by Gary Starta
Chong’s head bobbed. “Not that I can see, just like I can’t see any wounds consistent with a demon’s bite. I will need to conduct a thorough autopsy in my lab to be certain.”
“Yes, thank you,” I responded. I wouldn’t push the coroner further. Her initial visual examination already confirmed my suspicions. The woman captured on the video may have not been a White House employee, but that didn’t mean the glass she was carrying wasn’t the real murder weapon. I surmised it contained some kind of neurotoxin. Again, this gave me pause. If the killer was demon, it wasn’t the variety which could secrete venom like a snake. So if this were a planned assassination, shouldn’t the hit man be a secreting snakelike creature? I’m sure there was such a species. The video suggests a human is the killer, employing a very humanlike methodology—serving the victim a tainted beverage. Security Officer Nelson made me privy to the fact that President Fleming enjoyed juicing. It would be an easy way to assassinate her, spiking her antioxidant cocktail with poison. Yet that doesn’t explain how the killer teleported out of the room, which still screamed, demon. I would still consider a third possibility, something not entirely human or demon. Coroner Chong interrupted my reflection.
“Agent Diggs, I will begin a toxicology test immediately. If this suspected glass turns up, I will need it bagged and any contents in a vial.”
I nodded. “Now, may I ask one more favor?” From the corner of my eye, I watched Briana brace herself.
But Chong didn’t explode despite her reputation for emotional outburst. She leered and left the room after I asked her for a moment alone with the Commander in Chief. On her way out, I think she mumbled, “Enjoy yourself.”
Briana pretended to search the room for the glass. I suspected the perpetrator teleported himself into the room to retrieve the glass after President Fleming imbibed. If so, the video again mocked me, showing me a weapon I wouldn’t find. I could feel Briana suspected as much. But she respected how uncomfortable I still was with my psychic gift. I believed touching the president’s corpse might produce a vision. Simply spending time at the crime scene apparently wasn’t sufficient. I hated to intrude. But it was my job to do so.
Bent over her body, I whispered, “Forgive me, President Fleming. I just want to punish who hurt you.” I rested my right hand on the exposed flesh of her wrist. While I waited for a reaction, I looked into her eyes. They weren’t vacant from death, but still fresh from the reaction of being violated. I understood the poisoning would have produced an initial painful reaction before immobilizing the victim with paralysis. Finally, that paralysis would lead to cardiac arrest. I doubted the president died from fear. Don’t ask me how. I’m not empathic when it comes to the deceased. Her eyes just screamed defiance. Perhaps, I saw a little of myself in her. I squeezed her wrist a little tighter, compassion and sisterhood getting the better of me…
I’m shielding my eyes from all of the splashing. The water is everywhere. It bobs and weaves, back and forth, some of it spiraling heavenwards. It’s morphing I finally realize. It’s all so transparent. Without signature, without identity it mocks me just like the video. Come on, I shout. Show me who you are. Why did you do this? I begin to shiver from the damp environs. The water is not so much on my physical body but inside of me, creeping and seeping into my essence. It invades me but I force myself not to lose sight. Show yourself, I scream, my voice hoarse and distant among the waves crashing around me. I wait for the transparency to come to substance. I can feel my right hand clenching into a fist. I would fight this if it was tangible. I’m frustrated further by a droplet of water which squeezes its way past my eyelids. I’m partially blinded but I realize the formless currents probably won’t be shaping into a suspect anytime soon. No. Wait… Something is morphing to my right. It suddenly resembles an enormous index finger. Bluish gelatin, shaking and quivering, it becomes more and more solid. I have difficulty seeing through its transparency…
“Ow!” I’ve wakened from my vision. I’m coddled by Briana, kneeling beside me.
I’m still hovered over the dead president after the vision’s conclusion. Her eyes still seemed to scream as if she were caught in a vacuum of space. I’m reminded of Edvard Munch’s portrait of a wailing hairless alien-like creature and I’m disturbed that I can associate an ugly alien being with the still beautiful Fleming. She was not only a gorgeous blonde female but a loving soul. She treated the demons with respect when many politicians were happy to allow discrimination in the form of segregation and profiling. I can’t believe a demon did this to her.
The pain had cemented my place back into the present. Stemming from my shoulder, it caused me to rock back and forth on my haunches, pinching and burning me for a few moments. Afterwards, my arms were squeezed out of my suit jacket, Briana’s hand found its way to the anomalous tattoo which somehow attached itself to my body a few months ago.
“It’s very hot,” she said. “I’ll perform a healing spell.”
“No, wait. You can’t. It mustn’t be tampered with.”
“Protest all you want. A simple healing spell will be no more intrusive to the Ankh than a dab of chamomile lotion.”
I finally agreed. Loving and magical, Briana’s hands worked wonders. I felt relief in a minute.
“It’s gone.”
Briana’s eyes twinkled like comforting flames from a fireplace. “You don’t just mean the pain, do you?” she asked.
“The Ankh intervened. For some reason, it interrupted my vision. I don’t have anything. I didn’t see the killer.” You might have found my reaction odd. I’m not mad at the Ankh—the tattoo of the Egyptian symbol of life—which I believe made its way onto my shoulder via my interaction with a crystal artifact. It’s another reason why the genetically created singer Charlize Wilson believes me to be the second coming of Isis. I had to believe that if I’m somehow associated with Isis and her magic it was a good thing and that the Ankh was a symbol or extension of that goodness. It’s why I have faith in it, but I’m not a person who survives on belief. I generally count on myself when it comes to saving my ass.
After Chong and her black-jacketed entourage removed the president, I continued my conversation with Briana.
“The motive for this killing still eludes me, Briana.”
“Do you believe we should include non-demons in our profile? It wouldn’t sit well with Deputy Director Seals, you know. It’s why we’re on the case.”
“Yeah, I know.” I waved a dismissive hand and slipped back into my suit jacket. “A preternatural killer seems to fit the bill with the shape changing and teleportation and all. But…”
“You think genetics might be responsible?”
I shrugged my tattooed shoulder. The burn was completely gone. “You do wonders, Briana.”
“Don’t try and change the subject. You suspect human intervention?”
“I do. But we’ll start with demons with past criminal records. If we’re to remain on the case, we do need to keep the preternatural pretense.” I smiled and Briana winked.
She paused to place a finger over her lips. I could feel a theory coming on.
“You might have a point, Caitlin. I have to wonder why the president was left alone without a guard on duty in the hallway. Not a single Secret Service agent was on site until she died. She must have been alive for a few moments, maybe in a comatose state, but still alive.”
“I believe my conspiracy-addled brain has rubbed off on you. And speaking of conspiracy, what would be the motive? If a demon did this, even as a hate crime, wouldn’t they want to take credit? Or is the video simply their cryptic calling card? And if this were an assassination for political gain, might the perpetrator—demon or not—reside from another country? But even if this is just a nut job, even a psycho usually wants the fame associated with such a high profiling killing. I recalled in my universe, John Lennon’s killer willingly allowed himself to be captured. The common denominator is someone or some organization should be laying claim to their misdeed. I d
on’t see it.”
“I can see we’re off to the races with this one, Caitlin. How should we proceed?”
It still felt odd that Briana would equate me with her superior. Her Agent Diggs—the deceased alternate from this universe—would be the lead detective. She still deferred to me out of respect for her late partner. I loved that compassion in Briana. It’s why I wanted her to interview the president’s husband, Jonas. She could tenderly handle Fleming’s fresh wound in a way I couldn’t. It’s not that I didn’t feel compassion for the man. But he would need to be ruled out of any wrongdoing. DC Police had conducted an initial interview and he admitted to being the last person to see the president alive. I wondered just when that drink was delivered. Was it after he left or during his visit? He did admit to requesting a relaxed security detail during the late evening so he could celebrate their wedding anniversary without the feel of cold Secret Service eyes over his shoulder. Was that his motive, sentimentality, or duplicity? I’d depend on Briana to sort that out.
“So what do you call the president’s husband in this universe? The First Gentleman?”
Briana ignored my barb. Compassionate to the core.
Before we parted, I requested she put me in touch with an acquaintance of hers. I hoped the acquaintance, Sandy the Succubus, might act as a profiling database for my investigation. If the demon hadn’t committed a prior crime, he or she wouldn’t be included in the Demon Offender Database or DOD. And since the Preternatural Division expected its agents to work without a manual, I had little inclination as to just how many different species or demon existed. I would have to narrow it down to a shape changer who might or might not secrete poison. Subcontracting my work would have to do. I didn’t care how Deputy Director Seals felt about the matter. On the other hand, I did care about how Assistant Director Chuck Grant felt—about a number of things. The pleasant distraction powered me onward despite my lack of sleep. I’d continue my investigation throughout the dawning day but come night I’d put Egyptian symbolism and paranormal abilities to rest and have some normal time with my new man, Chuck. Yes, it still nagged me that he didn’t know I was from another universe. But I’d allow my deception on the grounds that Chuck’s comfort would keep me grounded enough to continue to do the job of his Agent Diggs. That said I began to fill my head with thoughts of energy signatures, psychic fingerprints and locator spells. Being grounded in this world leaves a lot of room for interpretation.
Chapter 3
Smiling Behind a Napkin
Okay, I know it’s not kind to refer to her as ‘Sandy the Succubus.’ It’s common for people to behave rudely to anyone who is diametrically opposite to them. I always believed it to be inherited, something written in the human genetic coding. It possibly worked both ways. She may hate FBI investigators. So I braced myself for my first face-to-face encounter with Sandy. She had offered her assistance during my first investigation in this universe via another shared acquaintance—Justin Manners, an incubus who can flitter between universes at will. Unfortunately for me, the means he employs to travel off world is deadly to humans. Since he is currently visiting my past world for an unspecified amount of time—possibly a demon holiday?—I decided to make a connection with Sandy. I knew by her nature she could drain men of their lives. I hoped human females were off limits when it came to this type of preternatural canoodling.
She opened the door to her apartment with a Cheshire cat smile plastered to her face.
I nodded. “Thanks for making the time for me. I’m kind of in a bind with Justin being out of town—I mean out of universe—and all.”
She motioned for me to sit on a plush velvet sofa colored in muted purple tones. That human voice in the back of my mind warned me not to get too comfortable.
She seated herself opposite me on a recliner. “I’m brewing tea, Agent Diggs. Feel free to fire away any time you’re ready.”
I thanked her again. I pretended to retrieve some notes from my attaché. I was really allowing my mind time to absorb. Like Manners, Sandy showed no outside signs of being demon. Neither did her surroundings; they were very homey for someone who practiced preternatural prostitution.
“You want to know what I do, Agent Diggs?” A smirk tugged at her lips. “What makes me tick so you can assure yourself it’s proper for you to share information on an active case with you?”
“What? Oh, no. This is research.” I continued to mumble, my face flushed red. “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life in any way.”
“I know this is about the president,” Sandy confessed. “You have cause to profile demons. I know teleportation was used in the crime. I imagine you want a list of demons capable of such a feat.”
“Okay, if you put it that way. I would.”
She interrupted me. “It’s not going to be that easy; that black and white. As you know, Justin is capable of teleporting. I’m not. He shares some common DNA with me but that doesn’t mean we’re exactly alike. It’s why you might be interested to learn more about my private life.”
“I would appreciate a list anyway.” I ignored the offer to inquire about her private affairs. “I also suspect a demon capable of producing or injecting venom.” I paused and put a finger to my lips. “I mean, I should say a being capable of secreting venom. It’s just that…”
“There aren’t humans capable of secreting venom, Agent Diggs. It’s okay just how you phrased it.”
I scribbled on my pad to hide my shame. But now that Sandy mentioned it, I believed there was one human capable of accomplishing such a feat and I worked for him. Ha-ha.
I practiced deep breathing while Sandy scurried about the kitchen, fetching cups. Briana taught me the technique, preaching the importance of self-monitoring. I had a feeling it was germane to my specific condition. As that thought occupied my mind, I realized I couldn’t be classified as one hundred percent human. What did the crystal do to my makeup? The very fact it bestowed me with paranormal capabilities made me an abnormal. Typically, humans are not gifted with psychic ability. Even in this world of demons and human/demon hybrids, paranormal abilities among humans are considered strange.
By the time I finished my thought, a steaming tea cup was placed on a nearby coffee table. The cup sat on a doily. How elegant. How refined. How human… I wanted to ask Sandy about her connection with Justin Manners and her willingness to aid humans. I didn’t know if this was case-specific, but my human interest had been peaked.
After we took sips of our green tea, Sandy’s candidness resurfaced. Empathically, I felt no deception or threat of any harm.
“Agent, I don’t know anyone—demon or human—who is happy with President Fleming’s passing. And if she were killed by a demon hand, I can’t believe it’s a representation of the majority consciousness.”
“I have to agree…Sandy? I’m sorry, Justin never gave me your last name.”
“That’s because we’ve always been on a first name basis.”
“Then call me Caitlin. A friend of Justin is a friend of mine.” Actually, that wasn’t quite true. I still retained some suspicions about Manners. He fostered a son in my world with Briana’s alternate and had abandoned him for fear of creating a hybrid. It told me he wasn’t entirely comfortable with humans despite his innate need to couple with them to quench his incubus lust. EEW! By comparison, Sandy had to teeter on that same tight rope. She dealt with human men because of her condition as well. Did this perverse form of bonding ignite her desire to bond with human beings on other levels? I fumbled for something else to say, now that we were friends and all. “Sandy, I agree with you. If anyone was a supporter of demon rights, it was President Fleming. I’m having a hard time rationalizing a motive despite the preliminary evidence.”
Sandy smiled. “Ah, preliminary evidence… So, it seems I might be in the dark as to what really transpired.”
I sipped some more tea. “Possibly…” I’d already shared details about the case with Sandy. Since I’d violated protocol, I plunge
d further. Believe me when I tell you, protocol and I never really liked one another. “It’s just that the teleportation caused a disruption of sensitive surveillance equipment. So I’m at a loss to explain how he or she entered the White House. The equipment continued to function normally until the being exited. We are in the process of interviewing staff security and reviewing tapes to ensure proper ID was presented by all staff and visitors, just in the case perp literally walked into the White House…but if this wasn’t an ‘inside’ job, then, as I said, I’m at a loss to explain how the teleportation occurred prior to the exit. I mean, it’s not possible, is it? Could there be a way to teleport without causing an electrical disruption?”
“I am not an authority on all species, Caitlin, but I would say no based on an educated guess.”
I already knew where that line of thinking was headed but I wouldn’t scream genetic alteration in Sandy’s presence. At this moment I trusted Sandy. But I didn’t know if she were sympathetic to genetic engineering or if she might have inadvertently allowed a potential suspect to glean information about our investigation. It was doubtful. With the exception of Brahms—Charlize Wilson’s father by way of science—most geneticists abhorred demons. Some were even paid by human supremacy groups to rid the world of them as if they were an infestation. In a way, demons did infest this world. Ironically, about eight centuries ago religious crusaders from this universe played a part by opening a wormhole in hopes of expanding their dominance. Instead of expanding their beliefs, many crusaders met their deaths, discovering human passage wasn’t possible. Ultimately, the opened gate paved the way for the ultimate illegal immigration. Demons of all varieties and species flooded this world. No one knew where they originally resided. But any means to reopen these gates had been thwarted by the remaining crusaders. Rune keys, some in the form of orbs, were confiscated. Nonetheless, the damage had been done. Humans were outnumbered and had little choice but to make nice with the new neighbors. Sandy scribbled on a note pad all the while.
