Hollingsworth

by Tom Bont

  “Didn’t even bother to change her first name,” Angela muttered, reading Danny’s report.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Diana, Artemis, whatever her name is, she’s been around awhile.”

  “No, shit.” Angela crammed a stick of gum between her lips. “I’m not sure I’m equipped for this. How the hell do we track a Greek goddess who appears to be immortal and can wink in and out of secured areas?”

  Danny leaned back in his chair. He stuck his tongue into the side of his cheek and stared out the window at the evening sun. Unexpectedly, he spun around and faced her. “Sonny Jim, Angela!” He stood and flapped his hands at her. “You walked into a town full of werewolves and stared down the chief of police while you ate a Caesar salad. There is no one more equipped for this than you.”

  She quit her smacking and glared at him.

  “Think about it,” he argued, “I’m no different than any other redneck except I grow fur and howl at the moon…Okay, scratch the moon part. Rednecks will do that given enough beer.”

  Angela snorted.

  “The point I’m making is that the supernatural is still natural. It’s just super different. She ain’t no goddess. All she is, partner, is another bad guy doing bad things.”

  “She ain’t no goddess?” Angela mocked. “Yeah, you’re a redneck.” She turned back at her computer screen. “Okay. Enough pep talk. Let’s use some old-fashioned police work.” She tapped a few keys. “We need a list of all ACME payouts from the last six months for murder-rapes. Compare that list against any unsolved cases in our records. She’s been avenging women for millennia. She’s not going to stop because two mere mortals found her out.” She spun around in her chair, took careful aim, and in a most unladylike fashion, spit her gum into Danny’s trashcan, a good five feet away, with a resounding “Pwuh!”

  Danny peeked over the edge of his desk to make sure it landed in the can and shook his head when it hit bottom. “Artemis is only going after the unsolved cases where the suspect has no priors. Pure luck if we find any connection.”

  “I agree, but I want to exhaust all avenues first before we start rolling dice.”

  Hours later, the only thing left was to review the images of the evidence in Diana’s work desk. As Danny set a bag of Chinese food on his desk, Angela stood up in excitement. “Found it!” she exclaimed, a new burst of adrenaline waking her up. “Valerie Smythe, she’s on the Unsolved List, was raped and killed while out jogging. Here’s her payout voucher.”

  “Oh, hell,” Angela moaned as she read the report. “She was a month pregnant.” Child-killer and probably didn’t even know it. “Hey…bingo!” She turned her monitor to the side so Danny could see a picture of the sticky-note they found inside the file. Diana had written an address and a name on it. “Run a check on Greg Pastorin.”

  “Okay, Agent Hollingsworth,” Kent grunted. “You wanted this guy—” he indicated the man they were all staring at through the two-way mirror— “get a confession.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Kent stayed behind to observe and oversee the recording operations while Danny followed her into the room. He took a position standing in a corner behind the suspect. Angela gently closed the door and sat at the table, facing both of them. “Greg Pastorin,” she intoned, opening a folder.

  “That’s me.” His gaze darted between her and the folder. “What’s this about?”

  She ignored the question. “I see you’ve been read your rights and that you’ve waived your right to remain silent and to have your lawyer present.”

  “Yes. Should I have my lawyer?”

  “I can’t advise you one way or the other in that regard.” She dropped her hands in her lap. “But if you’ve done anything illegal, I’d ask for one.”

  “No,” he shook his head. “No, I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “Good!” she pronounced. “We’ve just got a few questions to clear up.” She inwardly gave herself a high-five.

  No lawyers today!

  She read from his background check. “No criminal record. One speeding ticket 20 years ago in Lincoln, Nebraska.”

  Greg stared at Danny’s reflection for a moment and addressed her. “Yeah? So what?”

  “Blood type, AB negative.” She placed her hands on the folder and scrutinized him, cocking her head to the side a bit. “That’s the rarest blood type in the world. Accounts for less than 1% of all Caucasian men. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah,” he answered with a quick nod. “How did you know I have AB negative?”

  “Oh!” she moved her hands off the folder. “We got your army records.”

  He folded his eyelids down under a harsh squint. “Why would you—”

  “Do you know a Diana Mastier?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “Well, she knows you.” Angela pulled the yellow sticky-note from the file and placed it on the table. “She knew who you were and where you lived? Why would she be interested in you?”

  He read the note. “I have no clue.” He looked at Danny’s reflection as he shifted from one foot to the other and crossed his arms. “Like I said, I don’t know her.”

  “We found this sticky-note in one of her case files. She works—worked—for an insurance company.”

  “Who is she?”

  Angela took her time putting the sticky note back into the folder. When she was sure it was aligned correctly with the edge of the folder, she rested her hands on it again. “The case file was for one of Diana Mastier’s customers.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s not relevant right now,” she declared dismissively. “What is important is that we didn’t want to bother you with this, you know, in case it turned out to be nothing.” She paused while she moved his folder to the side, revealing a second folder underneath. “But it still bothered us. Why would she be so interested in you? So, we dug around some more.

  “The lady’s folder we found that sticky note in? She’d been raped and murdered a while back. And she was pregnant. I have a special hard-on for people who kill kids, unborn or not. So, you can imagine the gusto I put into finding their killers.”

  He slowly sat back in his chair.

  Denial. Angela’s Interrogation Tome, page 2.

  “We had DNA evidence, but a name and address aren’t enough to get a search warrant. But it was enough to request your files from the government. You know, because we’re all one big, happy tyranny and like to share all our stuff, like records.”

  Two little beads of sweat bloomed on his forehead.

  “And the darnedest thing came to light.”

  He crossed his arms.

  “You have the same blood type as the person who raped and killed Diana’s customer. And even though it is the rarest of the rare, it still wasn’t enough. But combined with your name in the folder? Well, the judge signed the warrant so fast, I thought he would melt the tip off his pen.”

  “The woman’s name,” Greg asked. “The one who was raped and murdered. Was it Valerie Smythe?”

  Angela snapped her eyes open in surprise. “What?” She put a piece of gum in her mouth. “How do you know Valerie Smythe, Greg?”

  He closed his mouth, and his face relaxed as he slowly nodded his head. “I raped her and killed her.”

  Angela’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears. Danny stood straight and dropped his arms to his sides. She needed to make sure she got this again. “Would you repeat that, please?”

  “Are you recording this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said with a slight nod, swallowing a lump that had materialized in her throat.

  “Good. I, Greg Pastorin, raped and murdered Valerie Smythe. I caught her while she was jogging, dragged her behind some bushes. I shoved an old pair of my underwear in her mouth so she couldn’t scream. I slapped her a few times to let her know I wasn’t fooling around. Not yet, anyway.” A twisted grin darkened his face. “I ripped her clothes off. There should be a scratch mark on her left breast where I got carri
ed away.” He examined his left hand’s fingernails. “She knew it was coming. I didn’t want to, but orders are orders. When I finished, I squeezed her neck until the cartilage and bones cracked under my thumbs.”

  Angela had interrogated rapists before, but she’d never parked her ass across from one who’d related the crime with such calm. The scratches on Valerie’s breast were never released to the press. This guy did it all right. “You said, ‘orders were orders.’ Who gave the order?”

  He met her gaze, heartbeat for heartbeat, as if the question was obvious. “The Forsaken Dweller. Who else?”

  Angela stood so fast, her chair slammed back against the wall. “What did you say?”

  “It’s okay,” he confided to her in a soothing tone, admiring something off in the distance only he could see. “He passes along his regards, Agent Hollingsworth, and says to enjoy his gift while you can.” He smiled brightly, closed his eyes, and slumped forward onto the table.

  Danny rushed over and pressed his fingers against Greg’s neck. “No pulse! Kent! Get an ambulance!”

  He and Angela performed CPR until the paramedics arrived, but they were unable to revive him.

  Angela sipped her coffee and eyed Greg Pastorin’s house from down the street. Stakeouts never changed it seemed, even when stalking the supernatural. “It’s starting to drizzle. Danny, can we roll up the windows now?” The weather had flopped to the chilly end of the thermometer the last few weeks, and she didn’t like cold weather.

  “I need them open,” he informed her. “I need the breeze.” To make his point, he turned his head to the side and took a whiff.

  Angela set her cup in the holder and grabbed her jacket from the backseat. “You know what bothers me about Sabine?”

  Danny looked at her with raised eyebrows and a slight headshake as she fumbled her arms into the jacket’s sleeves.

  “Why she didn’t retrieve the arrow from the house.”

  He shrugged and took another slight sniff from his open window. “Well, if she shows up, we can ask her.”

  She sipped her coffee. “Yeah. I still think it’s a long shot. Her showing up.”

  “Best shot we have though.” He chuckled at her. “Besides, it was your idea!”

  “So? I didn’t say it was a good idea.” She sighed and shook her head. “She’s got to know we would’ve searched her desk.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. She doesn’t know how much we know. Explains why she went to the trouble of leaving a trail to the airport and not popping out to wherever she pops to.”

  The last vestiges of the sun had sunk below the treetops when Danny snapped his head to the side and took a deep whiff. “She’s here.”

  Angela leaned forward in her seat and peered through the windshield. “Where?”

  “Down towards the house.”

  Angela keyed her walkie-talkie. “Hotel Lobby, this is Bellhop. Our VIP has arrived.”

  “Roger, Bellhop,” the radio repeated. “Standing by.”

  “We’re bringing the luggage now,” Angela relayed. “Out.”

  Angela and Danny left their car and made their way along the sidewalk towards the rear of Pastorin’s house. The FBI had cleared all civilians—and dogs—five houses deep in all directions. If you didn’t have FBI stenciled on the back of your jacket, you weren’t supposed to be in the area. They cut left down a side street and let themselves into an alley bordering Pastorin’s backyard. Along the privacy fence, stood tall bushes that hid them from anyone who might look in their direction. They climbed the two ladders SWAT had placed there for them and peered over the top.

  Diana Mastier—Artemis—stalked along the back of the house. Angela expected to find her dressed in a forest green Roman toga with leather sandals laced to the knees, not modern rip-cloth tactical pants, a Beatles t-shirt, and leather boots. She had pinned her long hair back with a gold barrette, though.

  Angela ordered, “Now!” into her throat-microphone and lights flooded the backyard as she and Danny shoved the false fence panel to the ground. They dashed across the yard in classic 4 o’clock and 8 o’clock positions. “Artemis, daughter of Zeus and Leto, Goddess of the Moon, lay down your bow and arrows and put your hands behind your head!” Only in Task Force W could an agent get away with saying something that crazy. “Stop! You’re under arrest,” was so retro.

  Artemis froze and slowly raised her hands to the side. She turned around and narrowed her eyes. “You know who I am?”

  “Drop the weapon now!” Angela yelled at her.

  “Drop it! Drop it!” Danny bellowed with a guttural growl as he covered her flank. His eyes were pale blue.

  Their shock and awe arrest technique didn’t faze her; she carefully leaned the bow against the back wall of the house and leisurely put the three arrows into her quiver. She snapped her head to the left when three FBI SWAT team members scrambled through another false fence panel. Then to the right when three more came from another.

  Angela ordered, “Hold!” The SWAT team members spread out and red targeting lasers peppered Artemis’s center mass. Angela crept up; Danny kept his distance. “Turn around and put your hands behind your head,” she ordered.

  Artemis complied.

  Angela holstered her weapon. As soon as she clutched Artemis’s wrist, déjà vu snagged her with such fury, the world twisted sideways. A loud pop slapped both of her ears, and when the world straightened back out, she stood next to an old water well fashioned from white stones. Forest surrounded her, the trees fat with age, and the limbs gnarly and knotted. Honeysuckle floated on the breeze. Moonlight filtered through the leaves from a clear night sky. Birds chirped all around.

  Artemis stood at the edge of the tree line with a loving smile on her face as she witnessed Danny’s renovatio.

  He growled and drooled, snapping at thin air as his bones rearranged themselves and his skin stretched taut over his elongated limbs. His eyes raged more than she recalled from the two times she’d stared into them before. Crazy lived there now.

  Angela drew and pointed her weapon at him. “Get back,” she yelled to Artemis. If he was losing control, they were both in danger.

  “There’s no need to fear,” Artemis informed her with a loud whisper. “There’s a reason I’m known as the moon goddess.” She stepped closer, and her face glowed a pale white. It all shined on him. When he finished, he rushed her, but she coolly raised her hand, halting him in his tracks.

  Danny the werewolf crawled around in a circle, reminding Angela of a lost puppy she found as a child, but growling like a lupus ready to chew an arm off. Artemis snapped her fingers, and he scooted over and pressed up against her leg in a heel position. Angela was halfway between scared and pissed off. The fearful part was glad Artemis had control of him. The pissed off part, Danny’s partner, didn’t like him being so easily mastered, at least until the raving wildling stared into her eyes. This was not a Frenator.

  She knew the difference now.

  “That’s a good boy,” Artemis purred, gently stroking her hand on his head. After a few moments, Danny’s eyelids drooped. “Angela, please put your weapon away. I may be long-lived, but I’m not invulnerable.”

  Angela wasn’t sure what to do. Her pistol wavered someplace between Artemis and Danny. She finally made the decision to trust she wasn’t going to die and holstered it.

  Artemis smiled at her and gazed back down at Danny. She snapped her fingers again and pointed to the woods. Danny took off like a shot, growling and yipping. He soon disappeared amongst the trees, a happy howl echoing from all around them.

  Angela scanned the trees around her. “Where are we?”

  Artemis laughed and pointed towards the sky over Angela’s shoulder.

  Angela blinked and slowly turned around. The Earth hung low over the horizon.

  Where are the damned moon rocks?!

  The world again turned sideways, but this time, it also went dark.

  Angela awoke alone and stretched out on a couch straight from the R
oman era. It had but one arm on one end, raised in a curved fashion. The entire thing was upholstered with supple leather over padding. The room around her was fashioned in ancient Hellenic grandeur. Urns and amphorae, marbled in silver, white, red, green, and turquoise, sat on small shelves and tables. Murals of huntsmen, soldiers, and bards with lyres decorated the walls, framed in zigzag and spiral motifs. The more prominent mosaic depicted a man and woman in Roman hunting garb stalking ferocious beasts in a forest. The woman could have been Artemis, though the stitch work had blunted any facial features. Could the man be her twin brother, Apollo? Angela could only guess. Gauzy white drapes billowed across a terrace entrance, wildlife song floating on the breeze. Breathtaking, yes, but she had to shake off the awe and get back on the job.

  Her pistol and badge sat on a small bureau near her feet. She reached for them but considered the fact if Artemis had wanted her dead, she already would be. Good sense and even better training won out, and as she strapped the pistol to her hip, she muttered, “I’ll be damned if I walk around this place with who knows how many werewolves on the loose, not to mention a perp with finger-snapping control of them.”

  Investigating the terrace showed the house to be a villa, also of Hellenic design with columns and peaked roofs, perched atop a large hill overlooking a forest stretching to the horizon. Again, a waning Earth hung low in the sky.

  “Welcome to my home, Delos.” Artemis implored from behind her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.” Angela twisted her head around on stiff shoulders. “Where’s Danny?”

  “I turned him loose. He’s running around, doing what Lupus sapiens like to do.” She gazed out into the forest as if she could see him. “When I created them, I didn’t anticipate their savagery would be so profound. I let them play when I can. Keeps them balanced.”

  “When you created them.” A Greek Goddess created werewolves. That’s something for the Task Force Weird archives. “He’s okay though, right?”

  Artemis giggled. “Yes. He’s fine.” She stared deeply into Angela’s eyes. “You’ll have to excuse me, but you’ve piqued my interest. How did you figure out who I was?”