Read Panic for Free Online

stomach.
     
    *
     
    "Mary, mother of God," Carl said, his voice an awestruck whisper.
    They stood just inside Ralf's café ; just inside a nightmare.
    The walls and floor of the café were painted with blood, an impossibly large river of which flowed from the body of Ralf, the owner, who appeared to have had his throat torn out by some wild animal. Ralf lay motionless in the narrow space behind the bar, while in the middle of the room was the body of Father Leary. A shard of porcelain jutted out of the dead priest ’s neck, but it was his face that Carl fixated on in horror: flesh melted into a shapeless mass that clung to his skull raggedly; eyes gone.
    The worst of it though, was at their feet, just inside the doorway.
    Carl stared down at the decapitated head, and felt the few mouthfuls of muesli he'd forced down that morning trying to force their way back up.
    He stumbled backwards into the open air, and sucked in a huge lungful of oxygen.
    Michael had regained his composure, at least in part. "You called Glenda?" He said, his voice flat.
    Carl nodded, gasping for air. "Yeah," he managed through clenched teeth.
    "Good. I t hink we're gonna need help with this one."
    "No shit."
    Michael stepped into the bar area, scanning the room. Pieces of smashed plate were scattered over the floor, and the bar stools were toppled, one with a leg snapped clean in two.
    He crept carefully around the smears of blood, careful not to move anything, and crouched next to Ralf's body.  The man's flabby neck was torn apart, ripped rather than cut. Michael looked back at the shards of porcelain still dotted around the floor, and shook his head slowly.
    "Both dead , yeah?"
    Carl had stepped back into the café, and his voice made Michael jump. He didn't respond.
    "What the fuck happened here, Mike? It's like something out of one of those movies you know? The clown ones, with the guy dying of cancer."
    Carl was babbling, and Michael tuned him out. Once upon a time, he had been trained for this, and there was a time he had expected he would be good at it. Looking at the shattered and obscured pieces of a picture and putting it back together.
    This picture was horrific, baffling, but there was also something wrong with it. He frowned, lost in thought.
    Carl's voice rattled on, approaching hysteria. "I mean, this ain't down town Los Angeles, you know? This is fucking St. Davids for Christ's sake. Who the hell is going to murder Ralf? And Father Leary! And that thing over there, my God, I-"
    "No murder weapon, " Michael interrupted.
    Carl stopped mid-sentence. "H uh?" he grunted. "The plate-"
    "Looks like that's what did for Father Leary alright," Michael agreed. "But this wound on Ralf's neck? No chance. See how it's all ragged and torn up?"
    He pointed at the gaping chasm that had been Ralf's windpipe. Carl gulped.
    "That wasn't a sharp instrument, at least, not like this."
    Michael pointed at the plate.
    "And what about her ? Even if someone did that with a broken plate, where's the body?"
    Carl shook his head miserably, looking like he might be sick.
    Michael stood up straight, both knees clicking, the sound impossibly loud in the oppressive silence. He looked around the room again, searching for some weapon that he had overlooked.
    "See if you c an spot anything Carl," he said. "Any sort of weapon that could have done this. But don't move anything, okay?"
    Carl nodded, and began to step gingerly through the room, crouching to look under the small dining tables.
    Michael swept his eyes around again, and they came to rest on Father Leary's body. Just maybe...
    He stepped around the blood and crouched next to t he priest's corpse, hoping to spot a glint of dangerous metal pinned underneath the body.
    No sign.
    Michael sighed in frustration. The scene made no sense at all. He shifted his gaze to the priest’s face, as though he might find the answer written in the dead man's eyes.
    And his stomach lurched.
    "Oh Jesus," Michael cried, stepping back