Free Sin Eater by C.D. Breadner Page A

dragged her to the shower. She was still slowly leaking blood from her head as he moved her, he remembered that, too.
    You wanted her, I let you have her. It’s not my fault you’re a fucking pussy.
    Shut up, he wanted to scream. Then he set about finding a plan to get rid of her corpse.

Chapter Seven
     
    “I thought I’d bring you back a latte,” said the new girl sunnily, putting a cup on the table behind her in the control room.
    Iola smiled, tilting her head. “Aww, that’s so nice. You didn’t have to do that.”
    The new girl shrugged. “You’re kind of trapped in one place at night, it’s no trouble. Like I said, I was stopping there anyway.”
    Now what the hell is your name? Iola wondered, offering a nod of thanks. “Well, I definitely appreciate it.”
    The girl just waved as she left the booth, taking her own sleeved cup with her out to the hall.
    Iola took a sip of the new girl’s offering, happy to see it was still piping hot. She knew the new girl had just been at the scene of an apartment fire, and the fact she’d stopped anywhere on the way back to file her report was probably not a good thing. But … as long as she brought caffeinated gifts Iola was so not going to tattle on her. And really, it was one o’clock in the morning. Who listening at this hour expected up to the minute news coverage?
    “All right folks, you’re still with Iola Day on KLCD Late Night. It’s about time to start mellowing out for the evening, so pull someone you care about close and enjoy a little Miss Joan Baez with me.”
    As she brought up Joan Baez a few notches she took another sip of coffee. Man, that was hitting the spot. New Girl was becoming her favourite reporter for sure. She’d have to listen to the one-thirty news report to get her name.
    Iola went back to her previous train of thought before New Girl had brought the coffee in and felt morose once again. She’d never seen anyone die before. That was … an awful experience, no matter how serene Mister Horn had seemed at the end. She couldn’t shake the sludgy, thick and incredibly sad feeling she had. She was mourning him and had barely known him.
    Hit by inspiration, she got on the computer and did a search of the digital music library. She went back to the music they saved just for November 11 th , and scanned through the titles, looking for one particular song. Sure it was a German song, written during the First World War, but it was perfect.
    As Joan Baez trailed out, she flicked her mic to life and began the music at a low volume. “This is a bit different, but I wanted to play something for a friend of mine, a World War Two veteran of the Royal Canadian Air Force, a survivor of D-Day. He passed away today, and this song is just for him. Here’s Vera Lynn.”
    And then she brought her head down to her arms and cried.
     
     
     
    The Sin Eater turned his head to the top floor windows of the KLCD building, where a few lights were on, illuminating a hallway where a tiny woman was carrying a take-out cup of coffee from one door to another.
    The car interior was lit by the dashboard, and he breathed out the flavored cigar smoke he’d been holding in. It smelled like chocolate, so his body’s natural Pavlovian response to that was … well, venture a guess.
    Her voice was completely captivating. It was lower than the majority of female voices, and when she used it over the airwaves she dropped it even lower, almost to a femme fatale level, which was not authentic for her in actuality but it still did what it was supposed to do.
    The playlist seemed strange, jumping genres and eras and tempos, all the while remaining decidedly mellow , but as long as she was in between the songs, tying it all together, it worked. He was sure half the city was probably in love with her, all based on that voice. And again, the very thought of anyone out there desiring her, lusting after her – even on the basis of her voice alone - made him furious.
    He had to get