A Real Monster

By

Millie Price

​

          Sliding into a booth at Dot’s diner, Raven MacGregor closed a Romance book and stared longingly at the scantily clad man on the cover as she waited for her sisters Bodie and Ransom. She had just left the office where Ransom recounted the events about a humanoid beetle colony from another realm. She, with the help of an FBI agent named Sal, thwarted their attempt at taking over Boone’s Butte, but the story left Raven on edge. Did the encounter signal the end of strange events in town, or the beginning?

          Tugging the hem of the purple leather gloves that kept her abilities at bay, Raven grabbed a menu from the end of the table. She was a psychometrist and with a simple touch she could see the past and present of any object or being. The future, however, was out of reach and would be until her power grew. Her parents called it the Unfolding; she and her sisters called it Leveling Up. Together, the MacGregor sisters made up the Revenant Emancipation Department, or RED, a paranormal investigation agency handed down to them by their parents. Raven loved working with her sisters, the job and Boone’s Butte, but recently she had begun yearning for more. Unbeknownst to her, she was about to get it.

          Ransom and Bodie walked into the diner and headed toward the booth. Flashing a smile at a brunette sitting on the other side of the room, Ransom slid in next to Raven. “Any word on the Beetle case?” she asked Bodie.

Bodie sat on the other side of the twins. “Sal was able to suppress the evidence, and it looks like the paranormal board is accepting it for review.”

          The Paranormal Board were a group of researchers, scientists, and people with abilities in the UK. They tracked supernatural occurrences around the world, reviewed cases, and assigned credits, much like Micheline stars, to investigative agencies like RED. The MacGregor sisters were rated in the top three.

Raven’s cellphone dinged in her purse, and she pretended not to hear it.

Bodie lifted her head from her phone. “Speaking of the Board.”

          Raven fiddled with the menu, keeping her eyes down. Her reputation for research and obtaining hidden knowledge had gotten around, and the Paranormal Board wanted her to accept a teaching job in the UK.

          “I’m pretty sure ignoring them is not going to get them off your ass. Take the interview, see what they have to say.” Ransom turned her focus back to the brunette.

          “I’m pondering okay.” Raven closed the menu.

          Bodie sighed. “It’s just an interview Rave. You don’t have to accept the job.”

          “I know.” And she did, but it wasn’t the interview she was worried about, it was the idea of leaving everything she knew behind.

          “You talkin’ about Raven’s job offer?” Dot Walker approached the table with a tray of water. She was Ute, her family one of the true natives of the land, her tribal pride evident from her braid to her bracelets. She was also the owner of the diner. “You know my vote.” She set three glasses in front of them.

          “I second that,” a scratchy voice came from the kitchen passthrough. It was Paul, the cook, and Dot’s right-hand man.

          Raven forced a smile. “I’m weighing my options.”

          Dot pulled out a writing pad. It was a mechanical gesture since the sisters had a rotating menu they’d been ordering since they took over RED. “Look at it this way. It would be a new pool of men, and they’d be like the British hunks from your stories.” She nodded toward the scantily clad man on Raven’s book.

          “You mean fake,” Ransom snarled.

          Dot smacked her shoulder. “You’re dating stats aren’t stellar either.” Raven chuckled. Dot always had a way of bringing them back down to earth. “The usual today?”

          “You got it,” Bodie answered, her focus still on her phone.

          Dot called to the pass. “Tuesday trifecta Pete.” Which meant a fry bread with chicken for Bodie, Medium rare steak and baked potato for Ransom, and a Ceaser salad for Raven.

          “On its way,” he replied.

          “There ain’t no harm in hearing what they have to say.” Dot touched Raven’s glove, patted it gently, and walked to another table.

          Raven grabbed her phone. Dot was right, she could at least hear the offer. She scrolled to the newest message, read it, cocked her head, and read it again. “Huh?”

          “What?” Ransom leaned over to see the phone.

          Raven twisted the screen toward her. “It’s a job offer from a private contractor.”

          Ransom leaned over further. “They only want you?”

          Bodie finally lifted her head. “Who does?”

          Raven shrugged. “It doesn’t say. Only that it’s an unusual case.” She gasped. “Holy crap, look at what they’re offering.”

          Ransom’s eyes went wide. “That’s a big number.”

          “What about credits? Will the case be eligible?” Bodie asked.

          Raven scrolled. “Yes.”

          “I say take it,” Bodie said, dropping her head back into her phone.

          “I agree. It would be nice for you to get out of the Butte.”

          Biting her lip, Raven lifted her gloved finger and answered the request: Yes, I’m interested please send details.

***

          Following the directions to Telluride, Colorado, Raven pulled into a large apartment complex near a ski resort and parked the car. The details from the email were few, only directions to the job site and the name of the private investigator she’d be working with: Armand. She parked the car and let out a slow whistle. Each building she’d passed when arriving in town was cultivated to attract tourists. People in ski pants and fuzzy hats bustled about, and there were signs posted up and down the streets advertising music festivals, and literary events. Even the apartment complex was fancy. If Boone’s Butte was Las Vegas, then Telluride was Monte Carlo.

          She got out of the car. There were no police, no investigators, not even the familiar yellow tape to indicate anything had happened, only loud music pouring from windows along with clouds of smoke and vape fog. She approached apartment 116. The door was ajar. Stepping through it, her head snapped back as the stench of death filled her nostrils. It was acrid and heavy, but there was an unrecognizable chemical smell of bleach and roses too. Covering her nose, she headed toward the back of the apartment. “Hello?”

          “You must be Mrs. MacGregor,” a thick toned voice poured from the bedroom as a man’s form filled the doorway.

          Raven willed her eyes not to widen. The man was magnificent. He was average height with dark skin, his jaw line strong, his eyes dark brown, and he had dreds pouring over his muscular shoulders and down a long trench coat. She swallowed hard, doing everything within her power not to swoon.

          “Ms. MacGregor,” she stammered, “but you can call me Raven. And you are Armand?”

          “I am.” His tone was terse, his eyes narrowed as he glanced down at her purple gloves.

          Raven smiled. “They are for function, not fashion.”

          Armand grunted. “Yes, I was told you possess special talents.”

          “What do we have back there?”

          Armand dropped his head. “They didn’t tell you.”

          “I only received directions and your name.” Raven leaned over to get a look behind him, but he shifted to cover the space.

         “Look Ms.”—

          She cut him off. “Raven, please.”

          “Raven,” he grunted. “I’m not sure what kind of work you do, but this,” he twisted his head toward the bedroom, “well, it’s not a pretty sight.”

          Raven furrowed her brow. “I appreciate your concern, but I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t handle the job. So, if you would kindly move out of my way, I can get to it.”

          A small smile slid up Armand’s face. “Of course, I didn’t mean to,” he paused. “This way.” He stepped to the side.

Covering her nose again, Raven entered the room. An eviscerated male corpse was sprawled on the mattress. His hands and feet were tied to the legs beneath the bed, and his chest was ripped open along with the bottom half of his torso and the top of his skull. Glazed eyes stared into the abyss and his mouth yawned in a silent scream over cut vocal chords. Raven approached the edge of the mattress. Each cut was precise, and all the organs were gone.

          Armand joined her. “By the rate of decomposition, I estimate he’s been dead for less than 24 hours. His name was Guy Miller.”

          Raven pulled off both gloves and slid them into her dress pocket. “Why aren’t there any officers or forensic scientists on the scene?”

          Armand cleared his throat. “They tend to stay away from these kinds of cases.”

          Raven frowned. When clients used the words “these kinds of cases” it meant paranormal or supernatural in nature. “Have you ever worked with a psychometrist before?”

          “Can’t say that I have.”

          “I’m going to touch the body and tell you what I see. Are you ready?”

          Armand pulled out a flip pad and pen. “Whenever you are.”