by Nic Widhalm
“Bath,” Karen bowed to the stranger, her voice low and respectful. “This is Hunter Friskin.”
Bath turned his attention from Karen and focused on Hunter for the first time. His face was small and compact with sharp aquiline cheekbones, and his chin raised regally as he surveyed Hunter. “This is the man you told me about?”
Karen nodded.
“I see,” Bath smiled slyly and ran his eyes slowly over Hunter’s body. “You didn’t tell me he was so big.”
Hunter—not wholly unused to this behavior—nodded pleasantly at Bath, then, remembering he was technically kidnapped, frowned. “Look, I don’t have any money, if that’s what you’re after,” he said. “And if it’s not, then can someone please tell me what the hell I’m doing here?”
Bath’s expression stayed the same slightly amused smile. After Hunter finished, he turned and walked toward the far wall. Hunter looked at Karen, but she was already following the diminishing figure. The adolescent string-bean and over-sized woman followed as well, and after a moment Hunter joined them, deciding it was best to play along. He stepped into line next to Karen as they pursued Bath a few dozen feet to the edge of the room. There, the olive-skinned man touched a section of the wall which fell away to reveal a brushed-steel plate with the imprint of a hand. Brushing his palm across the machine produced a high pitched chirp, followed by the outline of a door—invisible until the hinges swung open—and an empty room beyond. Bath stepped through, followed by the two bodyguards, then Karen and Hunter. Once they all entered, the door swung shut and Hunter heard a soft click as invisible locks engaged.
The room, which reminded Hunter of Saint Catherine’s library, was surprisingly small—at least compared to the rest of the house—but what it lacked in size it made up in comfort. The walls were a rich, golden hue, marked here and there by the same sweeping whorls that decorated the rest of the house. The floor’s thick, dark green carpet sucked at Hunter’s shoes as he followed Karen and Bath to one of several dark, leather couches that filled the room. On the wall hung a giant flat-screen TV, playing alternating scenes from natural landscapes. Currently, it was showing sunrise in the arctic.
Bath motioned to an empty seat, which Hunter took after a moment’s hesitation. Noticing his reluctance, Bath shook his head, “Relax. No one’s going to kill you.”
Hunter, trying to position himself in the deep-seated chair, looked at Bath skeptically. “That’s very comforting. I always feel better after people tell me they’re not going to kill me.” Karen stifled a laugh, then froze as Bath turned to her. The small man studied her, narrowing his eyes slightly, then turned back to Hunter. He nodded at the big man, then sat gracefully beside him. “Relax,” he repeated.
“Look,” said Hunter. “I don’t know who the hell you people are, but I do know kidnapping carries five-to-ten. Guy like you,” he gestured at Bath’s petite form, “wouldn’t last a day in prison. Either take me back to the city right now, or I’m calling the cops.”
“Here you go,” Bath reached over to an elegant end-table and passed Hunter a slim phone. “Go ahead, make the call.”
Hunter held the phone tightly, weighing his options, then handed it back.
“What’s wrong?” Bath looked puzzled. “I thought you were in a hurry to get out of here?”
“I’ve had a change of heart.”
Bath snorted and handed the phone to the heavy-set woman standing protectively behind the couch. “Hunter, I’m not going to apologize for how you got here. If that’s what you’re waiting for I’m sorry to disappoint, because it’s not going to happen. I trust Zadkiel completely—believe me, whatever she had to do to get you here was in your best interest.”
“So you must be in the business of taking people off the street then? Like I already told ‘Zadkiel,’” Hunter rolled his eyes at Karen, “I haven’t got a dime, and I’m out of family. If you’re expecting—”
He was interrupted by Bath’s laughter. He forgot what he was about to say as peals of merriment swept out of the tiny man’s lips, dancing through Hunter’s brain like a ballerina on speed. For a moment he saw a flash of vision, where the figures in the room were all glowing with crackling fire, their hands filled with brightly curved blades. Then the laughter dissipated, and the vision fled as quick and effervescent as it arrived.
“Sorry about that,” Bath said.
“I—” Hunter stopped himself before he could ask about the vision. Would it place him in more or less danger? And what kind of people were these, who could bring visions with a laugh and stop them with a touch?
“Hunter, really, it’s okay.” Karen crossed to him. “I didn’t want to say anything on the ride, but you’re among friends now. No one here’s going to harm you, we just want to help.”
“Right,” Hunter said with a bark of short, nervous laughter. “Help with what, exactly?”
Karen opened her mouth, but Bath raised a tiny manicured finger and cut her off. He glanced at the couch and Karen sat back down. Smiling, Bath reached into the end-table and produced a remote. “Before we go further, perhaps you could tell us what you plan on doing after you leave here?”
“So you’re letting me go?”
“In time, Hunter, in time. But first, my question. Where are you going to go when you leave?”
Hunter mulled it over; there wasn’t an easy answer. Home was definitely out of the picture. Even if Adrianna was at work—or better yet, moved out—he knew he couldn’t stay long at their old apartment before the cops showed up. Though, what if they did find him? Would it really be that bad? He’d be looking at some assault charges, and whatever you got slapped with for fleeing a hospital—is that even a crime?—but probably no actual jail time. He could blame the assault on the meds, and as for fleeing, well…he was supposed to be crazy.
Bath watched as Hunter ran the possibilities through his mind, then pivoted to the TV and thumbed the remote. “Hunter, things are much, much worse than you think.”
The large screen filled with the face of one of the local news anchors, a small screen behind the man showing the hospital Hunter had fled earlier that morning.
“… are still refusing to release specifics, but at this time we do know only one person was involved in the attack,” the news anchor said. The sound cascaded from the ceiling in crystal-clear audio. The picture behind the anchor grew to incorporate the entire screen, at which point Hunter saw dozens of cop cars, lights flashing, parked in front of the entrance. Another correspondent, a man with a tight weasel face, approached one of the police officers—a woman—and shoved his mic in her face.
“Detective Riese, can you confirm reports that this attack was perpetrated by a patient admitted for mental health problems?”
Great, Hunter thought. It made the evening news. Must be a slow day. Bath watched the screen with the same sly smile, his eyes bright.
“We’re not releasing any information at this time,” the detective, a woman with dark brown hair and a severe pony-tail, said. “However, we are asking for any information the public may have on the whereabouts of Hunter Friskin,” a picture of Hunter dressed in a vampire costume appeared on screen. It was at least seven-years-old, and had been taken at one of the few Halloween parties Hunter attended in college. It was remarkable only in that Hunter had applied all his skills as a beautician to the make-up job, which was convincing in its depiction of a white-fanged monster covered in blood and gore. He had kept the picture at the funeral home, taped to his desk in the basement, to remind him to keep a sense of humor about mortality.
“…reported to your nearest law enforcement agency,” Detective Riese finished.
Wow, I’m the cause of a city-wide manhunt. It was actually kind of flattering, even if it didn’t add up. He rolled the pieces around, his eyes narrowing. Why would they splash his face across the camera and ask for information from the pubic for a simple assault charge?
Right on cue the screen changed to show the ID badge of a female hospital worker. It was the same stocky
nurse Hunter had found on the floor of his hospital room.
“Here is the picture of the previously undisclosed victim of this brutal attack. Though reports are still coming in, sources place the cause of death as strangulation.”
Death? Hunter’s eyes widened and he turned to Bath. The smile had spread across the petite man’s face.
“Keep watching,” Bath whispered. The shot changed to a single picture of the woman’s throat. The shot was pixelated and fuzzy—probably taken on someone’s phone—but despite the poor quality, angry red welts could be seen running along the woman’s neck. Looking closely, Hunter saw the welts were in the shape of a hand, and the neck had been twisted cruelly, bone bulging under the skin. Hunter couldn’t help but look down at his own hand, large and smooth, free of both calluses and blemishes.
“The most remarkable aspect,” the news anchor said, “is the hand-print left behind on the victim. The police are refusing to confirm, but it appears as if the attacker not only strangled the woman, but squeezed the life from her with a single hand.”
“Fascinating, Bill. I don’t think I’ve—” The voice of the co-anchor cut out as the TV shut off. Hunter looked back at his hands, which had started to shake. Was it possible? Could he have murdered another human being and not even known? All he could remember was the dream, wanting—needing—desperately to get out, and then waking to find the woman on the floor. I swear, I only thought I knocked her out.
The silence stretched as Hunter stared at his hands. Finally he lifted his head and met Bath’s eyes. “You knew all along?”
“Of course. Do you think we just kidnap people for fun? You were brought here for a reason, Hunter—wouldn’t you like to know what it is?”
“That woman—”
“The woman you murdered? It’s alright to say it out-loud. That is just the event that brought you here, not the reason.” Bath’s dark eyes never blinked. “You must be curious.”
Hunter looked at Karen, eyes wild. “You want me because I killed a nurse?”
“It wasn’t that you killed her, it was—” Karen began, but Bath cut her off with another sharp glance. Then, facing Hunter, he placed his smile back on his lips and said, “It’s an interesting way to kill someone, don’t you think?”
“It’s horrifying,” Hunter said warily, watching Karen out of the corner of his eye. She had bowed submissively when Bath cut her off, but now that his attention was fixed on Hunter her eyes had filled with rage. Then, as quick as it appeared, the anger vanished and the same blank, subservient expression returned.
“Horrifying…of course. But the means, Hunter, are extraordinary. You can see that, can’t you? You crushed that woman’s throat with one hand.” Bath shook his head. “Extraordinary.”
Anxious as he was, Hunter had to admit the little man was right. With one hand…he must have been raving, yanking at the restraints, the nurse probably came in to calm him—just thinking about it made him taste bile. Was it even physically possible? Adrenaline would have been pouring through him, and Hunter had always been strong. But one hand…
“Look, if you brought me here because you think I’m going to kill someone—”
Bath laughed again, and Hunter felt like he’d been slapped across the face. His vision tilted and the room swam in and out of focus, red-tinged and ringing with screams. But it was only a second, and when his eyes cleared he saw Bath eying him with amusement.
“Hunter, if you knew the half of it. It’s true, we found you because of the nurse’s death. We have teams of people scouring the news, looking for certain…circumstances. Extraordinary strength, unexplained tissue regeneration, telepathy, unusual mental recall—you get the idea.”
“So you’re looking for freaks.”
“If you like,” Bath held up his hand, eyes still on Hunter, and the skinny young man behind the couch filled it with a cup of light brown liquid. Bath took a sip and sighed contentedly. His eyes closed, and almost a minute of silence passed before they opened again. “Sorry, where was I?”
“Freaks.”
“Right,” Bath took another sip. “Call them whatever you’d like, but these aren’t circus acts we’re looking for. Zadkiel, a demonstration.”
Hunter angled to Karen, but there was only emptiness where she stood a moment ago. He felt a tap on his shoulder and saw Karen standing on the other side of the couch. She grinned and disappeared.
“What the—” Hunter leaped from his seat, scanning the room. His eyes swept the far corner, where the bar sat, disguised as a row of bamboo trees, and Karen suddenly popped back into view. She gave Hunter another playful grin, and was gone. Another tap on his shoulder, and he spun to see Karen standing behind him.
“Some ‘freak,’ wouldn’t you say?” Asked Bath.
Hunter sat back down, eyes glued on Karen. “What are you people?”
“What are we? What are you, Hunter Friskin?” Bath placed his drink on the table and joined Karen. Though she was taller by several inches, she seemed to shrink as Bath stood beside her.
“We’ve been called many things.” Bath said. “But my favorite…is angel.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Calm down, Hunter told himself. Don’t panic, you can still get out of this alive.
“Um…angel?” He asked.
Karen looked at Bath, and after a small nod from the petite man, sat next to Hunter and took his hand in hers. “I know this is a lot to take in,” she said. “But we’ve all been there. Lost, confused. Angry.”
“Not all of us,” Bath said flippantly.
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Of course not,” Karen purred, stroking Hunter’s hand. “That’s why we’re here. The transitional period is difficult for all of us.”
Hunter pulled back his hand. “I don’t know who you people are, or how you did any of…” He gestured helplessly around the room that Karen had just…had just…
Teleported?
“…any of that,” Hunter continued. “But angels? I’m not crazy.”
“Actually, according to the news you are,” said Bath. “But Zadkiel’s right; most Apkallu think they’re crazy at first. As your memories return you’ll find the rabbit hole goes far deeper. Crazy is just the beginning”
“Memories?”
Bath nodded. “I imagine you’ve already experienced a few. Troublesome little bastards.”
“I don’t have any memories.”
“Really? No dreams that plague your sleep? No waking nightmares?”
Hunter thought of the red filter and the phantom battle cries. The strange language he kept hearing. They were just dreams, he thought. But a part of himself knew differently. Dreams don’t kill people.
“I don’t know,” Hunter said.
Bath cocked his head. “You don’t know? Adorable.”
“Hunter, I get it. I know where you’re coming from,” Karen tried to take his hand again, but Hunter kept it fixed to his leg. “These things you can do, the dreams….when it happened to me I was terrified. But the Adonai found me, they helped me through it.”
“Adonai?”
“The chosen few, the blessed,” Bath said, his voice raising, eyes alight. “The kings of the Apkallu.”
Apkallu, Adonai? Should I be taking notes? “You keep repeating that,” Hunter said. “’Apkallu.’”
Bath smiled. “It’s what we are…now.”
“A second ago you were angels.”
The smile faded. “Do I look like an angel to you, Hunter?”
“Um,” Hunter searched for the right words. “Not at the moment?”
“Of course not!” Bath threw his arms up, rolling his eyes. “Why would an angel waist time talking with a human?” His face grew pensive. “We have fallen. We are more than what we seem, but less than what we were. Apkallu.”
The circular logic didn’t seem to bother Bath, so instead of arguing Hunter opted for a different tactic. “Fine. If you want to give me the pitch, by all means, go for it. Ange
ls, Vampires, Werewolves, have at it. What does any of that have to do with that lady in the hospital?”
Bath laughed, and the room swam in Hunter’s eyes. His voice cracked through Hunter like an electrical storm. “I tell you that you’re a member of the celestial chorus, and you’re worried about what happened to a nurse?”
Hunter closed his eyes and when he opened them again the room was still, his vertigo a memory. He took a slow breath. “Call her whatever you want—where I’m from we still go away for murder.” Murder. There. He had said it aloud. His gut tightened and he tasted yesterday’s cornflakes in the back of his throat. It was the last meal he’d eaten.
Bath shook his head. “You’re going to be fine. Once we find out if you belong with us we’ll get this whole…” Bath glanced at the TV, “…mess dealt with.”
“’Belong with you?’” Hunter turned to Karen. “This whole time you’ve been trying to convince me I’m a…what the hell was it? Aptoto?”
Karen’s lips tightened. “Apkallu. Yes. But there are different…there are things you don’t understand—”
“What she means,” Bath interrupted. “Is whether you’re one of us, or one of them.”
Hunter sat back and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “Maybe we’d better start from the beginning,” Karen said, glancing questionably at Bath.
“Fine, fine,” the petite man lowered himself into a deep leather couch opposite Hunter. “Everything you see around you, the trees, the hills, the seas—they were all ours. Once.”
“Ours? You mean…angels?”
Bath waved his hand dismissively. “Yes. Though we have other names. But over time things changed.” The olive-skinned man stopped and tapped a finger against his lip. Hunter opened his mouth, but Bath waved him shut. “There will be more when we’re sure of your allegiance. For now, just know there’s a war. A war that’s raged the span of human history. And wars come with…casualties.” Bath said the word with a sneer.
“You mean in heaven?” Hunter asked.
“I mean in the beyond. But as you can see,” Bath looked at Karen pointedly. “The effects of that war have spilled onto this world.”