by Rach Elle
Zeff disappeared at the top of the stairs.
“Dude,” Alvin whispered to Mason, “your ‘goyle is so ace.”
“I know, right?” Mason whispered back.
Cooper turned to Alvin, crossed her arms in front of her chest and scoffed.
“Oh, no,” Alvin cooed, “you’re cool too. You have this great way of…” he thought for a beat, “nagging me.”
Cooper dropped her arms and scowled. She too headed for the stairs.
“No, I mean it,” Alvin continued sarcastically, “you’re excellent at nagging me; as in, to death.” He followed her to the staircase. “Hold on; alright, I’m sorry. You never nag me to death.” Cooper stopped half way up the stairs and looked at her Responsibility unsure if she should accept the apology or not. Alvin continued, “I guess I’m more like a turtle that’s been flipped on his back.” Cooper scoffed again and continued her defiant march up the stairs. Alvin called after her, “It’s like I’m just kicking my legs in the air asking every passerby, ‘Oi mate! Can you turn me on my abdomen so I may retreat into my little shell to block the incisive noise?”
“You better put a sock in it before I box your ears!” Cooper called as she reached the top of the stairs and rounded the corner, disappearing from sight.
Alvin called up again, “I meant that in the most endearing way! Who doesn’t love a good turtle?” He turned back to everyone in the living room, who stared at him. Bawli and Mason looked amused; having witnessed their banter on too many occasions to count; but the others appeared confused as hell. Alvin shrugged, “She’s so touchy.”
Sunders sat alone in his flat, having a take away and watching a late night marathon of The Soup Pot when a knock sounded at his door. Slightly buzzed, Sunders groaned and rolled his eyes. Who the hell else could that possibly be? He stood from his chair and steadied himself on shaky legs. He made his way to the door and looked through the peephole to see a copper. He opened the door.
“Can I help you?” He asked, his hair disheveled and his stubble overgrown way past a five o’clock shadow.
“I’m sorry to bother you Mr. Harper,” the copper began, “but my name is Detective Crowne and I have a few questions about the boys we arrested here earlier this evening.”
Sunders furrowed his brow, “What kind of questions?”
“Well, for starters, do you know who they were?”
“Nah, just common thieves, I guess.”
“You don’t know their names?”
“Nah, you have their ID’s. Why are you asking me?”
“Well,” the detective looked downward, slightly embarrassed, “turns out John Mumford and Harry Bottom were fake names.”
No shit. “Why don’t you ask them?” Sunders slurred. He was too tired to stand, let alone be interrogated on his doorstep.
“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible.”
“Why?”
“They escaped.”
“What? You can’t be serious; those bams?”
“Yeah, well, they had a little help. Some bloke with a scar showed up and knocked out the arresting officer. He came to and called in backup but it was too late. They got away.”
“Shit,” Sunders bluntly blurted, “well, sorry I can’t be of more use to you Detective Crowne. G’night.” He started to close his door when Crowne stopped it with his palm.
“Mr. Harper,” Crowne began, “you said they were common thieves, and yet nothing was stolen.”
“They didn’t get the chance.” Sunders was now very annoyed. He really wanted to return to his chair and continue his usual downward spiral into drunkenness.
“Yes, but do you know what they could have been looking for? Maybe that could help us identify these two; if we know their MO, I mean.”
Sunders thought for a moment then shook his head sluggishly. “No, I keep anything of real value in a safe. They were just looking around my kitchen and under my bed…” A sudden wave of grief swept Sunders’ body. His heart dropped into the pit of his empty stomach and his head began swimming, threatening to knock him off his feet.
“Mr. Harper?” Crowne asked, “Are you alright?”
Sunders quickly pulled him together and tried to put on a front. “Aye, I’m fine”
“Are you sure? It looks like you may have just remembered something?”
“Hmm? Oh, nah; I mean aye; I just remembered I’m late on my electricity bill. Better pay that before the lights go out for good, yeah?” He forced a laugh.
Crowne crooked a brow. “You’re sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me; nothing of importance?” He clearly wasn’t buying the Scotsman’s story.
“Positive,” Sunders smiled. “Goodnight detective.” He closed the door and locked it.
Sunders took only a second to gather himself before diving to the floor. He lifted the bed sheet that hung in his way and searched under the bed. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness so he stretched his arm under the frame as far as it would go, sweeping side to side, praying the flash drive was still there. He grunted and groaned and frantically searched for a few moments before finally conceding. Those boys knew exactly what they were looking for. The flash drive was gone. Sunders finally had a piece of evidence in his grasp; something he could review over and over and pick apart for clues to the whereabouts of these creatures like only an experienced Finder could; and he pissed it away – like only he could.
Sunders peeled his body off the floor, supporting his weight on the mattress. He staggered over to his chair and plopped into it, feeling more worthless than ever. The laugh track sounded from the box and he scowled. As if on auto-pilot he reached for the bottle of scotch on the floor. He grabbed the neck and lifted it to his lips, knowing that by morning the bottle would be empty. He would feel like shit but he would go to work anyway, just like always. Or maybe this time he wouldn’t wake up at all. Not that it would matter either way.
9
Junior sat at the bar in the corner of the living room in the Vanderburen castle. His wounds were healing and he had shifted back to human the first chance he got. His mind was filled with the words Awilda Rose had spoken in the garden. She had talked about how she wanted to die until she looked into his eyes. She said she thought his world would be different without her in it. Little did she know just how drastically different it would be; shattered, to say the least. He wanted so badly to go to her; to hold her in his arms and apologize profusely, even though she claimed to have already forgiven him for his attack in the park. He knew that no matter how much she believed in her forgiveness, there would always be a part of her that feared him; and that made him want to slit his wrists.
“Please, Junior; you have to know how sorry I am.” Kingsley said again. Junior rolled his eyes. The old man had been apologizing to him for the past ten minutes. “I wasn’t thinking,” Kingsley continued, “I was grief stricken for the future I knew to expect.” When Junior didn’t respond again, his shoulders slumped in surrender. “Fine, I’ll give you your space.” He turned to leave, stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Just so you know Elizabeth and I will be taking the guest house.”
“I heard you earlier.” Junior said without looking at the man.
“I just wanted to clear it with you. I love Lizzie, you know. I would never do anything to hurt her.” He watched Junior’s shoulders lift as he scoffed quietly. Kingsley sighed. “I know you don’t believe me now, but I will prove to you that I’m no longer a danger to Awilda. I know I need to accept my fate and the fate of those around me, just as I always have. I’ll watch over Awilda because she’s my Responsibility but I’ll do it from afar as I promised you.” He waited for a response. When none came, “I’m sorry for not telling you about Lizzie and me. I didn’t want you to be upset.”
“Yeah,” Junior said flatly, “I can tell you have my best interests at heart.”
Kingsley’s lips thinned and flattened and his eyes lowered in regret. He had no response. There was nothing he could say to improve the s
ituation anyway. Junior was hell bent on hating him. It would take time, but he knew that one day he’d be able to prove himself to his young friend again. He quietly turned and left the living room, passing the gargoyle with the scar along the way. He refused to make eye contact with his icy glare.
Zeff made his way to the bar and grabbed a bottle of liquor. He casually spoke to the American as he passed, “On the piss again?” He looked at the nearly empty bottle of Jack that Junior was pouring from. “We’re going to have to stock four times as much if this is a nightly thing for you; either that or enroll you in AA.”
Junior dead panned upward to meet Zeff’s eyes, “I’m having a rough day.”
“Ah, well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he held up his bottle. “I’m just grabbing a night cap anyway.”
Junior listened as Zeff left the bar and headed up the stairs to go to his room. His senses spiked as he realized he still was not alone, and he had a feeling he knew who else was in the room with him. “What do you want?” He scowled.
Tauggle smirked and crooked a brow, “Just a little friendly conversation.”
Awilda had checked in on Simon; he was sleeping peacefully. She quietly exited his room and turned to head to hers when suddenly Zeff was standing right in front of her. She jumped back, startled.
“Didn’t mean to give you a start,” Zeff said.
“Oh, no, it’s okay.” She smiled.
Zeff’s eyes lowered to her bruised and cut throat. “Where did you say you got that from again?” He asked.
Instinctively, Awilda brought her hand to her neck to shield the wound. “I told you; we ran into some Protectors in the park.”
“Yes,” Zeff drew out the syllable, “but you still didn’t answer the question.”
“That is the answer.”
“Is it?” Zeff cocked his head to the side. When the girl didn’t answer, he nodded, “Alright then, goodnight.” He passed her and headed for his room at the end of the hall.
“Wait, Zeff,” Awilda called after him. He stopped and turned to face her. She nervously bit her bottom lip and twiddled her thumbs in front of her stomach. “I’m really sorry for everything you had to go through tonight. I guess it was kind of my fault.”
Zeff shrugged, “No need to apologize. It was perhaps the most exciting night we’ve had in a long time. I should be thanking you.” He turned and reached for the knob to his door.
“You’re not mad?” Awilda stopped him again.
“Why would I be?”
Awilda shrugged and pushed her damp hair behind her ears. “Because you were in a car chase; fleeing from the police.”
Zeff looked over his shoulder at the petite girl and a small, devilish smile played across his lips. “It’s nice to feel wanted every once in a while.”
Awilda nervously chuckled and nodded her head. “Okay then,” she began, “well, goodnight.” She pivoted on her right heel and headed down the hall in the opposite direction toward her room. She heard him say calmly, with his smooth, velvety English accent, “Goodnight, Awilda.”
Junior found himself on the stone floor, pressing his palms to his ears as tightly as he could when the ear-piercing wail abruptly stopped. The images that had flooded his mind of blood, death and then Awilda disappeared and he looked up to the Limrid that stood over him.
“You,” he removed his hands from his ears. “You caused the sound in the park?”
Tauggle stared at the savior with his black eyes. He began walking toward Junior slowly, methodically. “The endless winter,” he began, “reveal to the masses, true minions will flock.” His lips parted and stretched across his face, revealing his perfectly white, fanged teeth. “Best be ready savior,” he smiled, “they’re coming.”
“Who,” Junior asked, “more of you?”
“The true minions; the interpretation is up to you.”
Junior tried to process the Limrid’s words, but he now had a throbbing headache. “Those images,” he began, “were those premonitions?”
Tauggle creased his brow, “I have seen the prophecy first hand. I was merely projecting memories. Call it a gift; a sneak peak at the very near future.” He turned to leave.
“So nothing is set in stone.” Junior called after him. “There’s still a chance Awilda isn’t who you think she is.”
Tauggle stopped and looked over his shoulder at the wounded savior. “She’s been calling to us for many years.”
“Us; have more Limrids found her?”
The Limrid gave a crooked smile. He let out a small, melodious laugh. “Your obliviousness amuses me. Goodnight.” He disappeared into thin air.
10
2 weeks ago
Mount Charleston, Nevada…
The wind felt like ice as it swirled violently in the midnight air. The ground was covered in snow and the trees were naked, shivering in the cold. Jessie Zane may has well have been naked too. The thin layers of fabric that covered her body did little to shield the freeze; but she kept walking. She had to; she had nowhere to go and if she stopped moving her joints would lock and she would surely die. A fitting end to her not-so-holier-than-thou life, she supposed.
Jessie could hear only the howl of the wind and the crunching snow beneath her shoes as she pushed on; her arms wrapped tightly around her body and her blonde hair hung loose to cover her ears. She looked up to see a familiar tree. Its trunk was tall and thin, its branches reached toward her like boney fingers and a large root peered through the snowy ground. Jessie sighed and her shoulders slumped; she’d just made a very large circle. At least now she knew where she was; about a mile outside of where she’d parked at the base of Mount Charleston. Maybe she had enough gas left to get to a nearby hotel.
Jessie turned and inhaled sharply. She would have made a sound if her throat wasn’t bone dry. Instead the icy air stung her vocal chords as she jumped at the sight of the woman standing in front of her. She was a beautiful, tan skinned woman with long, black wavy hair cascading down her back. Her eyes were dark and narrowed as she stared at Jessie from the safe end of a semi-automatic. Jessie’s eyes whipped around; where did she come from?
Jessie coughed, trying to clear her throat before speaking over the howling wind. “I didn’t think I’d find you. I was just about to give up.”
“Put your hands in the air.” The woman answered.
“What? Oh, come on Maxi, it’s me; Jessie!”
“I know who you are now put your hands in the air!”
Jessie obeyed and threw her hands upward. She watched as Maxi pulled an electronic detector out of her backpack and closed the distance between them. She ran the device along the length of Jessie’s body three times before appearing satisfied with the results. Maxi’s hard eyes met hers. “Go; that way; now,” she motioned to her left. Without saying a word Jessie turned and started walking. She lowered her hands only to hear Maxi re-aim her gun at her back. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Jessie continued, following Maxi’s verbal directions and trying not to cry. It had been years since they’d last spoken, but she couldn’t believe it was enough time to turn her best friend into a complete stranger.
11
Present Day
London, England…
Sunders woke with a stiff neck and a massive hangover. His body was draped over the chair he had sitting next to his bed. He never did understand why being drunk meant he couldn’t push his body to close the six inch gap between the chair and the mattress. At least then when he would wake up he wouldn’t have the aches and pains; just the pounding headache and a low tolerance for lights, sounds and stupid people. After taking a moment to breathe and do some neck rolls he managed to sit up straight and lift his body off the chair. He stumbled, steadied himself, and stumbled some more before grabbing onto his dresser for support. Slowly he walked to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and attempt a shave. When he reached his pedestal sink and realized he couldn’t stand without wobbling from side to side however, he
decided the rugged woodsman look was in and ditched the soap and razor altogether.
It took longer than usual but Sunders managed to change into a pair of slacks, a black t-shirt and a brown suede jacket. He ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair a few times before giving up on achieving a hairdo and instead put on a baseball cap. His face was still busted. Thankfully the swelling had decreased overnight but he still had a large shiner over his left eye and a fat upper lip. He threw on some cologne to mask the stench of last night’s battle in the park and slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses before heading to work.
Four blocks and a stop at the nearest coffee shop for a little pick-me-up later, Sunders arrived at United Financial. He walked casually through the foyer, only nodding in the direction of the receptionist before reaching the elevators. When the doors opened to the fourth floor he heard the familiar sound of Chase blowing a gasket down the hall. He cringed, knowing exactly what the Protector was yelling about.
“What did you erase?!” Chase demanded an answer.
“I didn’t erase anything!” Madge cried. She sat in her chair at her computer as Chase and Wade hovered over her. Corey sat quietly in the corner cubicle and Bill Maines stood against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Sunders quietly took a stance in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. Poor Madge; she sat with her ankles crossed and a few waded up tissues in her hands. Every once in a while she lifted one to wipe under her thick rimmed glasses as tears poured down her chubby cheeks.
“Well this is your computer, is it not?” Wade asked as he looked to her with his arm in a cast. Sunders wondered if everyone was going to sign it. What would he say?
Hey Wade, Fuck You
- Sonny
“Yes,” Madge sniffled.
“Then you should know how some evidence got erased. Did you accidentally do it? Are you that incompetent?” Wade’s Irish accent weighed down on the poor woman, causing her shoulders to slump further with every word.