The Better Part of Darkness

by Kelly Gay

  Keys finally jingled in the door. A short young man in a white lab coat slipped every key on the ring into the lock before finally getting the right one. Successful, he gave me a quick victory smile and shoved his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose.

  “Sorry about that, Detective,” he mumbled as I entered the sterile lobby. He fell in step beside me, directing me across the polished wood floor to the executive elevator. “Doctor Mott is in his lab, but” —he slid a card key into the elevator slot—“he’s looking forward to speaking with you.”

  Relief surged through me as I stepped into the elevator. “I wasn’t sure he’d remember me,” I confessed.

  “Oh, no worries there. He never forgets a face or a name. Genius and all …” He pressed the sixth button.

  Instinctively, I braced for the lift, but gasped as the elevator went down instead.

  “Should’ve warned you about that. All the labs are underground.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Andy Myers, Doctor Mott’s assistant. Well, one of them. He has a herd of us.”

  I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  We faced the doors, waiting in that polite yet awkward silence. I caught Andy staring intermittently at me and each time our eyes met, he smiled quickly and then looked away. It didn’t make an ounce of sense, but I had the feeling he was particularly excited to see me, like a kid with a juicy secret just itching to tell all his friends. His reaction made me more self-conscious than I already was.

  Get over it, Charlie. Nothing to be nervous about.

  I squared my shoulders and focused on the steel door in front of me, using the moment to tuck my hair behind my ears, scolding myself for not remembering to grab a clip before I’d left for The Bath House earlier. I rarely wore it down for work and was so used to having it up and out of my line of sight that when it was down, it became one of those incredibly irritating distractions. I should cut it all off; I just never could bring myself to actually do it.

  The elevator came to a stop, gravity pulling me and my queasy stomach down for a fraction of a second before the doors slid open to reveal a long, white-tiled hallway. As soon as the opening was large enough, I darted between the doors. Being underground, being here, about to speak to Mott … I’d avoided this for so long. And now the walls closed in on me.

  Andy joined me a second later. “This way,” he said, walking ahead of me.

  I fell in step behind him, struck by the complete stillness and hush, like we had stepped into a vacuum of space. A faint chemical scent, similar to rubbing alcohol, hung in the air. Lab doors were evenly spaced, all with keypads and no windows. It suddenly seemed more like Fort Knox than a lab.

  “Here we are.” Andy slid his key card into the slot attached to a door.

  It was now or never. And I’d come too far to back out now. With a deep breath, I entered the lab as Andy clicked the door closed behind me.

  He was here somewhere, lost in the cavernous space of stainless steel, lab tables, cabinets, and beakers. One corner of the lab looked like a hospital room, complete with a wall of one-way viewing glass. But what stunned me into stillness was the god-like being lying on the hospital bed secured in a series of straps. He was male, a red-haired throwback to the time of Viking warriors. A being so perfect he could be none other than Adonai, an Elysian divinity. He wore a white T-shirt and blue-and-white-striped pajama pants. His feet were bare. IVs stuck into the veins in his arm and the top of his right hand. Equipment monitored his breathing and brain patterns.

  What the hell was this?

  Abruptly, the Adonai turned his head and opened his eyes, staring directly at me. My heart stopped. His gaze bored into mine like twin heat-seeking missiles fueled by intense blue flame. An arched brow cocked. “Like what you see?” he asked in a husky voice ripped with contained rage.

  A bang made me jump. Jesus! The metallic echo sent a shot of adrenaline through my nerves as someone ground out, “Mother—”

  “Ahem!” Andy cleared his throat.

  Shuffling. Another bang.

  Titus Mott poked his head from behind one of the lab tables opposite the mock hospital room, slapped his hands on the table, and pushed to his feet. He grimaced as he rubbed a spot on the back of his head, messing his thick brown hair so that some of it stood up straight. It made him look like he’d just gotten out of bed.

  “She’s here, Doctor,” Andy said.

  “What?”

  Andy motioned to me. “Detective Madigan.”

  And just like that, I suddenly became the kid introduced to class mid-year. Standing in front of twenty faces and praying to be accepted and liked.

  Mott adjusted his glasses. The frames were made of light wire and gave him an edgy, hip look. He was young for what he’d accomplished so far in his life. An interview he’d done with Forbes magazine said he was forty-eight. There was just the faintest hint of graying at his left temple. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day, maybe two.

  He adjusted his lab coat, slipped something in his pocket, and then approached me with his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Detective. Really good.” He shook my hand warmly, his smile genuine.

  This was going a long way toward relieving my anxiety. Now if the Adonai would stop his creepy ogling, I’d actually feel somewhat normal. “I’m glad you still remember me.”

  He motioned to Andy. “You can go, Andy. Thank you.” Andy nodded and quietly left the room. “How about we go into my office?”

  With a quick glance at the Adonai, I followed Mott. I wanted to like the man who had saved my life, but the lab rat on the table was making it really difficult.

  Mott’s office wasn’t the room behind the glass, but a far corner with a small rug, well-worn couch, and leather chair. An old, scratched-up coffee table sat in the center of the rug. “This is my home away from home,” he said, sitting on the couch with a sigh as the cushion gave in to his weight. “Please sit. You want coffee, tea, bottled water, soda?”

  “No, thanks.” I sat on the leather chair and waited for him to lean over the arm of the couch, open the small fridge, and grab a can of soda for himself. Granted, the reason for coming was to talk about me, but I found myself asking, “Who’s the Adonai on the table?”

  Mott popped the tab and the can hissed. “His name is Llyran.”

  “And is Llyran volunteering to be your lab rat?” Nosy question, but I had to ask. Something felt very wrong about the situation.

  “Llyran is a Level Ten felon, Detective. It was either this or execution under Federation Law. He chose this.”

  His words stunned me into silence. A Level Ten felon was as bad as they came. Serial killer. Beyond help, beyond reformation, and unable to live a life sentence among others because he’d kill whoever came close enough. Stunned didn’t even begin to cover it. Looks were deceiving, and I was the first person who should know that.

  Our ancestors may have thought Elysia was heaven, but in reality it didn’t come close to our pristine ideals and beliefs. It was a world just as diverse as our own. And just like Earth and Charbydon, Elysia had its good and its evil, and all the gray matter in between. But, damn, it was hard to get past the looks sometimes. It was easier to believe a goblin like Auggie was evil than an angelic-looking being like Llyran.

  CHAPTER 7

  “What are you using him for?” I still didn’t like the fact that the man I’d held in such high regard was using another living being for science.

  “Well,” Titus said, leaning forward, eager to talk shop. “As you know, the nobility from both dimensions are the most powerful, the hardest to defeat. The Nitro-guns and Hefties I created for law enforcement do nothing but stun them for a moment, even on high settings. With Llyran, I’m searching for a way to neutralize his power. In essence, to make him like us long enough, I’m hoping, to catch and detain. The hard part is identifying the genes that give him his power and then creating a viable weapon capable of attacking or subduing those genes. So far we’ve been successful at large
force field containment, which is how Llyran was caught, but out in the field, as you know, a serviceable, easy-to-use weapon will make all the difference.”

  I was suitably impressed. Without Titus Mott and his inventions, we’d never have a fighting chance. Of course, if it hadn’t been for his meddling and eventual discovery of Elysia and Charbydon, the off-worlders never would’ve come out of the woodwork and into mainstream society. At least he was trying to make up for it now.

  “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you,” I finally said.

  He dipped his head in agreement and then took a long drink of his soda. “So what brings you to my lab, Detective?”

  Here it comes.

  I drew in a deep breath. “Actually—” Just breathe. It’s no big deal. “I was hoping you could tell me about that night.” Goose bumps lifted the hairs on my arms. “The night I died.”

  Thank God. I’d gotten the words out. The small of my back grew hot. I resisted the urge to rub my arms and instead focused on Mott. I was a detective, after all. Part of my job was to study body language, and it was hell of a lot easier to focus on him and forget about my own haywire reactions.

  His elbows settled on his knees, which touched the edge of the coffee table. He tapped two fingers on the table. “Wow.”

  I bristled. “Wow, what?”

  After a thoughtful pause, he said, “After all these months, I didn’t think … just a surprise, that’s all.” He scratched his stubble, studying me with candid, scientific thoroughness. “Well, you’re looking none the worse for wear.”

  “Thanks.” I think. I studied him, too, intrigued by the contrasts. Maturity and purpose burned in his eyes, but the rest of him appeared casual and slightly offbeat. He bit his cheek, thinking.

  “How about you tell me if there’s something specific you’d like to know. Oh, hold on; let me turn on my recorder.” He jumped up, brought back a small voice recorder, and placed it on the coffee table.

  “Um, I—”

  He settled into the cushions, his entire face illuminated with anticipation. I could easily picture him rubbing his hands together in mad scientist glee. “Among other things, I’ve been researching out-of-body experiences, dying, and resurrection. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Yeah, I did, but he seemed so excited about hearing what I had to say. “No, it’s fine.”

  “Terrific.” He pushed the record button. “Ready when you are.”

  The nerves returned thanks to that little black box on the table. Mott wasn’t what I’d expected, and the Adonai across the room was still staring. I tried to ignore it and get over my fear of talking about that night, but it was harder than I thought.

  Maybe I should have taken that drink after all. My mouth had gone bone dry. Oh, for God’s sake, Charlie, just do it. Deep breath a-a-a-nd go …

  “I’ve been having nightmares ever since you brought me back,” I forced out in one breath. “I thought it was just a dream, but I’m beginning to wonder whether some of it actually happened that night, after I died.”

  “Like a repressed memory.”

  “Right. Do you remember anyone else being in the room with you when you were there?”

  “You think someone else was there?”

  “You tell me.”

  He sat back and shrugged. “There were lots of people. In and out. Doctors, nurses. Your partner. I couldn’t possibly remember them all.”

  “But you were left alone with me, when they all gave up. It was just you. You kept trying.” He nodded. “And no one came in then, during that time?”

  “Charlie.” He shifted to look at me squarely, his knee bumping into mine. “Often those who experience near-death see people—loved ones, beings they describe as angels or even God. Is that what you saw?”

  “No, it was more like the devil,” I muttered, frustrated. “Sorry.” I rubbed my face with both hands and let out a tired exhale. “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore. I thought I saw someone earlier tonight who looked like the man in my dream. I don’t know. Maybe it was just a close resemblance, or maybe I’d seen him before the near-death.”

  Mott’s hand on my knee brought the direction of my thoughts back to him. “Trauma leaves all manner of scars, some unseen.” He lifted his comforting hand, leaving a cold spot where warmth had just been. Inventor’s hands; stained with ink and covered in cuts, scratches, and calluses, both old and new. “How have you been feeling physically since then?”

  “Exhausted. I wake and feel like I’ve been up all night working.”

  “Anything else?” he asked in a tone that tried too hard to be casual.

  I straightened in the chair. “Why?”

  “Often, in the cases I’ve studied so far, residual effects can linger on a person. Psychic energy. An awakening of sorts. Your brush with death, assuming you had a near-death experience—which by all accounts you seem to be saying you had—could’ve caused you to come back with a new awareness, added intuition, a stronger sixth sense … things like that.”

  Made sense, I guess. Who was I to say it wasn’t possible? Hell, obviously, I’d come back with something. Something akin to a war inside me. Something that gave me the strength to kill one minute and the ability to heal the next.

  “Are you experiencing a greater psychic awareness?”

  Did he mean was I more intuitive, could I sense people’s emotions more easily than before? “Yes. But there are other things. I’m stronger. I heal faster than normal.” I thought of the green flash I saw briefly around Aaron in The Bath House. “I think I’m starting to see auras or flashes of color around people … I know. I’ve lost my mind, right?”

  “No, no, you haven’t. Who’s to say what happens during this sort of experience? We still don’t know. How’s your health?”

  “Fine. I haven’t been sick in a long time. Just tired.” He couldn’t help me. My hope deflated. He didn’t know any more about near-death than I did. “Are you sure no one else came into the room?”

  Mott shook his head and gave me a sorry half-smile. I felt more frustrated than ever. I stood, eager to get out of the lab. The Adonai on the table hadn’t stopped staring the entire time, that small, cruel smile still playing on his lips. When I rose, I turned my back to him and focused on Mott. “Thanks for seeing me, Doctor Mott.”

  “Please, just Titus,” he said, standing. “My parents were both historians. Had a thing for Latin names.”

  I smiled.

  He motioned me from his living room. “I enjoyed seeing you again, Detective. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. But I’d like for you to come by for a thorough examination. We may yet find a reason for your symptoms. Please schedule it with Andy on your way out.”

  I nodded and had to turn toward Llyran to step around the chair. Briefly, our eyes connected. His grin widened, but I looked away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The guy was a serial killer and deserved whatever the hell Mott was doing to him. “Don’t be a stranger, Charlie Madigan,” he called, enjoying whatever mind game he was playing. Probably got off on it, the sicko.

  My eyelids grew heavy on the drive home. It was past 2A.M. The road stretched out before me, monotonous and empty save for a few stragglers like myself. Lulled by the quiet hum of the car, my emotions reared to the surface. Defeat pricked my ego and spread sour, like heartburn, through my chest.

  I was changing inside, and I needed help. I just didn’t know where to turn.

  Hank and Bryn had repeatedly offered, but I couldn’t bring myself to draw them into whatever was going on with me. I didn’t want them to see me as any different than the way I used to be before I died. Me. Charlie Madigan. Detective. Human. Mother. Now it seemed I barely resembled myself.

  No, I couldn’t go to them; somebody in my life had to see me normally. I needed that kind of stability. My fingers flexed on the steering wheel, and I had to consciously stop myself from squeezing so tight. I should’ve made an appointment with Andy on the way out of the la
b, but it hadn’t felt right. I kept thinking of Llyran—I didn’t want to be Titus Mott’s latest lab rat.

  In my line of work I was privy to all manner of supernatural beings and experts. Maybe I could find someone neutral, someone who could be objective, someone powerful and knowledgeable enough to know exactly what my problem was. A few names floated around in my head as I hit the blinker to turn onto my street. Unfortunately, I’d pissed off most of them enough times that they’d probably shut the door in my face.

  A group of people blocked the street up ahead directly in front of my house. There were bright lights, a camera van, and people with signs. Immediately I hit the lights and pulled the Tahoe to the curb. A couple of my neighbors were walking to or from the scene. A few patrol cars blocked the street and officers were trying to keep order. This couldn’t be good. I turned up my scanner and listened.

  Someone had thrown a brick through my window.

  The police had been called. Then the media.

  Now the jinn, with CPP support, were picketing my house.

  This was total bullshit. I got out of the car, tugged on my jacket, flipped the collar, and walked casually toward my house, somewhat hidden by the darkness and the row of cars parked along the street across from the house. With every step my anger grew. I loved our little bungalow, and those assholes were trampling all over the lawn, in the flower beds, and some soon-to-be-hurting jerk-off had broken my front window. I stopped behind a parked car, careful not to draw attention from the two jinn stationed near the house. They were looking, hoping I’d show up, hoping, I realized, to issue a summons from Grigori Tennin. Great. Couldn’t they have waited until morning, at least?

  A line of officers pushed some of the more irate picketers off my lawn and onto the sidewalk. They were mostly jinn elders and females, goblins, imps, and human sympathizers.

  A CPP representative was giving an interview in front of my house. Otorius. The reporter was a human from Channel Two News.