by Erik Lynd
She had convinced him there was still a chance and had set him to work minimizing the damage he, and others like him, had wrought. While Christopher had focused on defeating the supernatural force behind it all, Juan had dealt with his own kind of magic as he struggled to bring normalcy back to the cyberworld.
Afterward though, he was broken. During Christopher’s mad dash to get her to the hospital, Eris, near death in his arms, had told him where to find Juan and that she thought he was worth saving.
That was good enough for Christopher. He had found Juan, buried deep beneath the earth in some sort of techno bunker. His mind had been royally fucked by the dark soul. He wasn’t exactly suicidal anymore, but on the verge of falling back into the pit of depression. Juan was an anarchist and hated any form of government, but he had been used in a way that disgusted him. He thought he was part of a bigger, nobler purpose, but he had been used as a weapon for power and control, the very essence of what he was against.
Christopher had offered him a path toward redemption and he had jumped at it. Well, jumped is probably not the right word. By the time Christopher had explained what was really going on in that techno bunker and who—or what—was running the show, Juan was on the edge of insanity again. He pulled himself together when he realized that Christopher wasn’t going to throw him down some pit to Hell. But just barely.
It wasn’t until Christopher had flown him to the US and shown him the lair with its impressive computer array that he had truly gotten excited.
“This is nice,” Juan said when he saw the computer set up in the middle of the main room. “Older, but impressive.”
“That’s not the half of it; just follow me,” Christopher said. He gave Juan a quick tour of the lair, ending at the cube room. It was the most unsettling and therefore last room.
The room itself was straightforward. A rock formation with a square hole in the middle like an empty doorway, a map etched along the wall showing the location of all the lairs throughout the world, and the cube on the pedestal to control it. The cube room allowed Christopher to travel to any of his lairs on the planet instantly. Although startled at the supernatural element involved, Juan’s real shock came when Christopher informed him that he would be responsible for maintaining all the tech systems across all the lairs, by himself for the most part.
“It’s impossible,” he said. “That kind of infrastructure, the man hours for maintaining the cabling alone in all these locations would be astronomical. You may not be Google, but you’re going to need at least a small IT organization.”
“I am confident you’ll find a way,” said Christopher. “My predecessor was able to do it, and I have a network of various employees on payroll that maintain the areas around the lairs. Restaurant managers, janitors, and facilities managers for hotels. Discreet individuals who think I am working on covert business arrangements, again all set up by my predecessor. You can work with them for everything outside; they turn a blind eye to what exactly we’re working on. You would just be responsible for the inside portion of the lairs and the overall architecture.”
Still Juan had hesitated, perhaps it was just too much? But Christopher needed him. Even his predecessor knew tech was an essential part of the future and their job.
“You’ll help me save a lot of lives and you will be working outside the law. I would think that would appeal to you.” Christopher said quietly, and making a quick decision added, “And I’ll pay you quite well.”
“And there it is,” said Juan. “The deal with the devil.” Before Christopher could protest Juan continued, “I’ll do it. I’ll do it to make up for my crimes. But also, since Eris believes in you, perhaps I can learn something too. But for the record, so far you seem like an asshole.”
And they had left it at that.
Christopher’s phone rang.
“That’ll be Hamlin,” Juan said. Christopher gave him a questioning look and Juan continued a little sheepishly. “I’ve been monitoring police communications as part of my general media surveillance.”
Christopher glanced down, it was indeed Hamlin.
“Hello,” Christopher said.
“Hi kid, you busy? Any hunting?” asked Hamlin.
“No, taking it easy tonight. Spent two days training today, so I’m little beat. What’s up?”
“Well… it might be nothing. But…”
“Please don’t tell me another hellhound is on the loose.”
Hellcat lifter her head off the couch and made a low growl in her throat.
“No, nothing like that… well something like that, but not a hellhound. Look, I’m not sure what it is, but it’s nothing I’ve seen before and I’d like you to take a look at it. Just to rule out you know…”
“The X-Files shit?” That was one of the ways Hamlin referred to Christopher’s line of work. Christopher had never seen an episode, but he got the drift.
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Is there another crime scene you want me to visit? What’s the address?”
There was a pause on the other end, then Hamlin said, “No, not a crime scene. I’m at the city morgue.”
4
Christopher met Hamlin just inside the entrance to the morgue. It was a sterile looking place—a cross between an aging doctor’s waiting room and a small DMV office. The room itself was small, just big enough to hold a few chairs, which made sense; it wasn’t like this was a hospital waiting room. The patients here had a very final disease and weren’t going home.
It smelled old too, musty with the chemical scent of formaldehyde and other embalming fluids. The insistent buzz of the fluorescent light filled the room as much as its pale white light did. Christopher supposed that decor for the dead was low on the city budget list.
A young man—not much older than Christopher’s twenty-one years—wearing a white lab coat sat behind a desk, busily chomping on gum and trying to look busy. He alternated between shuffling through papers and poking at his computer keyboard. The cause of his nervousness seemed obvious. A patrol officer stood next to his desk speaking with Hamlin. But Christopher had to imagine the morgue workers were used to having cops around all hours of the night. This was New York after all. People were always dying.
Besides the three of them, the only other person in the room was a security guard sitting on a chair in the far corner.
Hamlin noticed Christopher’s arrival and moved to intercept him. The detective wore the usual ill-fitting suit that looked like it he had slept in it. His eyes had deep circles under them, and his face showed the normal rough five o’clock shadow. He was a walking cliché, both Christopher and Eris had told him that on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, that only seemed to inspire him to play the part more.
Christopher had remembered to let go of his uniform before coming into the building, dismissing his hooded coat and clothes of shifting dark back to the shadows from which they came. Hellcat had also retreated to the shadows.
“Hey kid, thanks for coming,” Hamlin said as he approached. “Something weird is going on.”
Christopher nodded toward the uniformed officer. “I see. Do you guys usually have an officer on duty at the morgue?”
“No, not usually. They have their own security,” Hamlin said quietly and nodded to the security guard. The guard ignored them, engrossed in his magazine. “But this is no usual night.”
Christopher glanced at the patrolman. “I assume we are going with the psychic shtick again?”
“Well, it seems to be working. ‘Course now I got a reputation at the station for being a little bit superstitious.”
“There are worse reps,” said Christopher.
“A few days ago, I found an anatomically correct voodoo doll with a pin in its penis.”
Christopher smiled. “So… how’s it hanging?”
“Don’t you fucking start. Hey Marone,” Hamlin said to the patrolman as they approached. “This is the K.C. Edgar I was telling you about. He’s gonna take a look for me.”
The patrolman smirked. “Right, the psychic. Gonna check out the vibes. Whatever you say, detective.”
Christopher could hear the amused disdain in the man’s voice. Suddenly Christopher was pissed. Hamlin had made a lot of sacrifices for him and this was his reward? A lack of respect? Christopher paused as they passed the officer. The man met his eyes and what he saw there caused the disdain and amusement to drain away.
Christopher let a little of the hellfire become visible in his eyes. He offered a small, very small glimpse into hell for the man. He could smell the sin on him. It was all he needed.
“Tell me officer, is fifty percent off a blow job the normal fee to let a prostitute off the hook? “
The officer’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t look away, Christopher wouldn’t let him.
“Tell me officer, what is your usual fee for looking the other way when a deal is going down? Certainly not as much as when they pay you to be the actual lookout.”
The officer’s mouth opened and closed beneath his wide eyes, like he was trying to protest. Naked fear showed in his eyes and Christopher could smell the piss running down his leg.
“Keep it up Officer Marone. I’ll be hunting you soon enough.”
Christopher looked away, releasing the man from his hold and walking past him to the rear door. He heard a sob from behind and formed a slight smile.
Once they were through the door and into the hallway, Hamlin stopped him.
“What the fuck was that?”
“The truth. Besides, it pissed me off the way he smiled at us. He’s an asshole.”
“Were those things, about him taking money really true?”
“Yeah, of course. But I wouldn’t worry, his sins were minor in the grand scheme of things. I don’t think there’s any need to turn him in; what I did to him was far more damaging than any punishment the law could impose.” Christopher looked down the corridor. “Now please, lead the way.”
Hamlin stared hard at him for a moment as though unsure what to do with him. Then with a grunt of frustration, he turned down the hall. “Autopsy room 4. Come on.”
They passed down a series of hallways. Tiled floors, plain white plaster walls. There were a few more people here in the morgue proper, most wearing various gowns or medical jackets, but a few wore street clothes. In one case, Christopher saw a distraught man, tears in his eyes and running down his face. Christopher could guess as to why he was here. He hurried past the man.
They came to room 4. Christopher knew this even before seeing the plaque with the number because there was another patrolman outside the door. This had to be unusual.
“Why so many resources to guard a dead body?” asked Christopher.
“It was at my request, and I can only pull these resources for a short time before my captain starts asking questions. I didn’t want anybody to access the body, at least until you see it. Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case this is more your jurisdiction than the NYPD.”
This patrolman was more professional. He nodded silently to Hamlin and limited his interaction with Christopher to a suspicious look. Hamlin pushed the door open, and they went inside.
The first thing Christopher noticed was the cold. The floors and walls were stark white, and that same sterile fluorescent light filled the room. The only furniture in the room, besides some cushioned stools and chairs, were stainless steel. All of this did nothing to make the place feel warmer. One of the fluorescent lights flickered. It made Christopher think of a horror movie.
There were three tables in the room, each one held a naked gray body. One woman and two men.
“Is it always this cold in here?” Christopher asked.
“They keep the temp down for obvious reasons, but this one is colder than usual.”
“Almost feels like we’re the ones in the cadaver coolers,” said Christopher. He could feel something in the cold. He could smell there was something wrong. Not just the stench of death, but almost like the lack of something else. He smelled emptiness. That was the best way he could describe it.
“Something’s not right here.”
“Good, that’s why I brought you. Come on, let’s look at the body.”
“Yes let’s, it sounds like fun.”
They approached the female first. She was gray, and death had aged her; it took Christopher a moment to realize she was probably only a little older than him. “How old is she?”
“We don’t have an ID on her yet, but the doc says mid-twenties. It looks like death is taking its toll on her pretty quickly.”
“How did she die?” Christopher asked.
“That’s just it. The doc has no idea. No obvious signs of trauma, no contusions or broken bones. No sign of asphyxiation or disease. No signs of any heart damage. We still need to examine the brain in detail, but doc thinks it will turn up clean also,” Hamlin said.
“So, what does he think did it?”
“Natural causes, but he can’t find any causes that make sense. The only thing out of the ordinary is the rapid deterioration of the body. I’m hoping you can rule out supernatural causes.”
“What about these others?” asked Christopher. The other bodies had the same look of accelerated deterioration. These, however, were different ages. One of the men looked like he was in his seventies, but it was hard to tell with the skin rotting so quickly.
“These bodies are the same. No marks, no heart issues—other than it stopped working—no normal signs of death, either. Just this old, withered look.”
Something was very off about these bodies. Christopher could feel it. But what? And how the hell was he supposed to tell anyway? He wasn’t a doctor, not even a supernatural one. He stepped closer to the girl. Ignoring the faint smell of decay, he sniffed deeply, leveraging the bestial side of his supernatural nature. At the same time, he let his eyes shift slightly focusing on the Shadow Side, as he now thought of it, in order to read the aura of her soul. But of course she didn’t have one. She was dead.
But her soul had not simply departed. Christopher could still smell that strange scent of emptiness, which gave some sense to what he saw on the shadow side. It was like there was a hole where her aura should have been.
Christopher had not seen anything like this before. Most dead bodies became lifeless lumps of organic material, no different than a pile of meat and bones, the aura and soul gone to whatever final destination it was marked for. But this wasn’t the natural fade away of a soul in death, this was the rending of a soul, torn out of a perfectly good body.
Even as he watched, the ‘hole’ faded. It would be gone in moments.
“I think you were right, these aren’t natural deaths.”
When Christopher didn’t continue, Hamlin asked, “Well, what the hell happened to them?”
“It looks… you know I’m still very new to all this so I could be way the fuck off.”
“Got it kid, standard disclaimer. Give me your best guess.”
“It looks like their souls were taken from them. Not natural death type soul-leaving, more like ripped from their mortal shell soul-taking.”
“And this would kill them?”
“Yes, probably. Anyhow, in this case it looks like it did.”
Hamlin just looked at him.
“Hey, I told you I’m no expert, not yet,” said Christopher.
Hamlin nodded.
“Anything else unusual about them? Besides the cause of death?” asked Christopher.
“Now that you mention it, yes. They were all found in the Bronx, each at a different park. Including one too close for comfort.”
“I take it you mean River Park, close to the lair?”
Hamlin nodded. “Whoever or whatever did this is working close to your office. Coincidence?”
“If it’s one thing I’ve learned from everything that’s happened to me, it’s that things are rarely a coincidence.”
“Funny, being a detective has taught me th
at same thing.”
Christopher took a closer look at the old man cadaver. A part of him was surprised that he could move so close to a dead body. A year ago, he wouldn’t have even been able to set foot in a morgue, let alone examine a rotting corpse from a few feet away.
“How long ago did they die?” Christopher asked.
“Not sure. The Doc was having a hard time placing time of death. The bodies were just too… ambiguous. He did think they were killed a week or two apart.”
“But they were found at the same time? Buried?”
“Nope. Just dumped there on the grass on the other side of the river. But yeah, we found them all on the same day, so he must have stored them somehow until he was ready to dump them.”
“He? How do you know?”
“I don’t. I’m just old with old habits. Besides most serial killers are men. That’s a real statistic.”
“But this isn’t a serial killer, at least not a traditional one. This is some sort of supernatural entity. It has to be.”
Hamlin nodded and asked, “Any ideas?”
Christopher shook his head, “Based on what we have experienced, it could be anything from a regular old serial killer with some occult skill to a gigantically fat dark soul with a God complex…”
Then a theory clicked in his head. “Hell, it could have been that girl that was with him—what’s his name? Golyat?—she could manipulate souls, mine anyway. Of the usual suspects, we know she would be top of the list.”
They had learned little of this mysterious group referred to as The Alliance. The best he and Hamlin could tell, it was a group of dark souls that had banded together for some purpose. They believed the leader of this group, or at least a member, was a rather large dark soul by the name of Golyat. Christopher had finally set eyes on him deep underground, beneath the slums of Mexico City. He had briefly fought Golyat, and it was clear he was outmatched. But a lot had changed in the months since that encounter.
Golyat had a girl with him in the cavern under the slums. She hadn’t been a fellow dark soul. She had been mortal, albeit one with an unusual gift.
