The Nephilim

by Greg Curtis

  It was a stupid thing to do. It was the sort of thing gang bangers did, never thinking of the obvious consequences, the most important one of which was that it left you without bullets. But worse for Benedict, he was shooting at a hunter with near perfect aim. Even in the half light Garrick could see his hand with the gun in it. A moment later he shot it.

  Benedict screamed like a little girl and the gun went flying. That Garrick knew, was his chance. Benedict was out of grenades – he hoped. He no longer had a weapon in his hand. His mind was broken, judging from the screams. And with a little luck his main hand was injured. So he got up and rushed toward him.

  More truthfully he hobbled quickly in Benedict's general direction, trying to crawl over and around the piles of rubble between them and hoping for all he was worth that his leg held up to the challenge. But the principle held. And soon he was in position. He could see Benedict, or a lot of him lying on the ground, holding his hand and barely paying him any attention at all as he nursed his wound and cried. He didn't just cry though, he screamed, and occasionally he yelled at himself. The chances were that he had no idea that Garrick was there.

  Benedict's hand was bleeding copiously. His leg was sodden with blood. And something heavy had fallen across his hip, pinning him down. He was completely helpless. If he wanted to Garrick had the chance to end this forever. He raised his weapon and pointed it at the thief's head and knew that this was the moment it could all end. It was oh so tempting.

  “Crap!”

  With a sigh Garrick realised that he couldn't kill him. He wanted to. He hated the thief with all he had. And yet something stayed his hand.

  Maybe it was pity? Some sort of sympathy for the old man and his broken mind. Because his mind was definitely broken. Shattered. Benedict lay there, crying and mumbling to himself. Occasionally he even screamed as some sort of nightmare took hold of his mind and he threw his hands in front of his face, seeking to ward off whatever phantoms he thought he saw. He'd obviously suffered a complete psychotic break and Garrick knew that there was no guarantee he would recover.

  Maybe it was the fear of what the Choir would say if he did kill him that held him back? There was no doubt that they would be upset. Garrick knew that. And he did wonder why Cassie wasn't there with him, telling him to stay his hand.

  Or maybe it was simply his training and his duty returning to him? You did not shoot a helpless suspect. You arrested them. And Benedict was helpless. Shooting him would be a crime.

  Whatever it was that made him rethink, it was enough, and though he didn't want to, he eased himself back from the edge.

  “Toss your weapons away and put your hands behind your head!”

  Garrick repeated himself several times as he covered Benedict, all the time wondering what he was going to restrain him with. He didn't have his cuffs on him. The thief however, didn’t comply. All he did was lie there and grab at his injured hand while he screamed and cried. And then he carried on babbling to himself like a mad man. Ranting words that didn't make any sense.

  In the end there was nothing else to do except stand there and cover the thief until the police finally arrived. And watch a man collapse into complete psychosis as his mind appeared to disintegrate. It was one of the most horrible sights he'd ever seen. And to know that he was the one responsible for it was not an easy thing to accept. This man had been a bad man. He had done terrible things and hurt a lot of people. But no one should suffer what he was going through.

  It was surprising how long it took for the police to arrive. But then they'd probably been trying to set up a perimeter and keep people away while the hospital was being slowly destroyed all around them. In time though a group of heavily armed, black clad officers arrived and he was able to identify himself and his prisoner to them.

  After that two of the officers grabbed Benedict, pulling him out from the rubble. Initially they went to tie his hands behind him but stopped once they realised that one of them was badly broken. He screamed with pain when they tried and the blood caused the plastic tie to slip off. So they gave up.

  And then it was time to do the walk. The one thing he almost never got to do. Normally he was there at the take down of a suspect, but only as one of many and the arrest was never his. He was usually happy enough with that. This time however, he was part of a contingent. Two officers took the lead, two more held Benedict by the shoulders and half frog marched him, half carried him out of the clinic and down the corridor. Finally two more followed and Garrick walked with them. Although pointed at the ground, Garrick kept his gun at the ready, and felt like he'd earned another million dollars with every painful step he took. It might have been better if he wasn't in pain and trailing blood from his arm as he walked. It would have been much better if Benedict hadn't been crying and babbling incoherently.

  It might not be a victory as far as the Choir was concerned. In fact they'd probably be upset. Diogenes and his own people might still have some problems arising from the shooting. He didn't know how much evidence was left to hide or fake. And Garrick was still injured, homeless and carless. But he had finally got his man. This was as close to victory as he was ever going to know.

  Things just got better when they reached the lobby to the sight of officers everywhere, clapping. They knew Benedict had finally been taken down. They knew this was a big moment. Maybe it was the blood loss talking but as far as he knew it was finally his moment. And maybe after this he would finally get some recognition by the press for a job well done instead of being ridiculed for being shot. Feeling a little like a rock star Garrick holstered his weapon.

  Suddenly a shot rang out.

  Everyone reacted as guns came out and people started yelling. Garrick was yelling too, but in his case it was in pain. He'd felt the sting of a bullet in his buttocks and he knew it was bad. What he didn't know was how it could have happened. Benedict hadn't shot him. He was still being led away by the black clad tactical officers. No one else looked to have been shot. And yet he was hurt. Maybe badly hurt.

  He looked down to see a trail of blood running down his leg. A lot of blood. And he knew then that he was going to be going back into surgery. There would be more doctors and more days laid up in bed. And by the feel of things as his vision began to darken, it was going to be soon. And all he could think as he stood there was that it just wasn't fair.

  “Not a-bloody-gain!”

  But of course it was a-bloody-gain. He knew that as he started to lose the last of the strength in his body and saw the floor rising up toward him. Getting shot seemed to be his lot in life. He just hoped it wasn't going to turn out to be by another officer.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  When Garrick woke up he knew that a lot of time had passed. Many hours if he was any judge. But he also knew that he was alive, even if it was getting tiresome being shot. But somehow, he seemed to keep surviving. He also seemed to be spending a lot of hours staring at hospital ceilings. He was getting tired of the view.

  Naturally the first thing he did was wiggle his fingers and toes, checking to see that he still could. And when that happened he worked on his arms and legs. That was enough to tell the others he was awake.

  “Maricia.”

  He looked up to see Katarinka sitting on the side of the bed, tugging at the sleeve of her companion beside her, and he wondered why they were there. Shouldn't there be doctors and nurses? Or failing that an angry deputy director? But at least he wasn't hand cuffed to the railing this time. That had to be a positive.

  “Kid?”

  “You're all right! The doctor's finished the stitching ages ago and there's some bandages. But mainly they say you need rest.”

  “And to stay away from guns!”

  Maricia butted in and suddenly both of them were laughing like five year olds. But the fact that they were laughing had to mean things weren't as serious as they could have been. And of course she'd reminded him that there was one thing he needed to find out fast.

  “Are we safe
? Benedict released the information.”

  “We know. Enquiries started being made hours ago. Several investigations are being talked about. There's also some stuff going to the media. But we think we're ready. And Benedict's gone completely mad. So how much weight anything he says will have is anyone's guess.”

  Garrick was relieved to hear that, and more to see her smiling and looking relaxed. Of course there were no guarantees. He knew that. But that was at least something. And there was another question he badly needed answered.

  “Who shot me? This time?”

  It was a strange question to have to ask he thought. Until now each time he'd been shot he'd known who had done it. But this time he didn't and he had to know. And he had to find out if he was going to be shot again. It was always possible that Benedict had hired some more assassins.

  “This time it was actually an FBI agent.”

  Maricia, was trying to keep a straight face as she said it for some reason. But she wasn't doing a very good job of it. Meanwhile Katarinka was snorting uncontrollably as she tried to keep from laughing.

  “But they're putting it down to an accidental shooting, and the officer involved will be spoken to in due course.”

  “Accidental shooting?” That didn't sound right to him. He was never accidentally shot. People were always trying to kill him. It was the way of the world. Save that now that Benedict was in custody it hopefully wouldn't be happening any more.

  “Yes. Apparently the agent's holster was damaged. There was a piece of metal lodged in it. And when he put away his weapon it caught the hair trigger, thereby discharging the weapon.”

  “Which is why weapons should be holstered with their safeties on.” What she was talking about sounded like a rookie mistake, and not something an agent should do. And why was the agent's holster even damaged? It should have been replaced the moment he'd discovered it was.

  But then as Maricia gave up on trying to control herself and started laughing he started to wonder what the hell was going on. Especially when Katarinka was practically on the floor in hysterics by then.

  It was then though that an uncomfortable thought began to make itself heard in his tired brain. There had only been one FBI agent in the room at that time as far as he knew. And there had certainly only been one agent holstering his weapon. And no agent should have a weapon with a hair trigger and a broken safety. All of which lead to one inescapable conclusion.

  “I shot myself?!” The traitorous words tumbled out of his mouth by themselves.

  He couldn't believe it! It just wasn't right after everything he'd been through. And it absolutely wasn't fair. But when the two of them lost all control he knew it was true. He'd shot himself. Just at the moment when he was celebrating his greatest triumph, he'd shot himself. In the arse. Naturally he wasn't going to get any sympathy.

  “Forty stitches ... All the way down your thigh ... And the doctor couldn't stop complaining as he sewed ... Something about how much work you keep giving him.” Maricia gasped it out between bouts of uncontrollable laughter. “He said you shouldn't be allowed a gun. Not even a toy one!”

  Then she tossed him a copy of the morning paper and he read the headline. “Agent Shoots His Butt Off.” It was the lead story on the front page, and his photo was front and centre.

  After that she gave up trying to speak for a while, and he just had to lie there and listen to the pair of them braying away like mules. Actually it was worse than that – they actually had tears streaming down their faces. And there was nothing he could do to stop them. Nothing except yell at them a little and tell them to go and find him some coffee. They did that eventually, tumbling out of the ward arm in arm and still laughing as they headed down the corridor. All, while he tried not to turn red or cry.

  Officer involved shooting. There was paperwork for that. Endless paperwork. He should know. He'd been filling out enough of those forms lately. But right at the top of the top form were the two lines he dreaded filling out. Name of the officer shot. And the name of the shooter. Right beside one another. And it was going to be his name on both. He so did not want to have to fill out that form.

  He put that out of his mind as best he could as his sense of duty returned to him. And he still had to find out what was happening with Benedict. He was a nephilim as well as an agent.

  “Cassie.” She was suddenly there with him, the moment he called her, looking every bit as serious as she always did. But that was better than looking worried or laughing her face off.

  “Child you do know I am not simply at your beck and call.” But the fact that she had come suggested she wasn't actually too busy to see him.

  “Apologies. I just needed to know about Benedict.”

  “Lost in his own personal nightmare. He is being cared for in another part of the hospital under guard. But it will be a long time before he is well.”

  “He will never be well.”

  That was the one thing he knew. He'd first understood it on the night that Cassie had told him what had happened to the thief. How he had become what he was. But that message had been reinforced from the battle. Even as he thought of him, he remembered that sad dust covered figure lying in the rubble and ranting at no one, and he knew that whatever had happened to his mind, it would not be fixed. That was a worrying thing.

  He had never driven a man mad before. He'd never even thought he could. But in the end it had been so easy. A testament to just how badly damaged Benedict had been. And how desperately he had hidden it. There was something profoundly frightening in that. Especially when he thought about his mother and realised that what had happened to Benedict could too easily happen to her. It made him ask himself; just how much was she hiding underneath her pretence of sanity? How deep did the damage really go? He really didn't want that. He also realised that it could happen to a great many other people as well. And that maybe it had. There were so many of them who needed help and probably a great many who never got it. That had to change.

  “And the secrets he revealed?”

  “Still hidden, and we hope likely to remain that way for a while.”

  “Good.”

  It was a relief but perhaps not as much of one as it should have been. Not when his two visitors were still laughing their heads off somewhere down the hall. They clearly couldn't be that worried. All of which left him with only one thing to do. And it was the memory of Benedict lying there lost in his madness that told him that it had to be done. That, together with a childhood memory of his own mother sitting in the kitchen of their tiny apartment, crying helplessly. A memory that he knew many others shared. This nightmare should have been fixed long ago.

  “Now it's time to make a deal, you and me.”

  “A deal?” Finally he saw a flicker of emotion in her. A slight narrowing of the eyes as she became suspicious. A minute raising of the voice as she felt a tiny bit of outrage at his presumption. “I suppose you want to bargain for your job back?”

  “No.” It was a strange thing for him to say. Strange to hear the word come out of his mouth as he addressed an angel. But not half as strange as what was coming. “I am an agent of the FBI. I will or won't remain as such. But that is my decision not yours.” Of course he knew he was just blustering there. Cassie held all the cards and he could scream and yell for as long as he wanted about the injustice of it all but it wouldn't help. It just felt good to say it.

  “Child – .”

  “No!” Garrick could hear the protest coming and he cut her off a little bluntly. “We will be making a deal about our people. My people, your children. An arrangement.”

  “If there is one thing that this mess has taught me it is that the Choir has been failing in its duty of care. And for far too long. That has to stop.”

  “Child!”

  He heard the warning in her voice and ignored it.

  “No Aunt Cassie. From this day on we will take care of our own. All of our own. There can be no more mistakes.”

  He had no mandate f
or saying it. He didn't know if he would be supported by the others – especially when he had an idea of how much work was going to be involved. But he knew it had to be done.

  “Whenever one of the Choir sleeps with a human from now on we will be told. You will give us the names and contact details for the human so that we can provide them with care. And you will inform us whether a child has been conceived. There will be no more of our people raised in broken homes by broken parents.”

  And there would be no more mothers crying helplessly for no reason while their frightened children looked on.

  “Child.”

  “I am not a child Cassie. I am a grown man. And more than that I am a nephilim. I have a duty to my people. You have a duty to your children. It's time we both started doing our duty.”