by G. K. Lund
Rose’s statement was met with silence for a moment. Only the kitchen fan made any noise. I noticed the salty smell of something with a tomato-based sauce wafting out from the kitchen. It made the mouth water, despite how their words affected me. It was clear what Rose didn’t say. What she refused to either acknowledge or utter, or both. That their friend was gone.
“Come on, Rose,” Walter began before I heard footsteps in there. “He’s been through a trauma.”
Rose exhaled hard enough for me to hear over the fan. “I know. But just a smidgen of hope that he’s in there? Is that too much to ask?”
Was it? The three people in that room had been there from the day I woke up in this new vessel. They had been nothing but helpful. Annoying and intrusive? Oh yes. But they had been there. Even with their old friend acting different. I glanced over at the coffee table in front of the couch where Peter’s now empty beer bottle stood. One bottle – a stark contrast to Param’s house. A place mixed with the mess of his sickness and need to forget, as well as the need to keep his memories. Alone and isolated.
The realization hit me like a pang reverberating through the whole body. I didn’t want to end up like that. There was no way out of this mess for me. I could not be released. At least not on my own. And the one person who knew who I was had made it clear I was to be kept away.
No, I didn’t want to suffer Param’s fate, and without the people in the kitchen who were making me food after picking me up from a hospital, I knew that might be my outcome. They wanted something. I could give them that, couldn’t I? But should I? I was after all not the one they wanted.
He was lost. I was not. Not yet anyway.
I walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, making some noise and giving them ample warning so they could talk about something else.
“Smells good,” I said as I headed toward the fridge.
“Dad’s chili recipe,” Rose said as she added some spices to a large pot on the stove. On the counter stood a bowl with something chocolaty in it. The stomach growled at all this.
I opened the fridge and reached for a beer, noting that two were missing from the four that had been in there. One in the living room, none in the kitchen that I could see. In the chili then. It was all I needed.
“Wouldn’t that be too strong for Peter Pan? With all that beer?”
“Hey, I was not drunk after just two…” he began and trailed off. They were all silent behind me. I grabbed a beer and turned around slowly while opening it. I raised the eyebrows slightly in an inquisitive and confused manner. Let the eyes wander between the three of them as if wondering what was going on. I was quite happy with the performance. They all stared at me.
“What?” I said, going for innocence.
“You called him Peter Pan,” Rose said. “We never told you that…”
“I hate that name,” Peter said, a smile on his face for some reason. Odd considering his statement. It had to be the memory loss trumping his annoyance. Humans really were inconsistent. I shrugged and downplayed it. No need to tell that I had an excellent memory when it came to this particular existence. Still, I had to admit to being inconsistent myself. There was no doubt I was trapped in the new form. That was what I was now. My new existence for the unforeseeable future. In this particular place, with these people. Friends. This group of humans who depended on each other and enjoyed each other’s company. By choice. Which now included me, because the form I had taken over was a necessity in their lives. This young form that contained my old form. Tethered to one place, one city. No chaos in my change in circumstance, but a certain disorder. Still – the disruption was handled together with other people, not alone. That was who I now was, and despite wanting to leave, I found some comfort in that. Just another way of being. That would be easy… right?
Epilogue
The ‘ding’ of the elevator sounded and made Olivia glance around as the doors opened. She halfway expected Saphia to come running, throwing her green lightning into the elevator to finally make her kill.
“Detective Jones?” a friendly voice inquired and drew Olivia out of her reverie and made her disentangle from the elevator wall she had been leaning against.
“Yeah.”
“If you’ll follow me?”
Olivia did and was led the few feet back past the elevator to the office of Ward Winter which now wasn’t surrounded by see-through glass, but white-matted walls. Olivia noted this was the case for many of the offices now when people were actually using them. Apparently, the glass was an elegant feature, but the ability to decide which effect to use was much more practical.
The woman knocked on the door and opened it.
“Mr. Winter? Detective Jones is here.”
He was seated behind his desk, writing on his laptop, but he glanced up and nodded at this. “Thank you, Ellie.”
Olivia was ushered in, and Ellie withdrew to the little office next to Winter’s.
“Please come in, Detective,” he said as she lingered by the door. He typed a few more words before he closed the lid, and rose to shake her hand over the desk. “Take a seat,” he added and indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk. Olivia sat down and glanced briefly at the desk legs. Without her fellow prisoner, she would not have gotten loose from the twine.
“What can I help you with?”
“I only have some follow-up questions, Dr. Winter.”
“Mr.”
“What?”
“Everyone calls me Mr. Seems my Ph.D. confuses people since it has nothing to do with running a business.”
Olivia blinked. He made it sound like he was talking about running a corner store and not a global industrial company.
“It raises fewer questions this way,” he added. “At least usually.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. It was friendly and would have been infectious if not for the reason she was there. If it wasn’t for all the weird things that had happened. She watched him closely. He had dealt with everything remarkably well. Not the first time he had been involved in anything like it she was sure. He was a handsome man, with his defined bone structure, blue eyes, and sandy colored hair. She could not put her finger on his age though. He looked to be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty-five. He was dressed in a suit that probably cost more than a month’s salary for Olivia. Most importantly, his attention came off as attentive but detached. Unlike Ben who didn’t seem to have an interest in people in general, this one did. He simply focused hard on not giving away anything about what he thought. Polite attention with a concealed interest, or disinterest. No matter what he thought of you, you weren’t supposed to know.
“Anyway, Mr. Winter,” Olivia continued. “Obviously some… odd things happened here on Sunday.”
“You mean Saphia’s electric charges.”
“The weird green lightning that broke the laws of nature? Sure.”
Winter exhaled and looked down as he smiled. A sad smile this time. He cared for Saphia.
“I understand she was your friend, but she did order a murder as well as try to kill myself and Ben Reed.”
There was nothing to spot on his face. Not until she mentioned Ben’s name. Winter did not like him for some reason. That had been clear enough by the way he’d had Ben sent away after Saphia’s death, but the tiny twitch she saw by his left eye now, only confirmed it.
“I’m aware,” he said.
“She ordered Okanov’s murder to protect you. Why?”
He inhaled and exhaled slowly before answering. It reminded Olivia of Saphia during her confession. Now though, it was a comforting sound. “I don’t know, Detective. We don’t demand that kind of loyalty here.”
“I’m sure. Yet you had it. She did this for you, you know. I saw the surveillance tapes of your attack. She thought you were dead. Was she in love with you?”
His eyes widened slightly at her bluntness but reclaimed their friendly, open look so quick she wouldn’t have noticed had she not been paying close attention.
>
“No, she was not. Maybe ten years ago when I found her, but not now.”
“Found her?”
He sighed and made a grimace. He didn’t care that Olivia saw. “She was in trouble on account of her ability. As you can imagine, there are people out there who would like to control the Saphias of this world.”
“Like you?” Olivia couldn’t help but ask. Saphia had been strong. Of course, there were people who would like to use someone like her. And she had ended up employed by Winter.
“Not by me, no.” His answer was dead serious. He could be lying, but Olivia didn’t really think so. “I was in a position to help her when she needed it. She stayed with the company ever since. Met her late husband here as well.”
“Is that what you did for Costa too?” The question spilled out of Olivia like boiling water before she could control herself. That was none of her business, and the surprise on his face only confirmed that. Still, his features mellowed as he nodded, and he apparently found no harm in telling her.
“I was still partly based in New York when the unfortunate shooting happened. The pressure from the media took its toll on him and his family.”
Olivia nodded and regretted bringing it up immediately. She had been behind the shooting. Costa had stood up for her and been the face in the media. “Still… an odd thing to do for a random cop. Or does he shoot lightning too?”
Winter gave a short laugh. A warm rumble that made Olivia aware that the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.
“Not that I’m aware,” he said. “I simply lived in the area, I noticed, and when an opportunity opened up here, I encouraged him to apply.”
And likely talked to the right people in Ashdale as well, Olivia thought. Still, she couldn’t be mad. Her boss was a good man and a good cop. He deserved some calm and stability with his family. It had in the end also given her a new chance far from her old shattered life.
“Is it common for you? Helping people like Saphia?” she remembered Saphia’s reaction to Ben needing Winter’s help. She had thought her boss might be the right person to ask. And Ben was no more ordinary than Saphia.
“Let’s just say, people with certain gifts exist, and they are not all safe.”
“Who’s the threat?”
“I don’t kno—”
“Come on, Mr. Winter. You can see I’m not taking notes. Who’s going to believe me anyway? Someone, Dimitri Okanov, came here and attempted to murder you. Someone is or has been after your employee. You seem well aware of a part of society that stays hidden from everyone but a few. Who is behind this?”
“Murder me?”
“Please. I have little patience for cryptic people.” Her honest no-bullshit tone made him smile again, and he leaned forward resting his arms on the desk. “I saw the tapes,” she continued. “You were attacked in here. Over there,” she pointed toward the couch. He must have been there to retrieve something from the coffee table in front of it. “Looked like you were stabbed,” she said and turned back to him, a blank mask meeting her.
“Stabbed? I’m sitting right here.”
“Nevertheless, I’ve seen that tape again and again. At first, I thought he was hitting you. You were, after all, alive afterward, you still are. But in the video, in the light from the emergency exit signs, there is a glint of metal in Okanov’s hand. No wonder Saphia was convinced you were dead.” Olivia would be too if it wasn’t for the man sitting in front of her looking like the pinnacle of health. “And afterward the cameras malfunctioned. There’s a lot of that happening here these days.”
He nodded slowly. “I’m alive as you can see, Detective, so I was not stabbed. Attacked yes. As for who? You might want to look into a company called Yorov for that. I would strongly recommend not doing anything else.”
“Your competition?”
He shrugged at that. “Now and then. Just remember to be careful.”
She found herself to be nodding before thinking about it. His warning felt reassuring for some reason and her first instinct was not to go against his advice. Strange that. She had gotten him to give a proper answer at least. Should she push her luck?
“And Ben Reed? Why did you send him away? How do you know him?” If nothing else, maybe she could provide Ben with some information regarding this.
“I don’t,” Winter claimed. “I would have sent you away too if not for that badge of yours.”
Liar, Olivia thought. She couldn’t put her finger on it. There was nothing on his face for her to read. He was too composed. It was too rehearsed. Besides, she was certain he had been the one to let her into the building in the first place.
“I’m glad we came to an agreement, though,” he added and stood, a clear sign the meeting was now over. Oh yes… he had not liked that last question.
“The agreement, sure…” she said and stood up as well, shaking his hand again. Their agreement on what had happened. It was basically what had actually occurred that day, except the green lightning and Ben. She narrowed her eyes as she looked into his, another question escaping her without thought. “Do you know, we met about ten years ago?”
“We did?”
“Mm-hmm. You gave a lecture on the Hanseatic League. I went to ask you something about it after, and you called me Marja.”
He smiled still. “Must have confused you with someone, I guess.”
Liar, she thought again, though she couldn’t understand why he was lying. Then she realized he was still holding her hand. Warm and comforting. Almost familiar. He had forgotten he was holding on to her as his mind processed the old memory while she talked about it.
“Did you get your answer?”
“Not sure. I think we both forgot about it in the confusion. Can’t really remember what the question was now.”
“Well, Detective,” he said and let go of her hand. “Memories are funny that way.”
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Author’s note
This book touches upon suicide, a difficult subject for many that is not to be taken lightly. If you are struggling, please don’t give up hope; and know that help is no more than a quick web search away.
Also by G.K. Lund
Urban Fantasy
The Ashdale Reaper Series:
Deadly Awakening #1
Grave Intent #2
Paranormal Romance (New Adult)
The Ashport Mender Series:
Outsider #1
Mender #2
Collapse #3
Historical Urban Fantasy
Avarice
(Free book. Get your copy here )
About the Author
G.K. Lund writes fantasy and is the author of the Ashdale Reaper Series and the Ashport Mender Series. G.K. holds a BA in Medieval Studies and an MA in Archeology, and will probably have to put an archeologist into a story one day. Until then, potty-mouthed and kickass characters with other jobs will have to face high stakes and save the day.
Connect with G.K. Lund
www.gklundwrites.com
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Copyright © 2018 by G.K. Lund.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
&nbs
p; This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Northern Quill Press
ISBN: 978-82-93663-12-6
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www.gklundwrites.com
Cover design by Damonza.
(Add. Image by Zairon - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0)
Edited by Helen Baggott and N. Hall
Deadly Awakening / G.K. Lund, 1st. ed.
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