Persona Non Grata

by D. C. Grahame

  The very early morning. The tenth-floor apartment was flooded with a blue-tinted colouring. A product of collaboration from the moonlight, sea and night sky.

  Indy moved passed his modern furnishings on a mission to rehydrate. Reaching the kitchen that shared space with the lounge area. He opened the fridge, squinting at the bright fridge-light as he retrieved a bottle of water. Finishing a good litre in record time, he took a deep breath before placing the empty bottle on the side. His muscular torso contracted and tightened as the cold air touched his warm skin. He looked to the balcony again and squinted once more, this time with nervous bewilderment.

  He saw something.

  Departing the kitchen and gliding into the lounge area. He stared past the balcony of his beach-front high-rise, towards the dark horizon. A black sky blended seamlessly with the dark-navy sea. Indy stared into the abyss in front of him. A brief glance at nothing had become an alluring visual as he again saw something in the darkness. A dark figure.

  It somehow floated in the air, in line with Indy’s tenth floor view, a hundred yards from the building. Indy walked closer towards the balcony. His eyes fixed on the pitch-black guise which was slowly beginning to solidify into a humanoid form. He knew his mind was tired, playing tricks on him. But curiosity had him. He wanted to deduce who this phantom in the shadows was. For it wasn’t the first time it had appeared, haunting him in random moments. It was a shadow that plagued his dreams and his memories, showing up whenever it could.

  The cold wind rushed against him, and his synapse began to fire. He all of a sudden, deduced what it was, who it was. The man who stole his father from him, Mad’s father, Isaac Kane.

  The last time he had seen the man in person, he didn’t see a face, he saw a shadow. A shadow in the rain.

  Indy was suddenly shifted from his trance-like state by a burning sensation across his abdomen. The cold metal of the balcony railing pressed against his warm skin, causing him to flinch and retreat. He looked up to the night-sky to see nothing but his sanity concerned for him. The dark figure was gone.

  Sliding the doors closed as he made his way back to bed. He heard the now-nightly sirens of police cars bombing down the coastal road next to his apartment building.

  Beneath Indy’s apartment on the main road that lined the sea. Two cars sped down the avenue towards a large gathering of emergency services. The first a police car, the second a conventional consumer vehicle with a siren above it. Inside the latter driving was Detective Sergeant Jim Marler. A middle-age and lumbersome man, handsome but weathered from his decades on the force. Adjacent to him in the passenger seat sat his partner. Detective Rachel Mann, a thirty-something junior of the two, who was fighting back a yawn. With brunette hair that tapered down to her shoulders. Her face though beautiful, was often stern in expression. Together they pondered the events awaiting them as well as discussing the ongoing problems at the precinct office.

  ‘The department is going to the dogs.’ Mann moaned. Marler concentrated on the route the police car ahead was leading them down.

  ‘Yes it is, doesn’t help with you low-blowing every man that approaches you.’ he noted, with an almost father-ish tone. He had been her partner for just over a year now, and they had bonded in the only way their wide age-gap permitted.

  ‘I swear the men in that place are as bad as the criminals we put away.’ She said, referring to the frequent sexual harassment she had experienced. Mann was a tough cop, perhaps too tough, once breaking a man’s arm during an arrest for domestic abuse. Marler was deliberately partnered with her to suppress this rage. He was a by-the-book detective whose many years had made him an endearing figure both in the eyes of the law and also with the criminals that combatted it. He even kept friendships with some of the old-timer criminals of Kingsland. A concept Mann considered to be somewhat of a paradox.

  ‘I agree some of them have a lot of growing up to do. And while your radically feministic views may be warranted on occasion, Mikey Smith, I’m afraid, was innocent.’ Marler affirmed.

  ‘He was invading my personal space.’

  ‘He was asking you where you put the toner.’ he replied. ‘You have to accept that you’re a beautiful woman in a so-called man’s world. If you want to change things you have to play the system at its own game. You carry on bashing heads, and the system will just spit you out.’ He lectured, and though there were some truth and even concern to his words. Mann focused on the statement of it being a man’s world. She resented the notion, after all, if this was their world. Then they were, by association, accountable for what they were about to witness.

  ‘Sorry but I don’t agree with that.’ She replied. Marler looked at the city lights with a tired face.

  ‘That’s what I mean’ he said almost mumbling to himself. Mann wanting to move on looked to the commotion up front.

  ‘Do you think it’s him?’ Mann asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It fits the M.O. I just can’t be doing with the press tonight. That guy from the globe, I can’t stand him. Why do they give these murderers nicknames? It doesn’t help anyone.’ he complained.

  ‘Sells papers.’ Mann noted, eyes still fixed on the scene in front.

  Marler slowed as the police car in front pulled up. A few press vans reversed slowly from the scene, suppressed by the uniform that had cordoned off the area. He disengaged the engine and removed his seatbelt. With the engine off, they could hear the night-shift discussing events on the police frequency.

  ‘Roger that, looks like the Worthing Killer has struck again.’ an officer radioed. Marler irritated, grabbed his radio.

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Marler. Don’t call them that, over.’ He ordered. Throwing the radio onto the empty seat of the car, slamming the door behind him. Mann stayed seated for a moment. Watching her partner march on somewhat beleaguered, wrapping his long raincoat around his wide frame. She wondered if her sexual attraction to him was some kind of daddy complex. Or maybe his appeal was simply in contrast to the pigs that she dealt with back in the precinct. Either way, she struggled to inhibit the feelings. Especially when knowing they made her a hypocrite. Marler knew of her attraction for him and met it with immediate dismissal. She was well-aware of her beauty, having been reminded of it daily by creeps in the workplace. Marler was the one man who told her to get on with the job at hand. He had been a widow for some years and felt shame any moment his mind drifted into a typical fantasy.

  The working partnership had produced a sexual tension that had not gone unnoticed in the department. Something Marler, of unshakeable integrity, disliked.

  Knowing that he would soon turn and summon her, she too sighed before heading toward the crime scene.

  The first officer on-site briefed Marler as his partner approached the site. Meter-high plastic sheets bordered the site, hindering the press’s view. A spotlight that lighted the body from above fidgeted slightly in the wind. Mann waved her credentials to the guarding officer who opened the border up a jar for her to pass. She approached the corpse with little hesitation, crouching down to begin her examination.

  ‘Make sure we keep the press clear, officer. And keep an eye on the roofs of the vans. Sometimes the photographers climb on top of them.’ Mann advised, wanting to protect the dignity of the victim. A completely nude young woman with reddish-brown hair. Mann studied the evidence, sadly recognising the patterns several times before. The body laid face down with the victim’s arms and legs gaffer-taped tightly to the rest of her body. Abrasive red marks on her bottom and thighs. As Marler reached his partner, the forensic examiner removed his plastic gloves, shaking his head dolefully.

  ‘Let’s have it, Norris.’ Marler said to the coroner, requesting the notes merely as a formality at this point. Already aware of the impending criteria.

  ‘Signs of rape, vaginal tears and extreme abrasion around the pubic area, in keeping with the texture of the road surface here. Substantial bruising across the left temple and entire jawline. Time of death betwee
n four and five hours ago.’ Norris informed as a guarding officer eavesdropped on the report, formulating his own investigative query.

  ‘Why didn’t he tape her mouth, surely she could have gained consciousness while he was raping her.’ The officer asked interrupting, above his station. Mann didn’t turn to face him, choosing to answer his ignorance with a firm, dismissive reply.

  ‘Because he didn’t need to, she was raped several hours after she was dead. The adhesive tape is simply a transporting aid. He picked this street because the council shuts the street lights off on minor roads to save money. Much to our contention.’ Mann stated. Marler pointed in the direction the guarding officer was supposed to face. Marler opened up the woman’s handbag and looked at her driver’s license.

  ‘Alice Pfieffer. Twenty-four. Lives down the road, another unfortunate Kingslander.’

  ‘A baby.’ Mann acknowledged as another officer neared from the other side of the partition.

  ‘Leah is struggling to handle the press sergeant. They want to speak with you.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Marler said with a tone even more tired than the one he sported in the car.

  ‘Go, I’ll check the body, though I doubt our man has gotten sloppy.’ Mann insisted as Marler hesitantly exited the site for a new conflict altogether.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The city was always at its most beautiful when the sun began its descent. The aesthetics of the concrete downtown came alive as night grew. Every skyscraper, every kebab shop offered another hue of light that bounced off every surface. The streets were near empty, while various establishments stood packed and overcrowded.

  Que Pasa’s business was booming. It was if Frank had summoned the low temperatures himself. A week after receiving the keys. He wasted little time in integrating Heracles and his boys into the mix. Seeing almost instant profits, both over and under the table.

  Indy, on the other hand, was suffering from some form of seasonal affective disorder, retreating into hibernation. It had been several months since his rather lucrative work contract had come to a close. He was struggling to find a new role that suited his somewhat introverted criteria.

  Sitting at his kitchen counter, he looked through his emails, considering his options. He had money, plenty of it, but he never felt comfortable withdrawing anything he hadn’t earned. The digits in his balance were merely a reminder of just how long it had been since he visited his mother’s grave. A while to put it kindly.

  With his brain on auto-pilot, his eyes blurred over the pixels before checking the date in the top-right of the laptop screen. The 11th of December, 9.04pm.

  ‘Nine...’ he pondered to himself, trying to determine why that time felt suspicious to him. A gut feeling he had to be somewhere or with someone. He looked around his apartment for clues in the faint hope of recollection. He had nothing. Noticing the picture frames Eva had placed on top of his furniture. An adorable attempt to humanise the interior. It hit him. And like Isaac Newton’s apple, he realised his absent-mindedness with a bang, leaping from his stall to the bedroom. Grabbing a near-by shirt that hung on the wardrobe door.

  9.22pm and Indy was late, very late. Eva stood under a bus shelter avoiding the downpour. Her arms wrapped tightly around her torso, braving the climate for the sake of appearances. She saw Indy exit from a taxi across the road, waving apologetically to her. She would forgive him in a New York minute.

  Leaping passed several moving cars to reach her, he removed his jacket and placed it around her shivering frame. Her wet and slightly frizzled hair only made her sexier, and even she noticed the subtle stares of the male passengers who awaited their bus.

  ‘I’m really sorry. I was on a call about a new contract and time got away from me. I tried to ring.’ He said.

  ‘It’s okay. My phone died just as I got here. Where did you want to go?’ She asked, knowing his preference would probably be a fair distance from the city’s main scene.

  ‘How about that bar you like, Trastevere? Cocktails, pizza?’

  ‘Sounds good.’ She said with a face lit up, as she huddled towards him. They jogged between shelters. Her toned calves were made more apparent through the stress of balancing her stilettos across wet cobbled pavement. Indy acted cool and aloof, all the while excited to be near her. He was nervous, her eyes, her lips, had him off-guard. He would always try to appear the chivalrous gentleman. But beneath this charming-demeanour, was a cliché male deviant who wanted nothing more than to tie her wrists to the bed.

  1.58am and their table was awash with empty cocktail glasses, twelve of them to be exact. The bartender had been off his feet the whole night. Indy and Eva fell into each other’s laps, drunk and giggling at one another. She made the most of a rare Indy smile, and he clocked her scrutinising look.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘You’re having a good time.’ Eva reminded him.

  ‘I know I am. Wait, what do you mean?’

  ‘Never mind, why were you laughing at me when I was getting drinks just now?’ She enquired.

  ‘I was admiring your false flirtation with the guy at the bar, all in a means to get ahead of him in the queue.’

  ‘Oh, you thought it was false?’

  ‘I thought it was cruel.’

  ‘You didn’t have to watch.’ She countered.

  ‘Not for me, the guy. Beautiful woman drops you a smile in a place like this. It’s a fantastic night. Then he sees you sit with me, and he knows he lives in a world of lies.’

  ‘Again, you thought it was false. Maybe I thought he was attractive?’

  ‘You’re a mean girl. That Regina girl from that film.’

  ‘Mean girls.’

  ‘That’s the one. Besides, he’s not your type.’ Indy stated.

  ‘What’s my type?’

  ‘Cynical and bitter forty-five-year-olds trapped in twenty-seven-year-old bodies.’

  ‘You have me there. I am disarmed.’ She conceded with a smidge of sarcasm.

  ‘A few more drinks and I’ll be too.’ Indy concurred.

  ‘That’s the plan. Might stumble on some real truths tonight.’ Eva hoped.

  ‘You plied me with booze to find the real Indy didn’t you?’

  ‘Indeed, the world is keen to discover what the real man looks like.’

  ‘Well, he buys his suits from Hugo Boss and his boxers from the supermarket. One of a billion people diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. Likes Brazilian Ju-Jitsu, not very good at it. And the only kitten-less crazy cat lady in the city.’

  ‘Well there you go’ she smiled, ‘I’ve learned so much.’

  ‘Indeed. Now it’s my turn.’

  ‘Oh, it’s your turn, gonna palm me off with that quick monologue?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘Well, I’m not done. I have a question.’

  ‘Shoot.’ He replied, taking a sip of his bright pink cocktail. She evaluated her question for a split-second, hesitating for a moment. Indy picked up on it, studying her as she took a sip of margarita before squinting at its sour after-taste.

  ‘What is it like to be bipolar?’ she queried.

  ‘What is it like not to be?’ Indy parried causing her to smile at the closed gate.

  ‘It’s fine, good days and bad days.’ she replied.

  ‘The same. Good months and bad months.’ he muttered. ‘In all honesty, I can’t describe it. But to answer your question. I hear the general definition from most depressives is that something doesn’t quite feel right inside. That something is missing. But it’s not like that for me. I know deep down what’s right, that I’m okay. But sometimes it’s like a second person is sharing my mind. Debating, deliberately trying to confuse or some days even scare me.’

  ‘Wow, sounds more like Schizophrenia. You’re quite crazy.’ she joked.

  ‘Well as accurate as that might be, both my minds are debating the lunacy of you, little Miss Eva Morgan.’

  ‘I’m the lunatic?’

  ‘Everyone thought your
big sister was bat-shit crazy to fall for one Vinyar boy. You went and fell for two...’

  ‘Yeah... but you’re identical twins. Doesn’t count.’ She said, trying hard to disguise her playful grin. Indy smiled before laughing dubious.

  ‘Oh, you’re tough.’ He replied, as he gave her the win on this exchange.

  Forever enjoying their conversations and with the bar nearing closing time. She climbed off her stall to approach him. Leaning in to kiss him, Indy pulled his body away an inch from her, a distance not harmful but still noticed.

  ‘Wow.’ she said disapproving, jabbing him in his side. He shifted back to her with a smile, holding her gaze.

  ‘Want to head back to mine, try and kiss me there?’ He asked her.

  ‘Yes, but only out of pity for your presumed smoothness.’

  ‘Works for me’ he replied, feeling accomplished in his end goal.

  The pair stumbled out of the bar, using each other as a balance. Unable to see a taxi in range. They began to make their way towards the city centre, believing they would herald one down on-route. As they gravitated to the metropolis’s centre, the number of suits and banker-types increased with every block. Indy looked for a quieter street lane to march down. Noticing one on the left, he guided Eva down it away from the busy crowds.

  Reaching the desolate, silent road. A long walkway garnished with only a few fully-functioning street-lights. Eva paused and pulled Indy towards her. Yanking his physique against hers. She ran her fingers across the back of his neck. Wrapping her right leg around his waist, the motion hiking her dress up. Indy lifted her off the ground and ran his hand up her thigh, pausing as he heard a strange sound. A very faint squeal, a woman perhaps. Quickly placing Eva back down to her own two feet, he looked down the semi-lit lane, seeing nothing.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked jittered.

  ‘Come on, let’s get back to mine.’ He said, holding her hand as they continued down the road. Believing Indy to always be on red alert, often when it was unnecessary. Eva instead opted to absorb the serenity of the night. Drunk, relaxed and smitten. She believed it the ideal moment to propose a serious question to him.