by John Corwin
One theorized that the Easter Bunny had escaped from the North Pole. Another figured a mob of vegans had done it. "Anyone up for a salad?" asked another cop. The last cop mused in colorful language about the contents of the robber's feces and whether he'd suffer from diarrhea.
Alexia pulled up Google maps, pinned each murder and robbery location, correlating the dates of each. In every case, the murders had occurred farther and farther out from the city center. The grocery store robberies were grouped on the east side near Decatur. The robberies that occurred on the same dates as the murders were almost in a straight line of travel. One wasn't. It was a little further out than the rest. Aside from that one, the others were all within the same zip code.
A door slammed shut outside. She went to the window and saw Victor walking to the parking lot from his hotel room, cell phone to ear. His hands gestured in rapid jerks. He shook his head and stopped walking. His shoulders tensed. From the way his head bobbed, she could tell the conversation was intense, maybe angry. She grabbed her keys and purse.
Victor's shoulders relaxed and he nodded. He put his phone away and climbed into his rental car, a white Chevy sport-utility vehicle. He pulled out of the parking lot and turned left onto the highway. Alexia shot out to her rental, a tiny Honda, and took the same route. The summer sun glared off the hulking SUV like a beacon. Alexia stayed several car-lengths back as each traffic light collected vehicles then released them to the next red light.
After what seemed an eternity of stop-and-go traffic, Victor turned onto a side street. Alexia let a car turn in front of her so she'd a have a buffer in case Victor looked back. Through his rear window, she could make out the screen of a GPS navigator affixed to his windshield. He didn't know how to get where he was going. He might be meeting someone he worked for or with.
They wended through several back streets and arrived at a large cemetery. Victor pulled down a road which cut through the cemetery, passed between rows of headstones, and ended at a parking lot. Cars lined the road. The parking lot was full. Across the green landscape, Alexia spotted a funeral service taking place. Victor circled the parking lot and parallel parked at the end of the long row of cars. Alexia squeezed the Honda between a pickup truck and a tree.
She hopped out and scanned the area for Victor. Spotted him walking at a swift gait toward a towering mausoleum across the parking lot. By staying on the opposite side of the rows of parked cars, she was able to keep out of his line of sight. He hardly glanced back, apparently confident nobody was following although Alexia had suspicions that Victor was not an experienced investigator.
The cemetery road continued on the other side of the mausoleum and exited on another road. A white compact car approached from that direction. She scurried up to the doors of the mausoleum. She peeked inside and caught sight of Victor as he passed the visitor registration and turned a corner.
Inside, the marble walls were lined with the names of the interred. Flower arrangements and other sentimental odds and ends lay on the floor next to the final resting place of the dearly departed. Ahead, footsteps echoed off the marble tiles and stopped. A door on the other side banged shut. Silence took over. Thankful that her soft-soled shoes were quiet, Alexia crept toward the glass door, peeked through it. She slipped through it and took a position behind a row of interment niches.
Victor's voice broke the silence. "I have information you'll want."
"The last few times have been particularly unsatisfying," said the deep voice of another man.
Electricity spiked down Alexia's back. Her sense apparently considered that man important.
"What about ritual killings involving stones?" Victor asked.
"Stones?" The man's tone inched up a notch. "Explain."
"On each victim's eyes and mouth."
A short silence ensued until the other man spoke again. "Describe everything."
Victor went on about the stones and the zombie-like victims, saving the fight between Alexia's savior and Maria Wood for last. He tossed in the newspaper story about the homeless massacre as well.
"Look, I recorded some of the fight on my cell phone."
Alexia gritted her teeth. He hadn't mentioned that to her.
"Wait here," the man said. A door clicked shut a moment later.
Tapping noises echoed. Alexia risked a peek. Victor was tapping his foot on the floor. She couldn't see the exit door but heard it open and close.
"You've done well, Victor," the man said. "Keep us informed and you may earn your request."
"Haven't I earned it already? Can't you—"
"Your request is one which breaks our covenant. For continuing your loyal services, we may grant an exception to you. But we need more. We need names, especially the perpetrators of these crimes."
Victor cursed. "Fine. Promise me once I secure that information you'll give me answers."
"That promise isn't mine to make, but I'll inform the one who can."
The door opened and closed again. Footsteps approached Alexia's hiding position. She considered jumping out and confronting Victor, demanding that he tell her who these people were. Instead, she edged around the corner of the niches and let him pass.
Once he left, she ran to the other door and looked outside. The white compact car had left.
What request had Victor made of these people? For Victor to play such a subservient role to them, they must be high on the food chain. Knowing Victor's penchant for grabbing power, that was saying something. It also meant he didn't want his higher ups knowing about it. Victor would only do something like this if it meant garnering more power or aligning with more powerful people. She clenched her fists. The last thing the world needed was another jackass like Victor gaining more power.
Whoever had power that outweighed the President was someone to worry about. Considering what she'd witnessed and the physical and supernatural powers she'd nearly fallen victim to, dangerous times lurked ahead.
Chapter 17
Lucas stared down the barrel of a gun. He'd stolen it and a box of forty-five caliber bullets from a nearby hardware store. He'd never used a gun before even though his dad had owned one. If he'd used that gun on the night he'd died, he wouldn't be here right now. He'd be cooking out with his family and talking about work or some other beautifully boring subject instead of unleashing chaos and murder.
Time to end this insanity he called his life.
Simply holding the gun made his hand shake. Its purpose gripped his innards like a vice. He dropped the gun on the computer desk and walked around the room, swinging his arms and biting his lower lip. It was the only answer to his problem, to the danger he posed. He'd killed people. The people he'd killed were killing more people and wreaking havoc. Whatever evil force controlled him showed no signs of letting go. Turning himself in might only get more people hurt and killed. Suicide might not be the best answer, but it was the only answer he had.
The apartment was a lonely place to die. It wasn't really home. Nobody would remember him. He had no family, no friends to mourn him. Not that it mattered. He deserved death. He'd failed his loved ones when they'd needed him most.
Lucas had seen the man smash through the front door of his parent's house. He'd seen the man stop in the foyer, fists clenched, face boiling with rage. But Lucas had frozen in terror. All he'd had to do was grab the gun from his father's closet. Ten steps and his entire life would be different right now. He'd measured the distance in his head so many times. He could have looked left and seen the closet, seen the shoebox atop the shelves. That snapshot in time remained carved into his mind.
But instead of action, he'd hesitated, paralyzed with fear.
The last thing he remembered were the man's crazed eyes and the stench of body odor as he slammed Lucas into a wall. Lucas had awoken to paramedics and the dismembered remains of his parents. His sister's body had never been found. The paramedics told him it was a miracle. He'd been dead when they arrived but they'd managed to revive him. Lucas didn't thi
nk it was a miracle. It was a travesty.
His lower lip trembled and hot tears flushed his eyes. From happiness to anguish in a split second. He didn't blame himself or ask why he'd survived and not the others. None of that helped or made him feel better. He couldn't possibly feel worse. And now that he finally had abilities that might enable him to make a positive difference, all he could do was watch in horror as he killed innocents instead. He was no different than the madman who'd killed his family.
The gun simplified matters. He could extinguish his sorrow and his capacity to commit further murders with a single bullet. But not here, not inside this lonely apartment. He went out the front door, leaving it open and walked into the narrow band of woods that bordered the complex. A bird chirped. Squirrels dashed through the leaves and scampered up trees at his approach. This would do.
He sat down against a sapling, crossed his legs. If only God existed, someone to offer a final prayer to. He couldn't muster the faith to utter a token word or two. Just as well. He put the gun inside his mouth, angled it up.
"Please don't do that," a man said, appearing from nowhere.
Lucas flinched and almost pulled the trigger by accident. He extracted the gun, spit out the oily taste, and stared at the newcomer. He was pale, medium build. "Who are you?"
"Someone who can help. Will you unload the pistol?"
"Tell me who you are."
"Phillip. I'm a seeker. I've been watching you for the past two days. Seems a rogue arbiter got his claws into you."
"A what?"
"You know, an arbiter. The guys with the big brains."
"No, I don't know. Nothing that's happened to me makes sense. Where'd you come from? I didn't see anyone a minute ago."
"Naturally. I was in the Blight, watching you."
Lucas stared. The more this man answered him, the more confused he became.
"You really don't know a thing about what you are, do you?"
"How should I? A few days ago I got the urge to kill people, found out I have super powers, and now the people I killed are coming back from the dead."
Phillip held up his hands, palms out. "I suppose I should give you a brief explanation, but where the hell to start?" He put a finger to his lips for a moment then continued. "You and I are advanced humans. We call ourselves Scions. Your speed and strength are abilities that all Scions share to some degree or another, depending on their classification. Seekers are the fastest, executors the strongest, the most resilient. Arbiters are a few notches below in both categories but have mental capabilities we don't."
"What am I?"
"You're an executor. Back in the old days before the Covenant, executors were soldiers for the factions. Executors are the only ones who can use the stones to drain the life force from other Scions."
"We're immortal unless the stones kill us? Are you centuries old?" The thought of living forever was frightening and exciting at the same time.
Phillip cleared his throat. "I may not be the best one to explain everything to you." He held out his hand. "Let me take you to someone who can."
"You can transport us instantly?" Lucas jumped up and the gun dropped from his lap.
"Not exactly."
Lucas shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere yet. How do I know you're not the guy controlling me?"
"Fair enough. Like I said, I'm a seeker. Only arbiters have that ability."
"So maybe you work for the arbiter doing this to me."
Phillips pursed his lips. "You'll have to trust that I'm not."
Lucas grabbed the gun off the ground and released the clip into his other hand. He stalked past Phillip and back to the apartment.
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere with you until I think about this."
Phillip followed him inside and looked around the den with a raised eyebrow. "Living like a king, I see."
Lucas tossed the gun in a kitchen cabinet and came back out to the den. "I'm comfortable."
"You can live a lot better than this if you come with me."
"Why can't you bring the man with the answers to me?"
"Lucas, you obviously don't understand the pecking order of Scions. The woman I'm referring to is my arbiter. You can't just demand an arbiter's presence somewhere unless you're a stronger arbiter in a position of power. We Scions have a strong political order that can't be broken on a whim."
"Great, so the super-humans have to put up with the same crap the regular ones do?"
A laugh erupted from Phillip. "I'm afraid that's true."
"Are you a slave to this arbiter woman?"
"Absolutely not. Arbiters attach themselves to seekers and executors to form a special relationship, not an authoritarian one. Besides, we're not without our defenses against even powerful arbiters."
Lucas dropped into his computer chair and leaned forward. "Like the one that's mind controlling me? Can you teach me how to block that?"
"You're too green, my friend. Someone without morals latched into you before you had a chance to learn blocking and filtering. If you wait too long, your mind will adapt that behavior as normal and you'll never repair the damage."
Lucas slumped in his chair. If this guy was telling the truth, he should go with him and get help. But if he was reeling him in to finish the brainwashing job, things might get worse. "I need to think about it."
Phillip smiled. "Hey, no problem. I know it's like finding out you got sharks in the swimming pool with you, but there's hope." Phillip shook Lucas's hand. "There's always hope, executor."
A charge seemed to run down Lucas's arm. The title, executor, sounded so ominous and important. Maybe he could be someone important, get his brain patched up, and join the good guys.
"I'll be by this time tomorrow," Phillip said. He opened the front door, looked up at something, and the air swallowed him.
"Wow," Lucas said, staggering back. Instant teleportation. How cool was that? He felt optimistic about the future. Maybe living forever wouldn't be so bad. Think of all the things he and his fellow Scions could do for mankind. Stop crime, rescue people. Maybe even stop wars. An entire society of superheroes, just like the comics. He wondered how many Scions there were. Phillip spoke as if there were a lot. There had to be if factions existed.
Factions.
His stomach tensed at the thought of the term. It denoted division. If there were factions, that meant the Scions were split, maybe into several parts. Rogues like the arbiter that was using him were one thing. Factions were quite another. What faction did this Phillip belong to?
Lucas put his hands to his temples and squeezed his eyes. "You're making it too complicated. Think happy thoughts, damn it."
He always did this. Always found the worst in everything and dragged it into the gloom. Even if the Scions had their factions, Lucas could become a part of something bigger than him and make a positive difference. He would be free of the killing urge. His life would have meaning. If he didn't like a faction, he'd leave it. Simple.
The doorbell rang. The delivery boy from the grocery store waited outside with a bag full of carrots.
"You got rabbits now, Mister? I ain't never seen someone buy this many carrots unless they got a roomful of rabbits."
"Well—"
"It's a myth, ya know."
"What is?"
"Rabbits and carrots. Carrots ain't real good for 'em. Veggies give 'em gas real bad."
"That's interesting, but—"
"Hay is the best. I saw that on Discovery. Last thing you want is a bunch of rabbits with stomach problems hopping around your apartment."
"I certainly wouldn't want that," Lucas said trying not to laugh.
"You do any charity work yet?"
"Haven't had the chance, but I will." Super-powered charity work, he thought.
"Good to hear."
Lucas paid for the groceries and gave the boy a tip.
"I gotta say, you tip the best out of anyone, Mister."
"You can call me Lucas."
The boy smiled. "The summer's almost up and I won't be working when school starts back. I wanted to thank you for the good tips in case you don't need deliveries over the next week." The boy started for his scooter.
Lucas waved. "You're welcome. And thanks for the rabbit advice."
The boy nodded and motored away.
The innocence of youth. Lucas would give up his super abilities to have that back. To have back that day his life was ruined. He'd give anything just to see his family one more time.
If time healed all wounds, he hoped he would eventually get over his family with his newfound immortality and redeem them by making a positive difference in the world.
Chapter 18
Tollee hooked her cell phone into the laptop and played back the video of Lucas's fight and the strange behavior of the stones. Martin was entranced. He seemed especially interested when the stones sucked in the tainted yellowish light and replayed that part several times.
He turned off the video, closed his eyes, and puffed on his pipe. He remained that way for some time. Tollee paced, figuring he'd fallen asleep. She looked at him through the Blight. Glowing threads extended in all directions from his head, some flailing, others pulsating like they were sucking someone's brain dry. She didn't know if that was possible, but didn't put it past him trying.
"I can't find a shred of knowledge about this anywhere with my contacts," he said.
Tollee jumped. He'd been quiet for so long that her mind had wandered. "This is a total code red, though, right?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it's very troubling, child."
"The experiment's over?"
He chuckled. "Heavens no. This raises even more possibilities. In fact," he said, his eyes turning dreamy, "This is proof the afterlife exists."
Tollee furrowed her brow. "No, it means the stones destroy minds. You saw what it did to that guy."
"Child, I know a great deal more about the stones than you. The stones deliver the life essence into the afterlife. I'm certain of it. For some reason the stones set by Lucas Fowler also drew life essence from the afterlife back into the body. That's what the funnel of light means."