I take a second to think not about her words, but about whether or not she means them.
“You’re right, we can agree on that,” I admit. “But I will never compromise my principles to gain the world.”
“These material luxuries are not the object of my pursuit, Ted, they’re just byproducts. I’m lucky that my self-actualization has brought worldly riches and pleasures, but I’d still be just as committed to my work without them.”
Jan’s eloquent words juke and jockey through my defenses. Unlike with Dave, it’s difficult to establish the boundary between true conviction and convenient fiction. His empty mantras were filled with guilt and appeasement, but she’s on a roll like a gospel preacher turned politician. Her words are fiery and impassioned, and though she’s clearly given them thought, they still feel unrehearsed. Those qualities alone don’t make them true, but the art of deceit is not an exact science, and if she’s lying, I would know.
“You might be right, Jan. Maybe there is more I could be doing.”
“Of course I’m right, Ted,” she says, laughing sweetly. Jan looks deeply into my eyes as she enjoys a weightless breath. “I’m really glad that you’re receptive to what I’m saying. I think we would make a formidable team.”
I don’t sense the darkness in Jan that I expected to find. She is either the most talented liar I’ve met or she’s another collateral victim of the greater evil I’m here to combat. After Dave, I’m more willing to consider the possibility of the latter. If she is caught in the shadow of something or someone diabolical, I feel a responsibility to break her free from its grip before assessing her need to be sown. The development of this “relationship” will offer me the perfect opportunity to be more than a truth-wielding assassin.
“Well, you made me think. Perhaps there is more I have to offer this world than what I’ve been giving. I don’t want to look back on my life with the regret that I could have had a larger impact,” I concede.
“I don’t want that for you either! You’re remarkable, Ted. Together, we can be a light in this dark world.”
“That’s exactly what I want,” I exclaim, surprising myself with my own enthusiasm.
“Excellent. I want to start working closely first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll teach you everything I know, and you can teach me what I don’t know. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great.”
She turns toward the black town car and I open the door. Striding into the back seat, she thanks me with a warm smile, and before I shut the door, she calls my name.
“Ted, I’ll send you a car.”
“That’s not necessary, Jan. I’ll just catch a cab.”
“Nonsense. You’re with me now and at our level, we have personal drivers.”
I sense the futility of further argument and reluctantly accept. It’s going to take a lot more than a personal driver to buy my loyalty, so I’ll play along for now in order to get close to Jan and closer to the truth. As unlikely as it seemed this morning, Jan may serve a larger role in the proliferation of my angelic nature and its impact on this broken world. If this experiment takes a turn for the worse, I can always just sow her like I had originally planned.
“Thanks again, Jan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re welcome. Now stop thanking me and get some rest. It’s been a long day,” she consoles.
I shut the car door and step back as the wheels begin to roll. It has been a long and challenging day that’s forcing me to rethink much of what I thought I understood about humanity’s relationship with evil. The truly diabolical does exist, I’m convinced of that, but Dave’s dishonesty and others like him is far more pitiful than malevolent. They turn to lies in the hope of preserving their status quo, but those lies only multiply their hardships.
Could the same be said for Jan? Each step higher up the ladder at Pentastar has to lead closer to the origin of their decay. Her supposed interest in the betterment of her people and belief in each person’s responsibility to maximize their existence brings me hope that she is not the source of evil. But if not Jan, if not the CEO, then who or what is the root of Pentastar’s evil?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Like a serpent trying desperately to swallow its living prey, today has found me continuously subduing my disdain for people for far longer than usual, and it’s been exhausting. A rodent that refuses to die, it has clawed up my esophagus to the back of my throat only to be washed back down with a stiff shot of restraint. My typical one-off missions have only required that I research my potential target (which can be accomplished mostly from home since the advent of the internet), plan the mission, sow the target, and then retreat back to my rural farmhouse east of the mountains. It has never been necessary for me to secure a job and live in the city before Pentastar, and all this time around people is taking its toll. My only oasis until this operation is complete is the seclusion of my empty apartment.
Sitting on the woven metal bench outside the police station brings a much-needed lull. The sleepy night air caresses my neck as I prop my head in my hands and embrace the relative silence. A trail of ants meanders alongside my foot. I trace the dotted line to a dime-sized piece of glazed donut. Faced with an insurmountable problem, they band together to bite, tug, and drag with determination, their tiny movements blending together in unified purpose. It’s possible that ants are more respectable than most human beings. They demonstrate commitment on a level that has to be admired. Nothing deters them from risking their lives to return a single bite of food to their queen and colony.
Humanity would thrive with such dedication to the common good. Instead, their personal safety, security, and benefit take on supreme importance. But in their dishonest attempts at self-preservation and gratification, they erode the very security they desire. Each selfish lie pushes their most valued relationships and accomplishments ever closer to ruin, and yet they still do it.
It would take the concerted effort of many more Nephilim than actually exist to have any hope of changing this behavior. Each sowing transforms the most corrupt either into an honest soul or into a corpse, but the rate of positive change can’t match the rate of decay. It’s a losing battle and I recognize that fact, but it’s still a battle worth fighting, if only for my own sake.
I’ve never believed in mankind’s ability to improve themselves. The only instances of revolutionary human change I’ve witnessed have been the byproduct of external forces. Catastrophes often force people to rethink their perspectives and make positive changes to behaviors and attitudes. For Dave, Joel, and my eight prior targets, the sowing was their catastrophe, and I was its herald.
Stones grind and pop under the weight of an approaching vehicle, bringing an end to another session of mental congress. Initially expecting my town car, I straighten my hunched posture and prepare to stand, but instead watch a green cab draw near. The brakes squeal slightly as it slows to a stop in front of the staircase. Staring covertly, I watch in bored curiosity as the cab door opens and a woman steps out. Her familiar heel and slim ankle are visible beneath the cab door before she rises from her seat to reveal her identity.
My heart knocks against my ribs as I see the sable hair and breathtaking upturned eyes of the woman from this morning. But as providential as this meeting seems, I can't bring myself to call out to her. Not only am I not in the mood for a resurgence of human emotion, but this day has devoured all of my best-laid plans, and I don’t want to add her to the list of casualties. I twist, hiding my face to avoid contact. Still, my eyes are lured to the corner of their sockets for another glimpse.
In a sudden breath of wind, she wrestles with hair so dark it absorbs light and frames her pale, oval face in a flowing silhouette. She’s an incarnation of my black-and-white view of the world. The streetlights bow as if to concede their inferiority to her overpowering radiance and the air ripples as it passes around her presence. My veins tickle the inside of my flesh as I feel the pressure building in my neck.
She l
eans down and thanks the driver, then closes the door and heads for the stairs. One step later her head does a double take as she senses my presence. Freezing in her tracks, she squints at me curiously. My pulse stops during her examination, as if perfect stillness will render me invisible.
“I know you,” she says, her voice an unforgettable melody to my ears. “Well, I don’t know you, but I’ve seen you before. Don’t tell me…”
I’m not planning to. Even if I were, my nervous system is too overloaded to command coherent speech. It’s unfortunate, but it offers the byproduct of finding out just how memorable she finds me. I turn sideways on the bench to face her as she works out the details of her memory.
“I saw you this morning outside Milburn Tower,” she says with a clever grin. “You tried to steal my cab!”
I laugh a little too hard at her joke before responding, “I don’t steal. It’s not in my nature.”
Replaying the words in my mind, I immediately cringe. I’ve never felt this nervous before, and I find it to be another disgusting human emotion that belongs on the list right below humiliation. I need to tap into the sociable part of me that’s helped me fit into an office environment for months. Then again, at the Pentastar offices my stomach isn’t in active freefall and my tongue isn’t swollen inside my mouth like it is now.
She begins a graceful stroll toward the bench, and I detect a hint of delight in her gate that I hope is more than just wishful thinking. My soul burns hotter as each step closes the distance between us. Her allure is not just in her physical beauty because, despite leaving me speechless, it’s rather understated. It’s the kindness of her countenance, the peace of her presence, the strength of her spirit that wrap their fingers around my neck and pull me in.
“Well, that’s good. Stealing is dishonest,” she replies as if talking to a preschooler.
“I’m surprised you remember me.”
“It took me a second to place it, but you’re a unique looking fellow. Memorable…in a good way,” she says.
“That was a nice thing to say. My name is Ted Verity,” I say as I reach to shake her hand.
“Melody Galanis, but my friends call me Mel.”
Without knowing a thing about her, it’s evident that she’s seen her share of hardships. She carries herself with the humble confidence that only comes from victory through terrible adversity. It’s rare. I’ve seen it before in first responders, firefighters, and military members, but no one like her. Something tells me she’s not to be trifled with, the type to walk softly and carry a big stick.
“Melody…I like that name.”
“Thank you! I can’t take too much credit; it’s not like I picked it out.”
“True, but it suits you.”
“Well, thanks again,” she says with a charming grin.
“You’re welcome. So, how is it that we’ve crossed paths twice in the same day in a big city like this? What brings you here?”
“Oh, I’m a journalist. I’m working a story about today’s Pentastar deaths. Well, it was just one death until a couple hours ago. Their VP shot himself or someone else shot him, I don’t know. That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” she replies. She interprets my contorted expression as a response to her flippant mention of the dead. “I’m sorry, it’s kind of morbid. TMI?”
“No, it’s not that. I work for Pentastar. I already knew about their deaths.”
“Oh, geez. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. It’s been an eventful day for you,” she says, sending an electric jolt through my spine. You? Why does she think my day was eventful? Does she know something? Did Drake tell her I’m a suspect? I cork my emotional geyser just enough to play off my next question as nothing more than one of clarification.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s been an eventful day at Pentastar.”
“Oh, right,” I affirm with a silent sigh of relief. “Yes, it’s been exhausting.”
I break eye contact and look to the road. The passing cars and pedestrians make me think of chance meetings and missed opportunities. As water flows over and around stones, these travelers move through life completely oblivious to what they’re missing until the fateful day that their lives intersect with providence. My collision with Melody is beginning to feel less providential and more cataclysmic.
“So, you never told me why you’re here,” says Mel.
“I’m waiting for my ride.”
I know that’s not what she was asking, but journalists make their living poking around in messy business, looking for answers. The last thing I need is another busybody interfering with my work. Her journalistic instincts could lead to a line of questioning that exposes me and my kind, changing the course of humanity. I can’t carry on with her and take such a risk. Perhaps our future is not as bright as I hoped. Worse yet, I hate how disappointed that makes me feel.
“No, I was asking why you’re at the police station in the first place.”
“Are you asking off the record?”
“Not sure why that clarification is necessary, but sure, we’re off the record.”
“I was with Dave at the bar before he ended up dead in the alley, and I was the last person to talk to Joel this morning before he jumped from Milburn Tower.”
Mel processes this data for a second before her face turns up excitedly. She stifles her expression and instead looks at me with a question on her face. Her eyes look deeply into mine as she forms words.
“Are they treating you as a suspect?” Her inflection suggests the ridiculousness of the question.
“It seems that way.”
“Is that strictly based on you being around them before they died?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t there when either of them died. There are witnesses to that fact.”
“What did you talk to them about before they died? Did you talk about the Fosillix trial?” she pries enthusiastically.
“What do you know about the drug trial? Are you writing about that too?”
“Ted, everybody who watches the news, much less works for the news, knows about the drug trial. I know you’re being sued and they’re talking about felony charges for whoever’s responsible. Level with me; is Pentastar responsible for those patients’ deaths?”
Her home run swing lands squarely on my jaw. She knows I can’t discuss such things, especially with a member of the press. As much as I’d love to, corporate policy says I can neither confirm nor deny Pentastar’s responsibility in the death of drug trial patients. Not that policy would stop me. I respect no agreement, no policy, no law that prevents the truth from being spoken. My compliance with the non-disclosure is temporary and self-serving. I need time to finish my sowings and leave town before Pentastar crumbles and takes me down in the rubble.
“Melody, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t talk to you about that.”
“I figured, but it was worth a try. So, were Dave and Joel involved in what happened with the drug trial? Is that why they killed themselves…I mean, if they killed themselves?”
Mel’s interest in me is obviously more professional than personal. Each question about Pentastar, the drug trial, and my targets’ deaths shatters my naive attraction and raises my defenses. Beyond that, she’s painting herself as a potential threat to my mission. I look upon her enchanting face with further disappointment.
“You don’t seem to get it. I’m not going to answer any of your questions about Pentastar, the trial, or any dead or living coworkers. Honestly, this is pretty distasteful of you.”
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. You’re right. Sometimes my quest for answers overpowers my better judgment. I’ll save those questions for Julius.”
“Who’s Julius?”
“Julius Drake; he’s a cop I pester when I need information for an article.”
Each evolution of this situation is a step further into a lion’s den. If she works closely with Sergeant Drake then it’s only a matter of time until I say the wrong thing, she takes it to Dr
ake, and I end up behind bars. Even if she and Drake aren’t close, no journalist is going to pass on scooping the identity of a vigilante serial killer. I’ve never killed anyone myself, but that’s not what the headlines will read. Those outcomes seem almost preferable when I consider the possibility, however unlikely, that they work together as some kind of Nephilim hunting duo.
“Do you work closely with Sergeant Drake?”
“Julius and I go back years. We’ve worked on a lot of investigations, officially and off the books. You know Drake?”
Off the books?
“We’ve met. He’s pretty enthusiastic about…justice.”
“Yeah, he’s a good cop and has been a great friend and ally.”
As much as that stings, it makes my path forward clear. I have to play it safe. Drake is hunting me—at least as a cop, if not as a Nephilim hunter—and if Mel isn’t already, she’ll be hunting me for a story or for my head soon enough. Whatever delusions I entertained about Mel, I’m back on my own. Though I’ve never seen my loneliness as a personal liability, I now recognize it as a tactical one. It isn’t a part of the Nephilim code to live in solitude, it’s a conscious decision I made years ago based on my view of the world and my place in it. Now, in the midst of a complex operation, I find myself desiring such relationships. There is no one to watch my back, no one to help me, and no one that I can trust. I have no such ally.
The squeak of the department door and the familiar drawl of Officer Lewis invade the cool night silence. Drake’s uproarious laughter implies a sense of humor that’s hard to imagine after our interactions thus far. They skip down the steps with a peppy gait, eager to embrace what’s left of their evening. Lewis spots us on the bench and points us out to Drake, whose face rapidly sours at the sight of me.
“I should go. I want to catch them before they leave. Until next time,” Mel says with an apologetic expression.
Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1) Page 8