Necropolis PD

by Nathan Sumsion

  “I haven’t killed a living person for some time now,” Mayweather says, smiling. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marsh toss his attacker off him like she were a child and move for his gun.

  Fingertips are scraping across my cheek when a clap of thunder erupts in the room. Marsh’s gun goes off and nearly blows Mayweather in half at the midsection. He drops to the floor, howling not in pain, but in fury. The blast knocked him about an arm’s length from me, and he starts to pull his body across the floor towards me, trailing viscera behind him. Marsh shoots again, removing one of the demon’s arms at the shoulder.

  Mayweather tips his head back and screams, a sound that trails ice down my spine. It is a sound filled with rage, malice, and pure hate. He is still entirely too close to me for my comfort. The shriek continues to grow in volume, and it takes me a second to realize I’m seeing a visible glow emanate from his eyes. Fiery energy begins to roar from his eye sockets, a blaze of magnesium that flares out blindingly.

  The scream cuts out suddenly, and Mayweather’s body rests in a heap on the ground, smoke curling up from empty eye sockets. The corpse is truly dead.

  Marsh pulls himself up from the floor and takes stock of the room. Jessica hasn’t moved, tears in her eyes, hands clutched in front of her face in horror. Mr. Dean hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting calmly in his chair, sipping from his glass. Mr. Peanut is twitching. Mrs. Mayweather is glaring at us in fury.

  Alien eyes peer out from her face. The demon has found a new home.

  “It will do you no good!” she gloats, grinning the grin that moments before I had seen on her husband’s face. “You have one body, I have many!”

  She turns and runs at the large picture window. Marsh stares at her in confusion, his gun still trained on her husband’s body a few feet from me. She crashes through the pane, arms held wide, not bothering to protect her face, jumping out over the street three stories below. Her laugh hangs in the air behind her.

  A punch bowl bounces off my head painfully, and somehow manages not to break, but just rolls around on the floor. Greystone streaks over to the gaping hole in the wall. “She hit the ground running!”

  Marsh pulls himself off the floor and takes stock of the room. I can’t take my eyes off Harold Mayweather’s body so close to me. Smoke dances from his empty eyes. His blackened teeth grin back at us from an expressionless face. The body is now an empty husk, discarded on the floor.

  Sounds from the crowds milling below carry up to us. Glassware spills from the counter and crashes on the floor near me.

  “I say,” a weak voice squeaks from over by the couch, from Calhoun’s face, pressed down into the cushions. “Can I get some help over here?”

  The room starts spinning, and blackness flickers at the edge of my vision. I hear Mr. Dean chuckle, “Now, there’s something you don’t see every day.”

  Chapter 36

  I flicker in and out of consciousness. Dishes crash on the floor nearby, the noise startlingly loud but not enough to fully wake me up.

  “Are you sure you wish to hear about Detectives Kim and Burchard right now, Detective Green?” Greystone asks in my head.

  That’s odd. Why would she want to speak about this now? But then it occurs to me we’ve already had this conversation. It happened several days ago while I was stuck in my apartment while Marsh was healing.

  We already talked about this, Ms. Greystone, I reply. I sense confusion from her in my mind. Wait, it’s the memory of her question I’m thinking about. Does that mean she’s answering now?

  It’s too confusing to try and sort out right now. I drift, and in drifting I return to Greystone’s earlier words.

  Detectives Olsen, Kim, and Burchard

  “Seven months ago,” Greystone begins. “Detectives Kim and Burchard were assigned to help Detective Olsen. It wasn’t so much that the captain felt Olsen required aid in finding the missing persons, rather he had the impression Detective Olsen needed assistance in wanting to.

  “Something had changed in Detective Olsen over the course of this investigation. He no longer spoke with me. In fact, he had all but severed the link that we had formed when I became his liaison. I could only locate him through extreme effort. More people had disappeared, and both detectives Kim and Burchard were certain this was connected to the other disappearances. But Detective Olsen made no efforts to investigate them on his own.

  “Between them, these three detectives were the most analytical of the squad, meticulous in their investigations. Detective Kim accompanied Detective Olsen at all times. He didn’t find anything that Detective Olsen was overlooking. On the surface, everything appeared to be normal.

  “Detective Burchard spent much of his time reviewing the case files that Detective Olsen had already poured over. And Detective Kim spent the majority of his time watching Detective Olsen himself.

  “You’ll have to forgive me, I find it difficult to speak of this time. Suffice it to say, while Detective Kim kept an eye on Detective Olsen, Detective Burchard made some startling discoveries.

  “He uncovered the fact that Detective Olsen wasn’t attempting to locate the missing persons at all. He had diverted his investigation into other areas. He went through the motions of appearing to search for them while other detectives accompanied him, but on his own time, he was working on something completely different.

  “It was Detective Burchard that finally discovered what he was up to. He found the stash of plans Detective Olsen had been using to build Ghost Cages. It makes me sick even speaking of these devices. These are abhorrent constructs of energy and are only used by practitioners of magicks. They are forbidden here in Meridian. But they are used to bind ghosts. You saw one example when Detective Finnegan cast one around me in that cellar. Perhaps the plans alone could have been explained away as research into a theory, a motive behind the disappearances. But he had the materials there as well. It was clear that not only was he building these devices, he was also using them.

  “Detectives Kim and Burchard followed Detective Olsen after hours and observed firsthand what he was doing. Detective Olsen approached a person in said person’s home and shot him multiple times, destroying the body. As the victim’s spirit emerged, he activated the cage, capturing the ghost. I don’t know if he had been behind the disappearances the entire time, but he was indeed responsible for several of them in the most recent weeks.

  “I trailed Detectives Kim and Burchard as they entered the room where Detective Olsen was standing over the remains of the body. Not taking any chances, they had their weapons raised.

  “‘It’s over, Olsen,’ Detective Burchard said, his weapon unwavering and aimed at the other detective.

  “‘No, it’s not,’ he replied. He was sizing up the two guns aimed at him, and I feared he was going to try and shoot his way out. ‘Don’t you see? I’m trying to stop it.’

  “Detective Kim held out restraints with one hand, his gun never wavering in the other. Detective Olsen stood where he was, becoming more agitated.

  “‘I can’t believe you don’t see it! You two are usually the most reliable. The patterns! Don’t you see the patterns?’

  “It didn’t take long for them to uncover the truth from him, now that he had been apprehended. At some point during his investigations, Detective Olsen became convinced that he needed to stop the perpetrators who were making people disappear. But they couldn’t be captured by normal means, and this was the method he had devised to root them out. He had been destroying the bodies of those he believed were responsible, capturing their ghosts as they fled the remains of their bodies, and throwing the spirits into the Pit.

  “It was a gross violation of the vows he had taken as an officer of the law for the city. And truly, it still makes no sense to me. If he had discovered who was responsible, the squad would have captured them and thrown them into the Pit. But that wasn’t enough for Detective Ol
sen. He believed there was a greater conspiracy going on, and only he could see it.

  “‘Wake up!’ he screamed at us as the cuffs were put on and he was led back to the precinct where he used to serve. ‘They are still out there! Stop them! You have to stop them! Wake up!’”

  “Wake up!”

  Huh? The words rattle painfully around my skull. Where am I?

  “Detective Green, wake up!” Greystone is saying the words out loud, not just in my head. My eyes flutter open. She is hovering in the air above me.

  I’m still laying on the floor in Jessica’s apartment. Broken dishes surround me, and I can hear noise from outside through the hole in the wall where a window used to be.

  “Are you OK, Detective?” Greystone asks me.

  “Yeah, yeah, sure,” I say with little conviction. Am I OK, really? Probably not. Alive, but far from OK. My hand throbs in agony. My ears are ringing. Blood flows from cuts on my face. I feel a stabbing sensation in my back where I hit the top of the upper counter.

  But I’m still breathing. I smile and give Greystone a thumbs-up.

  Chapter 37

  A few minutes later, I’m sitting down in the chair again. Jessica had to get her first aid supplies out for me once more. She’s patching up various cuts and scrapes from dishware shattering on and around me. Her hands are shaking; she’s trying to stay composed, but she’s clearly rattled.

  “OK. What the hell is going on here?” Marsh asks as he twists Calhoun’s head back on straight with a sharp jerk. The grinding of bone sends a chill dancing down my spine. Calhoun’s mustache is hanging askew, and he uses both hands to adjust the angle his head is perched atop his neck.

  Mr. Dean has refilled his wineglass. He sips casually, staring out the broken window with a slight grin on his lips. He says nothing. Calhoun is busy clearing his throat, trying to see if it still functions correctly.

  “I don’t know,” Jessica says, hoarsely. She’s keeping her eyes focused on my injuries, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Harold has always been eccentric. But tonight, even before you arrived, he was acting strangely.”

  “How long have you known the Mayweathers?” I ask her.

  She thinks it over for a second while she cleans a cut on my wrist. “I’ve worked with them for several years. This . . . I can’t wrap my head around what I just saw.”

  She finally looks up at me. “Jake, what happened to him? To her?”

  I glance at Marsh. He shrugs. Of course, no help there. He’s leaving it up to me to decide what to tell her. And I need her cooperation.

  “Jessica, I don’t think that was Harold Mayweather.”

  “What?”

  “And whatever it was, whatever Mrs. Mayweather is now, she was conspiring with it.”

  Jessica opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She sighs in confusion.

  “Look,” I explain. “This is sensitive information. But that wasn’t your friend Harold anymore. He’s been taken over by something else.”

  She looks at me, still puzzled. I think in my mind how to explain it, but then Mr. Dean starts speaking.

  “Don’t be dim, Jessica. They’re talking about demons.” There is something inherently smug about this guy that I just don’t like.

  “What do you know about it?” Marsh asks him suspiciously.

  Dean laughs, but there is little humor in it. “Detective. You don’t become the richest man in this town by being stupid. It’s a simple observation. You mention Mayweather isn’t himself. You are clearly here to speak to Ms. Everin about helping you in this investigation into the murders that have been happening.”

  “Demons?” Calhoun squeaks in alarm. He clears his throat and tries again. “Demons are real? What do they want with us?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” I say, grabbing Jessica’s hand in mine. She lets me hold her hand while I speak. “What do they want with you? Jessica, you mentioned the Mayweathers were eccentric. What do you mean?”

  She shrugs, looking down. “He and his wife have always been interested in matters of the occult. Secret societies, rituals, even ways of contacting those that have passed on.”

  Marsh chuckles quietly. “Seriously? That’s ridiculous.”

  I don’t understand why that is any stranger than other things I’ve encountered here, but I let it pass.

  “OK. Dabbling in the occult here is considered eccentric. And magic and glamours are OK. I’ll have to ask you to clarify that later. But then you mentioned he’d been acting strangely?”

  “Yes,” she says, squeezing my hand a bit tighter. I try to keep from wincing. “He started missing rehearsals, and he couldn’t remember his lines.” She turns to face me, her face grim. “Harold never missed rehearsals, and he was always prepared. His wife was different too. Before, she couldn’t be forced to touch him, and then recently she was constantly doting on him, hovering around him, answering questions for him, never leaving his side.”

  “This is all very fascinating,” Calhoun interrupts. “But demons? Was that a demon?”

  All eyes turn to me. I debate for all of about a second. Screw it.

  “Yes. That was a demon.”

  “Harold Mayweather was the killer? He’s been killing people in town?” Jessica asks incredulously.

  “And now it’s in his wife’s body, it seems,” I say.

  Mr. Dean clears his throat. “A more interesting question, how did you know he was a demon?” He takes another swig of wine, staring at me intently.

  I say nothing. Marsh snaps back at him. “The kid’s sharp. We’ve been tracking this guy for some time now.”

  Dean sets his glass down, rests his elbows on the armrests of the chair, and stares at me fixedly. “I don’t doubt Detective Green’s intuition, but I don’t think that explains everything we just saw, does it?”

  He does something. I can see on his face that he’s concentrating on something; his body tenses up. We’re all looking at him. What is he doing?

  All of a sudden, everyone else in the room jumps back from Dean. Marsh reaches for his gun. Calhoun and Jessica both gasp and reel back in shock. Even Greystone jerks in surprise. What is going on?

  Dean relaxes, leaning back in his chair. The others are now looking at him in confusion.

  Greystone, what’s going on? I ask her.

  “You didn’t see that?” She counters. “Oh, of course, you wouldn’t have seen . . . Oh no.”

  Dean is smiling smugly again. “Detective Green is a Seer.”

  “What?” Marsh says, feigning surprise while reholstering his gun. “Green? Please, this guy couldn’t find his way out of an outhouse. Just because he couldn’t care less that your face went all crazy.”

  “Detective Green is a Seer. He couldn’t see the change to my glamour because he can see through them. I’ve encountered his kind before, just not in a few centuries. I thought we had killed you all off.”

  I see Jessica’s eyes widen in alarm. If she were alive, I’d expect the color to have drained from her face. “A Seer? He can see through . . . through glamours?” Tears start welling up in the corners of her eyes. I wasn’t even sure it was possible for them to cry. She stands up and pushes me away, looking at me with a nauseated expression on her face. “Excuse me, please.”

  Jessica stands up and runs from the room, closing the door to her bedroom behind her.

  “I’ll go speak to her,” Greystone offers and floats from the room, through the door to the bedroom.

  Marsh scowls at Mr. Dean. “OK, Einstein. You’ve got it all figured out. Enlighten us. What’s going on?”

  Mr. Dean shrugs, his point made. “How should I know, detectives? That’s your job.”

  “If we’re done here, I have appointments,” Dean says, standing.

  Marsh steps forward and knocks a hand to his chest. “Hold on, pal. W
e need to get some things straight. First, no talk of demons outside this room. We don’t need folks panicking any more than necessary.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” Dean says with a slight grin. “No one would take it seriously even if I were to risk speaking of it.”

  “Second,” Marsh continues like he hadn’t heard. “No speculating on your crazy theory that Green here is a Seer. We all know it’s crazy, but someone might believe you or think there’s something to it. You start telling people that, it could make things dangerous for him. And that would be dangerous for you. You endanger my partner, and you’ll go from being the richest man in town to the richest man in The Pit.”

  Dean chuckles, unconcerned at the threat. “I’ll make you a deal, detectives. I’ll keep my wild stories to myself if I can borrow Detective Green for the occasional business deal.” He turns toward me, a sly smile creeping across his face. “You will be well compensated for your time, I can assure you.”

  “Well . . .” I say, confused. I’m not unsure what the implications of this are, one way or the other.

  “Besides,” Dean meets Marsh’s glare without backing down. “It wouldn’t be in my interest for information like this to get out. In my business, the more you know than your opponent, the better position you’re in, and if my rivals found out there was a Seer running around Meridian, they might want him for themselves. If you’re worried about someone who can’t keep a secret, I’d keep my eye on the actor over there.”

  “Who, me?” Calhoun squeaks.

  Marsh grinds his teeth in frustration. He looks from Dean to Calhoun and then back. “I’ll send a pair of officers to watch you. We don’t know why Mayweather was here yet. We don’t know if he was here for all of you or just one. He could have been here for you, Dean.”

  Dean nods. “It seems likely.”