Out of the Black (22 page)

She sat in a plastic chair, watching the officers pace around her, waiting in terror for one of them to ask her about the destroyed locker with the king-sized jacket in it- her name was even on the bent locker door leaning against the wall- but time dragged by and no one else seemed to notice.

The cops were polite, but she repeatedly caught them staring at her. This, she understood- she didn't know what to think of herself either. The Detectives had been in to interview her several times. She'd done a lot of crying, had said "I don't know" a lot, but she couldn't bring herself to mention the fallen... behickeyer. That would only be an invitation to more questions she couldn't answer, and perhaps increase her chances of ending up in a padded cell. She had mentioned the dry leaves voice, but had downplayed it when she realized that she was the only one who heard it. Maybe just someone panicking as the melee began... right.

Anne had no sooner managed to convince herself that she was done answering questions when the Feds arrived. The lounge door opened to reveal a man and woman, both in dark, well-cut suits. Both had the air of confidence and easy authority of the actors on her third-favorite show,
FBI Files
. This was definitely going down on her permanent record. She rested her face in her hands, wondering how much longer until someone brought out a desk lamp and the questioning started in earnest.

The woman, obviously the leader, waved the uniformed cops out of the room. She had an open, efficient-looking face that could be called pretty by the charitable. "Miss Kelley?"

Anne nodded.

"May I call you Bethany?" She asked, pulling up a chair.

"Call me Anne, I go by my middle name." She said without looking up.

The woman settled into the chair across from Anne while her partner leaned on the counter by the mini sink behind her. "I'm agent Hawthorne, this is agent Mendez." Mendez nodded, completing the introductions. "The officers downstairs told us some... interesting things." She raised an eyebrow, examining Anne.

Anne nodded, face still in her hands.

"I know this must be difficult for you. I'll try to be brief, but there are some questions I need to ask." She gave Anne a smile that was half support, half apology. Anne straightened in her chair, pulled her hair back, put her palms together with her index fingers to her lips, nodded again.

"Ok, first question: What was that downstairs?" Hawthorne exclaimed casually, shaking her head. "I mean, wow! I watched the surveillance logs... I've never seen anything remotely like that! I thought that doctor was a gonner, then pow! You blur across the room like Supergirl and backhoe a whole mound of karate on that Harm. You actually had him upside down in the air..." she paused, hands still gesticulating in the air, seemingly looking for words big enough to contain her wonder, "How?" she finally asked with a bemused smile and a small shake of her head.

"Spinach."

"Indeed," Hawthorne paused, examining Anne, "But we both know there's more."

Yep. Wasn't that the truth? Anne sat in uncertain silence.

"This wasn't the first strange thing that happened to you, is it?" Her gaze and her smile didn't waver.

"I just want to go home." Anne said, desperately trying to keep her eyes away from her destroyed locker.

"We'll get you there, Anne. But first you've got to come clean. First you've got to trust us."

"I trust you to throw me in a rubber room." Anne said, partially committing herself.

"You think we could? I never got high marks in hand-to-hand combat, and Mendez..." She spared her partner a glance over her shoulder, "I've seen him shoot... you've got nothing to worry about." Hawthorne said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Mendez shook his head sadly. "You put one hole in the shooting range roof and nobody forgets."

"See? We work for the Keystone division at the Bureau. I'm afraid we're only a danger to ourselves." She gave her head a resigned shake then looked at Anne with a small, steady smile.

If this was a ruse to get Anne to lower her guard, it was working. She was so weary that it would be a relief to set all deception aside, come all the way clean. Of course, talking doesn't always lighten your burden; this she'd learned when addressing the dry-leaves voice in the ER.

"How did you sleep the last couple of nights?" Hawthorne asked.

Wha? What did she know? There's no way she could know about her nights of a thousand near death experiences. Anne felt exposed and guilty, but stayed silent.

"They say you missed work yesterday."

"Ah!" Anne said in far too obvious relief. "Right! I was way sick."

"You seem... better." Mendez said. Something seemed to catch his attention and he pushed off the counter and approached the table where Anne and Hawthorne sat. He stopped short of the table, looking at something on the floor on the other side. Hawthorne turned to look at her partner, a small, confused smile on her lips.

"Someone's wasting food." he said.

"Wow." Hawthorne said in the 'why are you talking?' voice, "Really?"

Mendez bent down and after some rustling in the trashcan, stood back up with half a six-pack of Mega Slim Quick in his hands. "I love these things." he said.

For Anne, this was a far more terrifying moment than the attack of the demonic Harms in the ER. Her hands covered her burning face as she focused on not hyperventilating.

"You'll have to excuse my partner," Hawthorne said as her partner broke a Slim Quick shake from the six-pack and put it in the chiller on the counter. "He's a bit uncouth when it comes to free food." Her voice was friendly, but both Feds were now staring at the gargantuan coat in Anne's destroyed locker.

The chiller beeped and Mendez removed the frosty can. "Anyone want some? There's plenty to go around." he said, popping the can open.

Ignoring her partner, Hawthorne made a few taps on her tablet, extended it to full size, and slid it across the table beneath Anne's sheltered face. Anne held her breath and moved her fingers so she could see. On the largest open window was a picture of a horribly overweight woman, gone-swimming wet, with cuts on her face and hands, and a large gash on her knee. Blood covered the woman's clothes. She looked miserable and very scared. She also looked like she'd never had a date... was it that obvious?

Anne's heart sank. Caught. Anne was pretty sure they'd already nailed her for destruction of property and conspiracy to hide poor dietary choices, but what if they connected her to the body of the fallen man? Of course they'd think she'd killed him. They don't even give double homicide convicts dessert in prison... she was screwed.

After allowing enough time for Anne to confess to anything she desired, Hawthorne continued, "This wasn't your first fight, was it Anne?"

Revising her odds away from witness protection in favor of prison, Anne had no immediate comment. Her vision narrowed; she wondered if she was going to faint.

Realizing that Anne wasn't "0"peak, Hawthorne dropped another bomb. "This is from the Eye on a beat officer at Union Station. You remember him? The strangest part doesn't show up without a little enhancement though..."

She used her tablet to zoom in, leaving only Anne's neck filling the window. There was the deep red hickey with small dark tendrils extending away from it under the skin. "What was that mark Anne? You don't have it now."

Anne's hand went to her neck. These guys were definitely not Keystone Cops. She felt empty, desolate, exposed- not unlike a sea cucumber after its big panic move.

"I think a Vampire made out with me." she said.

***

Dek stared at Ping earnestly. "I insist."

He was not taking 'no' for an answer. Of course, Ping didn't want him to. Still, he hesitated.

"The Samurai believed that the blade was the vessel of a warrior's soul. I don't give this lightly." Dek's face softened, "I expect you to honor his memory with its use."

Ping closed his hand around the hilt. He bowed his head in acceptance.

"It'll tear apart anything the Loom can build. Very handy for dealing with guys like our pal Garvey- if you're quick enough to use it."

His eyes shifted to the doorway leading deeper into the house. "Take care of them." Somewhere in there, Alex and Rae were still sleeping. "They're like adopted second cousins once removed, but they're about all that's left of my family." His tone belied tears, but after an instant, his smile returned. "We'll all probably be dead by tomorrow anyway." He gave Ping a too-hard smack on the shoulder and walked out the door into the dim evening sunlight. Charming.

Descending the steps, Dek paused; he looked back over his shoulder. "Whether I find Issak or not, tell Alex to start looking for me in a few days. Remember, the locator won't work if I'm dead." He smiled brightly. "Oh yeah, look under Roy's bed. 2-0-1-9-pound. Got that?"

"Got what?" Ping said, but Dek was gone.

***

Issak Kaspari floated in cold blackness. Was he dead? He hoped not, because this sucked. Then an explosion: blinding light and intense pain that drove him inward. The strobe ended, and he cringed again in the darkness. This better not be death.

Though he tried to steel himself, the next burst caught him by surprise, left his shredded nerves echoing with the experience. The next several bursts of light came faster, each following the last with increasing frequency until he was in a shimmering brightness, then a steady white light.

As the light became the norm, he began to acclimate. By the time the light was flickering, he could think again, by the time the darkness had completely departed, he could think in polysyllabic words.

Alone in an unbroken field of light, Issak began to remember. Had it worked? Could he get back? This better not be death... if so, there were billions of the devout who were in for the Big Letdown.

Not dead. The Loom was still accessible here, though it was more like remote control. He felt the immense power of the cast that had driven him here. He was at the tip of the spear that he had thrust outside the known universe, down through the Underworld, and into... what?

His thoughts were disrupted by a dry voice that seemed to come from everywhere. "Bix osu, bin shuga prada."

At first they were just sounds- deep, resonant sounds. But then he realized this was the old language. "Little alone creature, I need I play" was his best guess at translation. The old language- the implications were staggering.

"Who are you?" Issak thought he asked. Though upon further reflection it was more likely that he'd asked 'what were those'. He needed to clear his head. It had been centuries since he'd used this tongue, and then only to keep Roy in the dark about the birthday party he and Ivo were planning.

"You speak. Think you? Power you have?" The voice crashed over him like a ping-pong avalanche. Issak was pretty sure his translation was getting better.

"I'm a traveler." Issak might have said. No, he'd just said 'I wiggle'. Close enough.

"I am Outsider." The thing said over about five seconds, seeming to relish most of the syllables, holding them on its tongue until they were fully spent. "Your power is no salvation." It purred like a building-sized panther on quite a lot of Valium. Was it louder? Closer?

Issak didn't like the sound of that. Pressure built around him. It increased as if he were sinking into deep water. Something was pressing in on him. The pressure became pain.

"I come in peace. I come seeking knowledge. Where is this place?" Issak hoped this was a misunderstanding that could be resolved with a little diplomacy.

Dry laughter surrounded him, sinister and slow. "My exile has ended." The power in the words grated across Issak's soul, scraping across the surface, looking for purchase. This thing seemed to be pushing in on him from everywhere, trying to get inside.

"Where you are is me." The dry voice boomed. "Where I go is you. You are the door between the rooms." The words jittered through his flesh, stabbing inward like dull butter knives.

Nice. Time to go.

***

"Anne, if you don't let us in, we can't help you." Hawthorne's voice didn't hold a hint of frustration. She was good at this.

"The body you found on Franklin yesterday- I was there." No turning back now.

There was a moment of barely perceptible confusion in Hawthorne's eyes. "Please continue."

"I was coming home from work, when this man falls out of the sky in a shower of broken glass. First I thought he was dead, but then he's apologizing... grabbing me. Then there's this pain..." she realized she was touching her neck, "The kind without a bottom, you know?"

Hawthorne's face was intent but unreadable.

"I lose consciousness, and when I come to, he's really dead. That's why I look like I do in the picture... cuts from the glass on the ground, his blood all over me. And the nuclear hickey."

There was a pause, so Anne continued, "Vampire, right?" Her forced laugh seemed well... forced.

Mendez was shaking his head. The good-joke smile caught on his face was held back only by a force of will from blossoming into the full belly laugh he was feeling.

"Who was he?"

"Who?"

"The fallen man. The guy you guys found on the street."

The agent prodded her tablet several times, examined, prodded some more. Finally she looked up. "Anne, we didn't find any crushed body on Franklin... or anywhere else."

"Broken glass? Destroyed car? Any window washers report a missing window?"

More tapping with her stylus, then "No."

Maybe she needed the rubber room after all. "But there
are
two dead Harms and lots of destruction downstairs, right?"

More clicking, then a look of surprise. "No."

Mendez's amusement subsided, replaced by concern. He pushed away from the counter and approached Hawthorne from behind. He leaned over her shoulder, trying to verify her results, Slim Quick shake still in his hand.

"All electronic records... camera logs, police reports... they can't all be gone," she said, clearly confused. "Even my preliminary notes are missing."

"No. There's no way..." Mendez started.