by Ren Hamilton
Old Wounds
The Cripulet Book Two
Ren Hamilton
Old Wounds
Copyright © 2021 by Ren Hamilton
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
1st Edition: May 2021
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Chapter One
Agent Steven Litner set his coffee down on the sidewalk patio table and took his chair, making sure he was in plain sight of anyone coming and going. Church Street, Burlington, Vermont, was a bustle of activity Saturday morning: shoppers stepping in and out of stores, dreadlocked teens skateboarding along the cobblestone road and attempting daring tricks. Children walked alongside parents holding freshly bought Ben & Jerry’s ice cream cones piled so high they looked about to topple over. Across the street a busker sat on the sidewalk, guitar case open for tips as he strummed out a Bob Dylan song. Litner scanned the road, shifting his eyes only, head bowed over the newspaper he’d brought.
His gaze flicked back to the coffee shop as he caught a flash of bright orange hair heading for the door, but he quickly looked away. It wasn’t Margol. He didn’t think Margol would be the one showing up today anyway. But he was certain someone would.
He’d spent a week watching from the shadows, watching Margol, his ginger curls tucked up under a beanie cap. Each day he showed up on a bike, wobbling unsteadily as he parked outside the café. Each day he went in, purchased a large box of chocolate brownies, then glided back down Church Street, box balanced awkwardly on the handlebars. Litner hadn’t tried to follow. That wasn’t how he wanted to make contact; he didn’t want to appear as a threat.
What he was about to attempt was taking a great chance, he knew. Taking a chance. What an understatement. He was about to ask his greatest enemy, perhaps humanity’s greatest enemy, for a favor. There was a good chance Shep would just kill him, like a wolf tearing out the throat of an enemy trespassing too close to its lair. But he had to try. Lives depended on it.
Yesterday he’d finally made himself known. Perched at this same patio table, situated aside the path exiting the café, he’d set himself right in Margol’s view as he left the shop with his brownie box. At first the redhead breezed right by him, heading for the bike. But then he stopped short. He didn’t look back right away, but merely stood still, four feet away. Tilting his head toward the sky, his shoulders tensed, an animal catching a scent on the wind. Then slowly he turned around, enormous green eyes locked onto Litner’s, jaw so tight the veins bulged in his neck.
Litner had raised his coffee cup in salute, nodding. It was an effort to hold the brother’s gaze without flinching. Margol appeared harmless in his hippie getup, just another free-spirited Vermont dude, but Litner knew all too well he was something more. Something inhuman. Something dangerous.
Margol’s eyes flashed, just a quick blaze of unnatural light.
In a lightning-fast whirl, the brother turned and ran off down the road, leaving his bike behind…yet he never dropped the chocolate brownies. Litner watched him disappear into an alley; a blur of color, then he was gone.
So now he waited again. He’d half expected to be awoken in his bed last night at the hotel, hands around his throat, or a gun pressed to his temple. But no one had come. Though he didn’t know exactly where their new base was, it had to be close by, and knowing Shep’s extraordinary abilities, he could have found Litner if he wanted. Easily. But he didn’t.
He tried to tell himself this was a hopeful sign, having not been killed in his sleep. But after profiling Shep for so long and based on his personal interactions with this man that was not a man, he suspected he had the fortune to be still breathing today only because Shep was never quick to make decisions. He pictured him pacing back and forth in some grandiose office, smoking a joint, dark blond curls askew on his head. He’d be trying to figure out why Litner was there, how he’d found them, and what he was going to do about it.
Litner was still lost in these thoughts when he sensed something, a stirring in the air. Though his training had helped him remain mostly immune to the enchanting, near hypnotic effect of the young man’s essence, he’d still been exposed to it enough to recognize the palpable waves radiating from him. Stunned, he looked up, and saw the tall figure approaching. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved gray tee shirt, sandals on his feet. A bandana wrapped around his head, a few short locks of dark hair escaping out the bottom. Tinted circular glasses rested on his nose. When he reached the table, he pulled out the other chair and sat, flashing his movie star smile.
Joey Duvaine. Well I’ll be damned.
“I didn’t expect it to be you,” Litner said.
Joey shrugged. “I’m the only one without a warrant. You gave me immunity, remember?”
“I remember.”
Joey had brought his own coffee in a Styrofoam cup, and he popped the tab open and lifted it. “To regrets,” he said, and took a sip.
A waitress approached, cute and college aged with braids dangling loosely down her shoulders. “Sir?” She looked at Joey. “You can’t bring any outside drinks here. You have to order something if you’re going to sit at a table.”
Joe smiled up at her, wiping a bit of foam off his upper lip. “Come on. You don’t really care if I brought my own coffee. Do you?”
Her response was instantaneous, a smile lighting her pretty face, dimpling her cheeks. “No, I don’t care.” She shook her head, laughing as though surprised at her own ridiculousness. “I don’t care,” she said again, then moved on to another table.
Joey looked at Litner, a smirk twisting his lips.
“Still using your Obiwan powers, I see.”
“Comes in handy. Now what the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need to speak with him,” Litner said, keeping his voice level, expression blank.
Joey leaned forward. “Who?”
“You know who.”
Joey made a show of scratching his chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. I know a lot of people. I am a worshipped deity after all.”
Litner’s fists clenched under the table. “You’re a murdering sociopath who should be locked up.” He surprised himself, the pressure wearing on him. Breathing deeply through his nose, he choked out, “I’m sorry. I’m not here to argue with you.”
Joey grinned widely. “No, no that’s okay.” He leaned back in the chair, linking fingers behind his head. “I always liked the episodes where Spock lost control of his emotions.”
Litner’s eye twitched, but he forced himself to calm. “Shep. I need to speak with Shep.”
“Why?” Joey said.
“I need his help.
”
Joey’s face pinched like he’d tasted something sour. “For what? You got a really heavy bureau you need moved or something?”
“Just tell him I need to speak with him. Please.”
“Shep’s not taking visitors. Especially the kind that want to destroy him.”
“I don’t want to destroy him,” Litner said.
Joey cocked his head. “Please.”
“That’s not why I’m here. You have my word.”
Twisting his coffee cup in circles on the table, Joey met his eyes. “Well, I don’t sense any of your goons hiding in the shadows. Pretty brave of you to come alone. So I’ll ask you again. Why are you here, Agent Litner?”
“I didn’t come to speak to you,” he said. “My business is with Shep.”
Joey’s expression darkened and he reached across the table and grabbed Litner’s wrist, squeezing. “Shep’s business is my business. I’m his Sword.”
“And you’re out in public without a Shield,” Litner said. “Pretty brave of you to come alone.”
Joey released his wrist. “I don’t need a Shield anymore. You want to test that theory, please, make my day. But speaking of Shields, does Patrick know you’re here? Hmm?” He crossed his legs in a campy gesture, tapping a finger on his chin.
Frustration nagged at Litner’s temples. But if he wanted an audience with Shep, he’d have to endure Joey’s games. But it was chilling, this Joey being so different than the one he’d met at the medical facility. That Joey had been remorseful and sobbing and riddled with guilt and misery. This man sitting across from him now was someone else. He’d say this snarky asshole was the real Joey Duvaine, but knowing he’d had his mind and body altered by an otherworldly being, it wasn’t certain which version was real. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both. Shep had suppressed Joey’s conscience so he wouldn’t feel remorse for the horrors he’d been a part of. But Joey had volunteered for this, so could not claim innocence on any count.
The young man was a hybrid of natural and unnatural. He was partly a product of Shep’s interference with his body chemistry, and part genius by birth. A complicated egotist who seemed only to care about himself and Shep, he’d use anyone, kill anyone, even his own family, if it served what he held dear. Sadly, because of his amazing looks and unnatural powers of enchantment, most poor saps refused to see it until it was too late.
But Litner didn’t find him the least bit enchanting.
He’d been studying Joey Duvaine since before the Forest Bluffs incident, because he was convinced he’d had something to do with his family’s accidental deaths. He was right. It was unsettling, but nothing about Duvaine had ever been settling. He had the highest I.Q. on the planet since age six. Yet his only achievements to date were in service to Shep, who Joey worshipped quietly but passionately, loyal beyond reason. But at the same time, they appeared to be equals, and genuine friends.
Litner wasn’t accustomed to interacting personally with Joey, but then again, it was Patrick who’d done the hard time, lived at that house with them, seen the crazy up close. He was quickly gaining a new respect for what Patrick had endured.
“No,” Litner answered. “Patrick doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Didn’t think so,” Joey said. “Because he’d be pissed, am I right? He spent weeks looking for us, you know. So pathetic. Shep finally decided he didn’t want the soppy bastard back. Juris was assigned to tail him, and he said Obrien cried in his hotel room every night. Every freaking night.” He twisted his fists over his eyes, pulling an exaggerated weepy face.
“He’d been traumatized,” Litner said. “He’s a human being.”
“Exactly!” Joey pointed a finger. “He’s a human being, and nothing more. A big, fat-headed baby who cries into his pillow at night. And this was supposed to be my Shield, my protector? Well, I told Shep no way. Not happening. Not this time.”
“So it was you who decided not to try and get Patrick back. You said it was Shep.”
“Whatever,” Joey said, sneering. “I convinced Shep to let him go. Same difference. It was Shep’s decision in the end.”
“It must kill you, Shep’s affection for Patrick. It’s no wonder you didn’t want him around.”
“And it must kill you that I’m walking free because of you. We can trade barbs all day, Agent Douchebag. The point is, Patrick was torturing himself looking for Robin, and you never even told him you knew where we were.”
“I didn’t know then.”
“But you didn’t help him either. You could have looked into your little psycho detective crystal ball, or whatever you use to track people. So why didn’t you? Thought you two were buds. Homies. The daring crime fighting duo, battling supernatural entities at each other’s side.”
“It’s complicated.”
Joey shook his head. “Nah, it’s real simple, I think. You don’t really care about anyone, do you, Litner? You call me a sociopath?” He leaned closer. “You can’t even smile.”
“I smile, Duvaine, when there’s something to smile about. There hasn’t been a lot of that since I first heard your name. And it’s because I care about Patrick that I didn’t help him find you. He’s a good man. And you are the worst thing that ever happened to him.”
“Come on.” Joey waved him off, watching an attractive woman with a leashed puppy walk by. “We added some excitement to that dumb prick’s life. Why do you think he tried to find his way back to us?”
“You were holding his girlfriend hostage.”
“Hey!” Joey pointed at him. “Robin is my cousin, and she was a guest in our home. A willing guest.” Litner gave him a pointed look, and Joey narrowed his eyes back at him. Then he grinned. “Okay, you’re right. We were holding her hostage. But we let her go, I mean, she hasn’t pressed charges or anything.”
“No, she hasn’t,” Litner said. “Likely only because you’re her cousin. But she was a different Robin when she got back. She told Patrick she couldn’t see him anymore. She wouldn’t talk about what happened.”
“Nothing happened to her,” Joey said.
“Really? Two weeks with your crew and she’s cut herself off, won’t see any of her old friends.”
Joey avoided his eyes. “Robin’s a weird chick, always has been. She went out with Shep for years, that ought to tell you something.” He held a finger up, signaling the waitress. “I want a beer. You want a beer, Litner?”
“It’s nine-thirty in the morning,” he said. “And I don’t drink.”
“Oh, of course you don’t. Self-righteousness is your drug of choice.”
Litner almost took the bait, but maintained his calm stature as Joey ordered a pitcher from the waitress. “Can I speak to Shep, or not?”
“Just,” he waved his fingers, “settle down, Litner. Let me get my fucking beer.”
The waitress brought Joey’s pitcher and two glasses. Litner held his hand over his glass when she tried to fill it.
“Government spook,” Joey whispered, nodding to her conspiratorially. She giggled and moved off.
Litner stared at Joey, saying nothing until finally he met his eyes.
“Quit giving me the laser beam stink-eye, Litner. You ain’t meeting with shit until you tell me what it’s about. Those were Shep’s orders.”
Resigned to his fate, Litner turned the newspaper around, pointing to an article. “Twenty-five-year-old Carlos Bradley died of a heart attack in his sleep two weeks ago.”
Joey went stiff, staring down at the paper. Finally he removed his tinted glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his pale blue eyes like gems against his tanned face. “Carlos. Wow. I liked Carlos. He was all right.”
“Brin-Marie is dead too,” Litner said.
Joey looked surprised for the first time as his head lifted. His dark lashes blinked twice. “What happened to Brin?”
“Heart attack,” Litner said. “In her sleep. Then two days ago it was Max Randolph. You remember Max, don’t you, Joey? Your loyal follower? He was seventeen years
old.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Litner said. “Someone is killing the former members of the Forest Bluffs Church. Your followers. People infected with you. You, tainted with Shep’s inhuman blood.”
“I don’t understand,” Joey said. “Who’s doing this?”
“My colleagues didn’t make the connection at first, thought it was some psychopath doing this for religious reasons. But I’ve seen something that tells me otherwise, and I’d guess it’s Celestial Cleanup Services. And it’ll probably keep going until it gets everyone with a hint of Shep’s essence. That includes you. And that of course, includes Shep.”
Joey stayed silent for several long moments, his eyes pinned to Litner’s. “Who would do that? And come after Shep? Who would be fucking stupid enough to do that? Not anyone that knows about us.”
“It’s not a who, it’s a what,” Litner said, “and I’m pretty damned sure it knows about you. Shep is likely the reason it’s here. I told you. I’ve seen it. And it is not of this earth.”
Joey’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
“Something from the other side.”
“What sort of something from the other side? Shep’s had a lot of creepy crawlies stalking him over the years. They huff and puff and glow, but none has ever hurt him. It can’t be one of Shep’s superiors. Can’t be. They wouldn’t cross that line.” He shook his head, and seemed to be trying to convince himself. “Wouldn’t cross that line,” he repeated.
“One of them killed Allisto. Shep’s own brother. The night of the siege.”
Joey rolled his eyes. “That was suicide. He ran straight into that creepy thing from what Shep tells me. And you have no idea how sick I am of hearing about Saint Allisto, who died for all our stupidity. Change the subject. Now, what is this thing killing the followers?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Litner said. “But I have seen it. And I think we can guess that being from the other side himself, Shep will know what it is. Take me to him. I have something I need to show him.”
