The Nephilim

by Greg Curtis

  Garrick thought he'd better say something before the two women carried on talking about him like a prize pet and he had to hear his life history and all his faults discussed in detail. He shouldn't have bothered.

  “And did I forget to mention difficult?”

  Cassie wasn't particularly impressed with his outburst he gathered. Maricia on the other hand was suddenly trying to hide a cheeky smile. She obviously found it amusing. He tried not to turn red or shake his head in self pity. And really, he knew it was his own fault for speaking. He should never have commented and instead have just sat there and taken it. Don't talk back. That was what was expected of a nephilim. Don't argue just take it like a man. Still, there were things that had to be asked and he wasn't going to be cowed in his own home. Not even by an angel. Or at least not again.

  “Well, now that you have mentioned my difficult nature Cassie, is there something you can suggest about the other stuff? – before everything turns to custard? … Oh and is it going to turn to custard? Is Benedict going to reveal whatever he knows about us to the world?”

  The angel was silent for a moment, and he could almost imagine that wherever she was she was staring straight at him, studying him, looking for whatever defects she could find and thinking about removing them – with pliers. Eventually she answered him.

  “Has not Maricia given you a plan young Garrick? Something to work on instead of sitting in your house feeling sorry for yourself?”

  A plan? She didn’t say whether it was a good plan or a bad one, he noticed. Nor even if it was one she would support either as Garrick realised. But still, one that she acknowledged that he was free to engage in because it had been suggested by a normal and it was those same normals who would be acting on whatever he could find. Had there though been a hint that it would be of benefit to him? Garrick wasn't completely sure. But it was probably as close as she would ever be able to come to suggesting a course of action for him in this.

  “And the other?”

  “Maybe.” She paused for a moment and he imagined her looking away, considering what to say. “Armando is a difficult child and he refuses to listen to the words of my brothers and sisters. But I cannot tell you what he knows and what he could or would do.”

  Could not or would not? Garrick suspected the latter but he knew there was no point in challenging her on it. In the end they were the same thing for her and he would gain nothing from his questions.

  “Then that's what we'll do.”

  “Maricia can you pick me up in the morning please? I can't drive obviously. And we'll need a car which can extend its front seat back all the way. Cassie, can you please inform the healers in Olmstead as well as Patricia Holdsworth to expect me? I don't want people to worry when an outsider drives in and I'd rather not use my phone to call her in case anyone's monitoring it.”

  Cassie would do that he knew. Because the only people concerned were nephilim and it didn't involve any breaking of their rules. And also because, just occasionally, they did like to help their spurned children.

  His decision had been made, though he doubted it was truly his decision. But at least it would get him out of the house and away from the press for a bit. And if the healers at Olmstead could do something for him then so much the better. Maybe they could even change his cast for a walking cast? One with a flexible knee.

  First though he had to get through a seven hour drive there with a woman who was no doubt going to pester him with annoying questions. She had the look.

  But at least it couldn't be any worse than seven hours in a car with a teenager!

  Chapter Eleven

  The hospital in Olmstead was a lot more welcome than the one he'd just escaped a week or so before. For a start, as he knew most of the staff it was friendlier. But there were also better facilities, the most advanced medical equipment available and a better staff to patient ratio. Best of all though, someone had actually put some thought into its décor. So only the ceilings were white. The walls were a warm sunshine yellow, and the floors were covered in a thick, soft lino with lots of colour. And everywhere he looked there were interesting artworks. They weren't particularly valuable paintings – in fact some of them were pieces the students at the academy had painted – but still they were something interesting to stare at instead of antiseptic white walls and white boards.

  The beds were more comfortable too. They had thick mattresses and soft colourful bedspreads over them, a far cry from the heavily starched cotton sheets he'd had to put up with before. But then this was a small town hospital with only a single ward for patients and which was well financed by the town.

  Of course it also doubled as an institution for the care of the mentally ill. The town had enough women who were suffering from various forms of post traumatic stress that they needed one. Garrick rather imagined that the décor was as much for them as it was for trauma patients. Bright colours, happy images, things that could help relax a troubled mind.

  Which was why it also had extensive gardens in which patients could while away their days, soft piped music and a small beauty salon. He remembered his mother having stayed here a few times after an episode. And each time he'd been glad that she could finally be cared for properly. After years in the city with her falling apart every so often and no one able to help her, that had seemed like a miracle. In fact, just the understanding that someone knew what was wrong with his mother had been a godsend.

  “How's it feel?”

  Maricia's voice came from behind him as he was getting dressed, pulling on his oversized jeans over his new cast.

  “Good. Unbelievably good.”

  And it was. The new walking cast with its knee was brilliant, though it did show up how much strength he'd lost in his leg since the shooting. How much strength he'd lost in general since he hadn't been able to exercise. But when he didn't have to use tongs to pull up his pants or pull on his shoe that seemed a minor thing. Also, the pain and long term bone ache was gone thanks to the doctor's healing hands. To top it off the doctors had assured him that his leg would heal fully and in half the time that it would have otherwise if not for them. Not only that but he didn't pay a cent for the treatment. There was no co-pay. The town subsidised its hospital through rates, just as they looked after the academy.

  If there was one advantage to being a nephilim it was the medical. Each of their towns was the same. Free healthcare and free education, and both of outstanding quality. Of course the rates were appropriately high and it was only for residents.

  “One hour, no waiting line, three x-rays, a hands on healing and a walking cast already made up and waiting for you. And they don't even charge?” Maricia sounded slightly incredulous. “I should move here.”

  “As one of our descendants you probably can if you want. It's up to the town fathers. Just make an application. Of course, the rates and town taxes are very high and there are a lot of rules you'd have to learn. And it's a hell of a long way from anywhere.”

  Which was why he didn't live in Olmstead. New York was where he had to be for the moment – or at least for as long as he remained with the FBI. But he feared those days were numbered.

  “Besides, my Federal Employee insurance will be paying for this.” And Garrick had no doubt the hospital would charge as much as they thought they could get away with. They liked to bring in as many extra dollars as they could. But that was no different to any other hospital.

  “But they didn't take your details.”

  “They don't have to. They already have them and they know who I am. It was done long before I walked in the door.”

  And that of course was the other difference between the local hospital and any other. Or rather between Olmstead and any other town or city. The people here were more or less family. And family had few secrets and fewer trust issues. He was happy that they had his details and equally happy for them to use them as they wanted.

  “Now shall we head for the school?”

  Garrick grabbed his crutches
from where they were leaning against the bed, and gingerly put his weight on his bad leg. It held well enough despite his worries, the new cast seeming to hold things in place along with the pile of construction girders inside his thigh.

  “It's getting late.”

  “And Patricia is expecting us. Knowing her she'll already have the miscreant in her office, reading something she doesn't enjoy.”

  In his day it had been Hemmingway and Steinbeck, one reason he'd absolutely hated being summoned to the headmistress' office. She never missed an opportunity to force a little education into a student.

  “Besides, it's not yet tea time and we'll be eating at the Academy and staying the night. I also think she might have a few questions for you.”

  Actually he knew she did. He'd made a call on a burner cell he'd bought as they'd left the city, asking her to confirm the details of what they needed and mentioned the name “Diogenes”. Patricia had been curious. She had probably been that way ever since Cassie had informed her of the visit. He guessed many others would be curious as well and suspected that there might be others waiting to meet with Maricia and him.

  “Great!”

  He gathered that she wasn't that thrilled by the thought, but it wasn't really a choice. Since she'd come to him with this mad request for his services he'd been under the gun. But so had she. Not many knew about Diogenes – he certainly hadn't – and as people in hiding, the nephilim liked to know about those who knew of them. There would be a lot of questions and she had to be expecting them. And though he would never admit it he felt somewhat pleased by her discomfort. After the way she'd dropped her bombshells on him and then all but conscripted him it seemed only fair.

  Garrick followed her out of the treatment room a lot more quickly and easily than he'd come in an hour before, and then through the lobby and out into the car park where their chariot awaited. He had to admit that the Jaguar was an odd choice of car for their mission. It was just a little too flashy and too noticeable. But it was a comfortable ride, the seats were incredibly soft and there was plenty of leg room. It was also quick and cruised down the highways far more easily than his truck did. He still would have preferred to take his truck, but until he'd had the flexible knee fitted to his cast he simply couldn't drive it.

  Fairly soon they were on the road, travelling through town and staring at the townsfolk who were in turn staring back at them. They didn't recognise the car or the driver. But Garrick waved to as many of them as he could, hopefully allaying a few fears, and thirty seconds later they had turned off the road and were heading for the Westlord Academy.

  The academy was quiet when they arrived, something for which Garrick was happy. He'd half expected to hear the bells for outsiders ringing as they drove in. But they were expected. Something that was made completely clear as they found a student waiting for them in the car park, ready to lead them to the principal's office. That was unexpected.

  They followed the student across the concourse to Patricia’s office and a few seconds later they met with her, Katarinka and the town’s mayor Owen Wilcox. Garrick guessed he was there to hear about Diogenes as much as anything else.

  The introductions over Garrick made himself comfortable in one of the leather armchairs, immediately beside Katarinka. She wasn't looking completely thrilled to see him again. She was going to be even less happy in a few minutes.

  “So how's school?” He shouldn't have asked, Garrick knew that. But still he was surprised when she shot him a glance of pure poison.

  “A lot you care! How's the leg? Skiing accident?”

  “No, your friend Benedict tried to have me assassinated. Luckily his agents failed.”

  Garrick felt it was important to be upfront about things. Sometimes in an interrogation you lied and used tricks, but with Patricia in the room it simply wasn't necessary. And at some point the girl had to understand the nature of the man she had fallen in with. She had to see him for who he was, not who he had pretended to be. But that wasn't going to be today.

  “Liar!”

  “No. He's telling you the truth.”

  Maricia took a seat on the other side of Katarinka as she defended him. “Armando Benedict is a very bad man and responsible for a great many deaths. And if we don't stop him he's going to be responsible for many more. Ours included in all likelihood. That's why we're here.”

  “I'm not going to help you catch him!”

  Katarinka snapped it at them and in that moment Garrick saw his prey's mark upon her. Animals left tracks in the dirt but people were capable of leaving tracks in more than just the physical world. The signs of their passing could be seen in other people. In Katarinka he could see the spore of the man's passing through her life. It was a heavy set of footprints he had left behind.

  “What is Benedict to you?” It was a question he hadn't asked before because he hadn't really cared. And at that time it hadn't really mattered either. Not when he wasn't interested in hunting him. But now he was and it mattered a lot.

  “That's none -.”

  She was about to tell him to get lost, but she couldn't. Garrick had the power to compel truth from would be liars when he hunted, and he was hunting now. Few people understood that. That it was their attempts to lie, deceive or hide the truth in any way they could that gave him his ability to coerce. His gift was as much about being unable to be lied to as it was about compelling the truth. If they just kept quiet for the most part, things would be much more difficult for him. But Katarinka certainly didn't realise it and immediately fell into his power. As he gazed at her and let his power loose she struggled and spluttered as she tried to deny him, before finally giving in.

  “He's my grandfather.”

  “No. He's not.”

  The scent of the man was on her, in her words and thoughts, in her actions and beliefs, and the scent was a lie. Garrick could tell that. She had been lied to, often and well and she believed the lie completely. But it had been a lie. He could see it so clearly.

  “When did he first come to you?”

  “In the orphanage after my mother had been taken away for stabbing a woman.”

  Again Katarinka tried to resist his questions but couldn't. Not when he asked them as he did while staring into her soul as he did so. And though she struggled all the while, the words kept slipping out. The truth. And more importantly with the words came the scent of his prey, growing stronger all the time in his nose. That was why he'd come. If he was going to hunt a man he needed to catch his scent.

  “Tell me about that.”

  “She went mad again and stabbed a woman. And this time they locked her away for five years.”

  “Actually she didn't stab anyone.” Garrick could see the actions of his quarry perfectly. He could see the shape of his plans on the girl. He had set up the mother to bring the girl to him. And something would have to be done about that in time. The mother would have to be brought to Olmstead. “That was Benedict. Tell me about him. About the day you met him.”

  She told him of course. She couldn't help herself, because she kept trying to lie, and that was the very thing that gave him power over her. So she told him everything she remembered of the day. When he had first come to her, telling her that he knew her, pretending sympathy for her plight and regret for his not being there to help her. Eventually he had told her that he was her mother's father. And as she told Garrick what she remembered it brought the image of the meeting to his mind, and he got his first good look at his prey. He felt him, his nature and his very soul, and he knew his scent. By the time she was finished the scent had become quite strong. As was the understanding that there was more she wasn't telling them. A lot more that she'd been hiding. And he knew where it began.

  “You've had contact with him – recently.”

  “N … N ...” She tried desperately to deny him, terrified of giving away the man she still believed was her grandfather. But she couldn't lie to him. No one could. Not when he hunted. And it was when they tried that they be
came his. It wasn't long before she was babbling the truth. Crying with every syllable that came out of her throat, and hating him as terribly as she had every hated anyone in her life. But he didn't care about that. He only cared that she told him. About the text messages she'd sent on the phones of the other kids. Phones she'd borrowed and stolen. Messages that had told Benedict an awful lot about the academy and the town.

  The girl had told him a lot about the names of the teachers and some of the other students. A little about some of the things they could do. Enough that the ageing counterfeiter had probably discovered a gold mine of useful talent waiting for him and drawn up his plans accordingly. Garrick could feel the hunger within him. An endless aching need for wealth, for indulgence and luxury. A desire for service and prestige. A yearning to be admired and envied. And underneath it all something darker.

  Armando Benedict wanted the dreams of all the wealthy, but a thousand times more so. And no amount of wealth would ever be enough to satisfy him. If he had a hundred servants caring for his every need and fulfilling his every desire, he would want a thousand. If he had a mansion he would want a castle. There was no end. And there was no limit to what he would do to get it. There was none to what he had already done, and as he concentrated on him Garrick could sense his machinations. A little of what he had planned, but a lot more about those that he had already carried out.