by Gary Starta
9 INCARNATE
Caitlin Diggs Series 4
GARY STARTA
Copyright 2014
For Kristie
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1 Voice Over
Chapter 2 The Ankh
Chapter 3 Smiling Behind a Napkin
Chapter 4 Bubble Trouble
Chapter 5 Whirlwind
Chapter 6 Burst
Chapter 7 The Ennead
Chapter 8 Past Lives
Chapter 9 Molecularly Speaking
Chapter 10 Tut Tweets
Chapter 11 Suspect
Chapter 12 Blink
Chapter 13 Cat and Mouse
Chapter 14 Sex, Ships & Shopping
Chapter 15 Pyramid Scheme
Chapter 16 Labyrinth
Chapter 17 In through the Out Door
Chapter 18 Weather Warriors
Chapter 19 Admissions
Chapter 20 Isis Takeover
Chapter 21 Revolutions
Chapter 22 Hard Core
Chapter 23 Revelations
Chapter 24 Resolutions
Chapter 25 Reformation
Chapter 1
Voice Over
As a child, I believed the scariest person you could be on Halloween was yourself. Lanky for my age, I sought escapism—via deception. Most incorrectly diagnosed me as shy or reserved, but that wasn’t my persona; that was a distorted funhouse mirror for my adolescent peers. I projected that standoffish image to the world because I didn’t want to be a target for others’ angst; those who would use my awkwardness to their advantage. Those others were the majority. I understood their need. Sometimes it makes a human feel better to label another as a freak even if it only gives fleeting solace. Well, I wasn’t into consoling any hormonally charged teenagers. So, I did what any wronged tween would do. I put up dividers, attempting any means of magic to disappear. Often that magic was electronic.
I hadn’t yet found my place in this world—other than my living room—and books and TV provided a diet, a non-interactive menu for my soul. As I grew into my upper teens, I unwittingly began to slough off the shell. Others who shared my tunnel vision of life joined my quest, some sat right next to me on my comfy sofa, all on a mission to keep invisible. At least I thought. They had other plans for me. It was to be my first taste of conspiracy.
Eventually, my Tomboy girlfriends encouraged/tricked me to play sports such as softball. So I began to leave my sheltered confines more and more often. I later realized my own hormones were to blame, the ultimate betrayer. I could have done just fine in my wallpapered cave. But my body required visual stimuli. In layman’s terms--eye candy. Yet instead of immediately pairing off with a boy, I learned something valuable about myself and my future. That I—Caitlin Diggs—could also be scary; so from there, the line was drawn. I wouldn’t be intimidated or belittled, nor would I live in a bubble. I had turned the tables. I could see it in their faces when I belted a homerun or dove headfirst into second base. Boys, in particular, were afraid of me. Classmate Julie Dawson confirmed this via electronic eavesdropping. She confided Joe Sims—self-proclaimed Mr. All Everything—was threatened by my height, my determined stride and my piercing sapphire eyes. I smiled on the inside, not letting on that I knew I’d found my place.
Following several frustrating meetings with know-it-all guidance counselors I deduced I needed a profession where I could utilize my physical attributes best. I always liked police dramas. And the way Julie Dawson spied on my detractors with a mini tape recorder was too cool for school. It wasn’t long before my subconscious, and not a guidance counselor, suggested my perfect pairing. His initials—F.B.I.
Now as for my mind…that’s going to need some explaining. There’s the past, the present and the ever changing future. But in my case, some of that overlaps. It’s complicated, but not really. Not if you believe in crystal artifacts, parallel universes and the fact that I now lead a life posing as my alternate self.
I’m a stand in. I watched my other self die a horrible death at the hands of the genetically-altered soul thief who caused me to get trapped in this alternate world in the first place. I will need to fill you in later, right now…
I’m hyperventilating… Not so much about the fact that I live another person’s life; but because my FBI superiors are performing their best vulture impersonations right now, swarming and swooping around me in circles while I voluntarily accept their assignment. A no-win scenario. The worst of all crimes, if you’re affected by symbolism, because this world’s United States President was murdered mere hours ago.
I slammed the folder handed to me just minutes earlier on an unforgiving wooden conference table for emphasis. I hoped it would take some edge and attention off my heavy breathing. “Sirs, I never have backed away from a case before, but this just doesn’t seem to fall within the confines of a Bureau investigation. With due respect, why me?” I shook a dangling strand of hair from my face. I was pretty damn sure I was suffering a bad case of bed head.
“It’s why ‘both’ of you, Special Agent Diggs.” Deputy Director Seals’ mouth bared a horrible grimace. Upper lip curled, teeth bared. More demon-like than human if you ask me. But there’s more I need to tell you. I’m just waiting for the smug bastard Deputy Director to finish. Trust me, he’s not done.
And after the appropriate dramatic pause, Seals spoke. “I’m going to need you, Agent Diggs, and your Wiccan partner because preliminary findings indicate our perpetrator is non-human.”
I nodded. He cocked his head sideways, glancing at me dog-like, hands on his hips. If this was the Old West, I would have drawn on the man impersonating a varmint—or is that the other way around?
Anyway, he didn’t have to finish. I knew why my partner, Special Agent Briana McFadden, and I were the chosen ones. This would be a job for the FBI’s Preternatural Division. Don’t worry about getting to know a lot of people who work for it because it’s just Briana and I at the moment. And I don’t even think the Bureau can blame the short-staffing on the budget on this one. It’s just many people who live in this alternate world don’t readily like to admit that demons outnumber humans by a six to four ratio.
Oops. Almost forgot. I addressed my superiors in the plural form thirty seconds ago for a good reason. Actually, a good and tasty, pleasure-inducing kind of a reason; he’s another human male. His name is Assistant Director Charles Grant. But Chuck is nothing like the aggravating and deceptive deputy director. He’s supporting his well-toned frame on a conference room’s door jamb, and I think he’s giving me the eye. Letting me know he has to play Bureaucrat Guy along with Seals at the moment. He’s my love interest. Okay… That slipped out. I can’t help thinking of him in that manner. I’m the only one who calls him Chuck. I’d like to think I’m the only one who he…
“Are we keeping you from something, Agent Diggs?” Seals asked, perturbed as always. The volume of the HD flat screen TV affixed to the wall across the table gave me an excuse.
“It’s just the volume on the TV,” I answered. I raised a hand and pinched my index finger and thumb close together.
Seals motioned for a Bureau flunky to turn it down. The damn remote was within his reach. More power games.
I allowed the TV announcer to fill in the momentary space of silence. Apparently, the obligatory moment of grieving was over. It would have lasted a lot longer in my world’s past. When JFK died there everyone was devastated. Now, because of Attention Deficit Disorder, the announcer gets on with the facts. But what could he possibly know at this early juncture? The DC Police completed an initial walk through of the murder scene, the White House’s historical Oval Office. President Eva Flemings still lay on t
he floor where she was found. No murder weapon has been discovered. Damn it! Why were they giving away so many details? May as well tell the perp, great job!
It’s as if Seals had heard me. He hasn’t spoken a word in the last moment. But my mind deduced the voice to be coming from him. No. It’s not... It can’t be. It was decidedly feminine and not coming from anyone in the room or the TV. It had come from inside my head! It said, Trust your kind heart to lead the way to harmony. Peace is possible.
Okay, what just happened here? Who spoke? Who’s in my head? If I weren’t in a conference room filled with people I would have drawn my weapon. But that would be just plain dumb. I’ll have to sort this out later.
Yet that voice. Maybe it’s daydreams. I was literally pulled out of bed for this investigation—my flopping hairdo proved it.
“As you can see, Agent Diggs, it is imperative for you to get to the crime scene immediately. The media has more of a handle on this case then us. I have arranged for you and Agent McFadden to arrive via helicopter. I don’t need to tell you this, but you need to be quick but thorough. Some find it a disgrace that the president of our country is still laid out on a floor.” This time I know Deputy Director Seals had spoken. My heart was palpitating again. The SOB always finds a means to get under my skin, damn him. His alternate resides in my home world. You guessed it. He was a bastard there as well.
I nodded my head in agreement with Seals. It was imperative that I get to the scene quickly. But it wasn’t because of any reason currently squirreling around in the Deputy Director’s head. He didn’t know—in fact no one in this Bureau conference room knew—that I possessed paranormal abilities. I’d hidden this fact because this world’s version of Agent Diggs was merely a superior agent without otherworldly enhancements.
It’s ironic that I live with my secret. It’s why I originally left the Bureau in my world. The suits there never gave credence to my special gifts which all resulted when I came into contact with a mysterious crystal pendant. I can’t blame them. It’s not acceptable because my old world doesn’t have a teeming population of vampires, lycanthropes and incubi. But I digress. I came into this world as a psychic P.I. chasing the aforementioned genetically-made soul thief. I found out quite a bit of what made this pseudo-demon tick up until I destroyed him. But I still haven’t found a way back to my world. So I’m making the best of it.
This is so unfair. The high profile murder investigation of a president is the worst case scenario because as you can tell, Seals and I don’t see eye to eye. He’s going to be on me like a hawk on a mouse for this one. Also, I know for a fact that Seals is a demon hater. I can feel it. He pretends to accept their place in society just like every other human here because of necessity. Each country’s demon population assures military strength. In a war of hand-to-hand combat, it’s going to be the nation with the most demons that gets to pass go and collect two trillion dollars. It’s why men like Seals feign acceptance of them.
I must have unconsciously shaken my head—again. I felt Grant approach me from behind. I think this “feeling” is part of my paranormal abilities. And because I possess empathic and psychic abilities, I can only hope the crime scene will provide a clue as to who the killer is or, best case scenario, give me a vision.
“Something’s bothering you, Agent Diggs?” Grant surreptitiously kneaded a hand on the small of my back, out of Seals’ sight, of course.
“Well…everything, assistant director.”
Grant unleashed his magazine cover smile. I didn’t have to see it, to feel it. It was mirrored across the room in Seals’ glowering, leering stare. But that image was softened by Grant’s breath, caressing the nape of my neck. His tone was playful despite our circumstance. “Besides, Seals?” he asked. I laughed and turned around to face him.
“Why are they suspecting a demon?” I asked. Despite my anger, I wanted to playfully tug at his shirt collar. The presence of Seals deterred me.
Grant explained me to why every Bureau agent had justification. Whoever did it caused a power outage, knocking out video surveillance in the process, as well as managing to enter and leave the Oval Office without so much as making a scratch on the furniture. I had to ask him why precautions weren’t taken. “If the Secret Service knew a teleportation demon could escape alarms and sensors, why didn’t they take other measures?”
This time Grant shook his head and buried his hands in his pockets.
“It’s because,” I answered for him, “We don’t possess unconventional means to stop them, do we?”
Grant’s eyes shifted from side to side. “Try to keep your voice down, Caitlin.” I didn’t say anything. I surmised the answer.
What a strange deal this world struck with the demons. For their aid in protecting the country from the threat of war, the demons lived on the honor system. No one expected a demon to make such a high profile attack. Sure they killed the average human Joe from time to time, that’s why I had a job. But none of the demons had been so bold as to literally bite the hand that fed them. It made me wonder about the “why.”
“I’m having a hard time coming up with motive,” I said at last.
“Come on. I’ll accompany you to the scene. You can piece it together there,” Chuck said, offering his sea-green eyes as a lure. They smiled at me like waves rolling to a longing shoreline. In case you’re wondering about the metaphor; the shoreline would be me.
I read the ME’s preliminary report while waiting in the limo which would take me to the chopper. It appeared the president had been poisoned, bringing on cardiac arrest. The death had been quick; but quick enough to elude detection from any security guard or Secret Service agent? I scanned the report further. It said the last person to see the president alive was her husband. I braced myself for the interview as Briana McFadden, my best friend and FBI partner entered the car. I would live in denial about that voice in my head for the time being but not for long. I knew I’d spill to Briana at some juncture. She always made me comfortable enough to confide in her. She’s one of a few beings who knows I’m not from her world.
There was someone else I should have been confiding in. I was practically in a relationship with AD Grant and I hadn’t felt comfortable enough to tell him about my past or my abilities. Essentially, that I wasn’t this world’s Caitlin Diggs. Would that covert behavior jeopardize my ability to solve this case?
Chapter 2
The Ankh
The grainy video footage contrived to show me a White House staffer carrying a drink to the president. Oh, the image was really there on tape. Clear enough to be convincing even. Security Officer Nelson, who operated the playback, confirmed as much. He stood way too close for comfort. Not his fault. We were cramped into the confines of a closet-like room probably made for one person to review surveillance tape, or possibly two tiny, small-boned persons. The security officer and I weren’t going to be mistaken for Hobbits anytime soon.
Consequently, I made him stop after three playbacks. I had to get out of these confines. I was wasting time because the image was just that, an image. It was manufactured to make an investigator believe they had a suspect dead to rights. A quick review of the night’s duty roster confirmed this female staffer wasn’t even in the White House at the time of the recording. Briana and I would of course interview the woman to be thorough, and confirm her whereabouts. My gut was already certain something had shifted into the staffer to mock us. Shortly after this recording, the power outage resulted in a loss of any further video surveillance. It was as if the perpetrator knew we’d conclude the disguised suspect to be capable of shape shifting. Thereby, concluding the killer to be demon. So was the perpetrator a demon claiming credit for the assassination or was the shifting a result of some other means? And if so, this wasn’t a case of “seeing is believing” but a slimy, wiggling red herring.
That conclusion wouldn’t sit well with my partner, Briana McFadden. To a lifelong Wiccan, the concept of manufacturing magic is a violation of the highest
order. To be candid, the idea that genetic alteration might make a human capable of shape changing makes me uncomfortable but not for religious reasons. Regardless, I know this engineering to be quite possible. A scientist named Claude Brahms painfully introduced me to the fact not too long ago. He’d attempted to create a demon killer via science but what he made was a soul stealer, one not very finicky when it came to sucking out one’s life essence. I killed Brahm’s creation not only because of its demonic capabilities but because it was hell bent on destroying the scientist’s other gifted offspring. Brahms had made Charlize Wilson—a teen singer capable of inhibiting demon violence with her voice—to make amends for creating the aforementioned soul stealer. You probably already guessed this but the soul stealer wasn’t too happy when he found his sibling might offset his bad deeds. To be technical, the soul stealer did kill Charlize but my paranormal abilities kicked into overdrive and I reassembled her scattered molecules in time to save her. Charlize thinks of me as Isis, the Egyptian goddess who pieced together her dead husband Osiris. I think of her as one sweet, talented angel. Yet in the back of mind, I also realize she was genetically made. The thought of science creating people remains unsettling to be me. But more so, the fact that I subconsciously harbor prejudice toward these creations, despite Charlize’s wondrous gift, burns me with guilt.
It took me about five minutes to reach the Oval Office. Inside were Briana, deceased President Eva Fleming and FBI coroner, Sheena Chong. The examiner, huddled over the body, grimaced just in time to meet my eyes.
“Any puncture wounds, coroner?” I asked. I’d already made Chong aware of my poisoning theory. In turn, she had already made me aware that my assumption was quite obvious. What we both didn’t know at the time was how a poison made its way into the president’s bloodstream. The surveillance video seemed to scream the answer, but I wasn’t totally convinced. So I asked Coroner Chong to provide any other means for inducement more out of skepticism than a need to trade barbs.
