Those Who Walk in Darkness so-1

by John Ridley

  "No!" His right foot took a step. He begged: "Fiero…!" Fear spilled from him. Panic raced his heart.

  "Adetuyi!"

  "I can't…" Two steps. Three. Moving quicker."Help me!"

  Jenkinson: "What is going on!"

  Adetuyi too far away to be stopped. Moving at a dead run. Mov-ing for the window like it was a long-lost lover. And just the same he opened his arms to it.

  "Jesus Christ, help me! Hel—"

  He leapt for the window. He crashed through the rotted wood that separated inside from out. Adetuyi embraced the open, empty air. He tumbled and spiraled. Flew downward. At the end of his plunge he crashed onto and into and through the roof of an Olds-mobile parked on the street below. The alarm played his taps.

  Fiero stood, edged for the window. Martin and Jenkinson trailed, tried to make sense of the senseless.

  Jenkinson offered up his own analysis of the situation: "He went crazy! You see that? He… he went out of his mind, and—"

  Fiero: "No…"

  "Goddamn out of his mind."

  "It's a telepath."

  "Oh, shit…" Martin swung his HK around looking for something, someone, who could just as easy be a quarter mile away as standing right next to him.

  "Move!" Fiero got to giving orders."Move! Let's get out of here!"

  Martin was staring at Jenkinson. He said: "Your nose is bleeding." Anxiety in his every word.

  Jenkinson dabbed at his nose. It was bleeding."Must've smashed it when I took cover."

  Martin figured things different."The telepath, he's puppeting you."

  "No, I… I jammed my nose, like I said."

  Martin brought his HK around quick, leveled it at Jenkinson."Put your weapon down."

  "Martin!" Fiero stepped in.

  "It's just a nosebleed."

  Martin wouldn't convince."Put your weapon down now!"

  Instead of putting it down, Jenkinson brought it up. Squared it at Martin."You're the one getting puppeted."

  "Goddamn it, put it down, Jenkinson!"

  Fiero saw things spinning out of control fast."Stand down, both of you!" Smoothly he traded his SG for his Colt.

  Confusion. Words came like barks from a gang of stray dogs.

  "Lose the weapon!"

  "I'm warning you!"

  "Listen to me!"

  A finger twitched on a trigger.

  "You're not taking us out!"

  "LISTEN TO ME!"

  "YOU'RE NOT—"

  "PUT IT DOWN OR I SWEAR I'LL—"

  "LISTEN!"

  Chaos, paranoia, they mixed at high speed. Twin bangs: the crack of auto fire, the boom of a shotgun. Jenkinson and Martin swapped wounds. Jenkinson took it in the chest, Martin one to the face. Their bodies, instantly empty of life, dropped to the ground like they were in a race to see which would get there first.

  Tie.

  After that it was quiet in the apartment building. Outside, the car alarm kept ringing. Fiero was by himself. But not alone.

  He gave a nervous clutch to his. 45, backed for the door with a game plan playing in a closed loop in his mind: Get out, get away. Get out, get away.

  Fiero was cop enough to feel wrong about leaving Martin and Jenkinson even if they were dead. But he was father enough to his children to logic out there was no fighting a telepath. All trying would do was get him dead along with the rest of the element. All trying to go against a telepath got you for your trouble was a bullet to the head courtesy of yourself. So sorry, boys, no hanging around. Be back for your bodies later. Right now? Get out, get away. Get out, get away.

  Get on the floor.

  Fiero did that, just like he was told to make himself do. He got on the floor; got down on it just as far as physics would let him. He pressed down against the warping wood as he was overcome with an uncontrollable desire to grovel, to truckle, to supplicate himself. He was a worm. He suddenly and instinctively knew he was a worm, and wanted more than anything to crawl wormlike over the floor. So he did. Not against his will. Didn't have any will to struggle with. It'd been replaced by something else that was completely new to his psyche and just as much a part of it.

  I'm a worm. I am a worm.

  Uniform soaking with perspiration, Fiero slithered and inched and crept until he came to a boot in his path. He looked up. He was allowed to look up. Above Fiero was Vaughn.

  Vaughn stared at Fiero; at what he'd reduced Fiero to. He dug what he saw. Even at that it gave him little pleasure. He turned his head and his attention over to the bodies of Martin and Jenk-inson.

  He said: "Know what's funny? I wasn't controlling either of them. That's real funny to me." Vaughn didn't laugh."The other one… that's how Michelle died; fell from the sky."

  Fiero was treated to a private showing, courtesy of images extracted from Aubrey's head and planted in his, of Michelle tumbling to her death. Experience so real, when Michelle hit the ground, Fiero hit the ground. What she felt—the impact of a body dropped two hundred feet onto pavement—he felt.

  "Ahhhhhhhh!"

  "That hurt? 'Cause honest, man, it's only gonna get worse."

  Sweat ran from Fiero. Tears poured from his eyes."Puh… please… m-my wife… I–I have—"

  Fiero's need to be wormish got jacked up. He tried hard as he could to screw himself further into the floor.

  "Please, Jesus, don't…"

  No sympathy came from Vaughn."I'm gonna give you something to remember, 'kay? Then you're gonna repeat it word for word."

  "Ye… ye…"

  "Understand that?"

  To Fiero's thinking compliance equated a stay of execution. He couldn't comply enough."I'll repeat it. I'll repeat everything you say. I promise. I promise I will. I won't forget what you tell me."

  "No," Vaughn said."I'm not gonna tell you anything. What I've got to say, I'm just gonna put it in your mind."

  Valley Bureau was going crazy with itself. Cops worked phones, manned radios. Cops—plainclothed, uniformed and Tac—were running all over with no place to go. A bunch of blue gerbils going round and round on a wheel. The trickle of information that made its way back from the outside was like a slow leak of gas onto a flame.

  First report: shots fired at an abandoned apartment complex.

  A squad was rolled. The call came back: officer down. Down and in and through the roof of a car. Later, much later, the body fused with the vehicle would be determined to be MTac officer Rob Ade-tuyi.

  Quick duty check. MTac serving a warrant at that twenty. SWAT rolled as backup. They fanned the building. The call from SWAT: two more bodies. Two more MTac making for three total. The fourth, Fiero, was unaccounted for.

  Question: How did the others get killed?

  Obvious: It was a freak.

  Yeah, but what kind of freak? Where was it? Where was Fiero?

  The information kept on trickling in. The panic kept on brewing. Valley Bureau tried to keep a lid on it. They did a bad job. People talked. Word spread. Reporters got wind. Channel 9 was first on the scene. Thirteen was next. The rest of the numbers started swarming en masse.

  All of a sudden Deputy Chief Metcalf had one job: keep things calm, don't let the public know there's a killer mutie on the loose. Not yet.

  Questions got shot at him. Denials got made: Yes, some officers were incapacitated, but at this time we don't know the extent of their… For the moment we have no way to determine if it was a metanormal they made contact with or… We have every available MTac element in the LAPD ready to respond if this is indeed a homicidal metanormal we're dealing with, but let me stress again that for the moment, at this time, to our best estimation…

  Denials were a hard sell when every other blue in the joint was like a headless chicken with their delirium. Stonewalling wasn't easy when you had three cops on a slab and one missing.

  The alternative? Tell the truth.

  Sure. Tell the public there was more than probably an angry freak loose in LA. What did that get you? Six years ago all over again. Three da
ys of eight million people panicked out of their minds while a changeling ran wild killing free as it pleased. Three days of chaos before it got put down. Three days Metcalf didn't want to live through one more time. So for now…

  Deny, stonewall. Lie for the public good.

  So ENG cameras purred, flashes popped, radios squawked, cell phones chirped. Cops darted and dashed and ran making double time but getting closer to absolutely nothing.

  Into all this zombied Fiero. He'd made the five-and-three-quarter-mile walk back from the call to Valley Bureau just like he was told to do. No one saw him along the way, or people saw him but paid him no mind because even though he was being looked for, no one would've figured a missing MTac cop—the one remaining of four—to be strolling through the Valley. And apparently no one figured on Fiero all of a sudden just showing up at Valley Bureau, because the craziness that was going on there didn't slow down a lick for him. All around, the cameras kept purring, the flashbulbs kept popping. The radios and cell phones kept on doing their thing.

  Fiero, softly: "… Listen to me…"

  Questions shouted. Answers evaded. Orders given.

  "Listen…"

  Shouts. Purrs. Denials. Flashes.

  "LISTEN TO ME!"

  Everybody stopped. Everybody turned. They all looked and listened; listened because they were too stunned by the sight of the sweat-drenched, terror-filled cop with the blood flooding from his nostrils to make a sound.

  "The… the rev…" Fiero fought. Hard as he could he fought. He didn't want to say what was planted inside his mind. Wasn't because of the message itself. That he didn't give a damn about. But he knew what was waiting for him once the message was delivered. He knew what happened to messengers."The reve…"

  Metcalf said, started to say: "Fiero… Adam, what happ—"

  "Don't let me say it!" Tears and sweat and blood all mixed together dripped from beneath Fiero's chin.

  "Don't let you say what? What happened?"

  "Jesus Christ! Don't let me…" No more fighting. There was no fighting to be done."The revelation is coming. The truth will set them free. But… but not us. Not… this is what's waiting for us."

  Arm up, gun in hand. Gun into mouth. Fiero jerked the trigger. A. 45 slug lodged in the ceiling. It carried most of the top of Fiero's head up there with it.

  The camera guy from Channel 9 got a real nice shot of the whole thing.

  Rumors.

  Rumors were flying. Rumors were chased by speculation and hearsay. Everybody, every cop at Parker Center had a version of what went down in the Valley. Orders from up high were: Stick with the official story. Stay away from rumor and speculation. Nobody say nothing.

  Orders got ignored.

  Blues talked: Didjya hear there was a badass freak in the Valley? Didjya know Valley MTac got wiped out? Again. Did they tell you one of the cops popped himself? Sounds like a telepath.

  Parker Center was like a brass beehive. This deputy chief was calling, that lieutenant commander wanted info. Every MTac cop wanted to know what was truth and what was the company line.

  Soledad wanted to know what was going on. Desperately wanted to know. Back on a desk, away from MTac, information flew past her, around her. It avoided her. Frustrating. The almost but not quite knowing of things was very frustrating.

  No good asking Yarborough. Yarborough didn't know much. All he cared about was: If a telepath was out there, when would he get a crack at it?

  Bo knew things. Bo followed orders. Bo didn't talk.

  Vin knew things. Vin could answer some questions. No way was Soledad going to Vin for a favor. Better to be in the dark. Better to wonder about the situation. Better to…

  Then again…

  Maybe going to Vin wouldn't be so awful. So she'd owe him one in his mind. Was that so bad for a scrap of info?

  Soledad looked up. Every cop in the joint looked up, saw Deputy Chief of OVB Metcalf, saw Special Assistant Deputy Chief Tannehill, saw Bo, saw all of them striding toward Lieutenant Rysher's office. A plan of action was about to get strategized on. And every cop would've given anything to have been in Rysher's office with them. None more so than the MTacs. None more so than Soledad.

  Bo, as he passed, gave Soledad a look. The look was quick. The look was just long enough to say: Sorry, kid. Know you want in on this, but not much I can do.

  Bo said that with his look, then disappeared into Rysher's office along with Metcalf and Tannehill.

  Soledad watched them go in, watched the door get closed. For a good while she stared at the door, hypothesized about who was saying what to who about whatever really happened in the Valley, what should be the first consideration and what would be the next step.

  All the staring in the world gave Soledad no clairvoyance.

  She went back to moving a pen over paper. It made for a crappy distraction. Going through the motions of work did nothing to take her mind off what kinds of plans were being cooked up to deal with the—

  The door opened. Bo half popped himself out.

  "Soledad." He ticked his head back toward Rysher's office.

  Soledad sat a moment, then fumbled Jerry Lewis-style for the office, her heart pounding, her mind working on fantasies of getting the call to duty: They needed her, they needed her piece, there's no way they can stop the freak without…

  Inside the office. Tomb quiet. Soledad got no notice from Metcalf or Tannehill. Bo said to Rysher: "O'Roark?"

  Rysher hesitated a little, said: "Yeah, she's fine for this. Get a pen and paper, take notes."

  Soledad's heart slowed, practically quit beating. Fantasies, that's all they were.

  And the way Rysher'd said Soledad was fine for" this," told her to get a pen and paper. Those weren't just assessment and direction. To Soledad's ears they were comments of condescension.

  The poisoned well? Lies and deceit and conspiracy?

  But she wanted in. Deal with the lies later.

  From Rysher's desk Soledad took a pen and paper, took a seat.

  A secretary with a gun. Except she didn't have a gun anymore.

  Tannehill: "Let's get to it. David?"

  Metcalf said: "Media's playing ball, for now at least."

  "Playing ball or swallowing bullshit?"

  "Mostly swallowing. They're going with the story. Murder-suicide."

  "Now, hold on." Bo interrupting."You gonna put out Fiero killed those other three and himself? He's good cop."

  "This isn't about him," Rysher cautioned.

  "Hell, I know what it's about. But the man's got family. You're gonna leave him painted like a nut job killer for them?"

  "Sooner or later," Tannehill said,"the truth will come out. We'll put it out. He'll be vindicated."

  "Sooner or later?"

  "If it keeps the people from panicking, consider Fiero doing his job even in death. I promise you, when this is done, he'll be fully, completely cleared. His family will receive benefits over and above what they're due. But we've got to keep the peace. Any way we can, we've got to."

  Silence was acceptance. But Bo, even under the circumstances, didn't like a dead cop being mud-dragged.

  Tannehill asked Rysher: "What's the status of the MTacs?"

  "Valley is up to full strength. We've transferred over one operator from Harbor, Pacific and West LA, and one TOL. Now, that's going to shake things up at all the divisions, but it's better than having one green team. Especially if this freak is hiding out in the Valley."

  "Do we know it's still in the Valley?" Tannehill asked.

  "No," Metcalf answered.

  "Do we even know what we're up against?"

  "We're pretty sure it's a telepath."

  Pretty sure didn't sit too well with Tannehill."Jesus, David. What have you got your DMI doing?"

  Metcalf flinched away, then said: "All we've got is just this much to go on: We had a civilian come in off the street. He claimed he'd seen an invulnerable and gave us the location. Turns out he was being puppeted. We know that now."<
br />
  "And you didn't bother to consider that before you sent four cops to kill themselves?"

  The finger-pointing was starting. The brass, Soledad thought, had a hard-on for pointing fingers as long as the fingers got pointed away from themselves.

  Lies and deceit and conspiracy.

  Bo—good cop, team cop—stepped in, came to Metcalf's defense."Well, now, there wasn't much precedent for this. In all my years I never heard of a freak baiting MTacs; setting them up for the slaughter."

  Tannehill had a question."Why lure them out at all? If it was a telepath, it could've walked in and had the whole division putting bullets into each other."

  An unsettling thought.

  Rysher offered: "The stinking coward's too scared to face down more than a couple of cops."

  "Telepath can jump from mind to mind so fast, it could take out an entire station before they knew what hit them." Bo laid out the facts as he saw them."Could be it was just targeting MTacs. Maybe it didn't want anyone else to get hurt."

  "Since when," Rysher scoffed,"do muties care about who gets killed?"

  Not since San Francisco, Soledad thought as she wrote.

  "Gets worse," Metcalf said.

  Rysher: "You mean the message?"

  Soledad stopped writing. In the rumors she'd caught she hadn't heard about any—

  "Message?" Tannehill asked.

  "Before Fiero," Metcalf started,"shot himself he said—he was made to say by the telepath—'The revolution is coming. The truth will set them free. '"

  "Revelation."

  Everyone looked to Soledad.

  She said again: "Revelation, not revolution."

  Tannehill: "How do you know?"

  "I know because it's the same thing a freak said to me."

  Bo, for Tannehill's benefit: "On her first call Officer O'Roark came in close contact with a metanormal."

  "How close?" Tannehill wanted to know.

  Soledad hitched down her collar, let Tannehill get a good look at her neck scars.

  She said: "When a pyro's got you by the throat trying to burn the life out of you, you remember what it tells you. What it told me is the revelation is coming."

  "What," asked Rysher,"is a revelation?"

  "A revelation is a disclosure or something disclosed by or as if by divine or preternatural means." Soledad, snide, looking to Rysher: "It's when you find out the truth about things."