He took option two.
Reflecting from the glass pane was a coffee shop, across the street, having three tables out on the sidewalk. The two tables closer to him had people standing horrified, as they looked above at the falling woman, and the table furthest from him was empty.
While he started to focus his eyes up, he saw the first object, the mannequin, shatter into pieces as it hit the ground. There were sounds of cracking limbs and popping of hollow, exploding pieces. Its head disintegrated, as it crashed onto the ground. Debris was strewn across the street.
Now concentrating on the woman, he sensed every cell in her body and read every material woven throughout her clothes.
At the same time, he focused on the other debris falling around and above her.
Subconsciously, he began to extend one hand into the air with his fingers spread apart, aiming at the woman, and following her as she fell. With his other hand, he directed his palm toward one of the chairs at the empty table, across the street.
With his arms spread out, words flashed in his mind, from the note that was slid under his apartment door, How do you catch a falling object?
The woman fell closer and closer to the ground, accelerating with each passing instant. She passed the seventh, the fifth, and then the third.
As the woman reached the first floor, he immediately made her, and the other falling debris around her, disappear. Within an instant, the woman reappeared sprawled out on the chair at the empty table across the street.
Within another instant, he transformed the debris into another mannequin with identical clothing and made it materialize to take her place in the plunge to the ground.
A split-second later, the mannequin smashed into the street and shattered into hundreds of pieces.
People screamed, as they saw what they thought was a human being disintegrated in front of their eyes. After a moment of shock, some ran into the street in order to get a closer look. Then quickly, they realized, in utter amazement, that it had been yet another mannequin.
The longhaired man ran away from the people, making his way across the street.
He had just unmade then remade the woman.
As he sprinted, he blurted, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Is she still alive?” When he reached her, he knelt down. Nervously and quickly, he grasped her hand.
She had a pulse.
He exhaled and whispered in amazement, “Oh, thank you, Jesus! Thank you, God! She’s alive…oh, my God, she’s alive.” Hurriedly, he checked her again, putting his cheek next to her nose, to make sure she was breathing. “She’s good. She’s good.”
Quickly, he got up from his knees and ran into the coffee shop. He yelled, “Can someone please call an ambulance?” He pointed at the table outside. “There’s a woman here who’s unconscious. I think she just fainted or something!”
A male coffee shop employee ran out with him to the woman. The young employee tried to get her to wake up. Leaning down and gently shaking the woman’s shoulder, he said, “Ma’am, hello? Ma’am can you hear me? Hello?”
Unsuccessful, he then ran back toward the shop. As he made his way back, he glanced briefly at the scene across the street, where onlookers had gathered in front of the Montreme Hotel. Then, the young man ran inside the shop to call for an ambulance.
The longhaired man stood beside the unconscious woman. Looking down at her, he said, “It’s probably not a good idea for me to stay here. It’s likely that police will come, and I don’t wanna be a witness and have to explain what I’m doing here.”
But then he noticed that one of the woman’s arms had dropped over the chair’s armrest, extending straight out with the palm opened to the sky. His gaze went to it. There was a symbol on her wrist, and it looked similar to his.
Immediately, he knelt down and put his left wrist beside hers, to compare the two symbols. Hers was an obvious tattoo. It was superficial and the double helix lines that formed a circle were irregular, not crisp, and not distinctly formed like his. Also, she had another circle within the outer double helix circle. This inner circle started at a single point that looked like a small ball of flame; from it was a tail that arced back to itself, forming the complete circle. He had no such inner circle, instead only what appeared to be smudges.
He picked up her other arm. Both her wrists had identical symbols.
In amazement, he staggered back, stumbling over the edge of the sidewalk and onto the street. Standing still, he didn’t know what to think. But then, he whispered, “This can’t be a coincidence. I was drawn here.” Trying to figure things out, he said, “We’re connected somehow. And that hooded guy up there, he gave me the note at the diner, but he clued me in on how to save this woman. Why?” Looking for the hooded man, he jerked his head around to set his eyes on the rooftop. But there was no one there.
Feeling uneasy, he got a sudden urge to leave, and then, he turned around and ran to his car. Jumping in, he started it and raced away.
* * * * * * *
Special Agent Etelson was driving a black sedan with Stevens riding shotgun. They had just gotten into the car, headed for the Montreme Hotel.
Etelson asked casually, “So, the Montreme Hotel, huh? Such luck, huh? In our own D.C. backyard?”
Stevens was just as casual. “Yeah, they say it just happened. The woman was taken from her room at the Montreme. She’s alive and tattooed with our special symbol. An ambulance may still be there.”
“Good, maybe she can give us an ID on the perp.”
“Let’s hope.”
There was silence for several moments, as they cruised through the streets.
Then, Etelson asked, “By the way, any word on that additional substance or compound in the ink?” She turned her head to the side, briefly glanced at her partner, and then turned back to the road.
“No…I mean, yeah, actually. Martin asked us to stop by. Not Martin T., but you know…your boyfriend Martin B. B for boyfriend.”
“Great. Are you gonna start calling him my boyfriend?”
“Hmmm-maybe…” His last syllable ended in a big grin.
Again, there was a moment of silence.
As she drove, Etelson turned briefly, again to look at her partner. Then, she put her gaze back to the road. As she looked straight ahead, she snapped at him, “Hey, sit up straight! You’re slouching.”
Stevens frowned, straightened his back, and mumbled, “Yes, momma.” Slowly, he raised an index finger and said loudly, “I rue the day I asked you to help me with my slouch!”
“Ha! And ya can’t take it back any more, partna’,” she mused.
They were reaching their destination.
Stevens noticeably wrinkled his nose and sniffed quickly. He looked repulsed and asked, “Did you biff?”
Etelson turned to him and pushed his shoulder away, using the tips of her fingers. Appalled, she said, “Hey, biffs are specifically excluded from the Unofficial Non-FBI-Sponsored Smell Game!” Then, she continued, “And NO I didn’t! That’s just disgusting…I’m a lady.”
“Yeah, riiiight…like my left cheek is a lady.” Stevens looked straight ahead, with a big grin. Even though he had broken one of their rules, getting that reaction from her was satisfaction enough for him.
Etelson made a right turn onto the street of the Montreme Hotel. Then, she quickly glanced at Stevens’ smirk and started to feel a little annoyed because of it. As she parked the car, a short distance from the front of the hotel, she countered, “Still wearing that baby-yerp suit, huh, Rye? It’s already smelling stale.”
Stevens’ smirk faded, but he tried rebuffing her question, “Maybe I am. But you know you like it.”
As they exited their sedan and began walking, they said in unison, “Game face.”
Playtime was over, and they put on their professional faces.
Their first stop was the metal, wood, and mannequin debris, at the front of the hotel. The police had closed off the road at either end using their patrol cars, and they had cordoned c
ertain areas with yellow tape.
The officer in charge pointed them to the rooftop where he said a man had tossed down the items. Then, he pointed them to the woman, Mrs. Ackerman, across the street, who had stated she was abducted from her hotel room. The paramedics had finished treating her and had just left.
The two agents walked towards Mrs. Ackerman who was on her feet. An officer stood beside her, writing her statement on a notepad. Next to them, another officer was speaking with the male employee of the coffee shop who had called for the ambulance.
The FBI agents greeted the officer speaking to Mrs. Ackerman. Afterwards, they turned to her, and Stevens began the conversation. “Good evening, Mrs. Ackerman. We’re from the FBI. This is Special Agent Etelson and I’m Special Agent Stevens.”
“Hi,” she answered back. Her arms were nervously and tightly wrapped around herself.
“How are you feeling, ma’am?”
“I’m ok, I guess. Just a little disoriented still. The ambulance guys said I might have been given some kind of strong sedative or tranquilizer. But I’m doing good now…I can stand up. I wanna stand up.”
“Ok, that’s good then. Ma’am, is it correct that you said you were abducted from your hotel room in the Montreme?”
“Yes…yes. Sometime before noon, and I guess I’ve been knocked out since then.”
Etelson began her questions, “Do you remember how it happened?”
“I just remember going into my room on the third floor. I didn’t close the door, but I let it close on its own behind me. Or I thought it closed, but I guess it didn’t, because a man had made his way in.”
“Did you see or notice anyone following you to your room or anyone in the hallway with you?”
“No,” she said, with her head slightly quivering.
“Did you see the man enter through your door?”
“No. I had set down my purse on the bed.” The woman paused. Her lips began to shake, as she recalled. She took two deep breaths to gain her composure, and then she continued, “Then, I went to the bathroom and there he was.”
“Do you think you can give us a description of this man?”
The woman uncrossed her arms and rubbed her hands together. “Yes, I think so. I’m pretty sure I can.”
Stevens saw the symbols on the inside of her wrists. “Ma’am, do you know how you got those markings on both your wrists?”
“No. That man probably put them on me.” She began to cry. “They’re awful! I want them off.” Nervously, she began to try to rub them from her skin.
A distance away from the agents, hidden at a corner, outside the coffee shop, something or someone intently watched the mannerisms of Agent Etelson. Darkened and concealed by the shadow of the building, it studied the movements of her hands, seeing how she tilted her head as she asked questions, and noticing how she stood leaning her weight more on one foot versus the other. It listened to the tone of her voice, her inflections, and her pauses.
As Mrs. Ackerman began to frantically rub the skin of her wrists, the figure in the shadows froze in anticipation. It waited for a particular scent from the markings to be dispersed and carried by the wind, and waft into its nostrils. It was the scent it had been seeking, tracking. As the wind blew by, the familiar chemicals in the scent tingled its senses. It knew its prey was now unmistakably marked.
As Agent Stevens began to speak, it focused its attention on him. So too did it study his actions, hear and record his voice, and learn his speech. It stored in its memory Stevens’ movement, as he lifted his right hand to comb his short, drooping hair, sweeping his fingers from left to right.
Stevens quickly extended his hand at Mrs. Ackerman and said in a soft, calm voice, “Please don’t do that, ma’am.” He slowly retracted his hand. “We’ll need to examine those markings.”
Mrs. Ackerman stopped, wrapped one arm across herself, and put her other hand over her mouth. She struggled to stop herself from crying.
Etelson asked, with a soft voice, “When the officer is finished taking your statement, we’d like you to come with us for a while. Is that ok?”
She nodded and sniffed. “Sure. I can do that.”
The two agents then made their way to the employee of the coffee shop. The officer speaking to him had just finished.
Etelson introduced herself and Stevens to the young man. She asked, “Sir, what can you tell us about what happened here this afternoon?”
“Well, uh, I was inside working,” he pointed at the coffee shop. “There was some commotion outside, here across the street, but I was helping a customer so, I didn’t come out. But I looked out through the window and saw people out here, at two of the tables, standing and looking up at the hotel.”
Etelson nodded.
He continued, “People said that some guy was dropping stuff from the top of the building. A couple of mannequins were tossed down, but some people,” he pointed at the other witnesses congregating among themselves, a short distance away, “could swear that one of them was a person. It’s weird. All three of them had the same clothes on - this woman here you were just talking to and the two mannequins. So, I guess it could have been a little confusing.”
Stevens asked, “Did you see how this woman got here? Did someone take her here? How and where did you find her?”
“Well, ah, like I said I was inside helping a customer, and this guy runs in, all excited, telling us to call an ambulance because the woman here was passed out.”
Etelson asked, “What did he look like? Can you describe him?”
“He was about five-feet-ten to five-feet-eleven maybe. I could tell, because he was about my height. Slim. Had long black hair that was down to his neck. He had a goatee. Maybe in his late twenties or something…and…”
Etelson interrupted him, “Is he here now?”
“Well, after running out and checking on the woman here on the chair, I ran in to call for an ambulance. Then, when I got back out, the guy was gone.” He turned his head to the other witnesses, and then looked up and down the street. “And I don’t see him around here now either.”
Etelson asked, “Sir, could you excuse us for a minute?”
“Sure.”
She and Stevens walked out of earshot. Etelson said, “Hmm…there’s a Good Samaritan, and he flees the scene. What do ya think?”
“Maybe he’s just not the type to hang around to get his pat on the back. I don’t know. Let’s ask around and see if there are others who can ID the guy. We’ll need to track him down somehow. Because we gotta find out how Mrs. Ackerman got down here.”
They began to walk back to the coffee shop employee.
Stevens asked, “By the way, when are we gonna see that guy in San Diego?”
Etelson responded with a smile, “Got tickets for the day after tomorrow, Rye. Get your suntan lotion out.”
In the shadowy corner, outside coffee shop, the creature studying the two agents finished peering into the scene. It turned to walk away. As it did, it bumped into a man walking down the same sidewalk.
The creature’s face crossed into the sunlight: it was the young woman Crystal.
Crystal feigned being surprised, quickly raising a hand over her mouth. Then, taking her hand away, she exclaimed, in her tender southern accent, “Oh, you startled me!”
The man replied immediately, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I…”
Crystal interrupted, “But that was my fault.” Her surprised look faded and a very friendly smile replaced it. She briefly and gently touched the man’s arm. Apologetically, she said, “I’m the one who should be sorry, really.”
He smiled, as warmly as he could, noticing her beauty. While he tried to keep himself from looking at her up and down, he said, “Well, no harm, no foul, huh?”
Crystal stepped aside. With flirting eyes, she darted them quickly into his eyes as she walked on, and her long dark hair floated with the gently passing wind.
Later that evening, Crystal stood confidently at th
e center of the fifth floor of the condemned six-story building.
A few steps away, the dark entity had already transformed from its hissing cloud-like form to combine itself with the pale entity. Both were now communing with one another as one sphere, spinning, glowing, and hovering above the floor.
Crystal turned to the hooded man standing a short distance from her. She said, “I’ve just seen the third one. Why is she still alive?” She spoke plainly, and her sweet southern accent was non-existent.
The hooded man said calmly and quietly, “There were variables not accounted for.” His terse and well-crafted reason was to hide his underlying intentions.
Stepping closer, she responded flatly, “That’s a shame.” There was a hint of disbelief, mistrust in her voice. Speaking almost in a whisper, she added, as she stood with him face to face, “Because now I have to hunt her down.” She had collaborated with the hooded man before, and she knew he had always performed to perfection. So, it was difficult for her to believe that there were variables not accounted. But she needed him. She needed the hooded man, because he was the only one who could find the people with the proper blood that both she and the pale entity required.
Crystal turned, stepped away, and then said in a dismissive tone, “All the better, I suppose. I can make sport of it. Are the plans for the fourth underway?”
“They certainly are,” he informed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make a sport of this one.” The hooded man made the request, because he needed to continue what he had already begun with the longhaired man, and needed to resume drawing him into his game. As he considered what the three entities wanted him to do with the longhaired man, he thought, They have commanded me to “contend” with him and keep him from intervening. But I have other plans. I need to nurture his abilities and develop his talent. That is why I am drawing him into these abductions, why I am forcing him to exercise his gifts, and why I gave him the idea to unmake and remake the falling woman. In this way, I will eventually achieve a vital goal in which he has an essential role. Then, he cautioned himself, But as his skills grow, I still have to walk the balance between augmenting them and preventing him from interrupting my other initiatives. Thus, I need to closely guide and contain his actions. Nonetheless, he will have the aversion to both becoming involved and assisting those in need. And this will simplify my task.
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 19