Of all the mornings for a sewage problem on Sixth Street, today is most inconvenient. The remnants of last night’s storm force my straight and narrow path into a dizzying dance around and over enormous puddles. Then again, such a sewage problem would only happen after a historic rainfall overwhelms the city’s dilapidated infrastructure. My driver could only make it within two blocks of Pentastar, so I walk in the cold mist with the foul odor of human slop in my nostrils.
Each nanoscopic bead releases a tiny arctic chill as it bursts against the skin of my face and neck. To describe the air’s motion as a breeze implies a certain weightlessness, but this morning’s atmosphere is far too dense and putrid for such a refreshing adjective. Despite the ground-level cloud’s hurried movement, it’s going nowhere but still circulates a fresh chill with each redundant puff.
There is something exciting about this brief stroll down the mystical sidewalk. Instead of the same boring scenery, my surroundings have taken on an otherworldly ambiance much like that of the Pneuma Rigma, or so I’ve heard. According to Nephilim folklore, the angelic dimension, the Pneuma Rigma, exists on the same plane as ours but is shifted out of phase. My father explained it to me in terms of three-phase electricity and sine waves, but that was only mildly helpful. I would equate the dimensional relationship to holding two saw blades flat against each other with the teeth aligned, then shifting one blade so its teeth are evenly spaced between the points of the other blade.
I have no intention of ever grasping it fully because Nephilim are not meant to enter it, and so I have no need to understand it. It’s the expanse through which angels and demons move undetected amongst humanity and only they possess the power to generate windows—to bend the saw teeth into alignment—in order to pass between realms. This is exceptionally rare.
There’s a silly children’s story about an ancient Nephilim named Verdonos whose blood was almost purely angelic. As the tale goes, he was extremely powerful and learned to pass between dimensions. He used this ability to move stealthily throughout the world, sowing the seeds of truth and vanishing without a trace. When in the Pneuma Rigma, Verdonos always made sure to move swiftly to avoid being detected by those who truly belonged there and who would not look kindly on his presence. One day, he opened a window like he had hundreds of times before, but as he passed through, he was met by several demons who took issue with his use of their territory for the spreading of truth. The legend ends with him making a valiant stand against a small demonic horde. They tore him to shreds before the angels could come to his aid. He’s the closest thing to a superhero the Nephilim have, and the story still inspires young ones to this day.
For the shortest of moments, I allow myself to swoosh, like Verdonos, through the mist before I turn to enter the villain’s lair. Inside the lobby of Milburn Tower, I depart from my usual path to the elevator in order to ask a favor of Tyson Ander. He sees me weaving toward the security kiosk, immediately stretches his lips into a genuinely thrilled smile, and waves cheerfully. There’s no other person in this building better suited to be the first face everyone sees on their way into work.
“Splendid morning to you, Mr. Verity,” he starts.
I glance over my shoulder and back outside just in case the weather has miraculously cleared since I entered. Still cloudy. “You really think so, Tyson?”
“Of course, sir. Every day we wake up breathing is magnificent!”
“Tyson, don’t change,” I say with a smile.
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he exclaims with a laugh. “Positive by nature; it’s a curse. Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Verity?”
“Well, I can’t go into much detail—the nature of my problem is confidential—but I have a threatening situation and could really use your help.”
Tyson’s expression betrays his excitement at the prospect of doing something other than manning this desk. A subtle grin and slow head bob prophesy an affirmative answer before a question has even been asked. This is his finest hour.
“I can’t abide threatening situations in my tower, Mr. Verity. I’m all ears. Please continue,” he casually prompts while eating his smile. I can see it in his eyes. He’s hooked.
I lean in and motion for Tyson to come closer, reeling him in. I lower my volume and dial up the intrigue. “A couple of days ago, I’m sure you’re aware, two of my coworkers committed suicide; one of them here and one of them in an alley next to The Downspout.”
“I saw the jumper hit the sidewalk…and I heard about Dave,” he whispers sadly.
“Yes, it’s very sad. Well, there’s something sinister going on at Pentastar and I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. I need a totally secure place to have a meeting. A place without cameras or microphones, without potential spies, and with no chance of interruption.”
“Anything you need, sir. Did you have a place in mind?”
“Yes, actually. I know they reinforced the door and replaced the lock since Joel—the jumper—but I was hoping you could get me on the roof,” I say.
Tyson winds up to shake his head no.
Before he can respond, I continue, “There aren’t any cameras or microphones up there, no one will see us in this thick mist, and no one else will accidentally wander by. It’s perfect.”
Tyson releases his coiled-up wag of disapproval.
“Sorry, Mr. Verity. No can do. I would lose my job if anyone found out, and if something bad happened up there I could be held legally responsible.” Tyson’s tone is a cocktail of remorse and disappointment. His moment stopped before it started.
I nod in understanding and lower my head in a bit of a pout that I’m not proud of.
“Actually, I might know an even better place, sir,” Tyson offers. “The roof actually has cameras in a few places so that wouldn’t have worked well anyway, but one of the boiler rooms would be perfect!”
“That might work. Where are they?”
“There are two downstairs and I have the keys right here. There are no cameras in the rooms and the only people with a reason to go down there are maintenance, but the boilers were just replaced last month and these sewage problems will keep them occupied elsewhere.”
“Okay, Tyson, that sounds like a decent option. Good thinking. I’ll need you to show me where it is, though. When can you go?”
“Hey, Barry,” Tyson calls to the man seated next to him at the kiosk.
Tyson turns to his shift partner who’s deeply involved in a game of solitaire. Barry clicks the deck repeatedly, cycling through every card. “Crap,” he grunts, then begins clicking through the deck again. For the first time since I’ve known him, Tyson is visibly displeased, probably because this human dough ball is hampering his heroic fantasy. He watches Barry begin clicking through the deck a third time when he finally snaps.
“Barry!” Tyson quietly shouts.
Barry startles slightly then turns to face the heat of Tyson’s glare.
“What, man?” Barry asks.
“No matter how many times you click through, the cards aren’t going to change without you playing one.”
“Duh, bro. I know how to play solitaire. Stay outta my biz, man.”
“You’re the reason no one takes us seriously, you rent-a-cop cliché,” Tyson slashes.
“Well, we are rent-a-cops and you’re welcome, douche. Thanks to me they expect so little of us that we can play solitaire at work,” Barry retorts with a smirk.
“That’s only because I cover for your lazy ass! They’d fire you in a second if they knew.”
“Hmmm, I suppose thanks are in order. I do enjoy getting paid. So…thanks, Tyson,” Barry says with a glib shrug.
Tyson pauses, trying to steel his irritated expression, then lets out a bottled-up giggle.
“Good…you’re welcome. Now, I need you to cover the desk for five, maybe ten minutes. I have some business with Mr. Verity.”
“What kind of business?”
“The kind that’s none of yours. Now get off your ass and start gree
ting people.”
Barry reluctantly leverages his overweight frame from the desk chair.
“Now smile,” Tyson orders.
Barry’s natural smile is more infectious than tuberculosis, but this one, this grotesque attempt, is an atrocity. I’m not sure what I just witnessed during their interaction. At first it seemed like a lecture, then a fight, but by the end it was something of a playful quarrel between old pals. Tyson and Barry have worked together for some time now and have accumulated just the right balance of comfort and bitterness to stand the test of time.
“You ready, Tyson?” I ask, trying not to end up in the crossfire.
“Yah, Barry’s got this. Let’s go.”
Tyson leads the way to the stairwell where we descend one flight and arrive at a red metal door. As he unlocks it and pushes through, the long corridor exhales a rush of stale breath that feels like a warning to turn back. The door closes behind me with a metallic ka-chunk. It’s too late now. In this dimly lit and dank unnumbered circle of hell, I half expect to find black ooze bubbling up from the drains, angry specters patrolling the hall, rotting corpses being eaten by rats, and any number of other horror movie tropes.
One thing’s for sure: Jan is going to think I’ve lost my mind when I tell her to meet me down here. This environment will definitely set an ominous tone for our meeting. I just hope it’s not too much. In the end, I think she’ll understand why I chose to do it this way. There’s also the added benefit that no one will be able to hear her scream from down here if she freaks out.
“So, what was all that about with Barry?” I ask as we move toward the first dull splash of fluorescent light.
“Oh,” he says with a spirited laugh, “I guess that does require an explanation. Barry says I’m too nice, so he’s challenged me to be meaner to him.”
“Ah, I see. That makes more sense. For a minute, I thought you finally blew your top.”
“No, no. I really am this nice. I’m not even bottling anything up. I’m not very good at being mean and I don’t see the need to improve, but Barry insisted and it’s kind of fun to pretend. Plus, he is really lazy and it’s nice to finally tell him,” he bawls loudly, chasing it with a sturdy laugh.
Tyson’s overpowering positivity is radiating off the cinder block walls, bringing an inviting warmth and light to this dungeon. The thought crosses my mind to have him escort Jan down to meet me. He might even prefer it that way to keep an eye on us “unauthorized personnel,” although he seems to inherently trust me. He slows down and veers to a set of large double doors on the left.
“Here’s the first boiler room,” Tyson announces. The jingling of his keys comes from behind me as it echoes up and down the hall. The lock tumblers grind as he inserts the key with a slight jiggling motion. “Voila,” he says as he pulls the door open.
Shockingly intense light spills into the hallway. Tyson looks back at me with squinty eyes as he beckons me to enter.
“Don’t be shy. The lights are bright but they don’t bite.” Tyson’s expression asks if I noticed his rhyme. “I just made that up on the spot. See what I did?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I see what you did. Impressive. They are really bright!”
“The technicians complained about the dim lighting during the boiler installation, so the maintenance director had these bright flood lights installed on both walls. It makes their boiler maintenance easier too, once your eyes adjust anyway.”
The fixtures flood the room with clarity. Massive, glossy green cylinders flank each side of the double doors with plenty of room to move around. Straight through the doors, in between the boilers, is a large open space perfect for revealing myself to Jan. With any luck, the process will go as smoothly as a routine medical procedure under these operating room lights. Like showing her an oddly bent finger or an unsightly mole, I’ll briefly prepare her for what I’m about to do, then release my posture and reveal my true form. She’ll react with fear, confusion, maybe even shock, but eventually accept her new reality and take her place at my right hand.
“Tyson, would you be able to do one more thing for me?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“Will you meet Jan Lucero in the lobby and bring her down here?”
“Absolutely. It can be kind of creepy in that hall. Besides, it’s probably better if I’m involved, at least at that level. For security reasons, you know? Is she headed down now?”
“I know. I figured you’d say as much. I’m going to call her down now. Thanks, Tyson.”
I pull my cell phone from my pocket but, as I should’ve expected, there’s no service in hell. I see a phone installed on the wall near the doors. “Tyson, is this networked to the rest of the building?”
“Not sure, sir. You could try,” he replies with a shrug.
I grab the handset and lift it to my ear. There’s a dial tone, so I punch in Jan’s direct office number to bypass her assistant. She may not answer the direct call, but for all I know her assistant could be spying for the board of directors or that rogue Nephilim. Without knowing who to trust, the fewer people who know of our budding alliance, the better. It’s 8:04 a.m. I’m officially late for work, which means Jan will have been in her office for over an hour already. Some days, it seems she never leaves.
“This is Jan Lucero,” she answers in the middle of the first ring, catching me unprepared.
“Uh, hey, uh, good morning, Jan. It’s Ted.”
“Ted? Why do you sound like an idiot and where are you calling from? I don’t recognize the number.”
“Sorry, I was caught off guard when you answered,” I explain.
“Why would you be caught off guard? You called me not expecting me to answer?”
Jan is in a fun mood. Already I’m questioning my choice of allies. Maybe the enemy of my enemy is just another enemy.
“I wasn’t sure you’d answer a direct call from an unfamiliar number.” Unsure if our newly forged relationship affords me the privilege, I delicately approach my next question. “Is everything okay this morning?”
“There you go sounding dumb again, Ted. Of course everything is not okay. This company is teetering on the edge of—” She pumps her brakes mid-thought and sighs. She’s definitely not in the same state of mind as yesterday. “I’m sorry, Ted. It’s the board meeting tomorrow. I’m a little stressed. We don’t have a good plan and I’m just really tired of being in this position. I’m ready to be done with all of this.”
“A little stressed?” I think. Thankfully the thought never makes it to my lips. Instead, I commiserate. “I completely understand, Jan. Anyone would be unbearably stressed in your situation.” My stomach does a somersault as I prepare the next sentence. “I need to show you something that I think will tip the scales in our favor and put your mind at ease.”
“I like the sound of that. By the way, you never answered earlier. Where are you? I’ll come meet you,” she offers excitedly. Undoubtedly, she won’t anticipate my answer.
“I’m in a basement boiler room.” I pause as I realize how creepy that could come across. “I know this sounds weird, but I need you to trust me. I need you to meet me down here.”
Jan is silent. I may have overestimated her trust in me.
“You’re right, that sounds really weird, but I’m intrigued. When should I come down?”
“Tyson Anders from security will meet you in the lobby in five minutes and bring you down. We need to discuss something of critical importance. I need you to keep an open mind. Sorry, I can’t be more specific than that over the phone.”
“Okay. I’ll head that way now.”
The line dies, and Tyson looks at me with inquisitive eyes.
“She’s on her way,” I say to him, but his face is still asking a question. “What is it?”
“I’m just really curious what you’re going to show her…down here…in the boiler room,” he says, both asking a question and insinuating the apparent impropriety of this clandestine meeting.<
br />
“Tyson, you’re being extremely helpful and I’m truly grateful, but I can’t bring you in on this. I can’t put you at risk too.”
“At risk? If this is so dangerous you should call the police,” Tyson says, and he would be correct if it wasn’t for my presence. They could come in and flesh out all the evidence, maybe even forensically identify some of the fraudulent documents and signatures. Still, innocent people will get caught in the crossfire, Jan will likely still fall, and the ones ultimately responsible for this will get little more than a slap on the wrist, if they’re even caught. That’s an unacceptable outcome.
“You’re right, but it’s too complicated right now to bring in the police. We need to untangle the situation before the police get involved. If they investigate now, they’re going to build a case against the wrong people.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Ted. I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about Jan and me. We’ll be fine. Speaking of Jan, she should be halfway down to the lobby by now,” I prompt Tyson.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll head up there. Just wait here and I’ll bring her down.”
And with that, Tyson heads back down the gloomy corridor to the stairwell, jingling with each step. I stand propping the door open with my foot and looking between the brightened boiler room surfaces into the shadow. Tyson disappears through the red metal door with a shrieking clunk that reverberates and swells off the cold, concrete walls. A spasm in my abdomen reminds me of what comes next. I’m going to violate the principles that have defined my entire existence, and Jan is going to have her understanding of the world blown to bits.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Five long minutes trudge by. My only distraction besides the hissing and thunking of the giant green boilers is a rampaging pill bug that’s been scuttling aimlessly back and forth. Looking out from my vivid enclosure, the hallway shadows appear to sway and jitter, but there’s still no sign of Tyson and Jan. My ears perk sharply at the muffled sound of a stairwell door somewhere above the surface. I watch the end of the hall, hopeful that Jan will appear so I can get this over with and settle the boiling acid in my stomach, but the door stays closed. Behind me, a pump kicks on and hums deeply, grating at first but eventually rather soothing. The droning rumble relaxes me like road noise to a stir-crazy toddler.
Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1) Page 12