Bile rose in my throat, and it was all I could do not to throw up right there and then. Someone had driven a knife through her right eye, into her brain, back out through her skull, and into the plaster. Then they'd shaved her.
And I have no idea why that seemed such a defilement, but somehow, it did.
A hand touched my shoulder and I jumped.
"Jesus, arc you all right?" Cole asked. "You're shaking like a leaf."
"I'm fine," I said, voice somewhat restricted as I battled the urge to puke. "I just wasn't expecting... that." I waved a hand at the woman's bald head.
"No," Cole agreed, then added, "Worse, there doesn't appear to be any hair here. Our killer must have taken it with him."
I looked around and saw that he was right. "Oh, great. A freakazoid with a hair fetish. Just what we need."
He smiled, but there was little amusement visible in his pale blue eyes. "All hunters like their trophies."
I stared at him for a minute, not sure whether to be angry or just let it slide, when energy stirred past me.
I looked away. In the corner near the body, a wisp of thick air moved. It looked to be little more than smoke curling gently upward, barely visible against the darker shadows that clung to the body.
But it was not smoke, and a chill ran through me.
Her soul had come to talk.
"She's here," I whispered.
Cole looked at me, then at the body. "Where?"
The smoke grew stronger, found shape. Became more human in form. "Near her head."
He frowned. "I can't see anything."
"Trust me, she's there." I rubbed my arms but it did little to ward off the chill. It was almost as if seeing and communicating with these lingering souls brought me altogether too close to the fierce cold of the underworld.
And far too close to that lingering, gloating sense of evil.
Wispy features formed. A mouth opened. He did it, she said.
There was an awful lot of anguish in that statement. And a pain that had nothing to do with her dismemberment.
Who? I asked the question telepathically, though I was still unsure as to whether a soul could actually understand or even hear me.
The figure stirred - an insubstantial form with only vague features. Liam.
So they could hear me, even if some didn't answer directly. Who is Liam?
The smoky form became agitated, and the chill got fiercer, until it felt like fingers of ice were creeping into my flesh.
She swirled faster, her movements almost angry. With every turn, energy built in the air, until the small hairs along the nape of my neck were standing on end.
Only then did the words come again. We were to be married. We were to live here.
With that statement, the energy fell away, and the soul disintegrated, fleeing to whatever region of afterlife it was bound.
And with it went the sense of evil, although that faded a lot more slowly. It was almost as if it wanted to linger, but something else was drawing it away.
I shivered again, then met Cole's curious gaze. "She said her fiance did this."
"Her fiance?" He looked around. "Seems he wanted to get out of that marriage real bad."