[Dominion 01.0] Dominion

by S. E. Lund

  "Oh, hell," I say, when I realized it's Julien. He's barely visible, wearing his long black trench coat and black fedora.

  "What in God's name are you doing walking around alone while it's still dark?" he says, his voice almost a hiss. "Have you no sense?"

  "I was just getting coffee."

  "At four in the morning?"

  "Julien, Michel and Ed have agreed that we're flying back with Soren. I want to go on the first flight. I don't want to go back with Soren."

  "Soren's not going to hurt you."

  I shake my head. He must have gotten to Julien as well.

  "Soren's compelled you, too."

  "Quiet," he says, his voice low. He pulls me over between two parked semi-trailer trucks and pushes me against one. He presses his hand over my mouth and shakes his head quickly.

  A lone man walks through the parking lot towards us. Julien pulls his coat around me as if to hide me from sight. I glance up at his face. He speaks in a quiet voice, his tone flat. "Don't say a word."

  I try to get hold of myself, realizing that I'm in danger from whoever might be following me. I stand with Julien's arms around me until the man has gone to one of the other semi-trailers and then I try to pull away.

  "No. Just keep quiet for a minute."

  I just stand there, waiting and Julien buries his nose in my hair and neck, inhaling deeply.

  "Christ, Eve," he says. "Why in hell would you think of going out alone? Have you learned nothing about the danger you're in?"

  I frown at him.

  "I'm in danger from Soren, and you're all convinced he won't take me."

  "Soren's not going to take you." He shakes his head. "Eve. You must be extremely careful. You simply can't go out alone," he says, brushing hair off my face. "This was the worst time possible to be brought into this life, but there was no choice. You just have to accept reality."

  I look around, trying to avoid his eyes because I'm so frustrated at Soren's ability to manipulate them all.

  "I hate this," I say. "I hate you, and Michel and Ed and everything."

  "Hush," he says, his grin lopsided. "No you don't. You don't hate me. You don’t hate Michel. In fact, you like us both a little too much." He takes my arm, gently escorting me towards the coffee shop. "It's not what you imagined, but it's reality. You're a survivor, Eve. You just have to accept things for what they are and cooperate."

  He squeezes my arm and I tug it away, but it's futile.

  "You enjoy this, don't you?" I say, angry at his possessiveness. "This sense of ownership you and your brother have over me."

  "No," he says. "I don't, Eve. Actually, I'm mad at you. You have no idea how much danger you put yourself in by coming out here."

  "You're all putting me in danger, letting me go back with Soren on his plane."

  "Don't worry, Eve. He's not going to take you."

  "You keep saying that. Don't you realize he's compelled you?"

  We reached the door to the hotel.

  "You go on in. I'll get you a cup of coffee. Medium roast with cream, right? I'll be up in about fifteen minutes. I have to make a call first. I don't know how Michel let you out of his sight."

  He pushes me forward and I enter the hotel with my keycard and go to the bank of elevators. I get in the elevator and go back to my room.

  I check Michel's room but there's no answer. At 4:30 a.m. Julien still hasn't come to my room so I knock on the door adjoining my room once more and call Michel's name.

  There's still no answer. I call down to the front desk and ask the night clerk if she knows where Ed and Michel are.

  "Oh, he and Special Agent de Cernay left for the airport twenty minutes ago. They left word that you were flying back with a Mr. Henrickson later this morning."

  "What?"

  The clerk starts to repeat herself but I cut her off.

  "They're gone?"

  "Yes, I called a cab for them. They left for the airport."

  All I can think is that this is a nightmare and soon I'll wake up and see that none of the preceding happened – it's all been a bad dream.

  "Can you tell me what room Julien de Cernay is in?"

  She pauses on the other end for a moment. "I'm sorry. We have no guest registered with that name."

  I sigh. What the hell?

  "Can you call me a taxi? I have to make it to the airport for the flight."

  The clerk frowned. "Well," she says slowly, "that might be a bit hard since it's already taken off."

  "What?" Damn.

  "Agent O'Neil said he sent you an email," the clerk says, her voice hopeful.

  "Thank you," I say and hang up.

  I open my cell and check my mail. There it is:

  Eve,

  Michel and I are going back now on the Council jet. It's fixed and we'll be gone at 4:30. Colonel Lindgren will send a driver at 11:00 so you can catch a ride out to his airstrip in time for his flight. Glad you decided to fly back with him – you looked really tired when we spoke last night and I agree – some sleep and a later flight will be good for you, given your recent experiences. Take the rest of the day off and see you at work tomorrow night.

  Ed.

  What? I talked to him? I have no memory of talking to him. Soren must have compelled him, too. I sit on the small sofa in the room and try to decide. I can't even get a rental because I don't have a credit card so I grit my teeth and will fly back with Soren. I have a feeling it will be quite a test, whatever happens.

  The car picks me up at 11:00. A black limo, the driver tips his cap and opens the door for me before loading my bag into the trunk. It takes just under an hour to arrive and I'm glad for the plastic partition that separates the driver from the passenger.

  We drive through the countryside to the base, the driver sailing through the guardhouse checkpoint without even rolling down his window. The limo stops at the hangar and the driver opens my door, ushering me over to the hanger door. He brings my bag out and I wait for someone to come and get me.

  The pilot opens the hangar side door and shakes my hand. He's a very young clean-cut man, red-blooded son of the Mid-West, who introduces himself with that familiar soft drawl that's not quite southern Cowboy, but not Northeastern that I'm more used to hearing.

  "Come this way," he says. "Colonel Lindgren is already on the plane."

  I follow him, steeling myself for the experience of spending a couple of hours in his presence – alone. I climb up the steps to the door and enter. Next I step through a heavy draped doorway and into the cocoon-like interior. It's been remodeled and has four plush armchair-like seats. The window shades are closed and the room is lit by soft yellow lamps along the cabin bulkhead.

  Soren is seated in one of the chairs reading a file when I enter.

  "Eve, how nice to see you again." He stands and like a gentleman, comes and shakes my gloved hand. He lays his other hand over it, clasping my smaller hand in his. "I was glad that at least one of you could fly with me. Agent O'Neil sent me a note to let me know you'd had a difficult couple of days and would sleep in, take the later flight with me. Glad I could be of service."

  "What a load of bullshit," I say, unwilling to play this game of pleasantries between enemies. "You compelled Michel to let me come alone with you. Probably Julien and Ed as well."

  He smiles. "You have a saucy mouth," he says. "I love saucy, Eve, so don't think that will put me off. Eternity's so long and I do love a challenge. Now, take a seat. We'll be taking off shortly. If you don't mind, I have a bit of reading to do. Help yourself to a magazine or newspaper while we wait." He points to a table at the side of the cabin.

  I take off my coat and gloves, hanging them on the back of the seat and go over and select The New York Times. I need something to distract me for I hate small planes. In a large jet, I can pretend I'm on a bus or train, the ground firm beneath me. In a small plane, I'm unable to maintain the premise.

  "What's that sigh for?" Soren says after a moment. I didn't realize I made any soun
d. "Don't like small jets? Or are you just tired?"

  Is he reading my mind at a distance?

  "I prefer larger jets, actually, Colonel," I say, hating to admit fear to him.

  "Please call me Soren. Eve, my pilot is very skilled. Ex-top gun, former member of an aerobatics team."

  "I'll be fine."

  The engines start as the pilot goes over his pre-flight check, their whine signifying the inevitability of this trip. I breathe deeply and look around, trying to distract myself from the flight. I try to pretend I'm on a small bus. Deny that it's a plane - that I'm flying on a cushion of air. I can do it on a 727. I suspect I won't pull it off in this Lear jet. I'd need a drink or two for that.

  Soren stands and comes over to me, bending over me, his face close to mine, and tethers me in before I can move to stop him. His skin is so pale, long blond hair pulled back as before. He's handsome in a cold way. He has me strapped in so quickly, I can't even protest. He pulls the shoulder belt, keeping one hand in between the belt and my chest to ensure comfort, looking at me closely as he tightens it.

  "There," he says, standing up, keeping his eyes on mine as if to gauge my response at what he's about to tell me. "My pilot informs me that we're in for some turbulence between here and Boston. Might get pretty choppy, so you'll need to keep this on."

  I swallow, hating turbulence and the feeling that's growing in me - my heart pounding at the prospect. I'm afraid of looking foolish more than death. Death is inevitable - looking foolish likely is too, but at least one could fight that.

  "Would you like a drink? It might help calm you."

  "Isn't it a bit early?"

  Soren laughs. "As we say in the forces, the sun is always over the yardarm somewhere in the world."

  "What have you got?" I ask, my voice a bit shaky.

  "Very good cognac. Here," he says and goes to a small bar, pulling out a bottle of the liquor. I watch as he un-stoppers the bottle and pours the amber liquid in crystal snifters, turning the snifter on the side to gauge the amount.

  "Perfect," he says, handing me one of the snifters. "Do you drink cognac?"

  I shake my head. "My father did. I rarely drink. When I fly, at social gatherings."

  He nods. "Hard to lose a father."

  I frown. "He's not dead."

  He glances up. "Might as well be, considering you haven't seen him for so long."

  "Why are you bringing him up?"

  "You're the one who brought him up." He holds up a hand. "Please, relax." He sits down in his seat, strapping himself in and then takes the snifter in his hand. He holds it up and nods to me. "Cheers." He takes a sip, smacking his lips and letting out a sigh of appreciation. Another sip and then he places his snifter down and opens his briefcase. "I've got a lot of work ahead of me," he says, and opens a file thick with paper. "I'm afraid I won't be very good company, Eve."

  I nod, glad that he's going to be busy with work. I open a National Geographic and begin exploring the issue, but soon close it and my eyes, leaning my head back, planning to read once we level off. After a few moments, I feel the plane move and open my eyes.

  "Well," Soren says, putting down his papers and leaning his own head back. "We're off."

  The speed increases and I look at the window, glad in a way that the shutters are pulled. This way I can pretend I'm still in the limo and we're just driving really fast and up a steep hill.

  The plane rises and falls softly as we climb higher. I hate that feeling, preferring the bumps of a firm highway beneath tires.

  After what seems like an eternity, we level off and one of the pilots comes back to us. He's dressed in fatigues, his dark hair cut very short, his brown eyes set in a face of such innocent youth I wondered how he can be old enough to fly this plane.

  "Miss," he says, nodding at me then smiling at Soren.

  "James," Soren says, smiling and putting his papers down. The young man leans against the desk and looks at Soren.

  "We've reached cruising speed and altitude. We'll be in Boston on schedule. Your flight leaves at 2030 hours. Is there anything you need now?"

  Soren shakes his head. The pilot returns to the cockpit and I to my magazine. It's as I'm contemplating Soren's identity that I feel the first bumps of turbulence. Small at first, like riding in a small craft on a choppy sea, they grow in intensity and soon, Soren downs his cognac. He picks up another document, though, and reads it over, flipping pages as he scans the material, unconcerned.

  Of course, I'm fearful and likely white as a ghost. The pilot's voice comes over the intercom.

  "Colonel, we've got a system in front of us. I'm going to ascend and try to clear it, get out of this turbulence."

  "Please do," Soren replies, flipping the page of his document. Then, I feel a huge drop followed by several moderate bumps as we hit a pocket of air. Soren's snifter falls to the ground, and rolls around on the soft carpet.

  "Don't worry," Soren says, as if sensing my growing fear. "We'll be over this in a few moments, and it'll be a lot calmer."

  I close my eyes and can't help but mouth the Twenty-third Psalm in my mind. Despite my atheism, it's something even I resort to when under extreme stress – like when flying.

  "Are you Catholic, Eve?" he says softly.

  How did he do that? Is he reading my mind at a distance? I nod, repeating the psalm, gaining some comfort from it even though I don't believe any of it. I feel our ascent but the turbulence only seems to worsen and all at once I feel an incredible drop. My neck jars from it, my teeth grinding together.

  "Shit!" I can't help but cry out.

  "The pilot has to dive to get out of the worst of it - pretty bad - he was unable to clear through it. We'll have to drop down below it."

  He takes my hand in his and his touch is cool, his skin dry and smooth against my damp palm.

  "Don't worry," he says. "We'll be fine."

  This act of kindness, this attempt to calm me, makes me thankful for contact of any kind, even with him, and yet I hate him. He has Michel under his control and can do what he wants with me. I wonder if I can beat him in a fight if necessary.

  As the turbulence worsens, I turn to him. I don't know what I think he'll do - save us from crashing? If he's some sort of fallen angel, I feel certain he has powers to do such a thing, and I can't help but hope he will, almost willing to beg him to stop this, stop this terrifying descent.

  "Do something," I whisper, closing my eyes.

  He squeezes my hand again and after a very long moment, I feel the plane level out, slowly at first, then more rapidly until we're almost level. I open my eyes and look into his pale ones – he's been watching me. He doesn't smile; he doesn't say anything. Just lets go of my hand, but before he does, a sense of familiarity sweeps through me at his touch. I can't identify it, but it feels as if I know him. When he turns back to his closed briefcase, to retrieve his document, I understand the source of the feeling.

  He's the River Man.

  Soren puts down his paper and unfastens his belt. He picks up his snifter and then retrieves the bottle of cognac, pouring more for himself and then coming to my side, standing directly in front of me holding the bottle up. "More?" he asks.

  I look away, the realization that he's the killer filling me with dread.

  "I said, did you want some more?"

  I nod. The liquid sloshes in the crystal glass and I drink it down quickly. He then fills it once again and sits back down.

  I drink that down, too, and lean back, the warmth of the liquor comforting, heat burning down my throat and in my belly. We sit in silence for the rest of the trip, Soren reading his documents. My mind is unable to be blank, and I wonder if he'll let me go. Will he let me leave the plane, return to Michel or will I be a captive?

  I remember the dark wing-like shadows that spread out from his shoulders from the previous day. I've always accepted that there are such things as vampires. Am I now going to have to accept that there are also fallen angels?

  The liq
uor makes me drowsy and I must have fallen asleep for when I blink awake, we're descending towards a small airport near Boston.

  "See," Soren says. "That wasn't so bad. I let you sleep. I figured you needed it after everything that's happened."

  Once the plane taxis off the runway and over to the terminal, we disembark into the dusk, the sun having just set.

  I follow him, watching the way he exudes confidence, as if he owns the world. We reach the entrance to the hangar and there's a limo waiting for me, the driver at the open door.

  Soren extends his hand to me and I'm glad that I've put my gloves back on before we left the plane. Yet, I hesitate. I feel like a fraud to be shaking his hand, as if we're just a couple of professionals who shared a flight and are not enemies.

  "I'm sorry," I say quietly, turning my face away from him. "I can't pretend to be your friend, considering who I am and what you are and that you have both Michel and Julien in your control."

  "Oh, Eve," he chuckles, putting his briefcase down and grabbing me in a hug. I feel stiff, startled to be pulled into his embrace. "You think you know what I am," he whispers in my ear, his cheek pressed against mine. He squeezes me tightly, one hand going to the small of my back, pulling me against his body. "But you're wrong. You don't even know what you are."

  He slips a hand into my jacket pocket and I feel something hard and heavy slide to the bottom of it, clinking against my keys and change. Then he kisses my cheeks, one after the other, his tongue touching my skin the way Michel kissed me, and he's off, his briefcase in hand.

  I watch the swell of people close around him as he makes his way into the terminal. He's tall enough that I can watch him, his pale head bobbing above the crowd. He makes such a striking figure with his white skin such a contrast against his dark clothing. I see him bend down to someone and hear his deep mellow voice laugh out loud, jovial, full of exuberance.

  I slide my hand in my pocket and pull out a piece of fired red clay, cuneiform lettering stamped into its surface and a figure carved on it in relief. It appears to be a piece of broken pottery. Egyptian? Or even earlier – Mesopotamia? The figure depicts a half-lion half-bird. I rub my thumb over the rough edge of the semi-circular piece of clay. Soren has given me a clue of some kind - he wants me to know who or what he is. He claims to know my true identity.