by Adam Carter
It was a defect, and one he did not understand. It was his job to hunt monsters, men and women who preyed upon the innocent. Yet he was a hypocrite, for he had himself killed many times before, and revelled in the sheer joy of the sensation. Power over the innocent was an atrocious thing to wield, yet he loved every moment of it. It was only afterwards, when he thought about what he was and what he had done ... sometimes he felt remorse. Sometimes.
Sanders was understanding in this, but only to a point. Sanders knew he could use Baronaire, knew it was always best to set a thief to catch a thief; but Baronaire did not want to live this way forever. And he had his own scores to settle with Edward Sanders.
“You’re here, good.”
Jeremiah appeared from the shadows ahead of him. Jeremiah, who was so much like Baronaire it was frightening. It had been Jeremiah who had introduced Baronaire to WetFish. He had told Baronaire there was an organisation which hunted the human detritus and that they should join the cause. He also told Baronaire something else, something about himself, and about Sanders, and Baronaire knew he had no choice. There was unfinished business, and so the decision was not a difficult one to make.
He knew Jeremiah knew more about what they were, the two of them. No one else back at the bunker had a clue that either of them was anything more than human, or less. No one knew about their skills, their powers. Just Sanders, and he would tell no one. He needed them for his operation: they were his perfect tools. But Jeremiah ... Jeremiah knew what the two of them were, and Baronaire had always been afraid to ask. Five hundred years ago they would have been called demons, would have been sacrificed that their souls might be saved. Baronaire did not believe in souls, did not believe in God. He wasn’t even certain he believed in himself.
“You OK?” Jeremiah asked presently. “You look a little pale.”
“That a joke?”
He shrugged.
Baronaire shook his head. “Let’s just get on with this. Foster’s on her way, she’ll be arriving at the house in the next few minutes. Joe’s going to meet her and take her straight to Doldress.”
“Won’t he be suspicious after the last one?”
“The man’s losing it, Jeremiah. His primal instincts are coming to the fore; all he cares about at the moment is sating them.”
“Is not the greatest survival instinct survival?”
Baronaire hesitated. “You could have mentioned this before.”
“Yeah, coulda.”
They headed down into the house. They did not walk, did not use doors. They simply floated through the rooms as mist, unassuming and entirely disguised. They passed security people, cleaners: no one paid them the blindest bit of attention. How they could see when in such a state Baronaire could not say, but that was the least of his questions concerning himself.
They re-formed in the bedroom Joe had told them Doldress would be using, but there was no sign of anyone having been there recently. The two men conducted a brief search and came up with nothing.
“Could Joe have double-crossed us?” Jeremiah asked.
“No. His love for the dead girl was genuine. Doldress must have changed his plans.”
“Tell me what Foster’s doing here again? She supposed to make him tell all his sordid secrets while he pours hot candle wax over her or something? Kinda like a weird version of talking dirty?”
“It won’t come to that. But yes, she’s going to get him to confess to something.”
“Even with a confession, he won’t go down, Charles. Even if we got it on tape. They had video evidence of him killing that other girl and they still threw it out.”
“This time the video evidence is gonna stand up, Jeremiah, I promise you.”
A smile tugged at Jeremiah’s lips. “You’re up to something.”
“Yes. But we have to find Foster first.”
They heard a scream then. It was faint, but their hearing was sharp and they could pinpoint it at once. They also knew the origin to be female. “That Foster?” Jeremiah asked.
“How should I know? I’ve never heard her scream before.”
“No?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I just ... forget it.”
They became intangible once more and flitted towards the sound of the wail. They were surprised to find themselves in the basement and both men had macabre visions of what torture instruments they would find. The basement was spacious and almost as dark as the attic, and the two plumes of mist followed the scent of living beings until they came to a door. It was here that they re-formed and finalised their plan.
“There aren’t any guards down here,” Jeremiah noted. “Maybe beyond the door, but I’m betting this guy won’t want an audience.”
“Who knows with these sickos? If it comes to a fight, leave Doldress to me. Get Foster out of there.”
“I thought the plan was to get information from him.”
“It is. But if things turn sour, we can’t have Foster seeing what we truly are.”
“I don’t know,” Jeremiah smiled. “Would give us a good enough reason to kill her, no?”
Baronaire glowered at him.
They heard talking from the other side, the sounds of a woman crying, and Baronaire was half tempted to just forget the plan and barrel in there. But they had come this far and had to stick to things.
Then they both heard Doldress shouting and from his very words they knew their cover had been blown.
Baronaire kicked the door and it flew off its hinges, splintering into fragments. The room was large, well-lit and devoid of anything which may be recognised. The walls were of bare stone, as though they were in some kind of castle, and the floor was stone and sand. There was a single carpet, about ten metres by six, in the centre of the room, at the edges of which were positioned professional lights, focused into the centre. There were two cameras, one at either end of the carpet, focused in the same direction. Upon the carpet Detective Foster lay, dressed in a short skirt, low cut top and black leather boots. Her ankles were tied, her black-gloved hands similarly bound at the wrists. Her long red hair was plastered over her face with her own sweat and fear, and she was sobbing into the floor.
Above her, Doldress paused in the act of bringing his foot back in a kick. He was wearing a loose T-shirt and trousers, and a mask over his face which made him look like Margaret Thatcher. In his hand was wielded a wooden cudgel, already slick with Foster’s blood.
There were four huge men behind him, out of sight of both cameras and lights, and by their scent Baronaire knew them to have been at the warehouse earlier.
“What?” Doldress raged. “How did they get in here? I thought this house was supposed to be secure!”
“Lot of guys up top,” Baronaire said flippantly. “We just ... flew straight through them all.”
“Detective Sharon Foster,” Doldress said smugly, “was just getting to know me a little better. We’ve had a lovely chat now. Did you really think I wouldn’t see through you, Baronaire? As soon as Joe came to me with this trollop I knew she was a plant. Has copper written all over her. Or at least she will once I get myself a scalpel.”
Foster whimpered, looking directly at Baronaire, her eyes pleading. For the moment he ignored her.
“What are you doing?” he asked Doldress. “If you know she’s an officer, what could you possibly gain from filming yourself kicking her around?”
“Oh, you are so dense, Baronaire. I’m untouchable! My lawyer proved that much. Joe’s not a problem any more, so all I need to do is get rid of you three. There aren’t any cops watching the house, I’ve checked. That means you three are the entire unit. I’ve asked around about you, Baronaire. I have contacts you couldn’t dream. No one in the Met knows about you, your name doesn’t appear on any database or filing system. And don’t get me started on what we didn’t find on Jeremiah. Do you even have a first name?”
“No,” Jeremiah said.
“Whoever you people are,” Doldress continue
d, “you’re either so specialised no one’s ever heard of you, or you’re just loons playing at cops. And if this,” he said, kicking Foster savagely in the ribs, “is the best you can do, it’s no wonder your whole plan’s gone to hell.”
Baronaire once more ignored her cries. “Like I told you before,” he said instead, “I knew you were going to screw up somewhere along the line, Doldress, and this ... well this just exceeds my every expectation. Joe Fletcher dead, an officer assaulted, and you’re conveniently capturing it all on film for us as well. Was that for our benefit or yours?”
“His,” Jeremiah said from behind. “The sicko just couldn’t help himself. He figured he’d get hours of enjoyment out of that video.”
“Charles,” Foster cried.
“You need any help with this?” Jeremiah asked him.
“Stick to the plan, Jeremiah.”
Jeremiah nodded and stepped forward. He crouched down and held his hand out to Foster. “Come on, let’s leave the guys to their work.”
“What is this?” Doldress asked. “What, am I invisible now or something?”
Jeremiah looked back to Baronaire, raising his eyebrows. Baronaire knew just what he wanted. A distraction.
“I’ve tangled with your monkeys once already,” Baronaire told Doldress. “Surprised so many got out alive, to be honest. Come on then, do your worst.” He stepped out before them, holding his arms wide.
Doldress shrugged. “Oblige the man.”
The four guards drew firearms and the room roared with the rupturing sound of gunfire. Jeremiah grabbed Foster with one hand and leaped in one bound through the door. She clung to him, her eyes filled with tears, and he did not stop running until he made it to the door to the basement, against which he quickly threw himself to stop anyone else coming down to join the party. Foster he dropped to the floor, shaking. Holding his shoulder against the door, feeling every impact the men outside were making in their attempt to get in, he could not help but inhale the stark fear and confusion emanating from Foster. He closed his eyes and smiled, all the while wondering how Sanders would ever know she hadn’t died in the line of duty.
Baronaire had ceased paying Jeremiah any mind. The four men each shot twice, and eight bullets tore through him. He was thrown against the wall, but rose slowly. Pain was irrelevant, which was just as well considering each impact had hurt like hell.
“What, what, what?” Doldress raged. “How can you still be standing?”
“Best body armour you could ever get,” Baronaire said, pouncing like a jungle cat. He landed atop the first of the guards, his feet slamming into his shoulders, his fingers digging into either side of his throat and tearing the entire thing out. He leaped off him even as the man fell screaming, and landed in a crouch between two of the other men. One took a swing at him, but Baronaire caught the arm and twisted, cracking the bones, bringing the huge man about to club his fellow. The final man raised his gun and fired, but Baronaire became momentarily intangible, and the shot struck one of the others. The man continued to fire, each shot passing straight through, each striking one of the two men behind him. Through it all Baronaire simply stood, staring.
“He’s not human,” the man was muttering, shaking his head, wide-eyed. “He’s not ...”
Something fell onto the man’s head then and he screamed, dropping the gun, clawing at his face. He tore the rat from him, his eyes streaming blood down his face. Three more rats dropped from the ceiling, followed by a dozen, and the thug vanished in a carpet of dark fur, writhing in frenzied torment upon the ground.
Doldress stared in horror at the scene, until the man ceased squirming and the rats scampered off.
“Nasty way to go,” Baronaire noted, stepping onto the carpet between the lights and cameras. “But then you’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Doldress?”
“Doldress slowly removed his mask and dropped it at his feet. “What are you?”
“I’m a monster, Doldress. But then you’d know all about that too. Tell me your crimes, Doldress. Tell me your crimes and let’s see whether they’re anywhere near equal to mine.”
“You killed them.”
“I killed a lot of people. Women. Young women. Always adults, as though that makes me better. I like to think it does, but it doesn’t. They’re still people’s children. Daughters, sisters, aunts, nieces. Living human beings. I bite them, Doldress. Do you bite them?”
“I ... I’ve only killed once.”
“Reynolds. I know. I’ve killed scores. Maybe three hundred? I don’t know. But I have a purpose now, so I don’t stalk the streets. I’m given girls now. People society won’t miss. Criminals mainly. When they can’t be found, drug addicts. People who’d wind up dead soon anyway. I have to be sated, because I’m good at my job and even a pet has to be fed.”
“Three hundred? Glory ... When I killed Glory, it felt right. I didn’t mean to, but I ... you know what I mean. I can see it in your eyes. You know what it’s like to have that sort of power over another living soul.”
“So you’ve got a taste of killing,” Baronaire noted. “Drug addicts ... They’re not alive. Not really. They taste funny. There’s nothing better than sucking on virgin juices, Doldress. It’s wrong to say it, even more wrong to believe it, but it’s true.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her, but I watched her die. I watched the life drain from her face. I knew I could have saved her, if I wanted to, but something came over me.”
“The joy of watching life leave a body. The power it gives you.”
“Yes,” Doldress said in realisation. “The power of life and death.”
“And I’ll do it again. I hate myself less and less the more it happens. It’s as though I’m becoming immune to the wrongness of it. I wonder what I’ll be like in ten, twenty years.”
“It gets that good?”
“When are you planning on killing again?”
“Foster. Give her to me. We can share her. I can see you want her, I can see you want to watch her die. We could do her together. We could kill her and no one would ever know.”
“I think you need tips on disposing of bodies.”
“The river was a bad idea. But I panicked, I’d never killed before; what else was I supposed to do?”
Baronaire closed his eyes. “I’m a lost cause, Doldress. But I’m nothing compared to you.”
“Now you’re deluding yourself. You’re a monster preying on monsters. The more you bring in, the better you feel about yourself. But it doesn’t work like that. We’re damned, you and I. We’re damned for eternity.”
Baronaire reached across and switched off the video camera, slowly walked to the other and turned that off too. “I have it on film, Doldress. You’re done.”
Doldress blinked twice, shaking his head, wondering why he had admitted to any of that. He had needed to say it, he had at last found a kindred spirit, and for some reason the words had come easily. “You won’t hand that in,” he said. “You’d only incriminate yourself.”
Baronaire pocketed both tapes. “Maybe I don’t much care about myself any more.” And he landed his fist square in Doldress’s jaw. As Doldress dropped, Baronaire bent to scoop up the cudgel, which had clattered to the flagstones uselessly. “Don’t mind if I borrow this,” he said without asking.
He walked out the room to find Jeremiah must have tired of holding the door back. It was open now, and Baronaire could see several unconscious forms littering the floor. Jeremiah was gone. Detective Foster lay in a crumpled heap, her limbs still bound. She was no longer moving.
Baronaire crouched beside her and turned her over, checking her body for tell-tale marks. Then he noticed her chest rising and falling slowly.
“I didn’t touch her,” Jeremiah said, coming through the doorway then. “Thought about it, thought about maybe just having a nibble; but Sanders would have checked and it’s not worth the hassle. So, you done?”
“We have the evidence.”
“Will it be enough this time
?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone thought that last time.”
“It’s different now. Doldress is gonna have to find himself a new lawyer.”
Baronaire gathered Foster in his arms and strolled up the stairs. Jeremiah had no idea what he was talking about, but glanced briefly back to the room from which the scent of blood was so strong. Whatever had gone in there, it looked like once again he had missed out on all the fun.
Together, they headed for home.
CHAPTER NINE
The night wasn’t yet over and Baronaire had some final things to settle. Whether he trusted Jeremiah to take Foster back to the bunker was irrelevant: he simply didn’t have the time to do so himself. He made a show of radioing back in, however, informing the troops that Jeremiah was bringing Foster back and that she required medical attention. He could see Jeremiah fully understood his reasons for having made the call directly in front of him, but made no mention of it.
Baronaire took to the shadows, working his way quickly across the city. He had a destination: an address he had gleaned from the bunker’s database when this whole case was opened. The house he arrived at was unassuming, nothing like that which he had come to expect from these people. He drifted up to the roof and once more worked his way in from there: there were always cracks in the attic for one such as he to make his way inside. Once within, the scent of human prey was intoxicating and Baronaire quickly made his way to the bedroom. He checked his gloves were secure before passing through the keyhole, re-forming to stand over the bed in silence. The two people lying within were sound asleep: they were both aged somewhere in their fifties, he would have guessed. The woman held an imperiousness even in her sleep, and Baronaire could see even from her slumbering form that she was perfect for his needs.
He sent a mental wave into the brain of the man beside her and his eyes snapped open. He rose to a sitting position slowly, his eyes glassy as he donned a dressing gown. Baronaire watched him move to the door and open it, leaving it ajar behind him. Baronaire took one final glance at the woman, who had yet to stir, and realised this was going to work perfectly.