Hollingsworth

by Tom Bont

  “You left your arrow at Conrad Sabine’s house. And we caught you on camera taking it from the museum. Google’s awesome when you need answers.”

  “Conrad Sabine.” Artemis nodded with understanding. “He suspected I was after him. He placed wards around his nest.”

  “Wards?” Angela clapped her hands once. “You couldn’t get into the house! That’s why you left your arrow behind.”

  “Correct.” Artemis lifted one eyebrow in confusion. “If you know who I am, why do you chase me?”

  “Because you’re a murderer.” As soon as the words left Angela’s mouth, she knew she didn’t believe them. The cop in her still wanted to blame someone, though. She pivoted back to admire the wooded vista.

  “Quite the view, isn’t it?” Artemis asked.

  “Yes.” Angela did a little hop. “Gravity seems normal.”

  “Parlor trick,” Artemis told her.

  “Doesn’t look like the moon either.”

  “How do you know? You ever been here?”

  Angela scoffed. “Well, when you put it that way, no. Are you telling me the government’s been lying this whole time?”

  “You have not been lied to. The moon from your continuum looks exactly as you would expect it to.”

  “Continuum? A different dimension? Wait! Have you ever heard of the Forsaken Dweller? Is this where he’s from?”

  Artemis’s mouth dropped open, and her voice pitched up an octave. “You know about that?”

  Angela licked her lips and tilted her head to the side. “All I know is that he, it, whatever, has popped up in my caseload lately.” She feasted her eyes to the side. “Do you mind?” she pointed at two glasses sitting next to a glass amphora of water with lemon slices floating in it.

  “Please,” Artemis answered, “let me.” She poured them each a glass. “And allow me to show you what these murders truly are.” She waved her hand through the air, and it was as if a completely different world was overlaid on the one where they stood, life-sized, fully colored, translucent. It showed a man strapped down to a metal gurney. Lightning bolts arced and shot through the air in the background. An alien, identical to the one she and Danny had encountered in Hallsville, lumbered into view.

  Nervous energy flooded through Angela, and she glanced back and forth between the image and Artemis. “Danny and I killed one of those!”

  Artemis paused the playback. “That’s a doorman,” she told her. “Actually, their names can’t be pronounced with human vocal cords, but doorman describes their function. They’re there to open a portal for the Forsaken Dweller.” She waved her hand and resumed the playback.

  The doorman placed a rotten mushroom-colored worm onto the man’s cheek. He bucked against his restraints as the worm crawled up into his nose. He sat still for a moment while his face crinkled up as if he had to sneeze, but he took a deep breath instead and screamed in unadulterated fear and pain. He passed out a few moments later. Artemis turned the video off.

  “The worm eats sections of the host’s brain, replacing it with its own cerebral structure.” Artemis took a long drink from her glass. “I doubt your science could find a difference between it and human tissue. Anyway, it takes about six weeks for the incubation period to complete. It’s no longer human at that point. It’s a drone in constant contact with the Forsaken Dweller. It’s got free will only so long as it carries out the dweller’s plans.”

  “This explains why Sabine knew about me,” Angela muttered. Then a bit louder, “He had a picture of me. I may have been next on his list.”

  Artemis stood a little higher. “For you to have grabbed the dweller’s attention, even for a moment—” a feral grin darkened her face— “is impressive.”

  “Do you think he’ll send another one after me?”

  “Maybe.” Artemis shrugged. “It’s not used to being interfered with. It may have simply given the order and forgotten about you.” She stared hard at Angela. “Hope that’s what happened, anyway.”

  Angela acknowledged the advice with a nod. “Why are they killing women?” she asked.

  Artemis grimaced with a light shake of her head. “It’s not just women. They also target men. But to answer your question, I’m not certain. It’s speculated the victims are, or will be, a threat to the dweller’s plans. I’ve never been able to stop one ahead of time to find out.”

  Angela sat down. “And the rapes?”

  “Also unknown, though I suspect it’s simply a power thing on the drone’s part. Being under control for so long, maybe it’s a release valve or something.”

  Angela understood. Rape wasn’t about sex. It was about power.

  Artemis sat on the bench next to her. “We’re on the same side, Angela. I’m one of Earth’s protectors. The drone known as Greg Pastorin has to die. It’s not human. It’s not murder.”

  “Thin line.” Angela shook her head. “Besides, he’s already dead. Some kind of mental suicide. Right there in the interrogation room.”

  Artemis pursed her lips and softly bobbed her head. “Yes, that happens every time I’ve tried to question one, too. The dweller kills it before it has a chance to reveal anything.” She let loose a deep sigh. “It’s all I can do to stay ahead of them.”

  “Is there any way to detect them? The drones?”

  “Lupus sapiens can,” Artemis confessed.

  Angela stared at Artemis. “Yeah, you said that you’d created them. Why?”

  Artemis laughed. To Angela’s ears, it was musical. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Afraid to try again, though. They were to be my bloodhounds. Unfortunately, only the wildlings have the ability. And they would rather eat than track. Plus, as you’ve seen, they lose their ability to Frenis when around me. Frenatus can usually detect them when they’re dead. That’s useless, though. I need them when they’re alive.”

  “That explains Danny’s heebie-jeebies when we were around Sabine, but not Pastorin.”

  They sat there listening to the wind through the trees and the wild forest noises. Jasmine wafted up over the railing.

  “I’m not sure there’s a court that could try you,” Angela finally confessed. “Not to mention, there’s no prison that could hold you.”

  “True, but I would prefer that you knew I was a good guy.”

  Angela clenched her jaw but nodded her head in reluctant agreement. She hated to let a case go, but there was nothing she could do. If there was ever an extra-jurisdictional dispute, Artemis positively filled the criteria. Angela scratched her ear. “Kent’s probably called out the National Guard looking for Danny and me.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Artemis told her. “I can get you back within a couple of seconds of the time we left. Take as long as you wish. Consider it a vacation if you want.” She stood up. “Clothes more fitting to our environment are next to the changing screen behind your couch. I have to check on dinner. My brother will be here soon.”

  “Your brother?” Angela asked. “Apollo?”

  “Yeah.” She dragged the word out. “I’m not sure how happy he’s going to be when he sees I’ve brought home a stray lupus.” She tilted her head and stared at Angela. “And a human.”

  “You’re not…human?”

  “No.” Artemis rubbed her arm.

  “And…Apollo…doesn’t like humans?”

  “Not really, no. Thinks you’re useless.”

  “Why’s he helping Earth then?”

  “Spite. The Dweller took our world from us. We were children when that happened. Killing it is his only goal now.”

  Angela’s thoughts roamed to the pistol on her hip. “Maybe you should take me home.”

  “Uh, huh,” she said as she smiled and shook her head. “My house. You’re my guest. I like you. He can go eat at Micky Ds if he doesn’t like the company.”

  Angela lounged at her desk and reread her report, for the fifth time, on the events surrounding Diana Mastier’s disappearance. The report read like a pulp science fiction novel.

/>   Artemis had shown an intense curiosity about Angela’s combat and police procedural abilities. Artemis might have been a well-seasoned vigilante, but she conceded Angela’s skills exceeded hers where it counted. So, while Danny spent two weeks pelting helter-skelter through the forest around Delos, Artemis’s villa, Artemis’s moon villa, she and Angela spent two weeks getting to know each other, way more time than either of them initially planned on.

  Apollo had spent more time around the villa than Angela would have preferred. He was everything a Greek god should have been. Tall and muscular with a full head of red hair tied into a long ponytail. Clean shaven. Angela didn’t mind the occasional bristly face, but his smooth cheeks and chiseled jaw accented his sparkling emerald eyes. When he recited her name in his baritone voice, it was so low, she could almost count the vibratos in it. When he smiled, which was rare, she lost all sense of time. When she gazed into his green eyes, she almost forgot the reason she was even on that moon. And if he hadn’t been such an ass, she would have found all his other assets quite attractive.

  She had tried to squeeze Artemis for information on the Forsaken Dweller, but there wasn’t much to glean. It was eating planets, one after the other, and no one understood why. She and her brother were of a race who called themselves the Diutinus, which interestingly enough was Latin for Long-Lived. They were refugees from their own continuum and had taken on the responsibility of protecting Earth. The twins had been working here for over 4,000 years, hunting and killing doormen and drones.

  None of Artemis’s compatriots believed Earth would be able to help on a cosmic scale, so they refused support. Artemis was the sole exception, being captured by Angela in Greg Pastorin’s backyard.

  When she and Danny reappeared back amongst the SWAT team ten seconds after they’d vanished, with weapons holstered and hands raised, all hell broke loose. Kent broke it up, screamed something about the whole scene being an official cluster fuck, and ordered everyone to stand down. It was the first time she recalled him ever raising his voice above a loud whisper.

  Artemis did not come back with them. Angela understood her reasoning. SWAT team members with itchy trigger fingers would have probably shot her full of holes once she’d blinked back in.

  Angela shook her head, and with a slight grimace, hit the Send button on the report. She held up the arrow in her left hand, a gift from Artemis.

  “Your boon,” she’d said with a full-lipped smile. “Break this when you need me.”

  In hindsight, Angela wished she had asked for something more portable instead. Like a phone number, maybe.

  Episode 5: Reunion

  A nne’s dyed brown hair whipped around in the late fall wind. She pulled the flaps of her coat tighter and hunched her shoulders as another icy gust rushed across the empty parking lot, worming its way up her sleeves and down her neck. “How much longer you reckon?” she pleaded through chattering teeth. Her husband, Ben, flipped her coat’s collar up for her.

  “Pretty soon, Mom,” Angela answered back for the fourth time in the last 15 minutes.

  “Miss Anne, you still quilting?” Heather leaped in, running interference.

  “I sure am. In fact, your mom and I been working on a new pattern. We hope to have it done in time for next year’s Houston convention.” Anne frowned at her. “She ain’t showed it to you yet.”

  “I haven’t been over there in a while,” Heather admitted. “Work.”

  “Tsk.” Anne shook her head. “You need to go see your mom. With your dad overseas, she’s all alone in that big house.”

  Heather winced and dipped her head a bit. “Yes, ma’am, Miss Anne. I’ll do that.”

  Angela debated reminding her mother of the fact Heather’s parents hadn’t lived together in over ten years. Ben gave her a quick, subtle headshake, so she took a deep breath of wintry air and held her tongue.

  Instead, she glared back at Heather, watching her lean into Danny, seeking warmth. Danny’s ears deepened to red at Angela’s surrendering leer while Heather mouthed a quick, “What?”

  The county jail’s heavy metal door swung back with a loud screech and clank, nicking off Angela’s sarcastic comeback. Chris stepped out into the sunlight and raised his arm, shielding his eyes. He wore the same cheap suit he had on the day the jury convicted him.

  The day I took him from Mom and Dad. I think his time in jail has been harder on them than on him. They look older. No, they look old.

  Her mom rushed to him first and hugged him fiercely. He tried politely breaking it, so he could see everyone else, but she wouldn’t let go until she’d gotten her fill.

  She mumbled into his shoulder, too low for anyone to understand. She finally stood back, both hands on the sides of his face, and kissed him on the cheek.

  Chris squeezed his mother’s hands before he faced his father. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, Son. It’s good to see you.”

  Then they embraced, too. Angela believed she caught Chris whisper, “I’m sorry, Dad.” Admitting fault had been a requirement as part of his treatment while inside but overhearing him utter the words now without the threat of further incarceration hanging over his head hefted the heavy weight from her shoulders she’d carried ever since she’d stepped down from the witness stand.

  Lastly, “Hey, Ang.”

  “Hey, Kis,” she muttered.

  They gave each other a stiff hug. He smelled clean, but his clothes, in storage for over a year, held the ever-present odors of old paint, stale urine, hot electronics, greasy jail cell hinges. And desperation. They pulled back from each other, and he mumbled, “I’ll never forget what you did for me.” Resentment, though, clouded the new wrinkles around his eyes. She knew he meant, “to me.” The pit of her stomach turned as cold as the set of his chin.

  Don’t make me break their hearts again, Chris.

  She didn’t dwell on it long, though, as their parents grappled them into a group hug.

  “Let’s hit the road,” her dad urged. “Christmas Turkey’s getting cold.”

  Dallas Police Department Detective Billy Torres stared at the man in the interrogation room a moment longer before handing the case folder to Angela. “Phillip Duke. He’s the fourth one this month.”

  “I still don’t understand why you called us.” Danny rolled his eyes, bored out of his skull. He had become accustomed to cases a little more exciting than smash and grab robberies. “Liquor store robberies ain’t exactly our area.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I’d agree.” Torres stroked his large, black mustache. “But these aren’t your typical liquor store armed robbery suspects.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Look. We’re not asking you to take over. As you said, it’s not your jurisdiction. Consultation only. Your task force supposedly handles the off-beat cases?”

  “Yeah.” Angela’s answer was vague and automatic as her attention was elsewhere. She studied Mr. Duke with a practiced eye. The suspect needed a good night’s sleep to start with. Professional. Manicured. Suit. Missing his tie though; they take those weapons before they chucked them into the tank. She skimmed his folder. “He’s a lawyer?”

  Torres bobbed his head as he produced three other files. “And two computer programmers and an engineer. None of them remember anything about the robberies.”

  Danny scratched his chin. “That’s convenient,” he drolled.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Caught them all at home, too. Nice homes.” Torres brought up a file on his phone and read from it. “One was cooking. One was watching TV. Two were taking naps. Naps! Only hardened criminals can sleep after a stick-up.”

  “Okay,” Angela admitted, “I agree with you. Not your typical stick-up men.” She reviewed the pictures from three of the robberies, the ones with working cameras. The images weren’t top quality, but they were good enough for facial recognition. She eyed the pistol in the first suspect’s hand. Brushed stainless finish. Semi-Automatic. She flipped to the second picture. To the third picture. “Did y
ou recover any weapons?” She flipped a few more pages. “Any of the cash?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How many robberies involve a Beretta P-92? Or a Taurus PT-99?”

  “It’s a popular weapon,” Torres smoothed out his mustache. “Why?”

  “Popular enough to be used in three crimes where the suspects all claimed loss of memory?” She flipped the pictures around and showed them to the two men. “I’m curious about the other one.” She flipped open the fourth folder and read the statement from the store clerk. “He shoved a big silver pistol in my face. Make that four robberies.”

  Danny and Torres gazed at Angela, mouths agape.

  Danny cranked his head towards the detective and winked. “She’s my hero. You know that, right?”

  Torres shook his head and scrutinized at the pictures again “I can’t believe I didn’t catch that.” He ran his hands over his suddenly-red cheeks. “I guess the wife’s right. Time for a vacation.”

  “Come on, you guys,” Angela mocked. “What are you? Straight out of the academy? We find this weapon, and we find who’s responsible for these robberies.”

  Angela squinted at the suspect again, and her phone alarm beeped. “Dinner with Mom, Dad, and Chris” flashed at her. If I’m fast. “Detective, you mind if I ask him a few questions?”

  Torres raised his hand towards the door in friendly invitation.

  She wielded every page from Angela’s Interrogation Tome. Either he was a damned fine liar, or he honestly didn’t remember.

  As they left the police station, Angela’s phone rang. “Hey, mom.”

  “Angela?” her mother bawled. “Have you seen Chris?”

  Angela pulled into Thirsty Liquor Store’s parking lot. She and Danny had been hitting all of Chris’s old haunts. “Thanks again, Danny.”

  “No problem, partner.” He stepped out of the car and scanned the area. “Busy place for this time of day.” Head on a swivel, his nostrils flared, and he exhaled sharply with a pinched expression. “I don’t see his ride anywhere.”