The haze in her mind cleared. That’s right. Devlin was a member of Falcon. He should be able to help her.
“He won’t help,” Jamen said.
Her face fell. “Why not?”
“Call it personal experience. I suggest you go home and get your emotions sorted out. Rios and I will talk to the Chief. I hope he’ll have some sway over the judge’s decision or call in some favours.”
“He’s right,” Rios added. “We’ll call you once we get something solid.”
It pained her to leave everything in the hands of these two, but they had a point. She was too emotional. She couldn’t possibly make any logical decisions in her present state of mind. At the same time, she was glad they were on her side and not eager to dismiss this case.
“Thanks, but the moment—”
“We’ll call you,” Jamen assured her.
Annalise stumbled away from them. Her body grew numb as if it was trying its best to push everything that had happened to the back of her mind. She took the lift to the lobby and left the DPD building.
St. Grace’s Hospital in the Silver District was a long, rectangular, seven-storeys building that could hold approximately three thousand patients at one time. The glass and steel exterior reflected the grey clouds that drifted by when Annalise parked the car.
Climbing out of the driver’s seat, she headed for the reception where a short brunette with a face full of freckles sat. The smell of anaesthetic and lavender filled her nostrils, and Annalise noted the bushy purple plant growing in the corner of the reception desk in a round orange pot.
“Hello! How may I help you?” the receptionist asked with a plastered smile.
“I’m Detective Storm,” she said, peeling back her jacket to display her badge. “I’m looking for Mrs Terry Fern. Can you tell me what room she’s in?”
The woman glanced at her terminal and typed in the name, or so Annalise hoped since she couldn’t hear much over the dissonance of chatting patients and staff.
Seconds later, she beamed at Annalise. “That patient is currently resting in the common ward. Please head to the third floor. She’s in room three-oh-nine.”
Annalise thanked the receptionist and set out to find Terry. Is she safe in here? Since she wasn’t in the private ward, most likely they did not bother posting officers outside of her room.
When she arrived, her theory was proven correct. Not one officer was guarding her. It didn’t make sense. She was almost killed that morning, yet the DPD was treating this lightly.
She pushed the door aside and entered the room. There were six beds, three on either side. All seemed occupied and separated by a single sheet of glass that projected different scenery selected by each patient.
Annalise managed a smile and made her way to Terry’s bed.
The woman was staring at the ceiling. Her face was an assortment of purple, pink, and yellow shades. The doctors managed to fix her arm and wrapped it in a pink cast that spanned from her fingers to her shoulder.
“Mrs Fern?”
“Detective?” Terry tried moving but seemed to struggle with the task. A second later, Annalise found out why. Her wrists and ankles were restrained under the blanket.
“They won’t let me see my girls. Are they alright?”
Annalise pressed her lips together. Terry knew the truth, yet she chose to ignore it. Should she be the one to further shatter this woman’s delusion of a happy family? Probably not.
“They are sleeping,” Annalise replied with a half-smile.
“That’s good. The others said they were dead. I did not believe them. Everyone here is a liar, everyone but you.”
Annalise pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed. “Do you remember what happened to you?”
Mrs Fern seemed to think about it and smiled. Her eyes filled with warmth. “I brought my daughters home from school. They were so happy! They both did well on their tests. Izzy said she wanted homemade pizza to celebrate, and Lisa agreed. We cooked together.” Her eye started twitching. “But then, Robert came home from work. He seemed tired, so I helped him take his coat off. He could not stop moaning about the modded at his workplace. No one wanted to join them, too scared to fight back.”
Annalise grasped her hand. “Fight? Fight what?”
Terry didn’t react and continued, “He shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t have done this to our family. If he let the Sentinels die out, then everything would be fine. My beautiful girls would be alive!” She screamed and thrashed on her bed. “Why? Why did Robert do this? Why did he kill them? My children!”
The other patients grumbled and pressed their buttons for assistance. Two nurses ran inside, one of them holding a syringe in her hand. They both struggled with Terry until one of them managed to inject her with a sedative.
“Please leave, Miss. She is unstable right now,” the nurse said.
Annalise glanced over her shoulder at Terry’s relaxing form. One word played on her mind—a word that after two centuries had become a myth no one wished to remember. That word was ‘Sentinel’.
21
Dinner With The Storms
In school, she was taught in her History classes that Sentinel was the first group of modded people who banded together to overthrow and rule the purebloods. They saw themselves as the stronger, improved human beings, and believed they deserved to control the world because of it.
On December 17, 2135, leaders of different countries gathered at the United Nations in Old New York to discuss the topic of the modded oppression and lack of trust from purebloods. Some arrived there with open minds, others with a decision already made. In one swift attack, many men and women were slaughtered to display the power of the Sentinel movement.
So, why would purebloods such as Robert Fern and James Steinberg work for such a violent idea? Was it money? Or was she getting ahead of herself? Perhaps, Terry had lost all of her reason after the death of her daughters, and Robert was someone she had piled the blame onto.
Annalise pushed away from her desk at home and grabbed her cup of coffee. She frowned when there was little weight to the mug. Glancing inside, she found it was already empty. With a disgruntled grumble, she set it back down.
The image recognition from AID hadn’t finished its search yet for the symbol. Meanwhile, her mind ran around the problem in circles. The more information she had, the less sense this case made.
Why were the bodies murdered to make it seem like a beast attack? If this was for political reasons, why were Terry and her daughters targeted? With the way Terry behaved, she had nothing to do with whatever Robert was into. Then, there were her daughters. They had to be innocents in all of this, so why kill them? At the same time, how did Robert Fern get from Landon’s in Silver to Bronze without a single street camera capturing him or his movements? How did the plants from the marsh outside of Divinity get in his hair?
One thing she knew for certain: whoever modified those video feeds from Landon’s must be responsible for every death so far.
Her comms beeped, and she groaned. It was her mother again.
“Annalise, did you forget about our dinner meeting?”
“No. However, I don’t have time for meetings.”
“I heard that you have no case to work on right now, so stop prolonging this discussion and come over. I expect you to dress nicely.”
She rose from her chair and looked at the darkness outside her window. Dress nicely for what?
“Hurry up,” her mother urged, ending the call.
With jerky movements, Annalise rummaged through her closet, finding a pair of black jeans and a red V-neck sweater. It wasn’t formal attire, but it would do for a casual visit to her neighbouring parents. She stripped out of her work clothes and slipped on her chosen outfit. Tying her hair into a ponytail reminded her of Mavel. Her heart tugged in her chest as she fought the pain with determination to prove his innocence. There is no way I’m going to let him be incinerate
d by the Falcon idiots.
Seconds later, she was walking down the corridor outside of her apartment since her parents lived on the same floor as her.
Annalise arched a brow when her mother swung the door open with a frozen smile. To contrast her daughter, Regina was overdressed. Maybe that was an understatement. A long satin black gown hugged every curve of her body, acting as an expensive backdrop to the massive sapphires hanging from her neck and earlobes. Annalise could tell she was wearing heels underneath her extravagant, cleavage-revealing, dress. If Regina Storm paid a visit to a shrink, she would be diagnosed with an inferiority complex. Her dark brown hair cupped her displeased face as she finished taking in her daughter’s attire.
“Is this what you call nice?” Regina hissed.
“It’s this or work clothes,” Annalise said in her defence.
Regina grasped her wrist and pulled her into the apartment. “Come with me. Since I have dismissed Sylvia for the evening, I will help you change into something more appropriate.”
Annalise ran her hand over her face, her skin prickling in different places as her mother ushered her into her bedroom. After being urged to take a seat on the queen-sized bed, Regina went to search for what she thought was “proper clothes” in her closet.
“Why am I here, Mum?”
Regina grunted a response as she selected a striped red and black lace dress then tossed it at Annalise. She chose a pair of matching heels and lowered them next to her daughter’s feet.
Annalise didn’t move. “Well?”
Her mother pulled her into a standing position and pointed to the dress. “You’ll know in a few minutes. Right now, I want you to get changed.” She clapped her hands. “Hurry up, dear.”
Letting out a laboured huff, Annalise changed her clothes again. It took ten minutes to fit inside the body-hugging dress that was a size too small. Her mother must have lost weight.
When Annalise was done, Regina beamed at her with a pearly smile and walked a full circle around her. “Humm…” She paused in front of Annalise and yanked her daughter’s hair tie off, forcing her hair to spring free.
A few hairs got caught in the hair tie, and she winced.
Regina pointed to Annalise’s pale complexion. “Why do you never apply any cosmetics?”
Annalise closed her eyes, praying for patience. “My work has nothing to do with looking pretty, Mother.”
“You’re not working right now, are you? Sit, I’ll help you look presentable and appear lively.” She opened a drawer in her vanity desk and removed a small velvet bag. Unzipping it, she pulled out a few glass bottles and brushes. “Close your eyes, Anna.”
With the last of the fight leaving her, Annalise let her mother torment her face until she was satisfied.
Regina took her hand and led the way into the dining room without another word. She felt like an unwilling object at one of those fancy charity events. It wouldn’t surprise her if, at any given moment, a man in a black tuxedo would climb onto a stage with a small hammer in hand and in an over-excited tone shouts, “Sold for five thousand credits!”
When they stopped, Annalise’s blood drained from her face. Her eyes narrowed on the other participants of tonight’s dinner. “Devlin, Father…”
Devlin rose from his seat at the dinner table and circled around, offering her his hand. “Annalise, you look stunning, as usual.”
He wore a fitted navy suit with the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. Every piece of his clothing seemed to complement his athletic body. To keep her mind on her anger, she tore her eyes away from him and assessed her father with suspicion. What are you planning?
William greeted her with a nod. He, too, was dressed up for the mysterious occasion. The blue sleeves of his Egyptian silk shirt had golden cufflinks catching the light as he motioned for her to come closer. “Come. Sit. We have matters to discuss.”
“Matters like Falcon stealing my case?” She shot Devlin a glare, and his perfect smile faltered. Her accusatory gaze returned to her father. “Or matters where you ask my Chief to take me off the case?”
“Sit, Annalise,” her father ordered, and she felt every drop of defiance in her blood rushing to her head. She wrinkled the perfectly soft material of her dress in her tight grasp. While they sat here discussing God only knows what, Mavel was somewhere in the Falcon Headquarters, possibly tortured for the answers he didn’t have.
Her mother caught Annalise’s hand and passed it to Devlin. He pressed his lips to each of her knuckles, one ticklish kiss at a time.
“Please, join us for dinner,” Devlin pleaded.
For some reason, she couldn’t stay angry at him. The people he worked for were trying to take Mavel away from her, yet, here she was, mesmerised by his outdated flirting techniques.
Annalise yanked her hand out of his hold and wiped it on her dress, hoping the tingling sensation where he kissed her would disappear.
“Anna?” her mother asked, planting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
She let out an unladylike groan and allowed Devlin to pull a chair out for her at the dining table. She scanned the extravaganza they put out on display. The marble table had an array of foods spread out, everything from her favourite salmon with lemon dressing to juicy slices of steak in brown sauce. Her mouth watered as the scents mingled in the air. She had forgotten to eat today.
Am I truly helpless without Mavel?
Devlin returned to his seat across from her. Her mother took this chance to open a bottle of champagne which she poured individually into the crystal flutes.
“How was work?” Will asked.
Annalise said nothing. He most likely knew how her day was. One of his spies must have told him that their case was stolen by the Falcon Group.
Regina handed her a champagne flute.
After consuming the bubbling liquid in one go, her curiosity got the best of her. “What is this really about, Will? You didn’t call me here to talk about my work. So, what can I do for you?”
“Annalise!” Her mother elbowed her in the side.
Devlin’s chuckle turned into full-blown laughter as he clutched his sides in an attempt to stop. Her father joined in soon after, and her mother wasn’t missing the action with her ladylike giggle.
The circus act they started had her confused. Her gut told her whatever they were building towards, she wasn’t going to like. She tensed when the laughter died.
“I love your directness, Annalise,” Devlin said.
“Glad someone appreciates it,” she shot back and diverted her attention to her father. “Well?”
William sipped his drink, false amusement wiped away from his serious expression. With the grace of a monarch, he set down his champagne flute and let his lips fall into a smirk, deepening the wrinkles on his aged face. “We have talked this matter over and, with your servant being indisposed, we thought it would be a good idea to go through with your engagement to Devlin.”
The world must have stopped moving the second the word ‘engagement’ left her father’s lips. She blinked once, twice, thrice. The words he said didn’t seem to register until Devlin patted her hand that was crushing the stem of her glass. She heard it snap, and her mother jumped out of her seat in search of napkins to stop the blood dripping all over her expensive table and dress. Luckily, Annalise was too angry to notice the searing pain in her palm.
“Anna, you must see this from where we stand,” her father began.
She let out a laugh of her own. “No.”
“What do you mean?” Will demanded, his expression darkening.
“No. I am not getting engaged to a man I know nothing about, and, no, Mavel is not indisposed, he is blamed for something he didn’t do!” she snapped at him and shot out of her seat. “You”—she pointed at Devlin with her bleeding hand—“come with me for a sec.”
Her father slammed his palms against the table, making the dishes and cutler
y bounce on its smooth surface. “Your behaviour is outrageous, Annalise!”
“Don’t go there, William!” she forced out her father’s full name—a habit of hers that she knew he hated.
Devlin rested his hand on her father’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to her. Please continue without us.”
Will visibly fought for control of his emotions. His jaw was so tightly closed, he spoke through his teeth. “Please. Do.”
Devlin walked around the table, taking her by the elbow with a painful grasp. He led her into one of the bedrooms along the hallway and closed the door behind them. Without delay, he whirled her around, and she was pressed between him and the door.
His eyes searched hers for something. He almost seemed distressed as he raked his fingers through his dark hair. His hand fell to his side, and he moved away enough for her to have some personal space. “I thought you knew and agreed to this engagement.”
“My mother called and told me to come over. I don’t think I would have come here or worn” —she waved her hands at Regina’s ruined dress—“this if I heard the word ‘engagement’ in her spiel.”
Devlin chuckled and took her injured hand into his. His warm touch sent a shiver up her arm and down her spine. With great care, he unravelled her fingers and picked out the tiny shards of glass from her palm. “Are you sure you do not wish to think more on the matter? Give it some thought?” Again, his eyes searched her face. “Am I the only one who feels this attraction between us?”
She cast her gaze to her bloodied hand. Certainly, she did feel a strange pull towards him. He was good-looking, kind, and a true gentleman most of the time. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head or a crease on his spotless shirt. By her father’s standards, he was a perfect pureblood specimen with a great career ahead of him. But, this wasn’t the time for attraction or love. She had to find the ones responsible for the deaths of all those people.
“I want the case back,” she said.
Devlin withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around her injured hand. His deft fingers tied a knot on top, and he let go. “You know I can’t do that.”
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