by Lily Luchesi
She was bleeding from many wounds, and some looked old. Two men were on either side of her, hulking guys of the sort that Danny had arrested time and time again, usually goons for the mafia or a bookie. All brawn, no brains. And they always had a love for dealing out pain.
One man held a knife and a corked bottle. The other had a bottle and a leather strap. More instruments of torture were on the table, but Danny could not see what they were. There was blood splattered on the wall where the chains were, as well as below the girl’s chair. Danny forced himself not to think of where that blood had come from, judging by its location.
“Why are you doing this? I’m the one who doesn’t know why I’m here. I should be torturing you for information,” the woman said. Still, her voice was warbled.
One of the men grabbed her by a hank of black hair and as he tilted her head back, Danny saw her brow was dripping with clotted blood. That was why her hair looked so filthy, they’d even cut into her face and the blood had matted at her hairline. He was glad he couldn’t see her face-front. It was most likely a horror show.
“We were told to break you before the boss can see you. That’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” he said in a growling voice. “Make you a bit more malleable.”
“Glad we’ve all got time, then, because I don’t break easily,” she replied, earning her a cut in her face from the knife, followed by a resounding slap, jerking her head to the side. Something in her face cracked and blood droplets flew from the fresh wound.
Danny was breathless, despising being so helpless. Like any good nightmare, he was unable to move or speak to help her. She sounded young, but her voice was still distorted, as were the men’s, so it was hard to tell properly.
The woman spat blood onto the floor, her breath coming hard. While she was regaining composure, the man with the knife cut into her arm, a fresh flap of cut skin dangling as the other man poured the contents of the bottle on the wound.
The woman shrieked, and that was the moment when Danny woke up on his couch, sweating and breathless while Rod Serling talked about how to “serve man” on his TV.
He scrambled to find his cell phone and dialed Mark’s number.
“Hello?” the sleepy PID director said on the other end of the line.
“Brighton told me one day I would start seeing the future. I think I just did,” he said, trying to control his voice.
“Danny? What did you see?” He immediately sounded more awake.
Danny gave a hasty explanation of his nightmare, ending with, “I know it was real, just as I know deep down it hasn’t happened yet. I don’t know who she was, but I’m pretty sure they were demons. She was either a demon or a vampire.”
He could hear Mark writing it down.
“Thanks. I’ll keep an eye out and tell the other branches to do the same. I know you’re not supposed to be helping, but this can’t hurt since it was just a dream,” Mark said.
“My thoughts exactly. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
“Why bother? It’s six already. Talk to you soon, mate.”
Danny hung up and realized that, yes, it was sunrise. He wiped his face with the edge of his t-shirt and got off the couch, feeling that he was still shaky from the nightmare. He went to his bathroom and washed his face in cold water before going to start the coffee.
As he wandered back into his living room, he saw that, in his haste to get to the phone, he had knocked his wallet onto the floor, spilling some of its contents. As he bent down to pick all of it up, he saw Helena’s card in the pile. He had shoved it in there and forgotten about it.
Glancing at it, it read: “Helena Collins, Court Reporter”. Below that was “Freelance stenographer for authors and more”. After that it was her contact information. He sighed turning the card over in his hands. Angelica had told him to go and find happiness, find someone that made him feel human again.
To ask him to fall in love again was ridiculous. However, to ask him to find someone to spend time with and feel even a small percentage more normal? That he could do. He picked up his cell phone and dialed her number, expecting a voice mail since it was ass o’clock in the morning.
“Hello? Collins,” she answered, sounding far too chipper for this hour.
“Helena, this is Danny Mancini. I apologize for not calling. Truth is, your card was lost in the chaos I call a wallet and I didn't find it until I accidentally sent the whole thing flying this morning,” he said. It was a small lie, meant to make her think he had actually thought of calling her before this very moment.
“Oh, Danny, and here I thought you tossed it,” she said jokingly. “I really am glad you called.”
Danny was silent for a moment, realizing he had not made small talk in years. He and Angelica had never engaged in it, nor had he with anyone else he met through the PID. There was always something deeper or more important to talk about than the ‘how is your day going’ conventionalities. This was territory he needed to reevaluate and master quickly or he would wind up making a fool of himself.
Thankfully, this time Helena saved him from it.
“Want to go to lunch this afternoon, if you’re not busy?” she asked. “I just got an email when I woke up and I’ve got extra time today, so you’ve also got great timing.”
Well. That was fast. “Um, sure. Where do you work, I can pick you up?”
“We can meet at the Publican on Fulton. It’s close to where I need to be in the afternoon. Twelve-thirty okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” Danny agreed. He used to frequent that place quite a bit when he was working with the CPD, usually after he testified in court. “I’ll see you later.”
He hung up and tossed the phone next to him on the couch. What on Earth was he thinking? He wanted to be normal? He had just called a reincarnated man at a secret government organization to tell him that he had a prophetic vision of a woman being tortured by demons. The normal ship sailed long ago, when Angelica Cross knocked on his door and told him that he had really fought a vampire in that dark alley.
Love, you passed ‘Normal’ about a hundred miles back down Denial Highway, was what Angelica would have told him. Once you took the exit onto the Undead Expressway, you left ‘Normal’ covered in your Caddie’s dust.
He got up and went to take a shower. If he wanted to play pretend that he was a regular ex-cop, he needed to look the part.
***
The Publican was an upscale deli a ten minute drive away from the Criminal Courthouse. The Fulton Market was filled with art galleries and high end restaurants his mother had once owned. He had grown up all around the haute couture of Chicago, but he had never liked it very much. He preferred small bars, historical places with big histories, stories you can hear passed on from bartenders and old timers who hung around.
That was why he lived and spent most of his time in Wrigleyville. It was slightly expensive, but it had history. There were no pretenses needed to be there (though if you were a White Sox fan, you had best get the Hell out quickly), and you had a very eclectic group of residents.
Being downtown was familiar, but being in Wrigleyville was comfortable.
Danny got to the restaurant and spotted Helena at an outside table. He had lived such a nocturnal existence, he felt odd being in such bright sunlight.
“Hello,” he said, walking up and sitting down across from her.
“Danny.” It had been over six months since someone had looked at him with half that warmth. “You got here quickly. Do you live near here?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m near Wrigley Field. You?”
“I live near John Hancock. That high security place? Dad invested in it, some political thing. In any case, it got me a break on the rent,” she said.
Danny felt his heart sink. Angelica owned that building, it was where she had lived before moving in with him. “I...knew someone who used to live there.”
“It’s a weird area. Every once in a while there are some odd things happening ar
ound there,” Helena said after they ordered their food. “It makes me almost believe the whole area is haunted like they say. My old roommate was an even more devout Catholic than I am, and she used to hang crosses over the doorway and put holy water on the windows. Insisted there were demons around, that she saw a girl with red eyes living in the top loft.” She giggled. “Crazy, right?”
Danny forced himself to grin. “Yeah...crazy.” Angelica’s loft. Knowing her, she probably had flashed her eyes at the girl as a joke, to freak her out. It was just one of her questionable quirks: the love of instilling or instigating fear in others. Thinking about how she’d have laughed if he were to confront her about it broke his heart. He needed to change the subject desperately. “It must be hard having roommates. I always preferred living alone.”
Helena nodded. “Living with a loved one is one thing, but friends or even random roomies can be trying. The girl I was telling you about was murdered. The um...the last case you worked with my father.”
Vincent. Danny didn’t know what to say to that.
“You should know, I never once thought you were crazy. Traumatized, yes. Faced a total madman, definitely. But I think my dad was out of line for what he did to you,” she admitted.
Danny was taken back to that night when he found out vampires actually existed, seeing Vincent Cross tearing out a girl’s throat before turning his bloody smile on Danny and promising him he would be next.
He gave an involuntary shiver and said, “That was one of the worst nights of my life. You should know he was caught by the FBI two years later.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? That’s wonderful.”
Danny nodded. “He was executed. I never believed in capital punishment, but for him I was glad to see him die.” He sighed. “In any case, we should cheer up this conversation.”
Helena giggled. “I agree. How did we even get to this point?”
He shrugged. “So, why a court reporter?”
“I didn’t pass the test to become a cop. It’s not just for court. I have worked with some novelists, too. Also a few businesses who want their meetings’ minutes taken. Freelance. I enjoy it, because it’s never the same thing twice. Every case is different,” she said. “I get bored really easily.”
Danny nodded. “Now that I can understand.”
“So, what have you done since twenty-twelve?” Helena asked.
What have I done? Killed a rogue vampire, multiple werewolf shifters, my dead ex never really died, but then she tried to turn me into a vampire and I had to kill her, and then an ancient witch came back to try to either marry or kill me again, like she did in my previous life. Oh, and I fell in love with and had a Claiming ritual with a two-hundred-year-old vampiress and I had no idea it was even happening: I just surrendered to her because I have loved her for a century, since before I was reincarnated.
“Not much,” he replied. “Got sober, did a little consulting work with a colleague, caught up on movies and books I’d never had the time to check out. I guess you can say I have been very...ordinary.”
Helena blushed and glanced down at her plate. “I could never say you were ordinary, Danny. When I was a teenager, I had such a crush on you. Why do you think I’d study at the precinct instead of a friend’s comfortable house?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Really? I did not know that. I thought you father just was a little overprotective and wanted you close.”
She shook her head. “No. I had a crush on you ever since I was thirteen and you came over for dinner one night with Camille and her husband.”
Danny leaned back in his chair. “Look, I’m flattered, but you should know that if you’re holding onto any hope for romance, I should tell you it probably won’t happen. I recently had to part with the woman I loved, and I am not nearly over it enough to entertain the thought of a relationship. One day, maybe, but not soon.
“I’m willing to be friends, but not anything else in the immediate future.”
He hated to sound so mean, but he knew it was best to get to the point and not play games with a girl’s heart.
She looked surprised. “I’m sorry. I didn't know. I mean, yes, I thought we might have a chance, now that the age difference isn’t so big, but I’m happy to be your friend.”
What was their age difference? He had always thought of her as a little kid, because she had been very small when she was young.
“How old are you, anyway?” he asked.
“Thirty-seven. We’ve got twelve years between us,” she said.
“You’re right: it’s not such a big difference now, is it?” Not as big as one hundred and fifty two years, anyway.
The lunch ended soon after, but it was a nice hour in Danny’s opinion. It had been a long time since he had felt so human, despite the constant reminders of the paranormal world that Helena had no idea she was referencing.
“Why don’t we do a movie this weekend?” Helena asked as they got up to leave.
“Sounds good. Give me a call or a text and let me know a good time for you. I’m pretty much free all the time lately,” Danny said.
“Well, glad I came around to liven up your existence,” she giggled with a wink.
Chapter Three
Danny found he couldn’t even go to a movie without being reminded of Angelica. He had let Helena pick the film, and she chose the new Alice in Wonderland variation from Tim Burton. It was like a Hellish trip down Memory Lane for Danny: Angelica had been a huge fan of Burton, Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, and how could Danny forget that one December night where they marathoned all nineteen hours of every Harry Potter film, where Angelica had proceeded to tell him every nuance to Alan Rickman’s character Severus Snape?
Angelica had been so beautiful when she talked about something she was interested in, be it fictional characters, nineteenth century literature, or equal rights. Her passion made her even more appealing than she already was to Danny, and sitting through that movie had been pure torture.
Helena hadn’t noticed his discomfort, however, and she seemed to really enjoy his company. He also enjoyed hers, though there were many things he’d have to get used to before he could truly say he liked her. The first thing was her giggling. He hated gigglers: either laugh or don’t. Her constant warmth when she sat near him was also an odd sensation, as was her unerring optimism about the world.
Danny went and had a drink with Mark at Harry Caray’s in Rosemont before going to a Wolves game together, and he told Mark a little about his new friendship.
“You aren’t attracted to her at all?” Mark asked.
“It’s not the case of is she attractive: she’s cute. She’s just not Angelica. You have to understand, I am demisexual: I dated very little and slept with even fewer women between the so-called death of Miranda and the time I met Angelica. I’m already genetically wired to be sexually selective, but it makes it even harder for me because I’m still in love with Angelica. I can’t appreciate a woman like Helena because I don’t think I’ll ever be over Angelica.”
Mark nodded. “I’m far from demisexual, but I understand; once you find your soulmate it’s impossible to consider anyone else romantically. Brighton was of a similar mindset as you.”
Danny knew that Mark would understand, though he wished fervently that he didn’t. The loss of Brighton hung over them like a black veil, and Danny could not imagine how Mark was coping. He knew he wasn’t eating well: Mark had been small but stocky, and now he looked too thin, and there were circles beneath his eyes. They met regularly, mostly because Danny was concerned that Mark’s depression would overtake him. So far, it didn’t seem to be destroying him, and Danny knew that Mahon and George were there for him as well, easing his emotions.
That was the beauty of Psis, when you needed emotional relief they were happy to give it.
“This may be the pot calling the kettle black, but I think you can let her in. You don’t have to love her, or sleep with her, but let her do what Angelica said in her letter to you
: give you comfort and make you feel human again. You need it,” Mark advised.
And so Danny had invited Helena to dinner so he could explain a bit better.
It took him an hour to tell her about his sexual preferences, and his romance with Angelica while leaving out the real truth about the paranormal community. It was painful to recall her leaving him, and even more painful to have described the desertion as “work-related relocation”. It sounded as if she had left for a cushy desk job, instead of being hunted by all of the Underworld.
“Oh, Danny, I wish you’d said something even sooner. I can't say I understand, because that would be a lie, but I accept you the way you are. If I’m being honest, I’d rather be just a friend with you till you were ready than try and date some insensitive douchebag who only wants to get into my pants. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.” Helena reached across the table and patted his hand, her green eyes bright and warm.
Maybe Mark and Angelica have a point…
***
Four months later
"What's that?" Danny asked Helena one evening.
They were in his house in Chicago's North Side, and Helena was preparing dinner for the two of them. She'd brought a book with her, one with a fantastically designed cover, depicting a young medieval vampire woman brandishing a long sword, and an older man holding a stake. The title was The Underworld of London and it was apparently part of a series.
Danny put it down on the couch between them, trying to keep a straight face. He had no need to read fictional tales about vampires. He had fallen in love with a real one, and the time with Helena hadn’t eased his pain at missing her. He had no idea where she was or even if she was still in Chicago. Hell, he didn't know if she was even alive, and that broke his heart anew.
"It's a book," Helena replied sarcastically. "You know, a tattooed, dead tree?"