by Rach Elle
Sunders waited for the elevator doors to open to the fourth floor. He took a deep breath to relish the silence. He wished like hell being a failure was new territory for him. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so nauseated at the idea of doing it on purpose.
The elevator doors opened and Sunders stepped onto the fourth floor. He smiled and nodded at Madge as he entered the long corridor and made his way to his office. The commotion and raised voices of the other Finders filled his ears and rang in his head, giving him a headache. He couldn’t wait to disappear into his dark, messy office; the one place he felt most like himself in this world.
Sunders opened his office door to a bright light he didn’t understand. He quickly shielded his eyes, “What the…” Slowly, he lowered his hand to see his office brightly lit, cleaned, and rearranged. He finished his sentence, “fuck.”
“Oh, darn it!”
His eyes darted to the back corner where he saw Rue looking surprised to see him.
“I wanted to get this done before you got in today,” she said in a pouty voice.
“What did you do?” Sunders was still in shock.
Rue motioned for him to look around the office. “Well, I noticed your light bulb had gone out so I put a new one in; much brighter now and much better for your eyes. Then once the space was properly lit I noticed how, um, messy it was; so I cleaned it up a little; well, okay a lot,” she giggled, making him cringe. “Then I noticed the, well,” she looked at the wall that sat behind his desk, “property damage; and so I moved the filing cabinets there to hide it, which meant moving your desk to the middle of the room but now it’s a lot closer to the sofa so you can talk to your guests better.”
Sunders looked at the filing cabinets. He knew what property damage she was referring to. Too many times he’d find himself growing angrier and angrier as he watched his ex-wife Darla’s house. He’d see her perfect little life in her perfect little neighborhood and it made him sick. In need of release he would wheel his chair around and punch the wall behind him. For the most part he could pull his punches and not make a mark; but on more than once occasion even through the darkness he could see he’d made a dent in the plaster; but he liked that. He liked the physical proof that he was a man capable of causing such damage. Now it was all gone; hidden by a row of filing cabinets.
Slowly he looked around his clean, well lit office, taking it all in; processing what had happened to his once safe haven. The cave he could crawl into even on his worst day and still feel like a functioning human being was suddenly stark and void of comfort.
“So,” Rue’s shrill little voice carried out the word, “what do you think?”
Sunders couldn’t say anything. He looked at the woman in the back corner with hard eyes that made her recoil instantly. Afraid of what his own reaction might be if he allowed himself to speak, he kept his mouth closed. He backed out of the door jamb and slammed the door shut. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to punch another wall. Instead, he hurried down the hall and took the elevator to the seventh floor.
42
Sunders was covered in sweat as he pounded on a free standing punching bag that rested on its side. The Scotsman channeled every ounce of anger, bitterness and regret he had into each fist, each elbow and each knee he dropped onto the bag; grunts of frustration escaping his lips with every blow. Finally he sat on his knees, breathing heavy and deciding that particular bag had had enough beating for one day.
Sunders reached over and grabbed his water bottle. He poured the liquid into his mouth, allowing it to pool before swallowing. He sat for a moment with beads of sweat dripping from his hair, feeling grateful for the DAA training center. Not all Finders used the gym, but Sunders was a regular. He had a designated locker where he always kept a gym bag filled with workout gear. It came in handy on days like this.
On an exhale Sunders pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet. He walked over to another heavy bag that was suspended from the ceiling and began working on his combinations. The open finger gloves on his hands were already drenched in sweat, but he didn’t care; he was in the zone. He could feel his muscle tank moving with every twist and his sculpted biceps tightening with every jab. His bare feet were in perfect position and his muscular thighs were supporting the weight of his hips evenly. They were beginning to feel a little tight and he figured he was going to need a one-on-one session with a foam roller after this.
“Well if it isn’t Sonny,” a familiar voice called from across the nearly empty gym.
Sunders cringed as he turned around to see Marvin, the resident doctor of the Dark Angel Alliance. Marvin and Sunders had never gotten along; something about the guy just rubbed him the wrong way. Or did something about Sunders rub Marvin the wrong way? Either way there was some bad rubbing going on. Now Marvin had even more reason to dislike him; just a few days ago he demoted his sister, Madge, to receptionist.
“What are you doing down here Marvin?” Sunders asked as he watched the doctor walk toward him. “Shouldn’t you be upstairs asking blokes to turn their heads and cough?”
Marvin let out a fake, shallow laugh, “Very funny Sonny. I should actually be thanking you, though.”
Sunders crooked a brow, “Yeah?”
“Yeah, thanks to you I had the most exciting case in – probably ever – just a few days ago. He was a Protector named Wade; you remember.”
“Aye,” Sunders winced.
“Oh it was exciting,” Marvin continued sarcastically, “a patient with multiple wounds who actually needed treatment! I even had to pull him off the field. As you know that doesn’t happen too often around here. Paper cuts are hardly worth a medical leave of absence,” His voice flattened.
“Maybe you should go work for the Protectors then. I’m sure you’d get lots of cases like that. Protectors are all pure dead wallapers.”
“Better than spineless bookworms.”
Sunders cracked a coy smile, “Careful Marvin; lest you forget your sister was a Finder.”
Marvin closed the distance between them, bringing his nose less than a centimeter away from Sunders’ face, “Lest you forget,” he said in a deep, low tone, “because of you and your inability to do anything of merit – career wise and personal – my sister is even lower on the food chain when you know damn well she’s worth so much more.”
Sunders stared with earnest into the eyes of the doctor, “Aye,” he agreed.
With a huff Marvin pivoted around and marched out of the gym.
Sunders didn’t feel much like throwing punches anymore. Now he just felt like shite. Because of him Madge was seen as the biggest screw up in the building. With a heavy sigh he grabbed his water bottle and headed back to the locker room.
Sunders began prepping the shower, slowly turning the knob to get the water to just the right temperature when he started thinking about his conversation with Regina the day before. He had never met a Creator before and found it enormously interesting to hear her side of the story. He never once imagined a person actually fighting for the Creators; abducting innocents to conduct experiments for the greater good just didn’t seem to carry many redeemable qualities; and yet Regina scraped the bottom of the barrel to collect as many as she could muster.
His mind began replaying her words about this job never leaving him, even after he retired. He supposed she was right. What was he going to do when it came time to leave the DAA? He didn’t think it would be as easy for him as it was for her. She just picked up where she left off before the DAA; obtaining a job in advertising in Las Vegas.
After he removed his clothes and stepped into the shower he rewound his memories just a little further back to the moment he first met Regina and James. They were in the United Financial building posing as a couple of blues and twos; then he thought of Rue. He thought of the way she didn’t want them to leave her sight and he remembered vividly the way she took chase, literally jumping down the fire escape and running after them down an alley like she was suddenly in an action movi
e. She had said she feared they nicked something from his office but he knew that was complete bullshit. Her acting abilities were sub-par at best. No, Rue had another interest in the duo and he had a feeling it had less to do with James and more with the Creator.
A sudden, sinking feeling ravaged his stomach and an idea that had no supporting evidence crept into his brain. Quickly, he finished up his shower, turned off the water and threw his clean clothes on in record time before heading back to the fourth floor.
Roderick sat at his desk with his head cradled in his hand and his eyelids growing heavier and heavier by the second. The stress of his team’s latest project and the fact that they were coming up short at every turn had begun to weigh heavily on him. He was just about to drift off for a little cat nap when his door suddenly whipped open. He sat at attention as Sonny closed himself in the office.
“Hey Rod,” Sunders began, “what you on the day?”
“Nowt, what’s going on with you?”
Sunders shook his head, “Nowt,” after a moment of silence he acted as if a random thought just popped into his head. “Hey, about that secret project you’re working on for the Protectors; exactly where was that facility that exploded located?”
Roderick relaxed in his chair and rolled his eyes, “Oh bloody hell, not you as well. Isn’t your new member keeping you up to date? I’m telling you Sonny, at first she’s a hell of a looker, but after a while she loses all appeal.”
“What are you going on about?”
“Rue; she comes in here four or five times a day asking about my progress. I’m tellin’ ya’ I’m beginning to get a complex since every time I only have the same answer – there is no progress. It only makes it worse when she suggests I throw the thing over to you.”
Sunders creased his brow, “What?”
“Oh don’t act like you weren’t putting her up to it mate.”
“I promise you I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Roderick studied the newly showered Sunders in front of him. Finally, he conceded, “Well, then apparently you’ve got a fan. She seems to think you’re the best at what we do.”
Sunders couldn’t imagine why Rue would think that; maybe she didn’t hear about Egypt? Or any of the other blunders he’d had over the last decade? Could Rod be speaking the truth; that Rue did look up to him and appreciate his abilities? If that were the case then he suddenly felt like a giant ass for the way he reacted to her little gift earlier. She was only trying to help him – in her own annoying, nauseating, cringe-inducing way. Finally he pushed the thought of her out of his mind and pinned Roderick with an urgent look, “Where was the facility located?” He asked again.
Roderick didn’t understand why Sunders cared so much since he seemed to have his own investigation to worry about, but he shrugged in surrender, “In Nevada, America.”
“Is that near Las Vegas?”
“Las Vegas is in Nevada. The facility sat not far outside of the city, actually.”
Sunders’ eyes grew wide. Was it possible that the facility was actually for the Creators? If that were true then it would mean the Creators still existed up until a couple of weeks ago; which would explain Regina’s passion for their mission and the fact that she looked much too young to have ever been involved with them in the first place.
“Sonny,” Roderick said, straightening his posture as he watched the wheels turn behind the Scotsman’s eyes. “Do you know something? You look like you know something.”
Sunders shook the revelation from his expression, “Nah, but if I stumble upon any connection, you’ll be the first to know.” He backed out of the office as Roderick still eyed him with a curious and suspicious glare.
43
Elizabeth took another bite of her omelet. She and Bawli had been sitting in silence for the better part of breakfast. He was distant and inattentive; so unlike his normal self.
“Okay,” she said bluntly, putting down her fork, “what’s going on with you today?”
Bawli looked at her with surprise in his green eyes, “What do you mean?”
“You’re not yourself.”
“Yes I am.”
“No, you’re not; you’re quiet and reserved.”
“Can’t a man just contemplate life every once in a while?” He forced a playful smirk.
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped and she pegged him with a sad expression that sent rolling waves of guilt down Bawli’s spine. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, “I’m sorry; I just haven’t been myself today.”
She rested her hand gently on top of his, “What’s going on?”
Bawli thought for a moment before taking a deep breath, “Follow me,” he said somberly.
Elizabeth followed Bawli through his bedroom and down the hall to the door of his art studio. He latched onto the knob and hesitantly turned it and pushed his way inside. He didn’t turn on the light; instead he grabbed onto her hand and slowly led her blindly through the messy and cluttered room to the walk-in closet door.
“I’ve told you about my redhead,” he began, unsure of how to choose his words. “When I see her I can feel her energy and it affects me even after I wake up. When she’s happy you can’t wipe the smile from my face for days; when she’s scared I’m on edge and when she’s sad I’m practically a shut-in.”
“You care deeply for her,” Elizabeth cooed, “I think its sweet.”
“Yes, well,” Bawli continued nervously, “she’s not the only reoccurring dream of mine.” He watched as Lizzie looked to him with question. “I haven’t told anyone else about him.”
“Him?” She asked.
Bawli nodded then reached for the knob on the closet door. He opened it and turned on the low-watt bulb that flooded the space in a dark yellowish hue. Elizabeth’s eyes widened in shock and she cupped her hand over her mouth to hide her gasp. In front of her was a closet filled to the rim with artwork; all with the same subject. The man had jet black hair and horns that curved in a tight circle like a ram. The colors that surrounded him were blood red and black and the paintings harbored images of death; impalement, stabbing and decapitation. She could almost feel the river of blood seeping out of the tiny room and it made her head spin. “Who is he?” She heard herself whisper.
“I don’t know,” Bawli began, “I see him just about as frequently as my redhead; a couple times a year; but I have yet to encounter him. This is why I haven’t been myself today; I dreamt of him last night. Much like my redhead I’m affected by the emotions he conveys; and they’re never good.”
“Do you think he’s related to your redhead somehow?”
Bawli cringed, “I hope not. I don’t know if the images he prompts me to paint are things he has seen or acts he has committed, but either way I don’t want her anywhere near him.”
“How long have you been seeing him?” She asked, still unable to take her eyes off of the collection of horrifying images in front of her.
“For a very long time; at first I thought he was just a product of my imagination. You know that big painting hanging in the ballroom?” He watched her nod. “The gargoyle in that painting has the same horns and black hair. For a while I tried to convince myself that my dreams were only that; dreams; stemming from that painting. But then the emotions and images became stronger and stronger.”
Elizabeth managed to rip her stare away from the artwork and look up into Bawli’s tormented eyes. “You think the gargoyle from that painting is out there somewhere?”
Bawli shook his head, “No, there’s no way he’s still alive; and that’s why I haven’t told anyone else. They already give me enough flack for my redhead. They’d probably commit me if I told them about this.”
“Why?”
“There’s no way they’d believe it; they’d think I’ve gone insane.”
Elizabeth was afraid to ask her next question, so she spoke cautiously, “What wouldn’t they believe?”
Bawli stared into her eyes with both fear and sorrow for a moment b
efore answering, “That I’m being contacted by the dead.”
44
When Awilda agreed to spend a day with her dad she had no idea he meant this… A ball was suddenly hurled toward her. She raised her glove to shield her face and felt the weight and speed of the ball hit her palm through the leather before it bounced back and fell to the grass below.
“Wills,” James called to her, “the game is called ‘Catch’ for a reason; you’re supposed to catch the ball.”
“Oh, right,” she laughed awkwardly, “sorry dad.” She picked up the ball and threw it the best she could; sending it wheeling so far to the left if she had a little more strength it would have crashed into the side of the castle. She watched James hang his head and groan as he took off running to fetch the ball for about the tenth time. Yeah, this whole father/daughter bonding thing wasn’t working out too well.
She had hoped for some one-on-one time sitting in the living room and talking about their lives. She thought maybe he could tell her a little about her mother. She had always assumed her mother wasn’t the saint the rest of her family had painted her to be. Now that Awilda was older maybe she could actually get an answer other than, ‘Heaven needed another angel’. But instead she was outside in the cold playing catch; and not very well.
“Hey dad,” she called to him as he retrieved the ball, “maybe after this we can go inside and just talk for a while?”