by Phillip Shaw
Kim walked off towards her squad car to head back to the precinct. Nothing more to see here. She started the car off and pulled out into the traffic. Backed up the whole way to midtown. Great, more time to think. Kim Clements had more than enough time to think recently, a string of relationships with co-workers and people associated with the justice department had dried up in the past five years. She wasn't losing her looks, the petite figure and blonde bobbed hair still drew as many glances on the sidewalks as women half her age. There was something else. Detective Clements was damaged goods.
It looked to all her colleagues that Kim Clements was ready to settle down, her relationship with Gary Fletcher from the DA's office was the one that tamed her, all the other officers' wives breathed a sigh of relief. Three happy years spent working in tandem, one catching the felons the other prosecuting them. Then Valentine's Day last year it all changed. Kim had been working on a particularly nasty set of murders. Women in their early twenties were being stalked and killed. The murderer was identified as the same person from the bodies. All the women were killed with a single puncture wound to the top of the head with a needle-like blade. There seemed to be one found every month, no correlation between the victims, except age and a punctured head. Kim and Gary had sat up for many long sleepless nights going through the files, Gary had gone at it like a man possessed he talked through every possible scenario and tried to build a psychological profile of the killer. Kim had finally found her intellectual equal.
On Valentine's night, she had planned a surprise. Gary had been scheduled to work late at the office and couldn't get out of it. Kim had put on her newest lingerie, a long dark wig and wrapped up in a trench coat to go down to the office. On reaching Gary's office with a bottle of wine she was shocked to find it empty. After trying his cell phone all night she had hopped on the subway to take her to her apartment. The thrill of being dressed like that in a public place, a different persona, she felt electric; she stopped off and walked the short distance up the subway steps. The sound of footsteps behind her may have bothered other women but she still had her gun and badge in the trench coat. She turned down her street and the footsteps stopped, looking around for some reason she missed the hand grabbing her around the waist. All she could hear were snorting sounds coming from her attacker, his breath hot on the back of her neck when she saw the blade drawn out she knew who this was. The attacker had no idea who he had ambushed, reaching into her coat and grabbing for her revolver Kim knew she didn't need to bring it out, feeling for the safety she flicked it off and squeezed the trigger, the bullet went out through the back of the coat and into the chest of the killer, she spun around staring at the culmination of her last few months work. The body was slim but powerful, she recognised the shoes, she definitely recognised the belt and reaching up to the simple black mask she hoped she was wrong.
Kim drove past the spot most days. It always brought the same flashbacks, Gary the lover she dreamed off lying in the gutter gunshot wound through the chest, a thin foil dagger on the ground and standing over him his lover a police officer of this great city dressed like a whore. It wasn't just Gary the serial killer that died that night, the spark of femininity inside her, her flirtatious nature, her love of sex. They all ran into the gutter with his blood. Now this was all that remained, a husk of a person, soulless and hollow, the perfect cop.
Detective Clements parked in the underground space and began the journey to her office. Just as she had the day they went to Gary's apartment, after weeks of searching they had found a hollowed out compartment in the wardrobe. His journal had revealed the motives and desires of this creature. The motive for the killings was Kim. Gary viewed her as perfection; all the other girls he saw were just trying to be her. By removing them he kept her elevated. For Kim being the reason for the deaths of the six women had meant repeated visits to the departments' counsellor. Today was time for another such visit. The fact that her bust number were through the roof since that night weren't viewed as progress, they were an indication that the humanity was gone from Detective Clements.
She passed through all the floors until she got to homicide; the doctor was waiting in her office. Kim wandered down to the coffee machine. The smoke-free workplace of the last few years did nothing for the place, the ceiling was still stained and the scum of the earth still flaunted their wares on the streets of New York. People like Gary Fletcher, people that needed to be erased.
Her office was a statement in function if you didn't count the drinks cabinet in her drawer and the bottles of pills in the filing cabinet it looked like a man's office, it was in need of a woman's touch. The calendar on the wall, a year old stopped at the month she died inside, there were no plants, no flowers just her work, an endless stream of naked, mutilated bodies, linked with spider diagrams to the nearest suspects. The name of Tony Senza would be joining them momentarily when she received word from the hospital. Modern medicine was advanced but when the subject was charcoal and unable to breathe unaided it would have been kinder to put a bullet in him. Doctor Flint greeted her professionally.
‘Hello Kim, are we ready for a chat?'
Kim offered up a non-descript response and sat down. Usually, when this started she retreated into herself. One year on and the good doctor had been unable to get any insight from her. Kim thought about openly carrying on with her paperwork while the session was on but she didn't want to extend this any further than necessary.
‘We'll start with something new, this week'. Flint said calmly. ‘Why did you sleep around before Fletcher?'
The question shattered Kim's ice-like grip on her emotions. ‘Fuck you!' she stared hard at the doctor, how dare he? Why does everything have to be about sex with shrinks? Regaining her composure she answered ‘Because I liked it, why do you have sex doctor? I like the feeling of being with someone as an equal, for me, it was no different than a game of racket ball'.
‘Interesting that you should compare it to sport, who won'?
Kim thought about her answer, what kind of answer could she give? Was it a game? ‘I…I… don't know.'
‘That is the first answer you have given me in our sessions Kim. I put it to you that you never won; you lost in the battle of sex with all these men. They used you, and you let them. You're drawn to a strong male character and that is why you ended up with Gary Fletcher. You didn't create him; you were pulled into him like the earth orbits the sun.'
Kim was shocked, all the mundane questions, all the usual psycho crap had come and gone, grief counselling, telling her that she saved lives that night, none of them had awakened her emotions like the blunt statement that had slapped her in the face. She almost cried but retreating back into her shell she felt something else, anger, the burning rage inside her that she had kept hidden for so long. She realised there and then that anger was what she should have used to get over this, not self-pity, not retreating into the recesses of her mind, not throwing herself into work. She should have smashed things, broken bones. She looked at the doctor sitting there smug, another case closed. She gathered her voice and sat back.
‘Doctor, if you had done your fucking job sooner, you might have got a response out of me. Now get out of my office before I show you what kind of games I like to win at!' She grabbed the stapler from her desk and smashed it against the wall.
Flint stood up and went to the door, ‘I will see you next month'. As he left the stapler slammed against the door where his head had been. She sat down and stared at her desk. The cloud over her had lifted. She felt like doing things again. Some would have to wait. The door knocked and she screamed for the junior lieutenant to come in.
‘Ma'am', he started, Kim could actually see fear in his eyes, what have I become? She beckoned for him to carry on. He was actually kind of cute. ‘We've identified the Doe in the room. It's Tyler Hutchens.
‘The tennis player? Are you kidding me? What is a millionaire sportsman doing with a low life like Tony Senza? Give me more.'
Kim sat
down and looked over the evidence. They had managed to identify Hutchens from the spot of blood found in the safe. From that, they traced traffic cameras around the freeways until they picked up his Ferrari. 8ut3n5. Personalised plates, asshole. Kim looked at the pictures of the car, mirrored glass, it was definitely his car. No way to tell who was driving. Kim felt alive again. ‘A car like that, it must have a tracker. Contact whatever security company they use and tell them it's been stolen. Hutchens isn't driving so we need to know who is. We find them and this might be an A to B case after all'.
The lieutenant ran out of the room and Kim stopped to look at herself in a reflection. She had been dead for a year, her body showing the signs of rot and decay. It was time to wake up. Fucking doctor she thought as she burst out onto the department floor.
Outside sitting in his car Dr Flint took out a black notebook, scribbling down near the back he lifted his phone and speed-dialled. ‘This is Flint, she's not one, no sign in a year, I ended it today.'
12. The Throne Room
Thomas Blain sat looking at the screens. News feed from all over the world flooding into his servers. He liked to keep a close eye on what was going on. From an early age, he realised there was something different inside him. Sitting as a teen in his high school class he had always stared at the teachers. They were in the authoritative positions and it irked him. The first person he destroyed set him on his path it taught him that control was within him but also taught him when to use it.
Mr Starks was his year head and his maths teacher. Thomas had a good relationship with him until matters in another class interfered. Blain the teenager hated French, it was pointless to him, English was the predominant language in the world, why learn another? he thought. The class was so boring Blain and the student beside him had devised a plan to get full marks, they simply didn't write any answers on their tests then when the time came to switch for marking they marked the blanks correct, books went back correct answers were added, everyone was happy. That is until he was discovered. He remembered heading to Mr Starks with the note from French class to get signed, he hadn't feared any punishment. Starks had stared at Blain, ‘How dare you, Thomas, I'm disappointed someone with your intelligence feels the need to cheat. What is it? Laziness? Or are you just not as smart as I thought?' The challenge to Blain from someone he didn't consider his equal had been enough to rile him. Blain had felt a surging power build behind his eyes. It wasn't uncontrollable, it didn't burst free, it surged to its height then just waited held in his eyes to unleash. When Thomas had unleashed it Mr Starks was there before him, his thoughts had been like simple paper, he saw them and folded them in his mind, redirected them, crushed the ones he didn't like and carefully changed the ones he could. The man in front of him who had been on the offensive against him had seemed to visibly pale in front of him. He had stopped shouting and sent Blain away.
Days later Mr Stark had been found in his car, the hosepipe had been placed close to the driver's window. He had died with a smile on his face.
Blain had been questioned by police officers. As the last person to see Starks alive before his death it had been routine. The fear Thomas Blain had felt at his role being discovered lived with him to this day. Sitting at his desk he still feared the world learning what Blaincorp really was.
Chloe Tatum walked in, Blain had no idea why he controlled her thoughts, and she was a mess. He looked at her make-up today. The lipstick was on correct for once but her foundation was laughable, it stopped around the edges of her face making her look like she was wearing a mask, as she walked in she caught the collection of the day's newspapers and sent them spiralling to the floor. The papers have more folds than her thoughts. Blain then knew why he had kept Tatum close. She was insignificant. There were a few select people in this building under his control, team leaders, a few of the more talented journalists and, of course, his personal staff. Tatum, however, being the anchor for the news show was a hidden plant. Anyone who met her had a low opinion of her and as such would have no idea how much of her he controlled. He had perpetuated the myth that they slept together to explain her rise to prominence but anyone with a brain could see how he looked at her. She was a tool in this building. Not the obvious kind that was shown off to his peers Chloe Tatum was a hidden blade.
‘Mr Blain, I have an urgent communication from Daniel Miller.'
‘Thank you, Chloe, I'll take it here, in private.'
Blain waited until she left and clicked the stream open on his screen, there before him was Magister Miller. Despite being completely devoted to Blain, the man had a closed mind; he had been trained to withstand even someone as powerful as him. To Blain, all Magisters were a threat.
‘Daniel, to what do I owe this pleasure of an interruption?'
‘Mr Blain, there's been a development in our meeting. They have sent people to find the God. They believe with the events in Burma that he must have awakened'.
Blain pondered for a moment, why are they seeking him? He knew that the Magisters were necessary but this news troubled him. If the Magisters found the lord Arbitan what would they do with him? ‘I take it from your tone of voice that you aren't being sent to find him?' Miller shook his head.
‘I have to get back the discussions are on-going.'
Blain clicked the stream off. It was unusual Blain had communicated from the Magisters' headquarters. Of course, Blain knew they were in Cologne, he had gleamed that information from Miller with the use of an influenced girl from the admin department, sending her to Miller's bed then having her be found dead on the Thames had cemented his control over the Magister. He remembered the newspaper campaign launched to find the killer and how he had sympathised with Miller and protected him. Miller was meant to be his handler.
Miller had revealed the location of the offices but not their greatest secrets. A few of Blain's eyes and ears had heard mentions of ‘histories' but nothing more. He could only presume that they knew something from the past. They had some form of guidebook to what was going on. The building itself was impervious to satellite scans, thermals only picked up a few bodies on the floor but he had watched dozens go in and none come out. Underground was the only answer but how deep did the Magister's lair go? In any case, Blain knew he had to get to Arbitan first. He knew what it was like to be surprised by the Magisters.
Blain had been living the life in university, he had decided to go into politics and set his sights on joining a lesser political party and taking them to power. It started well he joined the Liberation of London movement and gained them some surprising results in the University elections. Surprising to others of course, not Blain. He had become quite skilled at controlling people. Anyone who had a large group of friends at the University was a target. Blain had strolled up them requested a moment of their time and seconds later they were telling all their friends to vote for Blain. He was always careful; he hadn't won by a landslide just a comfortable margin. Making his acceptance speech he eyed up what lucky girl would be sharing his company that night. He saw her standing staring right at him. Slim, short haired tight t-shirt exposing her curves and surprisingly older than the others in the crowd. She could have been thirty but he would be the one in charge later.
He walked up to the girl with two drinks in hand. She was already into him he could tell, no need to influence her yet, he followed her out back, he remembered her perfect form from behind then everything went dark. A hood went over his head and he felt a sensation in his arm. When Blain awoke he was in a holding room with the girl and another man staring at him. They had laid out what they knew about him, they knew his power they knew his previous actions, more importantly, they treated him like a God, after explaining to him that they were there to help him for the rest of his life they showed how he couldn't influence their minds. Blain had listened as they laid out his path; they had chosen him to go into media. He would run a small newspaper firm in London and control the information coming in from around the world. He would help them find o
thers like him. They also had told him why they found him. They were preparing for a battle that they had called an ‘Event' he would be needed on that day. They told him it was their job to protect him until then. Until the champion of the world returned to lead them.
Blain often wondered where that attractive Magister had gone. She would have been so much easier on the eye than Chloe Tatum. To this day, he regretted them finding him. He wanted to forge his own path, not be some puppet on a throne with no power of his own. Looking around he had done pretty well to build his empire. He had started filtering the news reports and passing the info to the Magister's. He looked for strange survival stories, a teen on a bus, a man with his eyes gouged out, a child who had managed to score abnormally highly on exams, all of these could be signs of the ability or of people reaction to it. He had never come into contact with a Denouncer but the thought of someone in front of him, unable to survive in the world if he did had shaped his building plans.
His office was majestic, large windows gave him a view of the financial district of London, the dark wooden floor was unusual in modern offices but it helped Blain feel like he was part of something older, something natural. The high ceiling and black marble walls were a different matter, though. He wanted to portray the image of an invincible ruler. The darkness from the walls and the ceiling served to hide the fail safes he had built into the room. There were hidden cameras in the ceiling and the walls which had the menacing look were lined with Kevlar, no bullets or bombs would penetrate them. The glass which looked out over London was thicker than necessary; he thought it could stop a rocket if needed. If a Denouncer managed to get as far as being in the room itself one touch of any of the panic buttons dotted around the room summoned his personal guards. They were always stationed in the so-called shareholders office beside him. In suits, they were completely under his control and would die to protect him.