by Regine Abel
Relief flooded me that it was indeed my man, but… then he confessed to having battled Morgan.
I lost it.
Kazan literally had to pin me against the wall to calm me down when I upended my purse in a total state of panic, looking for Agent Thomson’s card. How the fuck had I not sensed he’d been in danger or been overwhelmed by the tingle of Morgan’s presence? I remembered how strong Kazan’s aura had been when he’d battled those thugs on our first date. With both Kazan and Morgan exuding this much energy, I should have felt it.
Finding out he’d killed Morgan further rattled my confused emotions. I didn’t care that he’d killed to eradicate that menace but feared the potential legal repercussions. If we confessed to the Fourth Division, presented it as the self-defense it had been, surely they’d press no charges and close the case. After all, Kazan had done their job for them. Right?
Having hidden the corpse in the shadows of the buildings, where unaware humans were unlikely to find him in, Kazan promised to inform Agent Thomson once he had me safely back home. Too numb from shock, I didn’t argue. As he couldn’t be seen in public with the current state of his clothes, Monica came to the rescue by calling the chauffeur to pick us up at a side exit. Proving as efficient as Kazan had praised her to be, she miraculously found him a long jacket that covered the worst of his ruined clothes.
Although he put up a good front, Kazan’s wounds clearly pained him. As soon as we got home, I drew him a warm bath while he contacted the Fourth Division. When I came back out of the bathroom to get him, I found him staring at his phone with a frown.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You can’t reach Agent Thomson?”
“No,” Kazan said with a troubled look on his face. “I didn’t want to be drawn into a lengthy discussion so I just texted him the location of Morgan’s remains and said I’d call him in the morning. He texted back that they were already done.”
“What? How?” I asked, stunned.
“He only said that our power surges gave us away.”
“They can track that?” I asked.
“Yes,” Kazan said with a slow nod. “The same with our birth into human form. I just didn’t realize they could do so with such accuracy.”
“Well, at least, that’s one Nightmare taken care of for good,” I said, pun intended, in a lame effort to lighten the mood. “But now, let’s take care of you.”
Kazan smiled and walked up to me. Taking the hand I’d extended towards him, he let me lead him into the bathroom. My stomach knotted and my eyes pricked upon seeing the extent of the damage he’d sustained as I helped him out of his clothes.
“It’s okay, my Jade. It will heal.”
“You could have died!” I said accusingly. “I could have lost you without even having a chance to say goodbye.”
Thoughts of Monica and Donna flashed through my mind, and I shuddered.
“But I didn’t,” Kazan said in an appeasing tone, holding my shoulders with both hands. “The Men in Black failed to capture him for five days, making you a prisoner. Even if they had caught him, they’d only have sent him back to the Mist Plane, and we would have spent the following months worrying about when he’d reappear. You and I both know Morgan would never have stopped chasing you. Only I could take him out.”
“But… but you’re bound now. You could have permanently died! You should have told me!”
Kazan cupped my face between his hands, a sliver of guilt flickering through his stormy eyes.
“Which is why I needed to do it now,” he said gently. “The last Mist was only five days ago. Having spent the whole three days there, I had plenty of time to replenish my reserves. Waiting a full month for the next Mist would have put us both at too great a risk because I would have been too weak by then to protect either of us. I also didn’t want to lose my advantage.” He smiled at my questioning look. “I know how to function in this world and how this body works,” he added waving at himself. “He was still learning, which also gave you the edge when he attacked you on Monday.”
Shoulders sagging, I sighed and nodded. My head understood his logic, but it would take a while for my emotions to fully recover from this.
“Let’s get you into that bath before the water grows cold,” I said, helping him in.
“Join me,” he said, after settling himself in the tub.
“This is for you to relax and soothe your aches and pains,” I argued weakly.
“I’ll relax better with my woman in my arms,” he said with a smile.
I caved and joined him, grateful for the large Jacuzzi-style bath. We soaked in the warm water more than we actually bathed. When it began to cool, we got out and made a beeline for the bed. I’d never seen Kazan this worn out. Although he wouldn’t go into details about the fight, it had visibly taken a lot out of both his ethereal and human forms. At least, he reassured me that he’d only absorbed Morgan’s life force, not his personality or traits like he had my lesser Wishes.
To my great distress, Kazan had nothing worth calling a medical kit, possessing only a bottle of peroxide, a bag of cotton balls, and a box of bandages. Thankfully, I always carried some painkillers in my purse and gave him a couple with some water before tucking him in. Despite the extensive contusions all over his body, he insisted on holding me in his arms while we slept.
The next morning, Kazan’s bruises had further darkened. This time, he didn’t pretend not to be in pain. For a moment, I feared he’d sustained some internal damage or fractures that might need medical attention. He insisted it wasn’t the case and that time would make it all better. I gave him more painkillers and brought my man a light breakfast in bed which I ended up feeding to him after he winced while trying to raise the fork to his lips. I loved taking care of Kazan. He enjoyed it, too, yet felt self-conscious to appear so weak before me.
Silly man.
“I’m going to run down to the pharmacy to get you some pain, bruise and swelling cream, and some stronger painkillers,” I said, leaning over to kiss his lips as he lay back down at the end of his meal.
Worry flashed through his eyes.
“Morgan is dead, remember? I’m safe now, thanks to you.”
Kazan sighed then nodded.
“You rest your handsome head while I’m out. I’ll drop by the grocery store on my way back and grab some buttery popcorn for moi and a huge bag of kettle-cooked salt and vinegar chips for you.”
He beamed at me through heavy eyelids.
“Sleep, my love,” I said, kissing his forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”
Kazan was out like a light before I even closed the bedroom door behind me. Grabbing the keys to his car, I exited the apartment, the door automatically locking behind me. On my way down to the underground parking, I called Monica to give her an update and inform her that Kazan wouldn’t be able to come for the business wrap up of the exhibit planned for later that day. She understood, of course, and said it actually suited her because it would give her more time to study and organize the awesome opportunities that had been presented to her by parties interested in working with Kazan.
Walking up to the car, I hung up, dropped my phone in my purse, and used the remote to unlock the door. As I reached for the handle, movement at the edge of my vision followed by the sound of a car door closing made me look up. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized Agent Wilkins and another agent I didn’t know walking towards me from the familiar black car I had seen following Kazan at the shopping mall. One hand gripping the strap of my purse while the other fisted my keys which dug into my palm, I waited, heart pounding as they closed the distance between us.
“Ms. Eastwood,” Agent Wilkins said with a cold and commanding voice, “we need you to come with us back to headquarters.”
My stomach dropped, a sense of dread building within. “Why?” I asked. “What do you want with me?”
“Please do not make this difficult or your situation worse by resisting arrest,” Wilkins said in a clipped tone.
> “Arrest?” I exclaimed, winded. “Arrest for what?”
“We need to question you about your connection with the death of the serial killer Morgan Doe and the multiple victims he left behind.”
“All right. All right. I’ll come with you but I need to warn…”
“What you need to do is to follow us before I drag you in,” Wilkins said, taking a menacing step towards me.
“You haven’t read me my rights, and I’m entitled to a lawyer!” I exclaimed taking a step back.
“Do I look like your fucking local sheriff? We’re dealing with matters of national security which you have jeopardized with your sick fantasies. You have no fucking rights except the ones we give you.”
Before I could react,
he ripped my purse out of my grasp and handed it to his partner who watched us impassively. My eyes widened as I recognized him as one of the guests at the exhibit last night. There would be no help coming from him. Grabbing my forearm in a bruising hold, Wilkins shoved me towards his car.
“Now start walking if you don’t want me to drag you,” Wilkins snapped.
Stumbling forward, I managed to keep my balance and turned around to argue. At the sight of his hand resting on his gun belt and his thumb flicking open the safety strap, the words I’d been meaning to speak died on my tongue. Swallowing hard, I complied and walked up to their car, my mind racing.
Wilkins stuffed me into the back of the car and raised the protective glass between us the minute I asked about Agent Thomson. The older agent had been respectful and professional, seemingly the one to keep Wilkins in check. I’d feel safer with him present. The nameless agent who now held my purse didn’t get in the car right away. I couldn’t see him from where I sat. About four minutes later, he returned from whatever errand he’d run. The horrible thought that he might have rigged Kazan’s car with explosives popped into my head but then I dismissed it. The Men in Black were all about discretion and keeping the public in a state of blissful ignorance. An explosion would draw too much attention on top of the potential collateral damages and casualties if one of the neighbors happened to be nearby when it detonated.
With the two men still ignoring me, we drove off. My anxiety levels rose as we left City Center from where most governmental agencies operated and headed towards the industrial sector of town. Where my vivid imagination served me well as a game artist, right now, I could have done without all the nightmarish scenarios flashing through my mind.
My heart pounded as we drove into the underground parking garage of a large, square building, with dark walls and tinted windows. No logo or sign outside indicated its nature. If not for the Men in Black driving me into it now, I would have assumed it to be an extension of the well-known pharmaceutical research facility it was appended to. That further raised my anxiety level, imagining what kind of more secretive experiments could be happening there with such neighbors.
As soon as we parked, Wilkins took me in to have my mugshot, fingerprints, and even a picture of my brand taken before having his buddy take me into one of the interrogation rooms. Once more, they ignored my requests for a phone call or for a lawyer’s assistance. Along the way, I hadn’t failed to notice that only a handful of people were on the premises—none of whom were Agent Thomson. Not really surprising considering it was still early morning on a Saturday.
Wilkins’ buddy, who couldn’t be bothered to give me his name, made me take a seat inside the typical interrogation room; off-white walls, light-grey tiled floors, completely empty aside from the single table with a couple of chairs, and the traditional one-way mirror. Thankfully, he didn’t shackle me, content to tell me to keep my ass seated before walking out.
At least ten minutes went by while I squirmed on the highly uncomfortable metal chair and imagined increasingly bad scenarios which fed the stress twisting me inside out. It was still too early for Kazan to start worrying about my absence. Worse still, considering his exhaustion level, he would probably sleep for many more hours.
The door opened abruptly to reveal Wilkins, startling me. He strutted in with a smug look on his face, a bottle of water held in his hand. Instead of taking a seat on the chair on the opposite side of the table, he stood next to it and towered over me. I realized in that instant that he took pleasure in intimidating people and making them feel inferior; a typical bully. I wouldn’t indulge his sick games. Lifting my head defiantly, I held his gaze, unflinching. He opened his bottle and took a large swig before staring me again in the eyes.
“What do you want from me? Where’s Agent Thomson?” I asked.
“You don’t ask the questions here, Ms. Eastwood. I do,” Wilkins said, injecting as much contempt as he could into my name.
“Then ask them and stop with the stupid mind games,” I spat.
He slammed his fist on the metal table, making me flinch, but I still refused to let myself be intimidated.
“You better check that attitude after the shit-storm you caused, you little freak!” the agent hissed.
My breath hitched as I stared at him, disbelieving. “What shit-storm? I haven’t done anything!”
“Really?” he asked, circling around the table to stand at an uncomfortably close distance from my chair. “What about the thirteen people who have died because of that monster you summoned?”
Oh God! Thirteen?
My heart broke at the thought of so many innocents perishing, especially knowing Morgan wouldn’t have given them a swift death; not the way he reveled in other people’s pain. I hugged myself and swallowed painfully.
“The news didn’t mention…”
“Because we cleaned up after your fucking Nightmare and spun somewhat believable tales to those poor families. How many more sick fantasies have you unleashed on this world?”
“I didn’t unleash anything! Nobody has control over their Nightmares, let alone on whether or not they decide to cross-over. How do you know your own worst fears aren’t roaming the streets?”
Leaning forward, he placed his hands on each arm of my chair and shouted, “I know because I’m the one hunting these beasts to keep humans safe.”
I turned my face away from him, sickened by his closeness and the spittle flying from his infuriated shout. He seemed possessed.
“The only things I’ve found are the abominations deviant freaks like you dream up,” he said before pushing himself back up, rocking my chair.
Heart pounding, I watched him from the corner of my eye as he circled around me, the weight of his hatred crushing me. What the fuck had I ever done to that man to be treated like this?
“But that’s not enough for you fanatics, is it?” Wilkins said, eyeing me with disgust. “First you bring that demon over to satisfy your sick sexual fantasies. We agreed to look the other way. Then you bring that serial killer. And now you spread abhorrent propaganda to lure good, innocent girls into your life of debauchery and unnatural couplings. YOU and demented zealots like you are responsible for Mist Pacts.”
Throughout his tirade, I stared at him in an utter state of shock.
He’s insane.
He called me the fanatic, but his eyes held the mad glimmer of a rabid bigot.
“Propaganda? What are you talking about?”
“We saw your abhorrent paintings at that farce you called an exhibit, promoting perverse couplings between women and beasts. But you had to cross the line and romanticize human females getting defiled by Mist demons.”
Wilkins thankfully moved away from me and circled around the table, his fingertips drumming on its surface then gliding as he advanced before drumming again. There was something mentally disturbed about his behavior.
“It… it’s just art!” I argued. Although it seemed insane to me that anyone could think Kazan and I were promoting Mist Pacts in any way, I could see how someone like him and conspiracy theorists might. “There are tons of artists painting Mistwalkers in a non-threatening and even good light.”
“Nobodies!” Wilkins yelled. “N
ot influencers like your demon! Agent Tate secretly recorded multiple conversations between patrons expressing envy towards the models in the paintings, some going as far as stating that they just might let one Mistwalker in for a try.”
I huffed and threw my hands up in exasperation. “That just silly small-talk. Stand outside a movie theater after a fantasy or sci-fi movie just played and see how many women will fantasize about the characters, both heroes and villains. That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t run for the hills if an actual vampire or alien came knocking on their door!”
“We’ll see if you’ll still call it small-talk when you get indicted for incitement to suicide after a bunch of these women go missing at the end of the next Mist. Back in the day, they knew how to handle whores who consorted with demons.”
“You are insane! You want to burn me at the stake because…”
The door bursting open made me squeal in surprise. Then hope blossomed in my heart.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Agent Thomson demanded. From his casual civilian clothes, I suspected he hadn’t expected to come in to work. “Why is she here?”
Although Wilkins lifted his chin defiantly, I didn’t miss the flicker of unease in his crazy eyes.
“Bait,” he said, standing his ground.
“Bait for what?” Agent Thomson asked, completely confused.
“For that abomination she’s fucking. He broke the agreement. He forfeited the right to stay in this world!”
Agent Thomson recoiled. “What?”
“He swore not to drain or kill anyone in our world!”
I gasped, unable to believe what I was hearing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked. “He did your job for you, better than you ever could have by ensuring Morgan can never come back.”
“He broke the agreement!”
“Fuck your agreement! You should kiss his feet and thank him for making sure the death count won’t go over thirteen.”
“Shut your fucking mouth, you cunt. I…”