Lykaia: Book One in the Sophia Katsaros Series Page 2

  “Yes, it is. May I ask who this is?” I could speak fluent Greek, but I would wait to see if I needed to before I did. I didn’t want to insult the caller by presuming they could not speak English.

  “Yes, this is Mr. Andreas. You have two brothers, Ciro and Dimitri, yes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I agreed, drawing the syllable out. “Why are you asking me this, Mr. Andreas?”

  “Eimai o noikokyris twn aderfwn sas," he said in Greek identifying himself as my brothers’ landlord.

  “Synevi kati?" “Is something wrong?” I asked, immediately switching to Greek when he did.

  “I don’t know. The rent was due, I hear nothing. A few days later, nothing. Now, another month. I went to check today. No boys, no rent. All their things are there. This is not like them. You are listed as their…umm…how you say.. pli̱siésteros syngení̱s?”

  “Next of kin,” I said translating. My breath left me in a rush. I leaned forward, touching my forehead to the cool granite. “Do you have reason to believe that something has happened to them, Mr. Andreas?”

  “I have no reason not to believe this,” he answered, which meant that he did think something was wrong, he just did not want to give voice to it.

  “When was the last time you saw them?”

  “They paid September’s rent.”

  “You have not seen them for a month? No, wait, it’s nearly November. Two months?” I asked trying to keep the concern from my voice. They were 21 and 23 respectively, and Mr. Andreas was their landlord, not their babysitter.

  “Nai,” he confirmed.

  “Ok,” I sighed. “Sas ef̱charistó̱. I will send you a check for the rent,” I said thanking him for calling. I hung up the phone, the blood pounding in my ears. My brothers had gone to Greece for the summer to immerse themselves in our Greek heritage. After the death of our father three years ago, we clung tightly to it in an effort to keep his memory alive.

  I had spoken to Ciro not long ago. ‘When was that?’ I thought. He had been going on and on about how they were going to go camping. They wanted to investigate something. I paused for a moment, thinking back to the conversation. ‘Where did they say they were going?’ Suddenly it came to me. Mount Lykaion.

  “Wolf Mountain,” I whispered as a chill ran up my spine. “And no one has seen them since.”

  The phone rang, intruding shrilly upon my racing thoughts. I grabbed it out of habit.

  “Hello, dear. It’s your mother. Have you heard from your brothers?”

  Night had always been a spectrum of grays, various shades of the same value scale. And while colors still fled under the shadow of the moon, nothing that he had ever experienced had prepared him for this new night. A night that teemed with life, brimmed with scents and overflowed with possibilities.

  He slunk through the undergrowth, ferns glistening with pendulant drops of dew as if they had been strung with diamonds. Small rodents scurried for safety under the roots of trees that had stood sentinel upon this mountain for generations.

  He could smell them, their fear making his mouth water. But he was after larger game. He had scented the small herd a while ago and tracked it through the woods, only to lose them at water’s edge. He trotted along the perennial stream. nosing the ground, hoping for a whiff of that elusive odor that would tell him which direction to go.

  Just as he was convinced that all was lost, he found it. There, on a moss-coated stone, was a scrap of hide, a smear of blood. They had come this way and one had been careless.

  In an impressive bunch of muscle and sinew he cleared the stream in one leap. Rejoicing in the strength and power of his body, he bounded through the woods. They had a good hour of travel time on him. If he ran he could cover that distance in half that time.

  The miles me7lted away in a ground-eating lope. He heard his brothers hunting farther up on the mountain. Occasionally, one would howl, to be answered by another, but he was unconcerned. They were just talking, singing to the night, and serenading the moon. If they needed him the call would be different. Until then, he would find the herd and the female that bled.

  The smell was stronger now. He slowed, his ears pivoting. Listening. There, a crack of a branch under hoof. He paused, waiting, blending into the shadows. They would never see him. He had been careful to stay downwind. The treacherous breeze that played through the pines would give him away in an instant if he grew unwary. He was no pup. He would not lose his game so easily.

  They had hidden in the undergrowth. The illusion of safety in numbers allowed them to drift to sleep. He inhaled, searching for her. He knew she was there. That faint metallic smell made him swallow deeply as saliva pooled in his mouth. Crawling on his belly, he moved slowly, inch by inch. If he moved too fast the herd would bolt, and he would lose her. He was too tired to give chase anew. They had rested and could easily out-sprint him in their fear.

  This too was not a mistake he would make. Across the base of a high mountain laurel was the traitor that gave her away. One single drop that shown crimson in the moonlight. There under a shrub she slept, not the sound sleep of predator, but the wary sleep of prey. He moved, a twig snapped. Her eyes sprung open. Large lipid brown eyes. The pupils dilated. Her shoulders bunched to run.

  His muscles flexed; he leapt with fluid grace. His teeth closed around her neck, choking her, cutting off her oxygen. She struggled, tried to call out. The others that slept nearby heard the thrashing in the undergrowth and bolted, abandoning her to her fate. She had sealed her doom back at the stream. From that point forward it had been inevitable. This moment had been scripted by a rock worn smooth and painted with lichen.

  She stilled eventually. How long it took he did not know. It was not important. He opened his mouth and dropped her. He watched her for a few moments. He had not broken the skin; she looked only as if she slept. But he knew better; the living were never that still. He shook himself, releasing the tension in his muscles that the chase had caused.

  And then he sat back, lifted his face to the heavens, and howled. A single undulating note that echoed through the forest, calling his brothers, and silencing those that scurried. His brothers answered, their calls exuberant, celebrating. They would be there soon to share his meal and rejoice in the bounty that was theirs for the taking.

  In the meantime, he would feast. His powerful jaws ripped into her belly. She was young, her meat tender. The blood, still warm, was sweet and heavy on his tongue. He tore into her and ate. He was hungry, so very hungry; it made him careless.

  A low growl was all the warning he would get. The breath left him in a rush as the other wolf hit him. He yelped and tried to get away as teeth sank into his back leg. Pain, sharp and clear, wrenched an agonized cry from him. He supplicated himself and still the pain continued. He whimpered, begged, and pleaded.

  His brothers arrived. They trotted past him and his tormentor. He cried for them. Their eyes reflected in the moonlight like twin fireflies dancing. And then they looked away. This was pack law. It would be observed. He would be punished. They would not interfere.

  Interminable minutes later, he was finally released. One last sharp bite sent him scurrying off to lick his wound. It was deep, but it would heal. The massive wolf that towered over him regarded him with amber eyes. Alpha.

  He whimpered again, his tail tucking between his legs. It had been his kill, he was entitled to his portion. But not before the Alpha had his. For his transgression he would eat no more this night.

  From the ferns that now bore his blood, he watched as his brothers devoured the deer. It made him angry. They had gifted him, but he would never truly be one of them. They were Wolf. They were Pack.

  Now that he was thinking, he remembered walking on two legs. He remembered living in a house, not sleeping under the stars. He was Man, and for them that made him less. His lip curled in a silent growl. The Alpha raised his shaggy head and licked his muzzle coated with blood as he regarded him silently, as if reading his thoughts. He could not hold the A
lpha’s demanding gaze for long. With a curl of the lip he looked away. Wolf went back to feeding and hatred took root in the heart of Man behind eyes that danced in the dark.

  Harold had decided that their twenty-year marriage “wasn’t working for him” last summer. Since then her friends had been encouraging her to go out, to find someone new. Someone who would appreciate her, they said.

  That was easier said than done. She was fifty-two and had not been on a date since 1986. Big hair and neon colors had been in style then. The Chicago Bears had beaten the New England Patriots in the Superbowl, and gravity had not yet become her sworn enemy.

  She sighed, examining herself in the full length mirror. She had chosen a cute black dress that, she hoped, would hide a multitude of sins. “Dear inventor of spandex, may you someday be canonized,” she whispered, taking a quick twirl to ensure that nothing moved. Well, nothing that wasn’t supposed to move at any rate.

  His name was Michael Pennington. Her best friend Sarah worked for him at the animal hospital. He was a veterinarian. “Not quite the doctor that my mother hoped for, but a step in the right direction,” she said to her reflection.

  Harold had been a shoe salesman when she met him. Now he owned the largest chain of shoe stores in the country. They had built the company together, and then when it was finally time to sit back and enjoy all the hard work, he decided he wanted a newer model. Literally. Evangeline was 19. And a model. She had graced this year’s May cover of French Vogue.

  She and her girlfriends had bought every copy they could find, and then while getting ridiculously drunk, they had burned them in Sarah’s fire pit. It had been great. She still smiled whenever she thought of it.

  The doorbell rang at exactly 7 p.m.. He looked very handsome. He held the door open for her and complimented her on her dress. They had sushi at the Blue Oyster. She laughed at his jokes, amazed to find they were genuinely funny. And when the night had ended, he walked her to her door, kissed her softly on the lips and went home. It had been perfect. In fact her lips still tingled

  The following day when Michael called, no one answered. He grew concerned. The day after when he found out that Sarah had not heard from her either, he called 911.

  ***

  “So, what do you plan on doing?”

  “Well, I thought I would start with a standard “Y” incision. Examine the heart and move on to the rest of the internal organs,” I said to Arthur gesturing with the scalpel in my hand, ready to make my first cut.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said, giving me his patented, one eyebrow raised, look. I was certain he practiced that in the mirror, but had never confronted him about it. I let it go for a moment, and turned back to my patient.

  Carefully, like I had a hundred times, I made my first cut from her clavicle to her pubic bone. And just like so many times, before he handed me the bone saw that I would use to cut through her ribs.

  Mrs. Elizabeth Daniels had been found in her apartment. With no outward signs of trauma, cause of death was unknown. It was my job to determine what had killed her. I examined the body and found, just as the police report had said, there were no signs of foul play.

  Her health records showed that she was of normal weight for her age and did not suffer from any serious health conditions. I cut through the sternum, pushed back the ribs and prepared to remove the heart. It looked pink and healthy, weighing 253 grams. Well within normal parameters.

  “You meant, what am I going to do about my brothers?” I said, as I examined the pericardium.

  “Are you going to Greece?” Arthur asked, transcribing what I said onto the autopsy report.

  “Pericardium looks healthy,” I said. “I think I have to. Their landlord has not seen them since they paid September’s rent. It is now November. What choice do I have?” I laid the heart in a stainless steel pan and began my examination of the lungs.

  “The local police aren’t giving you any help?”

  “Not much,” I grunted as I removed the lungs. Our right lung has three lobes while the left only has two, in order to make room for the heart. Both lungs looked healthy from the outside. I made an incision examining them both thoroughly. I found no blockages or fluid buildup that would indicate a cause of death.

  “I officially reported them missing. But with no evidence of a crime, they don’t seem to be too concerned.”

  “How is your mother taking it?” he asked, holding back the abdominal muscles so I could plunge my hands in.

  “Well, she is convinced something is horribly wrong. I have been trying to reassure her that everything is fine. Arcadia is a remote province of Greece. Cell coverage and internet access are dodgy at best. I fully expected to not hear from them very often. They are probably just off having a good time, but she won’t accept that.

  “And it is true that they had been calling and checking in whenever they could, and that has stopped. None of their friends have heard from them. So, all things considered, how can I say she is wrong?”

  I removed the stomach, emptied its contents into a sterile container, put the organ itself in a locking bag and set it all aside to go to the lab. I then moved on to the other organs. Weighing them all, taking tissue samples and looking for something, anything that would give me clues. I found nothing.

  “This is frustrating,” I growled.

  “Your brothers?” Arthur asked as he helped to clean up afterwards.

  “Yes, well, that too. But Mrs. Daniels seems to be keeping secrets.”

  “Oh, and we all know how much you like that,” he said rolling his eyes.

  “I just don’t like the unexplained. There is an answer here. I intend to find it. When you finish up can you drop this off at the lab and see if they can expedite it?” I handed him the bag that contained the stomach and the container with its contents to him. “Her daughters were pretty devastated. I’d like to be able to solve at least one mystery today.”

  The mystery of my brothers was going to be even harder to solve. I had plenty of leave time from work to go to Greece. Since it was now looking like I had no other choice, I requested to use two weeks of it. I had always wanted to go to my father’s homeland. But not like this. I had not said anything to my mother, but I was concerned.

  Over the years I had learned to trust my hunches. It was one of the few areas of life where I did not seek clear-cut explanations. My hunches had always proved true. This time I was hoping they wouldn’t. I had a very bad feeling about my brothers. Aside from my mother, and her two remaining siblings, my brothers were all I had. I did not want to lose them.

  By the time the day ended I had recorded my findings on three other cases. I attended a video conference about intestinal parasites and their results, which I found fascinating. I avoided two calls from my mother and listened to Arthur extol the virtues of his latest girlfriend, who just happened to be the best friend of his last. It did not take a forensic pathologist to know that was going to end badly.

  Just as I was about to leave, my phone rang. “Dr. Kat,” I answered.

  “Hey, Doc. This is Jeff from the lab. I have the results of the stomach contents for you.”

  “Oh, that was fast,” I said, impressed, as I grabbed Mrs. Daniels’s file.

  “Well, we don’t have a lot going on right now. Pufferfish.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked

  “She had sushi for dinner. Specifically Fugu. It’s sashimi made with pufferfish. We found traces of Tetrodotoxin. Enough to be fatal. Death by pufferfish,” he said wryly.

  “Thanks, Jeff,” I said hanging up the phone. I had never had such a case before, but I remembered from medical school the effects of the deadly neurotoxin. Most people who ingested a lethal dose were dead within twenty minutes to four hours. The symptoms started with numbness or tingling of the lips. Then as the poison worked its way through the system, the victim would lay there paralyzed, unable to move or call out. Death was the result of asphyxia. Not a pleasant way to go.

  I had been
able to narrow down a time of death, but now I was able to put down the cause. I picked up the phone and called Mrs. Daniels’s daughters. The result would not bring their mother back, but it would provide answers. These calls were never easy, but I was always glad that I could offer some sort of peace to a grieving family.

  That night as I walked home, enjoying the brisk air, I hoped that I would be able to find some answers for my brothers. And, for my mother’s sake, that I would have more to offer her than a cause of death. And yet deep down, I could not shake the feeling that what I would find in the sun-bleached hills of Greece would not be comforting.

  It was cold and dark. The trek through the woods had scared him. The moon was new. The only illumination was the lantern that his father carried. It bobbed drunkenly ahead of him, casting puddles of light tantalizingly close to him. Just as he stepped into the flickering oasis, the lantern would swing, taking the glow with it.

  He was not sure how long he had walked, just that it seemed endless to his eight-year-old mind. The trail they followed had been trod by animal, not man, for decades. And because they had four legs to give them balance, the trail wound and meandered its way over uneven ground and exposed roots, around decaying logs that had once been towering sentinels.

  An owl hooted at him from its perch, the sound echoing in the night. He looked up and saw the massive eyes that regarded him. And then, in a flap of wing, the great predator took flight in a silent, graceful motion. Scant seconds later a rodent screamed its last.

  “Stavros, keep up!” his father barked in the quiet, when he paused to watch the owl feast.

  “Coming father,” he called, his heart beating fast as he ran to catch up. He did not want to get lost in the dark cold woods. His childish mind created all sorts of monsters that would enjoy eating a little boy.

  The house seemed to have been built from the mountain itself. It was two stories high with a deeply pitched roof. Rough-hewn stones were stacked on top of each other, seemingly without benefit of mortar, almost as if they dared not move, dared not defy the lord that lived there.