by Rach Elle
Alvin lowered his head again, knowing Elizabeth was right and ashamed he had ever thought the contrary. He clenched his jaw, wishing he could avenge his friend’s death in some way; that he could show Bawli how much he meant to him.
Elizabeth returned her stare to Sunders. “Do not confuse my words,” she said harshly, “Kindness is not forgiveness. Bawli had a message for you before he died. Do with it what you will; but you are no longer welcome here. For all intents and purposes, consider us to be strangers.” She glared violently at the speechless Finder. She looked away from him, “You may see yourself out.”
Sunders could feel his heart shattering in his chest. His eyes slowly drifted across the clan, unsurprised to see no one returning his gaze. Without any objections, he turned and left the orchard. As he crossed the veranda a chilling breeze swirled around him. He shoved his hands into his fleece pockets and huddled into himself. With heavy grief on his shoulders, he was exiled from the closest thing he’d had to a family in far too long.
50
Sunders arrived at the United Financial building. With a severe expression he charged into the foyer and made a B-line for the elevators. A moment later the doors opened to the fourth floor and he continued his march; ignoring everything and everyone along the way. He was pretty sure Madge greeted him and he thought he heard Roderick asking him if he was okay, but he didn’t care. There was only one person he was here to see.
Sunders barged into Bill Maine’s office and slammed the door behind him. Bill sat behind his desk, looking up at the Finder; as if he had been expecting him.
Sunders approached the desk, furious. “I thought I could trust you,” he tried to remain calm.
Bill held up his hands, “Sonny, please, I was just as surprised as you were.”
“Bullshit,” Sunders cut him off, “I checked thoroughly Bill; I didn’t have a single tracer on me.” Other than the one the clan had given.
“I know; they must have bugged me.”
“They were prepared Bill. They had a plan; a decoy van hiding in the tunnel and everything. They didn’t just bug you. They knew in advance where you were going. Mind explaining how that happened when I didn’t tell you where to meet? I handed the information to you on a fucking piece of paper!”
“And when I got in this morning I had my office scanned,” Bill stood from his chair. “You know what I found? Two listening devices and one hidden camera. Do you really think it above Protectors to break into my office just to see what was written on that little piece of paper? Trust me Sonny,” Bill held up his hands in surrender, “I’m just as much of a victim here as you are. And need I remind you I saved your life back there? Clearly I was on your side.”
Sunders didn’t know what to think. He stared in silence through the dim lighting at his boss and mentor. Finally, he regained his composure and spoke, “Then call them off. Now that you’ve seen what they are capable of; call off the Protectors.”
Bill slowly shook his head apologetically, “I’m sorry I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“This has gone much further than their word against yours in regards to some incident in a park. Did you know a number of gargoyles attacked that decoy van? And there were half a dozen Protectors to witness it. I have people to answer to as well. And there just isn’t any way they’ll let this go. It’s out of our hands… almost.”
Sunders crooked a brow, “Almost?”
Bill nodded, “There might be a way to put an end to this. We just need to go one notch higher than my pay grade.”
“What are you proposing?”
“The same plan you proposed yesterday; only with my boss.”
“Have you lost your head?” Sunders narrowed his eyes at the old man in front of him. “You really want me to put another gargoyle in danger like that?”
“No,” Bill insisted, “This time we’ll take extra precaution. We’ll make absolute certain that no Protectors will be involved.”
“Forget it,” Sunders bit. He looked at the man he once considered to be his best friend; his only friend, for that matter. But at this moment, he didn’t know what to make of him. He wanted to trust him wholeheartedly, but something inside wouldn’t let him. “Besides,” Sunders continued, “my only connection to them was killed last night. The trail is officially cold.”
Bill lowered his eyes, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Sunders turned to leave the office. His hand latched on the door knob before he spoke over his shoulder, “Give it up Bill. The clan has undoubtedly moved on. You should too.”
Bill listened to the sound of his office door closing. Sunders had left him with some words of advice that he supposed he should consider. But why start now? He clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the window. As he stared at the piss poor view he let out a heavy sigh.
“Was that out of remorse?” His grandson emerged from the adjoined bathroom.
Bill shrugged, “Perhaps. The gargoyle is dead.”
“So says he.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“You do?”
Bill exhaled audibly, “It doesn’t matter. He clearly doesn’t trust me anymore.”
“He has good reason,” his grandson smirked, “You did set this whole thing up.”
“Death was not my intention; not this time.”
“Are you going to heed his words then? Are you going to move on?”
Bill smiled devilishly as he stared into the dark gray, cloudy sky. With his thick, refined accent he drawled, “Not hardly.”
Sunders sat at his desk with his face buried in his hands. He was in so much pain; physically, mentally and emotionally. Aye, he was a goddamn triple threat. A few moments later a small knock sounded on his door and Corey popped his head in.
“Hey Mr. Harper,” the young, wide-eyed lad began, “may I come in?”
Sunders was too tired to speak; so instead he just nodded.
Corey entered the office and approached the desk. “I saw you walking down the hall a little while ago,” the lad said, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Sunders cracked a miniscule smile; probably too small for Corey to see. It was nice that someone cared about him in this whole mess. Then again, Corey was unaware he was currently speaking to a murderer. An inadvertent murderer; but a murderer nonetheless. “I’m fine,” He lied, “Just tired.”
“Oh,” Corey clearly didn’t buy it, but he didn’t want to push any further. “Alright then, I’ll leave you alone.”
The kid headed for the door when Sunders called him back. “Corey,” he said with a sudden spark in his voice, “I need you to find me all references on Arav Dave; anything I don’t already own.”
“Will do.”
“Oh,” he continued, “have you seen Rue today?”
“No, she’s not in yet.”
“Well when you do see her; send her in.”
Corey nodded and left the office.
Sunders once again sat alone in his office with only the grief from his failures and Elizabeth’s heavy words plaguing his mind. Instinctively, he opened the bottom drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of malted whiskey. He opened the bottle and considered filling his mug to the rim. Instead he leaned back in his chair and took a drink straight from the neck; then another, then another. He considered eating something; filling his gut with substance. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave his chair. Instead he gulped more of the burning liquid.
An hour later another knocking sounded at his door.
“Come in,” Sunders called.
The door opened and Rue entered the office. She closed the door behind her and approached the dimly lit desk. Sunders narrowed his eyes at her. She had a set of stitches below her left eye. “What happened there?” He asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer. The image of Wade’s blade impaling the mysterious biker’s helmet played in his mind.
Rue shrugged, “Just a silly accident.”
“Yo
u sure about that?”
Rue tensed. It was obvious Sunders figured she was the biker from last night. But he wasn’t accusing her. He was waiting for her to admit it. The thing was; if she did, there was no telling how many others that piece of information would reach. And how many of them would seek revenge. After all, she killed two Protectors last night. Well, technically three; but who’s counting?
“Yeah,” she forced her best pretend smile, “I’m just so clumsy sometimes.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sunders said as he swirled his whisky bottle, not even attempting to hide his current bender. “You seem pretty competent to me.”
“Is there a reason why you wanted to see me?” Rue asked, anxious to change the subject, “Or can I get back to work?”
Sunders frowned and leaned forward, placing the whiskey on his desk. “Actually, there is a reason,” He said somberly; hating what he was about to do. He looked up into Rue’s eyes, “I can’t find your sister.”
Rue stopped breathing, “What? Why?”
Sunders shook his head, “I just can’t. I’m not a detective. I don’t find missing persons.”
“But I told you there’s a chance that she’s not…”
Sunders held up his hand, “a normal person, I know. Look, I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.”
Rue tried to keep her voice an even tone, “Have you tried?”
Sunders was unsure of what he wanted his answer to be. On the one hand he wanted to admit that he hadn’t; because then he wouldn’t have to admit failure. But on the other hand he wanted to be able to tell her he searched high and low for her sister. He wanted to tell her there wasn’t a stone he hadn’t left unturned. Because then she could know just how much he cared for her. And she would think he was a good man. But instead of either telling the truth or lying, he just sat in silence, allowing her to draw her own conclusion.
Rue clenched her fists at her sides, “So you’re just giving up before you even start; is that it?”
Perhaps it was the drink talking; or maybe it was the weight of being responsible for a man’s death, but either way he really wished he hadn’t said what he said next. He shrugged, “It’s not worth the time.” He instantly regretted his words and wished like hell he could articulate what he truly meant; that he was a waste of time – that he was a worthless human being that in the end would only give her false hope.
Rue inhaled violently and tried her best to exhale a controlled, reasonable breath. “Not worth your time?” She managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Not what I meant,” Sunders slurred. “I just mean I have to concentrate on other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like this gargoyle hunt.” He motioned to his desk as if there was actual investigative work strewn about; and not just a half empty bottle of whiskey.
“Oh yeah?” Rue narrowed her eyes and leaned onto his desk, bringing her face into the direct light of the small table lamp, “How’s that investigation going, by the way?” Her voice was dark and severe.
Sunders recoiled from her sudden demeanor, “Fine,” he said just before a hiccup escaped his lips.
Rue cracked a dark, knowing smile and nodded slowly, “Well, that is more important, isn’t it? I’m sorry to have bothered you with my personal problems.” She pushed herself off of his desk and headed for the door.
Sunders jolted in his chair at the sound of the door slamming shut. He instantly collapsed onto his desk in a heap of uselessness. After a moment of wallowing in his self pity he grabbed the whiskey and sucked on the bottle; anything to make the sting go away.
51
Zeff stood in the back of the forgotten ballroom; staring at his heavy bag. He had come down here to workout, but just couldn’t get himself in the mood. All he could think of was the last time he was here – with Bawli. He replayed their conversation in his mind. He could remember vividly the sadness in Bawls’ words as he admitted to always feeling like the odd wheel.
Zeff couldn’t believe how long he’d gone having never realized his friend felt that way. Sure, he hadn’t ever truly tried to take an interest in Bawli’s hobbies, but it was a two-way street, wasn’t it? Zeff shook his head in shame. Was he really blaming his fallen mate? After a moment of cursing his self he turned and headed back into the castle, but stopped short as a tiny shard of light glimmered in his eye.
Zeff narrowed his eyes at an object that stared at him from amidst the duff. It was mostly covered by an old wedding dress that hung off the side of the frame; only displaying a small portion of the glass beneath. But it was enough to stop him dead in his tracks.
Zeff approached the tall object and carefully pushed the wedding fabric aside with his left hand to reveal the full length mirror. The thing was ancient looking; the brass frame was rusted and chipped and the edges of the glass were discolored. But he didn’t care as he stared into his own reflection. His shirtless torso sat prominently atop his dark gray sweatpants. The muscles in his abdomen rolled down his front in chiseled waves and his pecks displayed themselves proudly; broad and tight. His shoulders acted as vices; clenching to sets of strong, smooth biceps and triceps. As he eyed his body he knew he was impressive; all the way up until…
Zeff’s expression dropped as his eyes reached his face. There it was – his scar – laughing; taunting him. It was a clear and constant reminder of how weak he was. A shifter wasn’t supposed to change. And yet here he was; damaged beyond repair. He attributed a lot to this scar. He knew it was the reason people looked at him differently even when he was in his human form; as though he was still a monster. And why no one ever laughed at his jokes – or even knew he was joking to begin with. If only they could bring themselves to look at his face they would surely see the humor in his eyes.
But most of all he attributed his scar to losing the woman he loved. It was when he wasn’t strong enough to revitalize from such an injury that Cooper grew distant.
Zeff released an aggravated sigh. He could remember vividly how he’d earned his scar. He could remember barely crawling out of the rock salt – so near death – until a heavy set man appeared out of nowhere and carried him to his truck before driving him to safety.
Bawli saved his life.
And this was how he repaid him. If only he’d agreed to let BeStone and his clan help. There would have been more hands on deck. There would have been less chance of…
Zeff squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden stinging in his lids. It was truly his fault Bawli was dead. He knew he didn’t pull the trigger or aim the gun. But it was his judgment call that allowed someone else to do so. Bawli had pulled him to safety so many years ago. And in return he left his friend to die alone at the hands of a stranger.
A sob escaped Zeff’s throat. He barely recognized the sound as it echoed throughout the dark and dusty forgotten ballroom. He opened his eyes to see the tears that had streamed down his face; the drops on the right cascading in all different directions as they hit the uneven ridges of his scar. The image disgusted him. He could feel his anger growing to a raging boil. He clenched his right fist and in a sudden release of aggression and hate he crushed his knuckles into the glass; shattering the mirror on impact.
He glanced at his now bleeding knuckles for only a half second before grabbing his shirt and using the fabric to dry his face with one, quick wipe. With a huff he resolved to clean up his mess later, turned, and exited the storage room with a different purpose in mind.
Zeff put on his black t-shirt as he headed up the ballroom stairs lined with a cherry banister. He reached the top landing and approached the second door. He took a deep breath, knowing that on the other side was Bawli’s art studio. He realized he had never actually stepped foot in the space. Bawli was always private about his art and had never extended the invite. But now Zeff decided it was finally time he appreciated his hidden talents. And he hoped that once inside he could feel a closer connection to his friend. Maybe then he could bring himself to truly say goodbye. He
pushed his way into the studio…
Instantly, his breath was taken away.
Elizabeth sat on the balcony off of Bawli’s bedroom. She sat in her usual chair, gazing upon the apple orchard in the distance. The sun was setting, dulling the colors of the landscape and stretching the shadows of the trees like taffy. Even though she couldn’t see from this distance the white cross that marked Bawli’s grave, she knew exactly where he was lying; peaceful and at rest. She closed her eyes and for a moment thought she could feel him sitting next to her, drinking tea and burying his nose in an activity book of some kind.
The cold wind picked up and blew through her white hair, sending chills across every inch of her skin. She opened her eyes to see the veranda blanketed in darkness. With a heavy sigh, she stood and walked back into the castle. Kingsley was surely waiting for her to have supper, anyhow.
Elizabeth exited Bawli’s room and headed down the hall when she noticed the door toward the end of the corridor was open. She furrowed her brow; that was Bawli’s art studio.
Zeff stood inside Bawli’s art studio, staring at a large painted canvas that sat on an easel. Even through the darkness he could see the vivid, prominent color; red. The subject was a human female. The painting mostly consisted of her hair, but her head was turned just enough to catch a glimpse of her left eye. He stared at the bright green iris in awe, unable to move.
“We think she was Bawli’s Responsibility,” Elizabeth’s voice sliced through Zeff’s concentration. He turned to face the woman. The light from the hall gave her an ethereal glow as she continued, “Every now and then he would have dreams or feelings like she was in trouble.” Elizabeth leaned against the doorjamb, “More than anything he wanted to find her; to protect her.”
Zeff nodded softly, “The infamous redhead.”