by Lotta Smith
“Kelly, can you fix a cup of matcha green tea for Ritchie? I’ll have coffee.”
“I’m on it,” I couldn’t help chuckling. Henderson positively loathed matcha green tea.
When I returned with three cups of coffee (I’m not that evil as to actually bring matcha to Henderson,) and cookies lined up on a dish, Archangel had relocated himself to the lounge chair by the coffee table. As I saw Henderson carrying the ottoman for Archangel, my feelings toward the FBI Advisory Special Agent softened a little.
“How’s your leg?” Henderson asked, carefully balancing the crutches on the side of the sofa.
“Not too bad. The good news is I don’t need a surgery. And the bad news is I have to keep it elevated all the time to hold off swelling. When swelling kicks in, it looks like some kind of a rotten tomato.” Archangel replied. “But at least, now I can predict when it rains. That’s awesome, right?”
Placing his boot leg on the ottoman, he grinned ear to ear. “Hey, wanna see the bruises? It’s kinda cool. Totally like Fifty Shades of Purple meets Jackson Pollock. I guess the leg can star in a C-class zombie movie without makeup.”
Henderson cringed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
As for the condition of Archangel’s leg, both of our assumptions turned out to be accurate. He had sprained and broken his left ankle. With a fractured fibula and overstretched ligaments, the injury was nothing minor. Then again, according to Dr. Donahue, the hotshot orthopedic surgeon my ex-faux-dad had kindly arranged for Archangel, he was lucky that the soft tissue damage was limited and no surgery was required. I didn’t know which was surprising, that the damage to be described as limited concerning an ankle the size of a grapefruit, or that we had a bone with such a weird name as fibula.
While recuperating from injury, Archangel had managed to solve three cases in the past two days.
“Sorry about your injury.” Henderson said.
“Don’t be. It’s just a temporary thing,” Archangel shrugged, patting the top of the boot. “The biggest damage is that I feel like a total idiot. In retrospect, I should have spared the Taser and zapped him instead of smashing the device prematurely. My mistake. Maybe I could have used the gun when that SOB jumped from the top of the stairs, but I wasn’t all that confident if I could shoot without killing him. Maybe he might have been better off having a gunshot wound, rather than third-degree burns.”
“So I breathed fire, but he was wearing fleece,” I pointed out. “It’s the fleece that did more damages.”
“Of course, he is 100% to be blamed. But the result was impressive,” Henderson said. “Oh cookies, yum.” Then he nibbled on a cookie.
“Is it?” I tilted my head to one side, keeping my best straight face. “They are gifts from Patricia Warshawski and I was wondering if it’s safe to eat those cookies.”
Henderson choked and drained it with coffee. “Thank you for the coffee instead of matcha green tea, I appreciate it.” He managed to say, still coughing.
“You’re welcome. And don’t worry, Karen delivered the cookies.” I snorted out laughing. “Patricia sent us the Four Seasons gift certificate. So I went there and purchased a chocolate cake, and we ate the cake already.”
I intended to send her a thanks note but whenever I tried to work on it, I always end up writing “Thank you so much for the gift certificate. It was nice of you. Feel free to visit us whenever you like. We have a good selection of coffee, tea, soft drink, wine, beer, and if you ask, I can mix nice drink such as Molotov cocktail.” Seriously, I was having anger-management issues.
“So,” Henderson said, clearing his throat.
“So what?” Archangel tilted his head to one side.
“We appreciate your acceptance of our offer. It was very generous of you, I mean both of you.”
“And?” Archangel shrugged. “You have a question. It’s all in the air.”
“Do I need reasons to pay a visit to my injured friend? Ouch. That really hurts.” Henderson said in a mock defense. Archangel and I gave him blank stares.
Henderson cleared his throat. “Well, as you’ve predicted, all DNA samples discovered from the victims’ eye sockets have matched Kelly Deuchars’s, née Dowson’s DNA; biological mother of Alan Hamilton’s. Michael, you were right.”
“I told you,” Archangel said matter-of-factly.
“Actually, I was wondering how you came up with the theory that the killer was not just stealing the eyeballs out of the victims but he was poking the eyeballs out of victims in order to put other eyeballs into the victim’s empty eye sockets.”
“Well, Henderson.” Archangel placed the coffee cup on the low table. “I just put two and two together. In all cases, eyeballs were poked out of the victims before the owners had expired, and I thought about the reason why the killer had kept them alive as long as possible. It was possible that the killer just enjoyed making the victims miserable, by maximizing their torment and suffering. Then again, if snatching the eyeballs was his purpose, dead victims would have made the job much easier. Later, I learned about the incident in London that eyeballs got snatched out of a dead woman’s corpse except in this case, the cause of death was liver cirrhosis, not a murder. That’s the first time I started wondering what those eyeballs from London were doing, and where they were. Then next step was kind of like a first grade math drill, one plus one equals two; and, two minus one equals one—just like that. As much as the eyeless body were missing the poked out eyeballs, the eyeballs must have been missing the body to be encased. Albeit planting dead person’s eyeballs into other people’s eyeless body never works to resuscitate the dead, sometimes a little slice of insanity does the job to make someone to believe the impossible—such as the case with Alan Hamilton. But at that moment, I was short on evidence. And the next thing, Karen was abducted and Frederick Reynolds had committed a suicide. That made everything a little bit tricky”
Henderson rolled his eyes. “Speaking of Karen and her suicide, I’ve never seen an eight-year-old who stages her own death using tennis balls and a scarf. And I hope it’s the last, seriously.”
“Karen’s special, but she’s got eight-year-old trait as well.” I commented. “She was so happy that her mom canceled the snobby camp her soon to be ex-husband was about to send Karen. Instead, she’ll be hitting Disney World for the whole summer.”
“I see,” Henderson nodded. He wasn’t all that convinced that Karen had accidentally stumbled upon the killer, but he didn’t delve into that matter any deeper.
Karen was also happy that her mom’s going to tag around her during the whole vacation, and that her mother had filed for divorce as soon as Karen came back unscathed. Karen’s soon to be ex-faux-dad had already paid for the Disney vacation as a goodbye gift. So far, it was going happily ever after for the girl-genius slash girl-psychic.
“By the way Michael, how did you reach Alan Hamilton?” Henderson asked.
“Are you sure you want to know that?” Archangel arched an eyebrow.
“Positive,” nodded Henderson.
“Actually, I didn’t reach Hamilton on my own. Kelly led me to him.” Archangel shrugged.
“I’m not quite following.” Henderson deepened his frown.
“Me neither.” I said.
“I’ve asked the forensics to test blood samples taken from victims’ eye sockets prior to getting sidelined. One of the forensics had kindly sent me test results after the sidelining, and it turned out that each sample contained identical female DNA that did not match the victims’ DNA. That was the moment that my theory was confirmed. In the meantime, the Scotland Yard had finally identified the eyeless dead woman, and they attached an old photo of her, a.k.a. Alan Hamilton’s biological mother.”
“After all, they had different family names and everything. I can’t believe you’ve managed to track him so fast.” Henderson said.
“Well,” on the other hand, Archangel fidgeted with words. “Actually, I didn’t track him down. But seeing the photo of
her and I realized Kelly’s at a great risk of getting targeted for his next prey. So I tried to warn Kelly but it was too late. It turned out that the lack of time was an issue.”
“So, how did you find me?” I asked.
“Dumb luck? You don’t want to know.”
“I want to know,” pressed Henderson. “Tell.”
Archangel shrugged. “It was lucky Kelly had GPS devices with her, and that Hamilton brought her purse to his house, instead of dumping it somewhere. Probably, it had sentimental meaning for him as a souvenir to remember his achievement, devotion, or something like that. So I had got the address, and I knew his name from looking at the mailbox, but that was about it. He didn’t have a door bell, I banged the door but got no answer. GPS was still indicating that house. That was the moment I was convinced that he’s the killer.”
“But I didn’t have GPS with me. My old phone was from stone ages when phones didn’t have GPS.” I took a glance of my brand new smartphone. “Unlike this one.”
“But you were carrying the keys including my car and home keys. They have GPS implanted.” He said nonchalantly. “I don’t like it when my keys go missing somewhere.”
“Excuse me?” I gasped. “Does it mean you’ve been tracking me down 24/7 since I started working with you? Like, nonstop surveillance? What’s happened to my privacy?”
“Hey, stop looking at me like a stalker. I said you don’t want to know. Besides that, I thought you’d look cuter when your eyeballs are still attached to where they belong to.”
“Oh, now I know how you accidentally came across me in London! You tracked me down with GPS. You know what, that’s outrageous.”
“No, not that time. You left the keys home. I just presumed you’d be visiting your ex in Belmarsh. OK, so I called the prison to see if you were visiting there,” Archangel shrugged. “Besides that, you said you don’t want to know how I located you.”
“You’re impossible, Mr. Archangel.” I did an eye roll. I tried to sound offended, but couldn’t help giggling.
“Couldn’t you have at least let me know before you went there on your own, Archangel?” Henderson scowled. “Are you aware you’ve taken an extreme risk that posed a significant threat to your lives?”
“Alerting you was not a realistic option, you know. It would have definitely taken time to track him down, and then comes the paperwork such as search warrant. Oh, do you remember I was officially sidelined with the contract being revoked and everything?”
Arms crossed, Henderson took a deep, calming breath. “I said I was sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Archangel snorted.
“By the way, Agent Henderson, would you like to have my new phone number?” I said, partly in an attempt to ease the atmosphere. “There will be times you’d need to call me, just like the way it used to be.”
“I would appreciate it. Gimme a ring,” Henderson said. I ringed his number just once and disconnected.
“Speaking of phones, what made you replace it?” Registering my new number to speed-dial, Henderson asked.
“The old one died.” I shrugged. “Shattered to bits.”
“Did that happen when you got abducted by the killer? If that’s the case, I can help you recover the loss from the feds.”
“Thank you for the offer. But no thanks. It happened later on, something’s happened. Anyway, that was a very old phone.”
“What happened?” Henderson furrowed his brows, seriously confused.
“You don’t need to know.” Archangel and I said in a unison and I broke out giggling.
“Stop grinning like an idiot, Kelly,” Archangel said, crossing his arms.
But I didn’t miss one corner of his lips lifting up ever so slightly. And the melting baby blues.
Chapter 43
When Dr. Donahue had released Archangel from the medical center, the night was no longer young. On my way to deliver Archangel safely to his house, I made a stop at my place to grab some fresh clothes and a toothbrush. He didn’t ask why; he was on pain meds and quietly dozing off.
He was still pale and for the first time, he looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. I didn’t want to leave him alone. A big house sounds fancy, but it’s just a nuisance bordering on dangerous, especially when you have to go around with one leg.
Thanks to his late distant aunt, the house had an elevator which was useful when I took semi-coherent Archangel to his bedroom on a rented wheelchair. I helped him lie down on his king bed with his injured leg elevated on the pillows. Then I left his bedroom.
One hour later, I was sitting by his bedside, putting an ice bag on his left leg in a temporary splint cast. Even under dimmed light, it was visible that the purple bruises had spread furthermore down to the toenails. His leg looked totally painful.
“Itai no itai no tonde ike.” I was mumbling a little spell I heard when I was little.
“What did you just say?” Archangel asked in a soft voice.
“Did I wake you up?” Caught by surprise, I felt my cheeks get hot. I could think of many reasons but the biggest one is I thought he wasn’t listening.
“No, I was awake… for about a minute,” he yawned. “So, what does that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a Japanese spell, meaning Pain, pain, go away.”
“Nice. I guess it’s kinda like working,” he raised a corner of his lips, and then casually asked. “By the way Kelly, what are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I was placing an ice bag on your leg,” I replied, “to help the swelling go down. Doctor’s advice.”
“Thanks,” he tried to sit up and winced.
“Take it easy.”
“It’s okay…ouch,” groaning, he sat up anyway. “Got some water? I’m having a cottonmouth. Maybe it’s the meds.”
“Sure,” I opened a bottled water on the night table and handed it to him. Good thing I had fetched two of them from the kitchen.
“Thanks,” he took a gulp of it.
“My pleasure,” I said, adjusting the ice bag. “For your information, you don’t want to move a lot, and even when you need to move, stay off the bad leg, okay? You don’t want the bone to move away from where it’s supposed to be.”
“It’s just a clean break and I don’t need a surgery, right?” Handing me the bottle back, he glanced at his leg propped up on pillows. “Eww, it looks like a mummy leg.” He grimaced. The heavy bandage started from the base of the toes and went up to just below the knee.
“Hopefully, no surgery. Tomorrow, I mean this afternoon,” I looked at the clock hanging from the wall indicating 2 o’clock in the morning. “You’ll have an MRI to see the extent of soft tissue damage, and it’s up to the MRI results to determine if you can just go with a cast, or proceed with a surgical option. Dr. Donahue was a bit concerned about the swelling and bruising. Hey, you really shouldn’t have walked around on this leg.”
“At first it didn’t hurt that much, so I figured that it was just a sprain,” he shrugged and lay down. Twitching the sausage toes peekabooing from the bandage, he frowned. “But I get your point.”
“Are you in much pain?”
“I’ll live,” he closed his eyes. “My current biggest problem is that I’ve got to dig out my men’s clothes from the bottom of the closet. Obviously, I can’t wear heels, or rather, a heel. And I’d look silly in skimpy women’s clothes with a men’s sneaker. This sucks.”
“Don’t worry. You look just fine in men’s clothes,” I told him. “Hey, I’ll give you a pedi when your leg’s set in a real cast. That’ll cheer you up, right?”
“You sure?” Long lashes fluttered as he opened the eyes. A hint of smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Yup, pinky swear.”
“Very funny, but nice,” he said. “Maybe it’s about time to ditch women’s clothes. Transvestite thing’s been getting old these days. Still, I can use a pedi, those purple toenails are simply depressing. I’ll have yellow pedi, yellow goes well with the purple bruises, you kn
ow. By the way Kelly, you smell like my shampoo.”
I felt like Goldilocks just caught sleeping in little bear’s bed. “I took a bath and borrowed your shampoo. You know, I had to wash off death, Eyeball Snatcher, and burnt flesh cooties. I should have asked you, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“No problem. You can stay here. Take any of the guest rooms you like,” he said breezily.
“Thank you, but I don’t feel like staying at your guest room,” I said, giggling. I didn’t know why I was giggling but I couldn’t stop it. “I’m a little bit freaked out, you know. I haven’t breathed fire for a while and I’ve never actually burned a person with my fire and gosh, it feels terrible.”
I thought I was giggling and the next thing, I was babbling, hyperventilating, and crying at the same time. I was shaking like a junky. It was like the panic, agitation and fear I should have felt earlier had suddenly arrived, saying something like: “Sorry I’m late, heavy traffic and there was this accident involving ten vehicles, can you believe that?”
“Take a deep breath. Kelly, you did the right thing,” he took my hand and pulled me close. He caressed my cheeks and brushed the tears away. “If you hesitated, both you and Karen, and even I might have gotten killed. You saved us all, sort of. Remember, you did the right thing.”
“You think?” I sniffed and rested my head on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat for twenty seconds made me feel much better.
“Yeah. Don’t cry, I really hate it when you cry,” he said, patting my hand. “Besides that, you need to rest.”
“Resting can wait. Right now, I’m scared of closing my eyes all by myself.”
“Alright then,” Archangel said after a couple of moments, “If you promise not to kick my bad leg, you can sleep here,” he patted the empty space by his right side.
“Oh…” I muttered. Jeez Louise, it was not something I had anticipated, or expected.