by R. R. Virdi
A pleasured groan left my mouth—“Ohhhhmagod”—as a series of relieving cracks ran up the length of my spine. With a smack of my lips, I twisted and turned, loosening my torso as I observed the chapel.
It was rather simple, but that wasn’t to say it wasn’t nice. It was.
The carpet, moss in color and texture, tickled as it brushed along the arches of my feet. It blanketed the entirety of the chapel floor, running below the butt-numbing pews. At the front stood a waist-high altar, possessing the dimensions of a small coffee table. A large stone basin, carved and smoothed to give it the appearance of a river stone, sat atop. Behind it hung a bedsheet-sized cloth of pale gold, the only adornment on any of the tawny walls. Rows of unremarkable lighting fixtures were held above. For the moment, the job of illuminating the chapel was left to the handful of arched windows.
Frantic scratching emanated from behind me. A lopsided grin made its way across my face as I turned to face my rescuer—boss—friend. Well, friend was a stretch. Acquaintance.
His modelesque features made his geeky ensemble look like one gigantic, ironic fashion statement. From his collared, checkered dress shirt to the khakis I had seen earlier. All the way up to the...pocket protector nestled in his shirt.
I’m not joking.
The scratching continued as his hand darted across the page of his journal, the metallic tip of his pen on the verge of tearing the sheet. He scrawled at a furious tempo, paying no attention to me whatsoever.
That bit wasn’t a new experience. He ignored me all the time.
I cleared my throat pointedly.
The movement of his hand ceased with mechanical precision. His gaze rose from the diary and he greeted me much as he always did. It was hard to tell if he was handsome or beautiful when his pearlescent teeth gleamed at me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been an animated sparkle with an audible bling. As usual, renegade curls of thick, blonde hair obscured his eyes. With a slow and measured hand, he brushed the locks away to reveal a pair of eyes I’ve always found creepy.
Think of azure waters freezing over. A blend of arctic blues, grays and whites. Icy. Clear lenses, wrapped in a dark frame, surrounded those frozen peepers and accentuated his fair skin. His androgynous good looks and dress were the outcome of a social experiment: If Models R Us met Geek Squad.
“Dear diary,” I said in a soft, feminine tone. “I’ve woken up and come face to face with my rescuer, my hero. He’s so...dreamy.”
He didn’t feel obliged to respond right away. He snapped his diary shut and moved to put it away. A simple click and the pen was stowed inside the pocket protector. My teeth grated as he continued ignoring me, going so far as to remove, breathe on, and wipe his glasses before addressing me.
He released an exasperated sigh. “Vincent,” he called me by my assumed name. I’ve been doing this gig so long I can’t remember my real name, so I gave myself a new one. “Most days your poor sense of humor possesses some degree of charm. Not today.” He sighed again. “I’m tired.”
Feigning hyperventilation, I clutched my chest. “Pah—poor sense of humor?” I gasped. “I think I’m going to have a heart attack…again.”
Before he could respond, a notion occurred to me. “Speaking of which,” I blurted out, before pausing to mull over my next sentence. “Did you…” I trailed off as I pointed to my head, chest and left arm. I hadn’t realized until that moment, but my limbs were coursing with a barely noticeable and comforting heat. The kind that radiates from a hot water bottle, the kind that apparently had healed my dislocated shoulder and heart pain.
Tall, blonde and geekily handsome answered with a silent nod.
“Huh,” I grunted. “Well, thanks for making a girl feel all warm and tingly on the inside.”
“Graves,” he groaned, using my last name.
I threw up my hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright,” I conceded. “I’ll stop the smartassery—”
“Thank you.” He looked mildly relieved.
“If...you finally tell me your real name.” I was curious to see how he’d take my ultimatum.
He didn’t miss a beat. He did exactly the same the first time I’d asked him. His lips pursed as he cast a gaze around our churchly surroundings. A twitch of the lips let me know he was holding back a smile. “Church.”
You’re not as witty as you think, I grumbled inside my head.
“Neither are you, Vincent.”
I blinked.
When Church did things like that, it caused me to have serious reservations about him. I mean, he never shared his real name, how he knew what I was thinking, or even his damned zodiac sign.
“Pisces,” he chimed.
I narrowed my eyes and visualized punching him on the nose, wondering if he’d pick that up.
He stared back at me, a beacon of all things still, calm and…without blinking.
Church did that a lot, and, as creepy as it was, I had somewhat gotten used to it. What really disturbed me was what I saw in his face. For the slightest fraction of a second, Church’s unnerving and unblinking mask...slipped. When it did, I got a good glimpse beneath the pretty-boy veneer, and it rattled me. In that singular moment, Church’s eyes lost their frigid clarity and strength. The deeper tones of blue faded away to softer shades of gray; his eyes were a thin fog. They seemed disconnected, weary…weak.
He was tired.
That wouldn’t seem like a big deal to most. It was terrifying to me. Church mentioned he was tired, but he’s said that a lot over the years. It means he’s annoyed…with me. Now, I could see it for myself. In all the time I’ve known him, I have never seen him tired. Hell, I didn’t know Church could be tired.
“Vincent?” he asked in his always soft and polite voice.
I snapped out of my reverie and debated whether to ask him what was on my mind.
Without an exchange of words, Church gave me a knowing look. Translation: Shoot.
I resolved to be a bit more serious. If something was giving Church a rough time, it was bad news. “Um…”
Church waited with mannequin-like stillness as I stumbled to find the right words.
“What’s wrong?” That’s me, master of eloquence.
“Work,” he replied in monosyllabic ambiguity, failing to answer my question. Another one of his irritating habits.
“Ain’t it a bitch?” So much for serious.
He released a weary sigh.
I took the hint.
“So, um, where are we?” I tried to change the subject and glean some info while I was at it.
The nausea returned when he answered. “New York.”
Oh.
Crap.
Chapter Three
New York: great city, good food—shopping too. Amazing hotels—when they’re not on fire.
Last time I was here on a case, the situation went from bad to unbelievably worse. Liken it to a weather report and it rained fire and hailed crap. A certifiable, flaming shit storm.
My last investigation in the Empire State was full of fun surprises. I woke up and nearly suffocated. My soul got thrown into a magical tug of war match and was nearly ripped from the body I was inhabiting. There’s the bit where Grumpy Cat wanted to make my bones into wind chimes. I was ambushed butt naked in the bathroom by something that wanted to feast on my eternal and oh-so-witty spirit. Oh...and a five-star hotel almost burned to the ground.
Not my fault. Directly anyways. I claim accidental arson by proximity.
And a good woman died…
All and all, this was not my favorite place to be at the moment. But then, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I never do.
“So...” I turned my attention back to Church. “What are we dealin’ with here?”
“We?” He arched a golden eyebrow. A hint of a grin played on his lips.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “What am I dealing with?”
The micro smile vanished from his face and his expression slipped into complete
neutrality. Well, almost neutral. Amusement shone in his eyes.
Right, why give any answers to the guy working for you? Why make it easy?
“If it were easy, Vincent, I wouldn’t need you.”
I didn’t know if that was a compliment or not. But I was starting to hate him a teensy bit.
Church took on the tone of a parent lecturing a child. “The thing about hate, Vincent—”
I waved him off. I didn’t have time for a philosophical lesson; I had a monster to hunt.
“What the—” A familiar and unyielding grip took hold of my forearm. I nearly buckled from the hydraulic strength Church exerted—with no visible effort, I might add. The blistering heat that followed wasn’t much fun either. A sickly-sweet smell tickled my nostrils. It smelt of hair and skin.
Forty-four. Big, black and bold. The number adorned my arm in the fashion of a tattoo. Never mind the surrounding circle of pink, sensitive skin. It itched something terrible.
Church’s grasp loosened and I jerked my arm back. “Gee.” My lips peeled back into a sneer. “Thanks, Church, what would I do without you?”
“Fail and die.” He said it like it was a matter of fact.
…Douche.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Vincent.”
Church gestured to something behind me before I could think of a response. I followed his finger to the large basin atop the altar.
“Water.”
“Huh?” I am the very definition of clever.
“It helps with burns. Metaphorical and literal.” I could almost feel him smiling.
I whipped around to confront him.
He was gone.
There wasn’t a sound, any hint of motion to tip me off—nothing. Church vanished from sight without the slightest indication he had done so. Now that alone isn’t the most remarkable of feats. Great stage illusionists can do so, as well as the many supernatural creatures I deal with. Also, ninjas. But to pull it over on me is something else.
I’ve inhabited a plethora of people with a vast array of skills and picked up a great deal of knowledge from them. Coupled with years of fighting monsters as well as being hunted by them, I have an amazing sense of awareness.
Apparently Church didn’t give a shit about that.
When I had finished fondling my ego, I realized something. “Hey!” I growled at nowhere in particular. “Damnit, Church. My journals!” I don’t know why, but I had the distinct feeling that wherever he was, Church could hear me. Several moments went by without so much as a disembodied response. I gave up.
“Urghall mrrfle grussel!” My incoherent grumbles echoed throughout the chapel as I stomped toward the basin. By the time I got there, I no longer needed its watery contents to soothe the burn. It took care of itself. A courtesy of my ability to heal and regenerate the bodies I inhabit. To an extent of course.
I’ve survived broken limbs, being burned, falling out of buildings—even gunshot wounds. If it doesn’t kill me outright, chances are I’ll recover from it. Job perk from whoever Church’s boss is. It guarantees that I at least have a shot at taking down whatever monster I’m chasing. I’d be of little use if I couldn’t take the punishment the job doled out. The only thing I didn’t have was the ability to influence the state of the bodies at the beginning of my case.
That was Church’s job; somehow, he made sure they were cleaned up and passable as human. Bodies don’t look too great when they’ve been dead for a while. Granted, I only inhabit the bodies of the recently deceased. Still, some of those poor souls have been killed in truly nasty ways. It’s easier if the bodies are put back together so I don’t look like a zombie when I’m out on a case. They’re also supposed to be free from the remnant effects of whatever killed them too.
I glared at the ceiling. “Like the nosebleed, headache and heart attack.” I was going to have to talk to Church about that one. I could’ve sworn there was some sort of clause about maintaining a ride before someone else picked up the lease. Still, at least it gave me some clues as to what killed “Charles,” the man I was occupying.
There’s never a clean way to say that.
I may not have known what those clues pointed to, but I would—eventually.
That declaration brought my focus back to the case and I tilted my head to look inside the bowl. It enlightened me on the mystery of who I was.
My features were stretched and distorted by the water. It looked like someone had flattened my face out. Sharp, almost avian features stared back at me. The skin wasn’t as fair as Church’s, but it was close. Earthy brown eyes gave me a hollow stare. They weren’t indicative of having gotten eight hours of beauty sleep. Not-so-neat hair ran across the stark cheeks and jawline as a few days’ growth of beard. Oak in color, much like the short, ragged mess of hair up top. My borrowed nose was the most redeeming feature. It was almost perfect, straight-edged.
I released a Neolithic grunt as I finished the appraisal of my features.
“There!” someone shouted. The voice was accompanied by panting and hasty footsteps.
Someone shouting, “There!” is never a good thing.
The muscles along my neck and spine tightened as I turned around.
Three disgruntled looking figures sprinted toward me. At the front of the trio was a slender woman, a nurse judging by her pale lavender scrubs. Her hair, bound into a brunette tail, flailed wildly as she ran toward me. Panic and irritation showed on her freckled face.
Following in tow were two men who could’ve passed for identical twins if it weren’t for the difference in skin tone. The pale one bore the same twisted scowl as the dark one.
It wasn’t a comforting notion to see those behemoths jogging toward me looking all scowly. Hell, I’m surprised they could run. They had the body mass and proportions of frickin’ gorillas! Shaved, thick solid heads sat atop meaty necks you usually see on power lifters. Cantaloupes sprouted on both sides of their massive necks, what I assumed were their shoulders. Nobody should have shoulders that monstrously big. The sleeves of their scrubs barely contained their arms, which were thicker than my legs. Slabs of pectoral muscles pushed against the thin fabric of their clothes, as did their strongmen bellies. Oh, and they were tall—freakishly so. The guys dwarfed most NBA players.
Just because they were built like cartoon characters didn’t mean they were inhuman. But people should not—cannot—be built like that. Normally at least. The only reason I ruled them out as monsters in disguise is because of their faces. They were utterly devoid of any intelligence. It seemed like it took all their brain capacity just to scowl and run at the same time.
I relaxed my body, assuming the most non-threatening posture I could. Gorillas may appear gentle and playful like in zoos, but in the wild, the big ones—males especially—can get pretty nasty. And, like all primates, they possessed the strange inclination to hurl fecal matter.
Fair to say I didn’t want anything of the sort to happen to me.
The young nurse came to a stop several feet before me, panting from her frenzied jog. The lumbering goliaths barely seemed winded, but I’ll be damned if their breathing didn’t sound animalistic. Primal sounds, the sort you’d need colossal lungs to produce.
My neck and back stiffened further.
“Charles,” huffed the nurse. “We were worried about you!”
I wasn’t aware that worried and waspish were interchangeable.
“We’ve been looking all…” She trailed off. Her head tilted and a puzzled look crossed her face. “How did you get out of your jacket?”
How do you respond to that? I’ve learned over my past cases that smartassery works well. In fact, it’s never failed me.
Stepping backward, I bent at the waist and thrust my arms to my side in an exuberant manner. With a flourish of my hands, I pronounced in my best stage voice, “Call me Harry!”
When I straightened, one of the nurse’s brows arched higher than the other. Behind her, the pair of walking monoliths chuckled in unison.
Of all the people to get the joke!
Good humor is wasted on some people.
When she regained her composure, her eyebrows furrowed and she took a step toward me. “That’s not funny!” she barked. The anabolic duo chuckled again.
Their mistake.
She whipped about in her pint-sized fury, fists balled as she glared at them. Without a single word she told them to shut up and go back to being intimidating. It worked. They stopped laughing and adopted surly expressions.
The nurse brought her attention back to me. “You nearly gave Kat a heart attack!”
I flinched as a small amount spittle left her mouth. She did me a service though; I had another name. Kat. I worked on the assumption that she was the plump nurse who had walked in on me earlier. It’s always nice knowing people’s names, especially if you have to speak to them later. No one liked being addressed as, “Hey…you?”
Nurse Ratched pulled a one-eighty when her features softened. Chest swelling as she took a calming breath, speaking in a lighter tone. “I’m sorry for yelling, Charles.”
I didn’t respond per se, instead inclining my head in an understanding nod.
She gave a genuine smile before turning to whisper something to Yeti and Sasquatch. They grunted in stereo and lumbered to either side of me.
That wasn’t worrying at all.
Both of them hooked their Popeye-like arms around mine.
“Hey!” I protested as they walked forward. They were clearly under the assumption that I would follow.
The hell I would!
For the record, those guys were strong. “Let me go, you asswheels!” I kicked the air as they plowed on. I never was much of a follower, so in a repeat performance of earlier, I let my body go limp. Neither the Incredible Hulk nor The Thing seemed the least bit perturbed by my gesture of rebellion. They treated me like I weighed nothing. I resigned myself to releasing a disappointed sigh as my shins and feet dragged across the floor.