The Broken Ones (Book 1) Page 8

  Then the priest took the stage and began to give a long sermon about the price of honor and duty, and how Officer Cortez was a man of principle and value. Each word that slipped from the gentle old man's lips was a curse on Drew, a recrimination for the actions he had done that had brought them all here this day. The priest spoke of the thing that had done this terrible deed and the he used words like vermin, beast, devil and coward. It was the last that slammed home the worst.

  The world was coming to terms with the fact that what happened that night was no trick of editing or sleight of hand magic. Something terrible was awoken, and now they had dash cams and cell phone videos to help them explore the existence of a dirt demon among them. That something evil walked this earth, and that something divine flew. A brawl in a parking lot over stolen jewelry had captured the world’s attention and turned it into a religious battle. The Dirt Demon facing off against the Cherub Angel. A fire-wielding harlot against the unseen wrath of God. Even now, religious fanatics camped outside the police tape at the scene, eager to see the hole in the ground surrounded by dirt that marked the spot where divine justice had ended the reign of the dirt demon. It seemed to them that the demon was dead, and as he stared at the black box that held the man whose life he took, Drew suspected that they were right. He would raise the monster no more, and he himself was hollowed out like a cored apple.

  The ceremony continued on, slipping past reasonable to purgatory before finally, wrapping up somewhere around infinite. Uniformed officers carried the casket to the waiting hearse, and then to the gravesite. Another long sermon was given, mostly with heads bowed, until finally, they lowered Rubin into the ground. Rubin's wife broke down there, having kept her composure for the entire affair up until that point. After that, the tears flowed like drinks at a party, and Drew felt every one of them fall upon his head.

  Then it was time for each person to pay their final respects. He went up with his father, trailing behind as silent as the grave that waited for him. As it became their turn, his father tossed in a button of some sort and in a hushed tone loud enough only for Drew to hear, he promised his fallen friend that he would find the person responsible for this, and make them pay. It seemed that his father did not believe the dirt demon was dead.

  Dread filled Drew. He suspected that his father would find out who it was, and true to his word, would make that coward pay.

  Now as he lay in bed, surround by the shadows of sadness that came to either pay their respects or claim their vengeance, he wondered what he should do. He thought about ending his life. That is what he was sure the shadows in his room wanted. Perhaps that was why they had come, to see justice done. He knew that he couldn't do it though. Not that he was as much a coward in that as the world seemed to think, but because he knew that his own death would raise enough questions to spark his father truly finding out what he had done. Of all the dreaded outcomes he feared, his father's discovery of his acts were the worst. He could think up a thousand deaths less painful than those of his father's final disapproving look.

  "You forgot something."

  The voice startled Drew as he thought he was alone in his room. He had closed the door before he had turned off the lights and stripped down to his underwear. There was no one there then, the room too small and neat to hide anyone. He knew that he hadn't heard the door open. The only noise in the room was the gentle noise of the fan on his ceiling turning in the dark. He raised his head to discover the owner of the voice and was shocked to find his creation standing at the foot of his bed. Though the lights were off, his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. He could make out that his creature stood still at the end of his bed, facing him with massive arms laying at his side. In the wells that were the creature’s eyes he detected a faint glow of red and found himself wondering if that had always been there. Truth was that he had decided early on that he was never to be in the same area as his creation. Yet here it stood, talking to him. He could smell the fresh dirt of the creature, and even in the low light he could tell that the dirt was still slightly wet. How was it here, talking to him?

  Talking to him.

  "I didn't create you,” Drew realized. "I didn't summon you, and I didn't tell you to say that."

  "You forgot something," his creation repeated. It was clear that his creature wasn't going to or couldn't answer his accusation.

  "What did I forget?"

  "The girl." His creation stood still, unmoving like a statue in a museum.

  "What girl?"

  "The fire throwing one."

  Drew frowned. He hadn't forgotten about her. She was locked up in prison awaiting trial or confiscating by the government. They were still arguing that point on the news when he went to bed. Why would his creation think he had forgotten about her? He sat up, sliding until his back was firm against the backboard. There, he stared at his creation while he tried to ponder the meaning. He thought of asking the creature what he meant, but something told him that he wouldn't get any extra details from the creature. The fact that it referred to Miss Fire as "the fire throwing one" seemed to indicate that the thing ran on limited skills. It still didn't answer how it was here if had hadn't called it. "Does this have something to do with my father finding out?"

  The creation remained silent, a darker shadow in darkness. He was sure now that its eyes were glowing a faint red.

  "It is. But how would forgetting her matter to that?" His mind buzzed, running over everything. She had no idea who he was. Even if they interrogated her, they would be able to glean nothing important about him.

  "Or would they?” he asked aloud.

  His creation remained silent still.

  He had seen enough of those profiling shows to know that even the smallest detail about a person could indicate something huge. How you said something could let them know what your profession might be. How you respond to something could tell them the type of education you have. He tried to play back what he had said to her, what conversations he had with her online before the first meet. He couldn't recall half of what he said, but he suspected that he had said enough. Had she saved their conversations? Had she already snitched? Maybe she waited for him to bust her out of her prison cell? He had forgotten her, in almost every sense of the word. As soon as he discovered he had murdered his father's friend, it became all about him and his misery. Sure, it was her fault that he was there, but he wasn't stupid enough to think he could get away with blaming her.

  "What am I supposed to do?" He mused aloud.

  "Someone has to die," his creation replied.

  Chills went down his spine. In those four words, he felt the maw of hell open up and reach for the rest of his broken soul. He knew exactly what the creature meant. Of course, he did, the creature just stated what he thought. It was, after all, his creation. His choices were simple. He could let her rot in jail or under the government knife, and then they would find out who he was. They would come for him, and his father and mother would die from the grief of knowing what their son had become. He could try to free Miss Fire, and in all likelihood he would have to kill to make this happen. Or he could find a way to kill her. None of these options were appealing. Each would claim another piece of his soul, if not all of it.

  "I don't want to have to decide."

  "You are past that point."

  The creature was not wrong. He had already started digging a grave. It was up to him to decide who the grave would hold.

  "See you soon,” the creature's tone had changed.

  Drew looked up at it and found it smiling a broad and terrible smile. Drew noticed something in the chest of his creation, embedded over where the heart would have been on a normal man. A slight shine in the faint light cast by his computer tower.

  Dread consumed Drew as he moved across the bed to look at whatever it was in his creation's chest. Something made him fearful of getting close to the thing, worrying that it might strike out at him if he got within a close enough distance. His monster remained still
as if proud of what he displayed. In truth, what Drew found ended up being worse that the violent neck snap he had expected.

  There, embedded in his creation of dirt was a single button. Though he had only caught a glimpse of it when his father had tossed it into the gravesite, Drew knew what it was, and where it had come from. It was an old button that said, “And Justice for All" in bold print, with what he suspected was a Metallica logo underneath it.

  The grim realization crept up on him. "Where did you get this dirt?" Drew rose up to face his monster eye to eye. His eye holes were glowing red for sure.

  The creature laughed. It was a dry sound, mocking and full of contempt. Drew had never laughed like that before. This wasn't his voice. It couldn't be. But this was his creation. He had no proof, but he suspected that no one could hijack his creation. Yet here it was, laughing at him with a rolling rumble of contempt.

  "What have you done?!" Drew yelled at his creation, trying to drown out the laughter with his own voice.

  But the creature continued to laugh, growing louder with him. Then it stopped as if it had never started. It raised its right hand, first presenting a fist at him, palm upraised. As it opened its hand, it revealed a single red rose crushed in the middle. Drew didn't have to ask. He knew where the rose came from. He had seen the just widowed Mrs. Ortiz drop it into the hole that held her husband.

  "I saved a place for you," his creation told him.

  Drew woke up screaming.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lanton woke to a gentle prodding in his chest. Yawning he opened his eyes to find the nurse looking down at him with bright blue eyes.

  Her lips held a frown, but her eyes sparkled like it was a lie. "When I agreed to let you spell me for the watch, I thought you understood it meant you needed to be awake." She straightened up from leaning over him and went to sit in a recliner that was set up on the opposite side of Chris's bed.

  Chris was still unconscious from his attempt on his life, the bruises around his face and neck now a deep shadow of black and purple. He had done quite the number on himself. Upon more research with the paramedics that had brought him in, he had discovered that the light fixture Chris had tied off to had come down and bashed him in the face. They had said that with just a fraction more force, the light fixture might have actually done the job that the noose failed to do. Now, Chris had hairline fractures over his skull and his left eye was a landscape of healing cuts and crisscrossed bruises.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to pass out,” he smiled at Nurse Millie, fighting back another yawn.

  "You're fine,” she told him, winking at him as she finished. He couldn't tell if she was being flirty or that was just her version of a bedside manner. Like when the girls at Hooters sat at your table to shoot the shit while they took your order. How did you know if they were truly interested? "Why don't you go get yourself some coffee?" She eased into the chair, the motion making her chest pop out a tiny bit. Again Lanton wasn't sure if he should read into it or just the natural actions of a normal nurse.

  "That sounds like a wonderful idea. Would you like anything?" He rose from his own recliner, feeling his bones ache as he did.

  "I wouldn't mind some coffee," Mille admitted. "But get the stuff from the second floor by the elevators. Whoever makes the stuff up here is timid with the amount of coffee they use." She propped open her Jim Butcher book and for all intents and purposes began to discover the antics of a Wizard working in Chicago.

  Lanton had taken the time to read the back of the book when she was gone. It seemed like an interesting concept. "How do you like it?"

  "Black and strong," Nurse Millie said without looking up from her book. He caught a glimpse of a smirk as he raised a brow.

  He said nothing, leaving before he said something that might cross the line with her. As he walked the pristine white hallway, he stopped to look at his reflection in the window if a doorway. Granted, he was black, he wasn't sure he could call himself strong. Tall, but with a lanky build, he was more beanpole than beefcake. His hair was tight and neat across his head, showing only the slightest hint of gray peeking at the edges. Maybe he should start shaving his head. It would make him look younger. Maybe he could grow some facial hair. He was already on his way as he hadn't shaved since he had come to see Chris. He shook his head at his reflection.

  "She's just talking about the coffee."

  He moved on down the hallway, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. He called into work, letting them know that he wanted to take another personal day. He was sure that today would be the day that Chris woke up, and he wanted to be here. Besides, he had enough PTO days as he did not take any personal days. Right now, the city reeled from the supernatural events that had taken place a few nights back, and much to the cities surprise, killings had gone down in recognizable numbers. Lanton suspected that a bunch of crimes had gone down, but since he was part of the Homicide team, he only knew about his area for sure. He had heard from Officer George Grimly that there was still a rash of suicides happening all over town. That reminded him of the last one he had investigated. The one with the strange body. That one still came to him when he closed his eyes. He shook his head, casting the thoughts away. As he waited for the elevator, he thought of Grimly. The man was his partner for a time, before Lanton had gotten promoted to Detective. He hadn't hung out with Grimly in ages. He decided that he would give Grimly a call, set up a pool hall date or something. He started to pull up the number on his phone when the elevator doors opened.

  “I'll do it in a bit,” he said aloud, turning off the phone and pocketing it. Elevators were notorious for making signals iffy.

  He had a hard time finding any coffee pots, and he suspected that the one he wanted remained hidden in some nursing station. He guessed he should have made more inquiries before setting off on this adventure. He stopped a tall male nurse who didn’t appear to be in a hurry.

  “Excuse me, I am trying to get coffee for Nurse Millie. She sent me this way."

  The make nurse stopped, confusion on his face. "I am sorry, what?"

  "Coffee? Nurse Millie said I could find the good coffee here."

  The male nurse, whose tag named him Billy, smiled wide enough to come close to being the Cheshire Cat, "Ain't that the truth of it,” he laughed. "Follow me, handsome, I know where it is." He began to walk away, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure Lanton followed him. Once he saw that he was, Lanton was sure Billy's walk changed slightly. Not enough to be sure, but perhaps more sway in his step. "So, who sent you?"

  "Nurse Millie." Lanton followed along like a loyal puppy.

  Billy led him through a door marked for employees only and pointed to a coffee pot on a nearby counter. "Oh, you're him."

  "Him who?" Lanton asked, moving by Billy to get two cups of coffee.

  "Nothing," Billy replied in a hurry, standing at the door, holding it open with his backside. "She wasn't lying."

  "Lying about what?" Lanton asked, pouring the first cup of coffee.

  "Nothing," Billy said again, smirking like the cat again. "You don't want any sugar, sugar?"

  "This one is for Millie,” Lanton said. "She said she likes it strong and black."

  Billy's face reddened as he gave a nervous chuckle. "Can't fault her for that."

  "What?" Lanton asked, filling his own cup, but adding enough sugar to raise the level about a centimeter. Stirring it with one of those red straws, he looked over at Billy. "I can't help but feel I am missing something."

  Billy smiled and nodded his head. "Perhaps you should pay closer attention, Detective,” his tone was careful, more like advice than chastising. "Just make sure Millie gets what she wants."

  Lanton nodded, stepping past Billy with both hands holding coffee. "I am on my way to do that now. Thanks for the coffee and the advice."

  "Anything, hon,” Billy said. "Let me get the elevator for you." And again he led the parade of two men, his walk more a saunter now. As Lanton stepped onto the elevator, B
illy leaned in and intoned, "You behave up there. And tell Millie I approve."

  "Uh, will do,” Lanton said as the elevator doors closed.

  The walk back to Chris's room found him stopping again, checking his reflection in the same window. "I definitely need a shave."

  He entered the room to find Millie still engrossed in her book, and Chris still looking like he lost a fight with Rocky Balboa. "I met your friend Billy,” he told Millie as he handed her the cup he had made sure to mark as hers.

  "Did you now?" She took the cup and smiled. "Thank you."

  "I did. He wanted me to pass on that he approves,” Lanton moved to sit in his own seat, taking a sip from his coffee as he settled in.

  Millie snorted behind her cup, her eyes amused as she looked at him. "Did he say of what?"

  Lanton shook his head. "His tone seemed to imply you would know what he meant. Honestly, he reminds me of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland."

  Millie giggled. "Because of his smile?"

  Lanton laughed, "Yes. No. Kind of. I meant more with his answers. In the books, that cat gave all sorts of cryptic answers that Alice couldn't understand."

  She laughed again, and he had to admit it was a nice laugh. One he felt that he would like to keep making her make. "I can see that. So you have read the book, and not just seen the movie?"

  "I do read. It may not be about wizards in Chicago, but I do read. Usually the classics."

  Millie smirked at him, setting down her book. "You are a surprise at every turn, Detective Lanton."

  "Like an Agatha Christie book,” Lanton smiled.

  He was rewarded with another laugh. "Is that what you are calling a classic?"

  Now Lanton laughed. "No, but they are close. I do love a good murder mystery."

  "Now that makes sense,” Millie said with another smile. Running her fingers through her long black hair she regarded him with an appraising look. "Can I trust you to stay awake while I get your friend a new bag of fluids?"