by Peter Hartog
“My name is Detective Tom Holliday with the Empire City Special Crimes Unit,” I stated with authority, holding my silver badge while jabbing a finger at Blakely. “I have a warrant for the arrest of this man. Now step aside please so I can do my job.”
“I will do no such thing,” Bartleman bristled. He positioned himself in front of Blakely. “This is obviously some kind of mistake. I’ll need to see that warrant.”
“Whatever you say, pal,” I replied calmly, and withdrew my holo-phone, hoping my anxiety didn’t show.
Oh, I had a warrant.
Just not the right one.
I flashed Bartleman the official ECPD search warrant for Ettelman’s office on my phone before he or anyone else could get a good look at it.
Mahoney had finally sent it to me an hour after I arrived at the deli. Better late than never, I thought at the time. Storing it on my phone, I went back to drowning my misery in Mortie’s rugelach and hadn’t given it much thought until we were on our way here.
Once I’d gone through the Wrigley-Boes personnel directory, I had narrowed down the suspect list to three: Bartleman, Doctor Robert O. Blakely, and Doctor Klaus J. Muller. All three fit the profile—they were over the age of fifty, worked in R&D, and had decades of experience in the fields of immunology, metabolic diseases, and microbiology. The problem was, none of the images in the personnel directory resembled the old scientist on the cover of the pamphlet I’d seen. It was a gross assumption on my part, but Orpheus wouldn’t have left that out in the open for me to find if it didn’t mean something more than just aiming me at Wrigley-Boes.
At some point, Rumpelstiltskin must’ve discovered his actual likeness on the pamphlet, and altered his directory image to stay a step ahead of any unwanted admirers.
That meant visual confirmation was needed. I couldn’t ask Mahoney to get me an arrest warrant for all three men based on a hunch after he’d already gotten the search warrant from the DA. And we didn’t have the luxury of time. To catch Rumpelstiltskin required some good ole fashioned chicanery. Fassendale and his legal eagles could sort it all out later.
I hoped.
My instincts said it wasn’t Bartleman. He was the head of R&D, which didn’t fit with Rumpel’s MO of staying under the radar. That left two.
Since I didn’t have a lot to go on, my credits were on Muller. He was of German descent, and a resident of Empire City for more than thirty years. The Brothers Grimm fairy tale of Rumpelstiltskin, the most popular literary adaptation of the character, also originated from that country. Two plus two usually made four. However, when I spied Blakely in the conference room, I realized I had bet on the wrong holo-horse.
“Satisfied?” I growled with the appropriate amount of police angst reserved for bad guys and stubborn citizenry.
I kept my hand away from my gun, relying on the badge and my detective’s scowl to act as a deterrent.
Bartleman wilted like a stale fart. He exchanged a confused look with Blakely.
“Oliver?” he asked uncertainly.
That cinched it. Another clever affectation by Rumpel, going by his middle name instead of his first. My body tensed, expecting a desperate Blakely to bull his way past me, since I blocked the only exit from the conference room.
The old scientist wore a mysterious smile.
“Congratulations, Detective,” he said in a smooth, cultured voice, winking at me. He grabbed the handle of a steel briefcase lying on the credenza next to him. “It seems I have finally been caught. The devil must have told you that, eh?”
“Actually,” I replied coldly. “Vanessa Mallery’s cat did.”
Blakely narrowed his eyes, then gave himself up.
The next few minutes were a blur. I explained his rights while cuffing him in front of his astonished co-workers. Besim and I led Blakely from the conference room. The cube jockeys watched in stunned silence, their little tiffs momentarily forgotten. On the way, I made the call to Mahoney, filled him in on the collar, and requested a prisoner transport. The sound of jubilation and relief in his voice should’ve made me smile, but it didn’t. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end the moment Blakely winked at me.
There was something rotten in Denmark.
This was going too well, and I was never that lucky.
Worse still, the Insight lay dormant. As we retraced our steps, I was reminded of our trip to Kraze, the fight with David Crain and his vampire goons, and all the unpleasantness that followed.
It made me nervous as hell.
We were met at the elevator by John Kilcullen, the head of Wrigley-Boes security, and two of his men. After an explanation of the situation, Kilcullen ordered his men to escort us down to the main floor. I didn’t mind the extra company. We filed into the executive elevator without a word.
Blakely broke the silence after the doors closed.
“The Guardian of Empire City,” Blakely remarked with amusement, sizing me up as if I was a frozen dinner. “Protector of the innocent and downtrodden, or some such rubbish. From the glowing way Orpheus spoke of you, I had expected so much more than, well, you. She is rarely impressed by anything, let alone a strung-out police detective with an acute infatuation with coffee.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I replied. “My cape is still at the laundromat.”
His knowledge of me didn’t come as a surprise. With Flanagan as his rat inside ECPD, Blakeley probably knew how many times I wiped my ass. The Guardian part, on the other hand, was something else.
“So, Guardian, or do you still prefer ‘Detective?’” he asked lightly. Blakely was a slight man, bent at the shoulders, with wispy gray hair and liver spots on his hands.
Both beefy security guards bookending him stared ahead. One held Blakely’s briefcase.
“‘Detective is fine,” I replied. His use of the title and the smug way he said it bothered the shit out of me.
I glanced at Besim. Her head was bowed. She held that leather flask again, the one from the nightclub.
A victory drink now? I usually reserved mine until after the perp had been processed—that whole cart and horse thing. Besim frowned in consternation. Perhaps it was a Vellan custom?
“As you wish,” Blakely continued smoothly. “Do you truly believe you’ve beaten me?”
He was at ease, holding a conversation as if we were two co-workers discussing the weather. At one point, he winked at Besim, who ignored him.
“I’d call this a win,” came my cold reply. “You’re in custody. Once I hand your ass over to the uniforms waiting downstairs, I’m going home to pour myself a cup of hot coffee, then I’ll cuddle up with a nice book. You, on the other hand, will just be a distant memory until the arraignment.”
“Ah yes, the former addict and doctoral detective.” Blakely nodded sagely. “An ill-spent education studying long-dead windbags with a propensity for prosaic nonsense. No wonder you drowned yourself in narcotics, no doubt to wash away the tedium of all that useless reading.”
“The joy of study has its perks, Blakely,” I said. “For instance, I get a free membership at the Empire City University Library. You can’t go wrong with that. And I also get to laugh at jerks like you who think adopting fairytale names gives you a mysterious mojo to frighten little kids. Remember how that one ended?”
“Perish the thought, Detective,” the old man chuckled. His eyes glittered with malice. “I must say, you were an interesting study. Once I learned it was you leading the investigation, I felt certain you would fall flat on your face. Imagine my surprise when you didn’t.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I returned, flicking my middle finger off my forehead in a mock salute. “Now, if you would shut up, there’s a prisoner transport downstairs with your name on it. I’d hate to keep them waiting. Miss Elevator, please take us to the lobby.”
I felt a tremor, and then we were in motion.
The smile left his face.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
My unease g
rew, but I hid it behind my customary bravado when dealing with scumbags.
“Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea, Blakely,” I said, fixing him with a grim stare. “Your goldjoy lab is gone, Crain and his crew are all dead, Patricia Sullinger is safe, and Orpheus has severed your relationship. Performance issues, or so I heard. Doesn’t Wrigley-Boes have a pill for that? Anyway, a jury of your peers is going to send you to New Riker’s for a very long time. I’d say you’re pretty fucked.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But not today.”
The sweet scent of honey and springtime suddenly permeating the elevator car was all the warning I got. One breath of it, and my thoughts scattered into fragments, whisked away by the goldjoy that Blakely had somehow introduced into the air. My vision swam as my muscles took on the familiar, languid lethargy brought about by the narcotic entering my bloodstream.
Both security guards slumped to the floor, blissful smiles plastered on their vacant faces. I wasn’t far behind, although I still had my marbles for the moment. Besim leaned against the wall, eyes closed, brow furrowed in an expression of intense concentration.
“A pity,” Blakely lamented, bending over to regard me with twinkling, gold-flecked eyes. Somehow, he was free of the handcuffs. “To be so close to your goal, yet thwarted in the end. However, not all is lost, at least not for me. Your Vellan will make an excellent replacement, since my laboratory and notes have all gone up in flames. Thankfully, my mind is as sharp as ever, and while the hard copy is gone, none of it was truly lost.”
“You’ll,” I struggled, but my tongue was muddy and didn’t want to work. “You’ll…never…get away…with this.”
“How very droll!” Blakely capered with a flourish of his hands. The cuffs were broken at the chain. “But I already have. Now then, where were we?”
He turned toward Besim, studying her with pursed lips.
“A curious and quite unexpected aspect of goldjoy is not its effect on humans, but on Vellans,” he said. “While the substance is a powerful euphoric to you, the opposite is true for our interdimensional friends. It attacks their sensory nervous system, causing intense stimulation of their nociceptors. In layman’s terms: she now suffers from a great amount of pain, so much so she is barely able to function. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Blakely stroked the side of her face with a gentle hand. Besim groaned, muttering something unintelligible under breath.
“Unfortunately, your companion failed to inoculate herself with whatever is in that flask of hers,” he explained with false regret. “How very thoughtless of you! But no matter. Where we’re going, that will be the least of your concerns.”
“What,” I faltered, slipping deeper into the thick wool blanket consuming my senses. “What…you…going…to…do?”
“Once we take our leave of you, I shall continue my experiments elsewhere,” he replied. “Gateway City, or perhaps New Hollywood. I’ve already established new identities in both enclaves. Exorbitant, but necessary in my line of work.”
Blakely manipulated the elevator screen, selecting a different destination. The vibration created by the elevator’s sudden shift in speeds sent shivers of ecstasy throughout my body.
“There’s still so much to be done,” he continued with a sly smile. “Despite what Orpheus thinks, the applications of the genetic synthesis I perfected are endless! Poor David and his lost boys were only a small sampling of the possibilities, and I considered them failures at first. But my, my, my, how they evolved! Biogenetically engineered vampirism! A far cry from Stoker, eh Detective?”
Blakely glanced at the chainless cuffs around his wrists. With a twist of his thumb and forefinger, he snapped each as if the metal was paper.
“Quite frankly, what happened to them was pure serendipity,” he remarked casually. “But their misfortune led to the discovery of goldjoy. From genetic waste to the most addictive narcotic on the streets! Naturally, I saved the very best for myself. And from there, Rumpelstiltskin was born!”
The elevator slowed to a halt.
Blakely knelt next to me with a crackle of his old knees. Now that we were up close and personal, I saw the faint sheen of sweat coating his brow. A musky aura surrounded him, thick and pungent. With a sluggish start, I realized he was the source of the goldjoy in the elevator, the highly concentrated substance oozing from his very pores.
“And the twins!” he exclaimed.
His eyes took on a feverish cast, the irises engorged by liquid gold. But behind them lurked something else, a twisted and all-too familiar thing full of malice and hunger. Whatever held the Insight back suddenly vanished. It blazed before my vision, revealing the master fetch to me, larger and more fully realized than any of the others I’d seen before it. The creature was wrapped around the shriveled dregs of Blakely’s soul, two lovers embroiled in a dance of sex and death. Twin pinpoints of golden light regarded me with an awful cunning. Its profound hatred for all things living was palpable. Despite the ’joy’s hold on my body, I trembled with fear.
“The females were the pinnacle of our achievements!” hissed the master fetch occupying the shell that was Blakley. “Once Orpheus revealed the secret to unlocking the Vellan genetic code, and provided us the necessary samples, we spliced and synthesized human and Vellan genetic material together, a feat your modern science believed impossible! Finally, a suitable host could be fashioned, and we would be rid of this wretched flesh prison once and for all!”
The Insight informed all my senses of what was before me. I could no longer hear the man. Instead, Blakeley’s voice was replaced by the monster manipulating his strings.
“Or they should have been,” it grumbled, bearing shadowy fangs. “Twenty-five years we worked on them, watching them grow and develop. No sickness. No disease. Perfect. Pure. And then the wasting began, like all the others that had come before. But we were ready this time. Yes, we were ready! The enzyme saved them! The enzyme was proof against the wasting! It made the females better. Stronger. But more aware. Yes, yes, yes. It unlocked their memories. Vanessa remembered. She knew. The sleeping pills were not enough. They could not bury the memories. Something had to be done. We needed more time!
“But we were too late. Orpheus intervened, tricking that fool Flanagan, and stealing the body that was rightfully ours! And then the other. Its creature replaced poor, poor Marko, who had stolen Vanessa’s blood from us. An exact copy Marko was, and for years, we none the wiser. But you, your fell cold witch and your pet Protector destroyed that dear little poppet. We should thank you for that, but we won’t.”
The master fetch recovered its briefcase from the floor, then turned back to me.
“Yet none of them know what we know!” it continued as if speaking to itself. “Not Orpheus. Not the other. None! They cannot replicate what we have done. And without the twins, Orpheus and the other shall wither and die. For Time is their enemy, and she cannot be denied! But not us! We have your Vellan, and we shall endure!”
The revelations were stunning. If I had any control of my body, I would’ve punched the goddamn thing through the wall. Instead, I stared at the master fetch, slack-jawed and unmoving.
“For decades, we have been moored here, bound to this weakling,” it said in a hollow voice that reminded me of twilight’s fall, of fading echoes and false promises. “Yet, without his mind, all would be for naught.”
Through the Insight, the rotten core that was Blakely was exposed. His body was a ruin of disease and decay, the bits held together by the controlling creature’s malicious will. Yet there was little remaining to sustain it. The master fetch had been grafted to Blakely for so long, it couldn’t escape. Whatever humanity remained of Blakely was a mask to the outside world obscuring the mad wraith within.
And it was dying.
“Willing test subjects were impossible,” it acknowledged. “However, this human’s work with addicts to develop a better method of detoxification opened the door to an unlimited number of fresh possibilities. Th
ere were hundreds of the pathetic fools, suckling upon the teat of welfare, and too stupid to die. We instructed Crain to secure unattached women with infants. Oh yes! You see, the procedure was more efficacious on the female of your species. Two hundred infants were sacrificed so that we may be saved! As if they were straw we had spun into gold!”
The jarring sound of the creature’s madness swirled within my mind, cutting through the goldjoy. I clung to it with what little resolve I had left. But my thoughts drifted away. The world swam before me in pretty, iridescent waves.
“How tragic Patricia Sullinger will die now that she no longer has the enzyme to sustain her,” it snickered, mocking me. “All compliments of you, Guardian. Had you not stolen our girl, she might yet live. But alas, ‘tis time to go.”
The creature lifted Besim under her shoulder, bringing her upright. Besim groaned, the fingers of her hands frozen and bent, as if she were trying to claw her way to freedom. The master fetch dragged her through the open elevator door. I caught a glimpse of an unlit office floor, and the stale taste of dust. The brief influx of air diffused the ’joy briefly, and my body twitched in response.
“Goodbye Detective, or Guardian, or whatever name you’ll take to your grave,” it whispered with delight. “Your death is inevitable. It shall be a pleasant one, unlike what is in store for your Vellan doll here.”
The master fetch cackled with glee as the elevator doors closed.
Chapter 39
I drifted, weightless.
There was nothing.
And I felt nothing.
Was I dead?
I had touched Death when I tried to pay her a visit with that broken piece of glass to both wrists. What I was experiencing now wasn’t the same.
Back then, someone had called my name from far away, echoing throughout a gray expanse as dense as the morning fog on the Hudson. The weightlessness was the same, but there was something else, a presence both familiar and not, and a light touch on my brow. Who had that been? What had happened to me?
Afterward, whenever I’d focus on those memories, they’d slip from my mind like air through a cloud.