize."
"So, do you want us to go talk to him now?" O'Malley asked.
"No," the captain said flatly. "He started complaining of chest pains and was remitted to Mercy for observation. Tomorrow, however, I expect you two to sit down with him and have a nice, long chat. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir," Benson said.
O'Malley nodded.
Page motioned towards the door with his head. "Dismissed."
O'Malley placed the folder on the desk and the two detectives rose to their feet, walking swiftly out of the room. Once outside, the woman turned towards Nick. "He seems a little up-in-arms today," she said quietly.
"That means he knows something that he wants us to figure out for ourselves," Nick told her. "You'll learn how to read him after a while."
Kate offered a crooked grin and then looked ahead as they walked across headquarters. Stopping suddenly, she and Nick both shifted their sight downwards at the angry, half-soaked gnome who was standing directly in their path.
Carl cracked his knuckles and stepped up closer to O'Malley. "It's on," he said, glaring at the human through squinted eyes.
Smiling wickedly, Nick silently accepted the challenge.
Benson, seeing the familiar look of renascent adolescence in her partner's face, stepped away from the two, leaving them to their own devices and distancing herself from any implications. Captain Page, it seemed, was not the only one who could be read in SU2 - Carl and Nick were decidedly light reading at times, as well.
