Blood of Gato

Cain shot ahead on his motorcycle, the roar of the engine tearing through the night. The red tail-light ripped into the darkness, leaving a fleeting crimson scar across the air.

Leticia kept her hands steady on the steering wheel, guiding the car. Beside her sat William, his face stiff with unease. His eyes kept cutting toward her, searching for answers, but every thought he chased dissolved before he could catch it.

"What're you planning to do with him?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound firm, though he was trembling inside. "Kill him? Strip evidence off the corpse? You realize murderin' a cop is like painting a bull's-eye on your chest in the middle of huntin' season. They'll turn this whole city upside down until they find the killer. That's suicide."

Leticia's gaze didn't move from the road. Her eyes reflected the passing glow of the headlights.

"You gon' see fo' yo'self, cher," she drawled softly, her accent wrapping each word like honey over steel. She spoke as if she were talking about buying bread—no hurry, no fear, just quiet resolve.

William fell silent, but inside, the hum of dread grew louder.

******

Cain and William crouched low in the grass, the night pressing in around them.

Cain narrowed his eyes at Leticia, still standing in the middle of the road like some painted figure. He smirked under his breath.

"Man... look at her. Red‑haired devil woman, dead center on a crossroad. If that ain't the setup to a joke, I don't know what is."

William didn't look at him, didn't even blink.

"Yeah? Any of your jokes got two lunatics hiding in the grass watchin' her?" His voice was steady enough, but it carried ice.

Cain let out a low chuckle.

"You and this whole 'psycho' thing, man. You got it twisted. Yeah, your witch? She's crazy — mind's all bent, like a puzzle with half the pieces missing. But you—" he jabbed a finger at William "—you're no monster. You play it like you're some kind of damn avenger. Angels and demons type of thing. Saving the weak, cutting down the guilty. Sounds noble enough to me."

William's jaw locked. His eyes finally left her, fixed on Cain now.

"Don't try to dress me up like that. You used to call me a monster. Pretty damn quick to change the story, huh?"

For the first time, Cain's grin slipped. He shifted his shoulders, rubbed his hands together like he was scrubbing guilt off his skin.

"Yeah… I said that. I was pissed. I got it wrong. My bad, brother."

William didn't answer, his stare cold enough to bite. Silence stretched between them until the glow of headlights spilled into the intersection.

Cain tensed, whispering, "Here we go…"

The car rolled in slow, beams slicing across the grass. They slammed full into Leticia, bright white burning on her coat and hair, but she didn't move an inch.

The engine cut. The driver's door creaked open.

A man stepped out in a long coat, eyes sharp. His whole posture said military — controlled, deliberate. He didn't waste a single motion.

Detective Carl moved cautiously, his eyes sweeping every shadow, every line of cracked asphalt. One hand brushed against his holster, fingers playing on the strap. His stare finally locked onto the woman in the wide‑brimmed hat and long coat, standing dead center of the crossroads.

The night stank of damp and rust. Old warehouses had once crowded this place; now only skeletal frames hunched in the dark. A sudden creak out in the black made his shoulders twitch.

"Ma'am, you the one who called me?" Carl asked. He tried to steady his voice, but the words came out sharper than he wanted.

He hadn't liked the feel of this meeting from the start. A strange woman arranging a meet at an empty intersection, near a junk‑heap graveyard—this had trap written all over it. Every instinct screamed, Call backup. But Carl hadn't. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the itch to be the first to collar the monster. Whatever it was, he'd convinced himself he wanted this honor for his own hands.

The woman didn't answer—just tipped her head slowly, then began walking toward him. She moved like she wasn't stepping at all, like she slid through the dark. Something glistened on her cheek—sweat, or dew… or blood.

"You said you had information about the Heart‑Eater," Carl pressed, raising his chin, fighting to look firm. "So what's the info?"

She stopped just two steps away. Instead of words, she tilted her head back, face hidden in shadow beneath the rim of her hat.

That's when the air changed. The night thickened; his vision blurred. A cold, spectral mist seeped into the world, blue and sour, creeping inside him. It sank fiery fingers through every nerve.

"What the… what is this?" Carl rasped. His legs felt like they were filling with stone. The world tilted, folding in and out. He was falling while standing still. Panic thundered inside him, like wild animals tearing in a cage. His mind couldn't sort dream from reality. Flashes of color burned across his sight. He was flying miles above ground—yet his body didn't move, caught swaying slightly in the freezing wind.

The woman unwound the scarf from her neck. She tilted the hat back, then turned to the shadows at the roadside. Her voice rang out—sweet, lilting, edged with steel, every syllable dripping with that Cajun drawl:

"Al'right now, bébé… William, y' can come on out. No need t' hide no mo'."

The whisper of tall grass betrayed footsteps. William and Cain slipped from the gloom, stepping up to Carl. The detective stood like a wax figure, eyes glazed, staring straight into nothing.

"What did you do to him?" William's voice was tight. When he got close, he thought he saw Carl's muscles twitch, like the man was fighting invisible strings.

Cain, by contrast, looked entertained. He waved a lazy hand in front of Carl's face.

"Yo, cop! Hey! You still in there, or did she just fry your brain into vegetable soup?"

"Non, not no vegetable," Leticia said with a small, amused hum. Her green eyes caught the moonlight, glowing sharp for a moment. "He ain't gone… just sleepin' deep. I done opened his mind like a good ol' book. Pages all waitin' for me. I can write a new line in, or tear a few out, easy as that."

Cain let out a low whistle, head cocking.

"So what—you could make him forget who he is? Erase the whole badge‑and‑detective thing? Give him a new life?"

Leticia shook her head, lips curved faintly.

"Non, cher. Can't unmake what ya are. Man's memory, it fight back hard 'gainst what don' fit. I can blur the ink maybe, plant a thought or two. But strip his whole self away? Mmm. Non. Memory too stubborn for dat. You cain't rewrite a soul… jus' smear the edges."

Cain clicked his teeth, disappointed.

"Shame. Damn shame. I was hoping it'd be simple."

"What are you gonna do with him?" William asked quietly, though the worry in his voice cut through. His eyes never left the frozen shape of the detective. The longer he stared, the more he swore he could feel Carl straining somewhere deep inside, fighting against whatever spell held him in place.

Leticia gave a sly little smile and stepped closer to the man, leaning in until she was inches from his vacant stare.

"I'll put in what I need him t' believe, cher… an' then I'll take this whole night clean outta his head," she murmured.

She bent until her lips hovered near his ear, her breath cold as grave‑air, not like it came from any living thing at all.

"Now tell me somethin', detective… what do ya really have on de Heart‑Eater… an' on Gato?" The softness in her tone made it worse — it was velvet layered over sharpened steel, impossible to deny.

Carl stood motionless for long moments, shuddering like a broken doll. His lips quivered, and then words began to stumble out of him, dragged by force:

"N‑nothing. Just… guesses. No evidence. Blood samples from two scenes, but the analysis came back bad — corrupted, can't even compare 'em to the database. Two possible suspects, but… just speculation. We don't have anything solid. Not yet. But…"

His face twisted, like he was dragging the words through barbed wire. "If the cement particles match… the ones we pulled from the Italians' bodies… then we'll have a real lead."

The silence after that hit like a blow. Cain shifted his weight from one leg to the other, eyes dropping to the dirt. His jaw tightened. He didn't need anyone to tell him where that cement trail came from. That was his mess.

Slowly, Leticia's head turned toward him, and when her emerald eyes locked on his, the smirk slid off his face. Her stare was cold and flat — the stare of a snake right before the strike. Deadly. Final.

William's lips twitched into the faintest half‑smile — not cruel, but relieved. For once the spotlight wasn't burning him.

"Those samples…" Leticia's voice dropped to a whisper, each word pressing down like a blade at Carl's throat. "Where dey at?"

"In my pocket," Carl answered blankly.

"Good boy," Leticia breathed, the corners of her mouth curling. "Now listen t' me real careful, cher. You gon' switch those samples for somethin' else — don' matter what. But you ain't gon' remember doin' it. You gon' stop huntin' de Heart‑Eater an' Gato. Dat trail? It ain't yours no mo'. You gon' forget us. Forget this crossroad. Forget dis whole damn night. An' then… you jus' drive on home… an' sleep deep as de grave."

She spoke slow, letting each word drip into his mind like poison seeps into a well. Then she snapped her hands together in a sharp clap. The sound cracked through the night.

The mist inside Carl's eyes seemed to vanish at once. He blinked, swayed on his feet, then moved toward his car with stiff, deliberate steps. His body acted on command — steady, exact, soulless. He didn't glance at them. Didn't even feel the eyes drilling his back. He started his old sedan; the engine coughed, roared, then the taillights bled red into the night until they disappeared.

"Creepy when you think about it," William muttered, staring into the dark where the beams had gone. His voice stayed level, but his fist clenched tight at his side before he realized it.

Cain snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What's so creepy? Our problem just… solved itself. Magic fix, neat as hell."

"It's not creepy that he forgot," William cut in, his voice low but hard. "It's creepy that somebody can crawl into your head… and you'd never even know it happened."

There was real worry in him now, like the ground had cracked open under his feet.

Leticia let out a soft laugh, brushing dust off her coat as if the tension had already slipped away.

"Cher, don' fret y'self. Tricks like dat? Dey work mostly on common folk. On phenome' like us? Heh… near 'bout useless."

Cain's mood flipped so fast it was like a switch. He puffed out his chest and smacked a fist against his ribcage.

"Ha! So your little witch voodoo can't mess with my brain after all!"

Leticia turned her head slow, lips curling into a sly smile. Her chin tilted, her voice sharpened low as a hiss:

"Didn't say nothin' 'bout dogs, sugar."

Cain's eyes burned at her, teeth clenched. But he said nothing. The silence between them was thick, sparking like wires about to arc.

"Enough," William snapped, before it turned into a fight. "It's late. Tomorrow we figure out the next step. Tonight's been… more than enough."

Cain muttered something under his breath and headed for his bike, boots crunching against gravel.

"William, I could give you a ride," Leticia offered, stepping closer, her tone almost casual.

He shook his head, a faint, tired smile tugging at him though his eyes stayed grave.

"No, thanks. Honestly? A walk's exactly what I need right now. Clear my head."

"Suit y'self," she called after him, her voice rising smooth and sharp through the night. "But don' forget what I tol' you 'bout dat… other side o' yours!"

William flinched at the words, though he didn't turn back. He only raised one hand in a silent farewell and kept walking until the dark swallowed him.

So they split into the night, each under their own slice of sky.

It might have ended quiet. It might have ended clean.

If not for Detective Carl.

His car carried him home like a sleepwalker's dream. He moved through the motions: changed clothes, shut off the light, lay down in bed. But sleep never came.

Every time his eyes closed, the same vision crushed through his mind: a creature of blood and fire, writhing like living flame, staring at him with eyes too huge, too golden, like burning suns. Sometimes Carl swore he felt its breath on his skin. Sometimes, it stood beside his bed — waiting.

Leticia had left a crack inside him without knowing.

And through that crack, a simple man had glimpsed what no mortal should ever see.