Falling

by Mark Z. Kammell

  At our seats on the table, the man leans forward and extends his hand, which I shake, His hands are cold, not just cold, almost like ice. He removes his hat deliberately, putting it on the table between us and revealing a thin, white face under cropped jet black hair. His smile is about the scariest thing I’ve seen all year, which, of course, is saying something.

  I really am an idiot sometimes, which may of course be completely obvious, but it still surprises me, as I realise that this man is a detective, a policeman, and, beyond the litany of crimes I’m supposed to have done, there is one which I actually appear to have done, and this is it, I’m on my own, facing a murder charge of a beautiful nurse, and my pleas of being a werewolf are quite unlikely to have a positive bearing on my conviction. Shit, shit, again, I’ve done it again. Why didn’t I run? Was all that charade with the receptionist a tactic to keep me here, while the detective arrived, and why did I fall for it, so easily. No, don’t answer that, I know, I’m an idiot.

  “Mr Paris, my name is Detective Simmons , Harry Simmons” he says in a slow drawl, with that scary mouth and eyes that are completely focused, yet not at me.

  Don’t ever give anything away, remember that. “Yes?” I say nervously.

  “I’m sure you realise that I would like to talk to you” he smiles.

  “Erm…I killed her! OK, yes, I killed her! I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to!” I blurt out.

  OK I have to give him this, the man is cool, despite looking French, he just raises his eyebrows and gives a slight smile. “Killed who?”

  “Erm, well, her, you know, the nurse, upstairs, I really didn’t mean to, but you know, since I got bitten by the wolf…” I trail off and give him a despairing look.

  He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but slowly reaches into his overcoat, removing a small, black leather notebook which he opens, and makes a few careful notes inside.

  “OK” he says, now, “we’ll have to come back to her later, we first need to discuss a few more important matters. For a start, I take it you know who I work for?”

  “The police?” I venture, and he smiles patronisingly.

  “Yes, of course, the police, who doesn’t, but specifically, I work for CAT.” He pauses and stares at me. “you know, of course, who CAT are, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, of course I do” I rush out.

  But he shakes his head, “you don’t, do you? You have no idea. Unbelievable. And they said you were connected."

  “I am connected!” I start to protest, but he waves his hand and I stop talking.

  “CAT” he starts slowly, “is the Crime Annihilation Team. No?”

  Seeing the blank look on my face, he sighs. “This is the way it is, there’s lots of shit in the world, right, yeah I get that, but the most, I mean, the biggest, that’s people like you guys, right? People who operate outside, you know, people who do what they want and ignore the law. You know this, right, you know how often do you think you, or your mate, Simon Hart, have just gone and killed someone, murdered someone, with no comeback? You know that, right? It never occurred to you how, right?”

  OK, well maybe he has a point, but I’ve lost too much face already. “You guys, of course…”

  “That’s right” he beams at me. “Us guys. We get it, right, you guys are needed, we may not like you, we may even hate you, but that’s not for me to judge, we get it that you are needed. No matter that you are the scum of the earth, you’re rich bastards that feed on the suffering of the poor, I mean, we’re friends, we can put that aside, right, never mind that you don’t give a damn for anyone except yourselves and that you’re a bunch of arrogant…”

  He stops in mid sentence, “Sorry, just getting carried away” he carries on, more slowly, more calmly, “it’s not my place to judge, right. Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, we control it, we work with you, we used to work with what was her name, your head of strategy, until you killed her…”

  “I didn’t kill her!” I interrupt.

  “Yeah, yeah, OK, whatever” he brushes my protest aside, “the point is, that we had an arrangement, an agreement, and so long as we stuck to it, then things were fine. But that agreement, it had some conditions”, giving me an earnest look, “I really need a drink, do you need a drink, we could do with one, couldn’t we? Yes, a drink, what a good idea, let’s get one, what do you drink, Jack Daniels, right, don’t ask me how I know, it’s just my business.”

  He flips open an unbelievably small phone, smaller than my little finger, and speaks into it without dialling, “Yes, hello, yes, we’re still here, can you get me a bottle of JD’s and two glasses, no …., no not that, no, JD’s, I mean Jack’s, yes that’s right, Jack’s, Jack Daniels, you know, right….Yes, no, it’s whisky, you know, yes, OK, yes two glasses, and yes, OK, cigarettes, why not” – “you smoke? Good” (I’m not sure if he’s asking me), “yes, OK thanks, yes, now, of course. No, I don’t need them yet, no OK, tell them to wait outside” (he glances nervously at me) “yes, I can handle it, it’s fine, OK, yes thanks, yes OK, goodbye.”

  “OK, yes, it’s on it’s way, yes I feel thirsty, really, don’t you, anyway, yes, we had an arrangement, and this arrangement, it had conditions, and without the conditions, well, the arrangement wasn’t valid. And you” he points deliberately at me, “you broke the conditions of this arrangement.” He stops speaking, letting his words hang judgementally. “I mean” he continues, after a pause, “to an extent, I can understand it, even if you… anyway, I got it, you got a lot of power right, I mean, is it true, I meant to ask, is it true that you can’t be shot? Can I try? I mean, that’s quite awesome power, I understand, but I mean, to sell it to the Chinese, for Christ’s sake, what were you thinking? Really, I mean you almost started a war, I mean, you did start a war, I mean, really, how irresponsible were you, what were you thinking of? Really, I mean, what were you thinking of?”

  There’s a light tap on the door and the receptionist enters, carrying a tray with a bottle of Jack Daniels, two crystal glasses, a packet of cigarettes and a silver lighter.

  “Ah, excellent. Just what we wanted, can you pour us some please, yes, thank you that will be wonderful.” We both sip, and I relax a little, watching him watching me.

  “Anyway,” he continues in his drawl, “thank goodness we got that back under control, still not sure how mind, why they suddenly pulled back but there you go. My point, though, is this – my point is, that is my point, is that you don’t do things like this. Have a cigarette.”

  “We had a deal, we had conditions, and you broke those conditions. OK, you were idiots, shit happens. No, actually, you” he says, pointing at me, “were an idiot, your man, your best friend, Simon Hart, he wasn’t, he was very clever, too clever, or at least he thought so, thought he was too smart, thought he had outgrown us, the usual story, etcetera, etcetera and etcetera. But of course he couldn’t. Of course he snapped up on our radar like a missile, like an Eff One Hundred and Eleven, like they say. Mind you, what do we do? We take decisive action, of course, we send two of our best agents onto the job. Of course we do. Roll out, roll up, roll on, the kings of detectives, the cream of CAT, the last men standing, our very own Detectives Carver and Morrell. A-Team themselves. Incorruptible. Go in. Get it sorted. Get out. Clean up the mess. Bodies lying around, unexplained murders, crashes, accidents, all the small stuff, wipe it up, clean it out, and then of course the big mess. Get you under control. Get you sorted out. Ah, it was simple, it really was.”

  “It was?” I ask, timidly

  “Yes of course it was!” he shouts, slapping the table. “Of course it was. Well. It should have been. Except, well, except for lots of things. Except that our two best detectives turned out to be not quite as incorruptible as we first thought, quite like the taste of billions of dollars and of fine wines. Yes, my friend, yes they did. And soon they decided to, shall we say, pave a clean slate, no that doesn’t work, does it, shall we say, er, polish the blackboard, no, well, you know wh
at I mean, they offered Mr. Hart a way out, a way of moving forward, so long as he cleaned up his own mess. But they wanted, of course, they wanted a scapegoat, and of course, he gave them his obvious person, who had made enough mistakes to fill a fucking lighthouse, if you’ll pardon the expression, who had his fingers, so to speak, all over the trampoline…”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He sold you out, my friend, that’s what he did, he sold you out. He gave you to those wolves, to those vultures.”

  “He did?”

  “He did, I’m afraid.” He gives me a sympathetic look and lights another cigarette.

  “No he didn’t. He looked after me, and Ruth betrayed me.”

  “OK, OK” he says, exasperated, lifting his hand up. “It’s complicated, I grant you. Ruth, or Miss La Fleure, or Agent 57, which is her actual name, slightly muddies the picture. As does… anyway, never mind, more of that later. But the important thing to understand, is that Simon was in trouble, and he gave them you. Think about it. Why else did you get kidnapped, twice, I may add, and why didn’t he get you out of it? Because he couldn’t? Don’t give me that, he can do whatever he wants, that’s the problem! Because he wanted you to feel distanced, because he wanted you vulnerable, so that they could lay the blame on you. Which, I have to be honest, they did, quite successfully. Until they disappeared. Haven’t quite got to the bottom of that one yet, I’m working on it. You haven’t seen them recently, have you?”

  I shrug.

  “Of course you’ve seen them!” he cries. “They found you at Tim Bateman’s house. There’s a character! Anyway, enough of him, do you know what happened to them after they left his house?”

  “They were eaten by vampires” I say quietly.

  He studies me, then bursts out laughing. “Eaten by vampires! Brilliant! You’re a man, you know that, a real player. People have been watching you, of course they have, you know that, anyway, most people, you know, they don’t rate you, they think you’re a wash out, a few good ideas, but nothing else beside that, no fire, no personality, no soul. I’ve always stuck up for you, you know. OK, you may not make any sense, you may never say anything valuable or do anything worthwhile, but underneath, I think, somewhere there’s something about you. Wouldn’t you agree? Well, yes, of course you would, of course you would. Anyway, not the point, my apologies, I digress. Where was I, ah yes, that’s right, our two famous detectives, Carver and Morrell, R I P, eaten by vampires, whatever. In any case, they helped Mr Hart out, they helped to set you up, and of course, they got greedy. Well, I say, greedy, what I mean, is , even greedier. Do you know what U4 is? Can’t make it out myself. In any case.”

  He stops, and looks up, above me, and a silence falls on us.

  “In any case?” I prompt.

  “In any case. Are you really a werewolf? They’re supposed to be very strong, aren’t they. Are you very strong. Could you , for instance, I don’t know, could you… anyway, we’ll come back to that. Look” and he reaches over to me, and folds my hands into his, like a protective father. “Look, the case against you is very strong, I’m afraid. Multiple murder, arson, treason, defacing property, the list goes on. If you go to prison, believe me, you won’t get out. But” and he points at me, “but – you don’t need to worry."

  “I don’t?”

  “No! you don’t. Because I have a deal for you. I can make it go away.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes! I can. I can make it all go away. I can give you your house back, I can give you your car, I can…”

  Suddenly the mention of my car makes something, something tiny, move inside me, take another look. Have things really changed for me? Well yes, I guess, I have lost my house, OK I can live with that, I have lost my freedom, well sort of, but then did I ever really have it, I lost Ruth, yes OK but that was a bit of a mess anyway and if she betrayed me I can hardly blame myself. What else have I lost? I’m not sure, something about going to bars, and to restaurants, and my apartment was actually, but hey. My car, I love my car. Somewhere I need to make a note of that, and explain just how much l love it, I will do that sometime, when I get around to it. I don’t even know where it is.

  “Give me another drink” I breath, and he smiles a broad smile.

  ***

  The concept is quite simple. I have to betray Simon. The actual details of this are much hazier, and I’m not really sure, to be honest, if that’s because they weren’t explained to me, or if they were and I’ve forgotten. But whatever the details, the basic idea is the same, betray Simon, hand him over on a plate to Detective Simmons, and the slate is wiped clean. No more accusations of murder, whatever else there was, even the nurse upstairs in the hospital will be taken care of. Plus some sort of ongoing immunity to prosecution, some way of making sure a few stray incidents get managed and don’t land me in more trouble.

  Apparently Simon is quite keen on seeing me now, now that I’ve been Somewhere Else and survived, now that I have (even more) amazing powers and now that I can give him the secrets that lie on the other side. That in itself, though, wouldn’t really have done it, a man like Simon is a man of principles, a man who believes in his values, a little like me. Nothing like me, in fact. What really clinched it, “what the deal maker, so to speak” (as my new detective friend put it) was that I had put Tim Bateman in hospital. More than that, much more in fact, so much that I was quite overcome when I heard about it. More on that later, maybe. Right now I have an appointment with my old best friend.

  First, though, I have an appointment with a werewolf fixer.

  Chapter 36

  I can lift a car. Not a problem. Not only that, I can hold it above my head and throw it across a room. That’s just the beginning though. I can make things burn just with the power of my touch; I can channel so much energy into my hand, my left hand, that it becomes something like a blowtorch, a reactor, a flamethrower. I can do other things, besides, things that I don’t really understand, I’m not sure I even want to understand, but they are there, I will work them out. And of course, I can’t be shot.

  The lady who am sitting with, Sarah, is quite astounded. She’s wearing a mask, for obvious reasons. She hasn’t seen this before, but I think I know what’s going on. I try to explain to her the science behind the energy flowing through my body, the way that I am set up and have been modified, and the way I am sure that the werewolf gene reacted with it, which is almost certainly of course the reason that I’m still here, that I’m not dead. At the end of the day, though, it doesn’t really matter, the why is really not important, more the what. And the what is what makes her call me Superman. Massive strength. Can’t be shot. All I need is a cape and I could be a superhero, a crime fighter, if of course I had any desire to do that. Instead I can just use it for my own ends. And the only downside is that I brutally murder beautiful women.

  Superman. Caped, hooded, drugged up, superhero. “I need a more original name” I murmur.

  “I beg your pardon?” her voice is sweet, and it makes me wonder if she really is beautiful, behind her mask, if she really would trigger my beauty index.

  “I can’t be called Superman. It should be more original” and I’m sure that behind her mask she gives me a warm, patronising smile as if she hears this sort of talk all day.

  “Take off your mask” I whisper. What has come over me? Maybe it’s the drugs.

  “Not until you take a pill”

  “Take it off” my voice purrs, “I’ll control myself, we could do beautiful things together.” I shudder inside, even as I say it, even as I see her hand twitch, and reach nervously to her face, she’s really going to do it, what then what if I rip her apart too, and I’m about to stop her, to say “no, please don’t” when of course she doesn’t of course, of course, she doesn’t, and I’m about to laugh when suddenly she whips it away and I’m faced with her, and yes, I can remember, I can feel what I’m doing, I’m here and she really is beautiful with short, dark hair, and eyes that are black a
nd a face that is so white, so pure that she takes my breath away, literally, for I’m up, I can feel it this time, I can feel my hands turning into claws, and I’m lunging forward and jesus it hurts oh no it hurts, please stop, whatever you are doing, please. Please. Please stop.

  “You see” she whispers, “you’re out of control.”

  And she puts something in my mouth, something I have to take, something I need, do I need it, really do I need it or will it kill me, what can I do, and now she’s holding my arm up and I’m trying to get up from the bed but for some reason I can’t, she’s holding my hand and stroking it and it feels good I want to get up, I do have control, I want to get up and stroke her and hold her in my arms, to touch her and to feel her and kiss her, to gently undress her and caress her body, to make love to her slowly, quickly, painfully, to rip the folds of her skin and see the blood flow, to tear her hair out and make her scream, to rip her head of and

  “Let me go!!!” I’m shrieking, “let me fucking go!”

  She’s standing over me like a giant, like a snake ready to uncoil and destroy me as she stands over me, towers over me, blocking out the sunlight, she’s sticking a needle in my arm, in her smooth, silky voice, she’s whispering to me “this will make you better”

  “But what will it do?” I’m crying, “what will it do”

  The poison’s entering me, burning me up, like fire through my veins, what am I, “what will it do” I’m shrieking, I’m crying, “what will it do” I’m whispering looking at her venomous smile as her teeth break into claws, into talons, “you’ll be back in control” she’s telling me, “now don’t worry about a thing.”

  [God, I feel good. And we can dance]

  “Strange” she sighs as I leave her bleeding on the floor, “it always worked before.”

  Maybe it did, though, at least she is alive.

  Chapter 37

  “I really don’t know, Jon” he mutters, “I really don’t know.”