Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1)

by Phil Scott Mayes

  “Let’s go,” he urges impatiently. “My shift’s almost over and I don’t want to be stuck here dealing with your paperwork.”

  “The only paperwork you’ll be filling out is for my release,” I curtly counter.

  “We’ll see about that,” says Drake, pointing toward the staircase.

  We traverse the concrete steps to the large, wood doors with squeaky old hinges. The corners of the glass panes are embossed with decorative detailing and the brass handles are tarnished with character. The concrete blocks are arranged in the decorative manner one might see on a centuries-old college campus, but the beams of light glancing off its facade give it a more gothic personality. Many decades ago, someone took great pride in the construction of this bastion of justice. Such meticulousness is a rarity in work and in life. If people put as much effort into developing their character as was put into this building, I would need a new line of work.

  As I enter the station, the results of such neglect are on full display. All around me sit people bearing literal and metaphorical chains. The curvature of their spines and rotting of their teeth are outward expressions of their decaying spirits. Desperate eyes latch onto me as I walk through the lobby with Drake and Lewis. A sowing wouldn’t reveal anything new to these miscreants. They live fully aware of their wreckage, and it owns them. Too scared to end themselves and too weak to fix their messy lives, they choose numbness as they resign to the abyss.

  “Nice suit, pretty boy,” cracks a balding, mostly toothless vagrant.

  I’m being mocked by a meth-smoking zombie. I try hard to think of a clever rebuttal to neutralize my humiliation but Drake intervenes, saying, “Shut up, Washburn! Did you run out of meth and rob someone again?”

  He laughs like a dolt and says, “How’d you know? You watchin’ me?”

  Drake ignores him.

  Humiliation is a disgusting feeling. With every new surge of human emotion I find myself swinging further from the principles that define my kind. Drake’s rebuke was not in my defense. His dirty glance my direction reassures me that, to him, I’m no different than the ragged stranger on the hallway bench. We turn into an office area and Drake sits me down at the end of his desk. Lewis props himself against the neighboring desk, securing me within the confines of his watchful eyes.

  “You’re gonna love your sleepover in lock-up,” drawls Officer Lewis. “Them boys can get a little rowdy when the lights go out…prolly won’t be much sleepin’.”

  My blood tingles at the idea of spending the night in a cage with this societal excrement. It’s not that I fear humans. Even without revealing my angelic stature I’m still longer and stronger than nearly every human. The problem is that if I fight back, it’ll give Drake a real reason to keep me here, but not fighting back means taking hits and bleeding. What happens if my attackers accidentally ingest or absorb some of that blood? The last thing I need right now is to be the only one left standing in a holding cell full of dead men.

  I flop my head back in frustration. My breathing steadies as I apply my mind to finding a solution. Without lying, my options are extremely limited. I haven’t used my phone call so I could call a lawyer, but that would only make me appear more guilty. Complying with an interview could satisfy Drake’s misgivings and get me out of here tonight, but one unfortunate choice of words or cornering question and I could end up in worse shape.

  The clacking of high heels approaches from down the tile hallway. Swift, important steps broadcast their resolute movement in my direction. They quicken, then suddenly stop. An odd arrangement of clacking precedes another pause. Instead of thinking of a way out of my increasingly dire circumstances, I find myself fixated on the sounds of an invisible woman. Despite my imminent incarceration, her presence brings a strange comfort.

  The image and goodness of the mystery woman from this morning flood my mind as the clacking starts again. The light I noticed in her could make perfect sense. Maybe she has a larger role to play in all of this and is about to come through in the eleventh hour.

  As the footsteps reach unobstructed clarity, Jan enters through the door, shoots a disappointed scowl at me, and beelines straight to Drake, who is in his captain’s office. She interrupts their exchange with a knock on the door, her beauty immediately grabbing their attention.

  “May I help you, miss?” the captain politely inquires.

  “Yes, you can. You boys want to explain to me why my client is chained up like a criminal when you have zero evidence that he’s guilty of anything and are here, standing before my very eyes, conspiring about what to charge him with?” Her warm, beguiling voice dresses her venomous words in flowing silk.

  Drake speaks up. “I know you from Pentastar. Jan, right?”

  “Mm-hmm, Jan Lucero,” she says with a patronizing nod. “What is it, exactly, that you suspect Mr. Verity of having done?”

  “Ma’am, two men have died today. Your client was the last person to speak with both of those men before their deaths and, in each case, those conversations were hostile in nature,” replies the captain.

  “Sounds like you’re just adding to my client’s woes after a devastating day in which two coworkers committed suicide. You have nothing but circumstantial evidence. There is nothing that even remotely implies that my client violated any laws in either of these horrific tragedies,” she spins masterfully. Briefly pausing, she adds, “We will accept your humble apologies and be on our way,” playfully flicking her short, platinum hair.

  Oddly softened expressions wipe across the men’s faces before they oblige. After offering up mindless and insincere apologies like scorned children, Drake tosses the handcuff keys to Lewis to free my wrists.

  “We’re just gonna let ‘em go? This is bull, Cap’n!”

  “Lewis, shut your—”

  “Officer Lewis,” interrupts Jan, “did you not hear what I said to these fine officers?” Jan raises her eyebrows condescendingly to the young man.

  “Ma’am, honestly, I don’t care who you are. We know he has somethin’ to do with these deaths and I ain’t gonna watch him walk outta here and slip away. We can hold him for twenty-four hours without chargin’ him.”

  “Young man, that’s not the way this is going to work. Before you lock people up, you should at least have some actionable evidence for the DA to bring charges. You have absolutely nothing. If you put this grieving man in a cell for any amount of time without being able to bring charges in the end, I will drop a backbreaking lawsuit on this department and make sure you never work as a cop again.”

  An emasculated Lewis looks at Jan, then at his captain, who offers no support. The captain’s slowly shaking head advises Lewis to desist. Lewis examines the keys in his hand, frustration wrinkling his forehead. He returns his gaze to Jan.

  “Good. So, we’re done here?” Jan asks with a coy smile.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” Lewis says through his teeth. “Have a lovely night.”

  Without breaking his stare at Jan, he retrieves my personal belongings and drops them on the desk near my hands. His shoulders twist toward me to fumble with the cuffs for a few seconds before he turns his head to see what he’s doing. The emptiness in his chastened eyes is pitiful, like a scorned child. As my hands are freed, I snatch the bag and leap from my seat. Jan extends her hand toward the door.

  “Let’s go, Mr. Verity,” says Jan.

  As we round the corner, Drake hollers, “I’ll see you later, Ted,” and for reasons I don’t fully understand, the words make me wince.

  I stride toward the exit with Jan at my side. Everything about this day feels hideously deformed and bleak. Dave is dead, Bridgette is widowed, the twins are once again fatherless, and my wrists bear the red stripes of a criminal. I have become Drake’s primary suspect and would have spent at least one night in jail if not for Jan, one of my principal targets at Pentastar. Villain has become victim, enemy has become ally, and hero has become criminal. Nothing about this operation has been orde
rly, and each step forward takes me farther into a labyrinth designed for my demise. With each new intrigue, new affliction, and new horror, I feel like one piece in a dynamic, unsolvable puzzle. It’s becoming apparent that unnatural forces are at work in this city.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Defying reason, Jan has aligned herself as my advocate, and by helping me elude captivity, she has unknowingly facilitated her own undoing. Once again I face doubts about the pervasive darkness that I came to eliminate. I was able to read Joel and Dave quite easily at first, maybe too easily. Their wickedness seemed absolute but, at least in Dave’s case, it was only the oily residue on the surface of a murky puddle. If one were to step in that puddle, as I have, they would fall straight through into a sunless, twisting, stinking sewer and look up to find that the hole through which they entered has closed behind them. Such is my plight. My only hope of finding daylight is to follow the slithering air, and right now it’s moving with Jan.

  Jan has always been challenging to analyze, partially due to hierarchical barriers and partially due to something just beyond my mind’s outstretched fingertips. We don’t attend the same meetings or share conversations in the halls or cafeteria. We don’t socialize, and there are virtually no records of her on the internet other than some educational and employment history. Ironically, she is well-known for not being known at all. I can sympathize with her desire for privacy, but it’s unusual for a human to be so reclusive, and it’s left my investigation in the mud. This is one of the main reasons I had to gain employment at Pentastar rather than just target them from the outside. In a company this size, it’s unlikely that their problems stem from just one person, even if that person is the CEO.

  I’ve seen the degrees on her office wall: bachelor’s degrees in business administration and biochemistry from the University of Michigan, an MBA from Wharton, and a JD from Georgetown. Graduating at or near the top of her class, she landed a few lucrative upper-management positions before Pentastar, but in spite of all of that prominence and achievement, I know almost nothing about her personal life. Social media is an easily accessible fount of information, but Jan has no accounts.

  After my exhaustive efforts, all I really know about her is what the framed, gold-leaf embossed papers hanging neatly on her wall tell me. I suppose the same thing could be said about me. I am formally educated, which can be verified through University of Washington records, but in every other way I have also remained inconspicuous. Even my education was entirely online so I wouldn’t have to sit through lectures surrounded by hundreds of people. The only reason I was able to secure my position with Pentastar was due to an eloquent and adamant letter of recommendation from a Port Ellis City Councilman named James Hudson—an old friend of my parents. I suspect even the recommendation wouldn’t have been enough if Pentastar leadership actually wanted a capable quality assurance division. But they jumped at the opportunity to hire an inexperienced fellow like myself, someone they thought they could push around, someone they thought wouldn’t give them trouble. Little did they know.

  But no matter her secretive nature, no matter her insulting reasons for hiring me, no matter her status as a potential target for sowing, she’s the reason I’m not behind bars and for that I am grateful.

  “Jan, I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replies abruptly.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “One of our other employees was at the bar. He called me when he saw what happened.”

  “Well, I’m grateful that—”

  “Ted, I don’t want to dwell on this.”

  I stop as we reach the foyer and turn to face Jan, who slings me an openly aggravated expression. Her blatant irritation suggests some wrongdoing on my part, but after her defense of my innocence just moments ago, it seems unlikely to be related to Joel and Dave. In an attempt to diffuse her hostility, I drape my eyes with humility and lean in with gentle gestures.

  “I’m just trying to say thank you. I would’ve been locked up if you didn’t swoop to my defense.”

  She scolds me with her eyes as she scans the room. Her hand lands heavily on my shoulder in a quasi-shove as she directs me outside. We push through the squawking doors and descend the steps to the parking lot where Jan’s town car awaits at the far end, engine running. She stops on the sidewalk and responds tersely.

  “Thank yous are cute, Ted, but I didn’t defend you because I believe in your innocence or because I like you. I didn’t do it for you at all, actually. I did it because it’s what’s best for the company, for me, and for my employees right now. We can’t afford to attract any more attention from the media and authorities. We need to unite and close ranks, and if that means I have to stick my neck out to save yours then that’s what I’ll do because I’m committed to my people. Are you committed, Ted?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m very committed to my purpose at Pentastar. That’s why I met with Joel and Dave.”

  I cringe at my own mention of their names. Before the words escaped it seemed like an opportunity to address the elephant in the room and paint my involvement innocently for Jan. In hindsight, the inclusion of their names added nothing and only served to highlight the connection between myself and the day’s morbid events. I need to shift the focus.

  “I’m sorry, Jan. I’ve been completely insensitive. I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now—”

  “Let me just stop you right there. I didn’t get to my position by pouring out my feelings to my employees, and I’m definitely not going to cry on your shoulder now. I’ll grieve in my own time and my own way, and you will not be a part of that process.”

  CEO or not, she’s only human, and being snapped at by a human always pings an aggressive reflex that I can’t afford to indulge. Instead I offer a contrite nod: message received. She appears to accept this atonement, exchanging her air of untouchable superiority for the firm warmth of a mentor.

  “Ted, another reason I saved you is that I want to see you live up to your potential. I’ve been watching you lately. You are not average in any way, and yet your performance is markedly inferior to that of your peers. It’s wasteful.”

  Wasteful? I’m baffled. The peers she’s comparing me to are all human. No human could outperform a Nephilim in any task. Besides, I’m the Director of Quality Assurance, a job they expected me to fail, and I run a tighter operation than any other department. I’d think she was playing mind games if not for the sincerity in every aspect of her delivery.

  “I don’t understand why you think I’m falling short, Jan. I do exemplary work and run an efficient and talented team.”

  “Those are true statements, but you don’t seem to truly grasp the magnitude of your potential. A man of your immense ability should be accomplishing so much more at Pentastar and, eventually, beyond.”

  Jan pans her gaze up to the now overcast night sky. A news helicopter chops around above the spires and antennas. The electric glow of the city highlights the underside of the clouds. With a little imagination, the distant whoosh of overlapping vehicles sounds like the gentle purl of the ocean. She rolls her lips in between her teeth then levels her eyes on me. Her lips release and, as the warm mauve color returns to their surface, she continues.

  “Ted, everyone is dealt a different hand in this life. Some people are born into poverty. Their limited opportunities prevent them from gaining the experiences and making the connections that would change the course of their life. Malnourishment compounds their woes and stunts their cognitive development. Even if their bodies were strong, their underfunded school districts struggle to retain quality teachers who will battle through the behavioral problems of students whose parents work multiple jobs just to put food on the table.”

  She stops and examines me from my shoes up. Her light hazel eyes, glowing under the inky night sky, linger on my hair before looking warmly into mine. The indirect light from the police station emphasizes her pert cheeks and smooth, tan skin
while her platinum hair gleams twofold in the cool twilight. Surprised by the empathy of her previous remarks, I can’t help but wonder what depth of character I could unearth with more time and less barriers. After what I saw in Dave, such an investment seems prudent to my mission. With every sincere interaction, humans continue to defy summary judgment. If it’s my goal to find and sow only those who are ultimately responsible, I have to get closer to Jan.

  “Then there are people like us, Ted. Born talented and intelligent, we were nurtured by parents who offered us the world. Our bodies grew strong as we shopped from a catalog of bright futures, knowing they were ours for the taking. The measure of success is not the same for us. We were meant for greatness from the moment of our conception. Don’t settle for mediocrity, Ted. This world belongs to us and we owe it to others to make it a better place for them.”

  I nod in receipt of the lesson, but Jan’s assumptions about my beginnings are far from accurate. It is true that I was cut from a different template—one of greater strength, intelligence, and talent than humans—but I was not raised with earthly wealth. My simple upbringing reinforced the values that my parents taught. Regardless, she is correct about one thing: my measure of success is vastly different from humanity’s.

  “I’m going to focus on the veiled compliment in all of that, Jan, but you don’t know me as well as you think. You and I have many differences, and I’d guess that our definitions of potential and achievement are among them. I gauge my successes according to my own priorities. My life’s goal is not to amass wealth or status or to make the world mine. I have a higher purpose.”

  “Look at that, you do have a spine,” she says with a chuckle. “You misunderstood me, Ted. I don’t have wealth, comfort, and notoriety because they’re priorities and measures of my worth. My goal is to make the most of my life, my talents, and my opportunities, and to use them to better the world for others. Surely we can agree on that.”