by K. C. Finn
“Speak to me,” he orders Kendra.
She disobeys. Leroy thumps her sharply in the ribs and she keels over instantly. Kendra feels Leroy grab the buckle at the back of her mask, but a second barely passes before a gunshot rips through the air.
The bullet whizzes by Kendra so closely that she wonders who it’s meant for, and as another shot rings out she drops to the ground to take cover. The mass of men retreat in a panic back towards the glow of the circus lights, and Kendra catches sight of Leroy limping off towards the last red light as fast as he can manage. It seems the second bullet has found a mark in his thigh.
Footsteps coming closer alert Kendra and she rolls onto her back, finally able to arm herself with both her pistols. The figure from a moment ago has returned, but as he is illuminated by the red light, he lowers his gun. He offers a hand to Kendra, who takes it gladly.
“You,” she says instantly as she comes face to face with him.
“You’re crazy to come back here, mister,” says the young boy.
Kendra sees his bright blue eyes and remembers the pain that they were filled with the last time she saw them. He is the GRAVITY boy, the trap laid for Caecilius on their last circus visit.
“I guess so,” she answers in her best impression of Cae’s voice. “Thanks.”
“After how you tried to help me, it’s the least I could do.” The boy shuffles on his young spindly legs. “You could’ve left me, but you didn’t. You still tried.”
Kendra cringes a little to herself, knowing if it’d been her decision, she would have left the kid for dead in a heartbeat.
“Forget it,” she says gruffly.
“Are you here for the girl?” He asks suddenly.
“Girl?” Replies Kendra. “What girl?”
“The blonde girl, the prisoner,” the boy answers. “Jobe’s got her held up out there in the dark, between the lights.” Kendra sees his blue eyes narrowing into a grin. “Nobody knows where. Except me. I just served him coffee.”
Kendra tightens her grip on her guns.
“Show me,” she orders.
32.
Cae’s new right hand stings as he tears out of the crowded circus, searching for the first red light. He can feel the new skin bonding against his flesh as the anaesthetic starts to fade, like his fingers are covered in glue. He suddenly wishes he’d asked the red haired woman to do the left hand, as he realises he’s going to have little chance of keeping hold of his gun if he gets tackled.
But then he has always been reckless, Damian told him so many a time. And now he’d see what chaos that recklessness could really bring about.
Caecilius stops at the first red light, eyeing the distant path to the next one. From his jeans pocket he retrieves several little white powder bottles. Cae kneels down on the hard grassy ground and drops the bottles in front of him.
He uses his new hand to unbuckle his gas mask, holding it in place over his mouth. His older, gnarled left hand pops open a bottle of RESISTANCE. Cae takes a deep breath of filtered air, then pulls off the all-over mask. He swallows as much powder as he can before the toxicity of the air fills his nose, then shoves the mask back against his face for a few deep breaths.
Cae fumbles on the ground as he gasps in air, searching for the bottle of THRUST. He hopes for a moment that his assumptions of its use are correct, then he rips off his mask again and gulps down the whole contents of the bottle. He drops the bottle to the ground, and to his surprise it lands with a lot more force than he intended.
Gathering up the remaining bottles with one hand, Cae separates the single, small bottle of DEATH from the others, slipping it into his back pocket instead, nestled against what’s left of his cash. He re-buckles his mask and straightens it up, looking again to the next light as he gets to his feet. Then, out of sheer curiosity, he kicks the light beside him.
It goes flying much further than it should, confirming Cae’s suspicions that THRUST has given him a little more punch to pack. The detective unholsters his gun and takes off the safety, heading for the second light, and then the third.
Six red lights, the woman who sewed up his hand had said so. But when Caecilius Rex reaches the fifth light, there are no more to be seen. He wanders a little way into the darkness, listening carefully for any signs of life.
And that’s when he hears the gunshots. There are only two shots, and they ring from somewhere behind him, back towards the earlier lights and closer to the circus. Cae steps away from the fifth light as far as he can, crouching down in the dark wisps of smog.
Footsteps and voices come closer, and eventually two dark figures pass him by. He can’t see what they look like, but he’s certain they aren’t wandering out into the dark without purpose. Slowly and silently, he begins to follow the sound of their feet.
But after a few minutes Cae knows he’s been rumbled, as the footsteps quicken away from him and then suddenly stop. They are hiding. He listens hard in the dark, but he has lost the trail, and now he is alone again.
A quiver of dread runs through him when he looks back to find the last red light. Someone has extinguished it. He tries to see through the fog in all directions, looking for the neon glow of the circus stalls, but he is too far from them as well.
Minutes pass slowly as the detective tries to decide his best course of action. He wonders for a moment if the extinguished lights signal the arrival of the rest of the force back at the circus. If so they will be tracking his location; if he gets lost they will still know how to find him.
So long as nobody else finds him first.
“Don’t move,” says Damian from not far away.
Cae feels the reflection of a torch light hit his peripheral vision. His old chief is behind him to the right. The torch light moves over the side of his body, taking in his ruined skin.
“Drop your gun Rex,” Damian orders.
Cae obeys.
“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to see me dead, Damian,” he says, turning slowly to the source of the light.
The chief is barely backlit by the torch, but Cae can see the white light reflecting madly in his dark eyes. Damian’s hands tremble. One has the torch, the other a gun.
“Well do it then,” Cae prods. “Or is it not the same if you have to do the dirty work yourself?” The chief furrows his old brow, and Cae lets out a little laugh. “Vengeance doesn’t suit you, Damian.”
“What are you talking about?” Asks the chief, lowering the gun a few inches.
“Well isn’t that what all this is about?” Cae replies. “Getting me back because it was my bullet that Sarah leapt in front of?”
The mention of his sister’s name only causes Damian to point his gun lower still. “Sarah,” he repeats. “That was years ago, son. If I hadn’t forgiven you for her, you’d have been dead a long while back.”
The chief’s voice is hollow now, and almost hopeless. Cae’s tense shoulders drop in disappointment. Has he really got it wrong again?
“Then why?” He asks.
“There are forces at work well above the likes of you and I, Rex,” Damian begins. “There’s a much bigger picture than this petty little drug ring, and you’re just the type who could unravel it all. I know an awful lot, but I’m still only at the tip of the iceberg. And you know more than you should.”
Damian raises the gun again; aiming straight between Cae’s masked eyes. He takes a deep breath, and when the chief next speaks, it is with some regret.
“That’s why you have to die.”
33.
When the gunshot comes Cae nearly jumps out of his skin, but he finds a moment later that there is no gaping hole in the middle of his head. Damian is falling towards him, clutching his chest, gasping for breath. Cae reaches down and props him up, feeling the sickly warm trickle of blood coming from the chief’s upper back. He guesses that Damian’s lung is collapsing, and there is little time left, and nothing that Cae alone can do.
“Tell me this,” he says, holding the older man up
so he can hear. “There was a man in a white mask with a symbol on his head. He works for you?”
“No,” Damian splutters, his chest heaving.
“You don’t know him?” He presses, knowing there’s only moments to go.
Damian jerks his head in a violent no. He spasms against Cae, who holds him down.
“Redeem yourself chief,” Cae pleads. “Tell me anything. Tell me what you can.”
Damian slides to the ground, life draining from his gasping form. “She…” He begins, and Cae has to lean in over the dying man’s face to hear his last breaths.
“She’s not what she seems.”
Cae hears footsteps rushing towards him, and three figures lit by a lantern find him with Damian’s body. He looks up to see Kendra in his clothes, flanked by a young boy that he recognises, and a severely dishevelled Angelica Lane.
“Why did you shoot him?” He snaps at Kendra. “He could have told us everything!”
“I didn’t,” is Kendra’s shocked reply.
Kendra kneels down beside Cae and the body, and the boy holding the lantern sheds some light on the scene. Damian’s lifeless form looks up at the toxic sky through his mask. Kendra pushes his eyes closed.
“Oh God,” says Angelica in a flurry of tears.
“Where did you find her?” Cae asks.
“Tied up with what looks like Jobe’s getaway kit,” Kendra explains, giving a vague wave behind her. “We were just over there when we heard your voices.”
Cae just nods, knowing it must have been Kendra and the boy who passed him earlier on. Kendra gets to her feet again, but Cae remains beside the corpse of the man he once trusted. There has been no-one since the death of his mother that Cae could really say had tried to take care of him. He realises sadly that there still isn’t.
“We can’t stay here,” says Kendra gently, “the Pandas will be raiding the circus by now.” She tries to lift Cae under his arm to help him up, but finds him completely unmoveable. She tries again with all her strength, but the detective doesn’t budge.
“Did you take those powders?” She asks accusingly. Cae just nods. “Well get up,” she orders sharply in her sergeant’s voice. “You can use that chemical strength to arrest a few hundred crooks.” Kendra claps him hard on the shoulder.
“You’ve got a job to do,” she reminds him.
And at that Caecilius Rex rises to his feet, not because Kendra is right, but because her words have sparked his ever-sharp mind. He doesn’t have much to go on, but Damian has laid out a path for him to follow. There is a conspiracy to be uncovered, a secret fervently awaiting its release.
And somebody wants him dead before he can oblige.
“I’d really like to go home now,” Angelica Lane splutters in a broken voice.
“You’ll get there eventually,” Cae answers, starting to follow the boy with the lantern.
Kendra snaps her pace up to meet him. “You’re not seriously considering letting her go?” She asks. “She needs to be charged with something.”
Cae looks down at his new hand in the flickering lamplight, seeing that the stitches have turned black, just like the woman said they would. The raw, new is covered in blood, and it’s hard for Cae to tell whether it is Damian’s or his own.
“We’ve all done things we shouldn’t have tonight,” he solemnly replies.
34.
Dartley Police Station is a hive of activity for several hours after the circus raid. A huge number of bandits and thugs of all varieties are taken to various rooms and interrogated, and they are still being locked away when the sun begins to rise.
Amidst the chaos Kendra delivers a hot cup of coffee to her compatriot, who takes it in a gloved hand. Having exchanged outfits again, Cae feels like the world is slowly returning to normal. He handles the cup very carefully, however, as the effects of his all-too-impulsive drug spree have already caused the breakage of two vases and a telephone whilst he’s been trying to co-ordinate arrests.
“Those were some crazy wild geese we were chasing,” says Kendra, glugging back her drink.
“On the contrary,” Cae answers. “We have a new mystery to solve. I don’t intend to give up. I always find the answers.”
Kendra looks at him over her coffee cup. “Except once,” she says after another gulp of caffeine. “The acid one. I remember you said something about a case you never solved.”
“Ah yes,” Cae says slowly, considering Kendra very carefully.
The ex-soldier suddenly lets out a sigh of exasperation. “Was it the people who burned you?” She asks as bluntly as she can muster. “Did you never catch them?”
Cae nods slowly. “That’s right.”
Kendra looks away from his tired young face, satisfied.
“They also killed my mother.”
And she can’t bring herself to look back at him for quite a few minutes after that. Spinner appears with some forms for Cae to sign, so he signs them and chats casually about the night’s arrests until the disgruntled PC goes away. Cae then looks to Kendra, and takes in a breath.
“Did you ever stop to think about how Charles Brooks was murdered?” He asks.
Kendra meets his eyes then with a look of utter confusion. “That seems like so long ago now,” she says.
“It’s quite an unusual method when you think about it,” Cae adds.
The sergeant calls the old facts to mind. “He was drugged and dropped from a great height,” she starts.
“And burnt to a crisp,” Cae completes. “That part’s very important.”
He retrieves the first clue of the whole case from his coat pocket. The empty bottle of LIFT. Kendra stares at it, and he can almost see the cogs turning in her brain.
“It makes you float,” she says.
“All they did,” Cae explains. “Was tie Brooks up, and give him this.”
Realisation dawns on Kendra. “He was burned by the sun,” she suggests.
“Incinerated, yes.” Cae puts the bottle down on the table. “Until it wore off.”
“And then he came crashing down into the promenade,” Kendra completes.
“I worked it out a while ago,” Cae says with a faint hint of pride. “I meant to say to you about it, but there’s been rather a lot going on.”
Kendra gives her first genuinely raucous laugh in what seems like forever, and the gloom of the last week’s events finally seems to be lifted.
“At least it’s all over now,” says the soldier.
“No,” the detective replies with a shake of his head. “It’s all over for now. There’s plenty more to come.”
The pair let out almost simultaneous sighs. Kendra puts her head in her hands for a moment, but she is grinning a little.
“I’d understand if you didn’t ever want to help me with anything ever again, you know,” Cae says. She chuckles. “In fact, I’d understand if you wanted to move to another town entirely and pretend we’d never even met.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kendra says, raising her head again. “I live for the mission. This is exactly what I’m built for.” She stands up, offering Cae her hand in a mock gesture. “Seriously detective, where do I sign up to do this every day?” She asks.
Cae claps her shoulder in what should have been a gentle gesture, one that instead pushes Kendra violently back into her chair. The soldier just laughs.
“Perhaps we should do the sign up when you’re a little less under the influence?” She muses.
“Good idea,” he agrees. “I think I’ll get out of the way until I’m less of a danger.”
And Kendra watches Caecilius go, sincerely hoping that nobody tries to kill him again for a good long while.
35.
When Caecilius Rex finally reaches the sanctuary of his little office, he is much more than disappointed to find a man sitting in his chair. He’s been hoping for a little solace, of course, but the markings on the old man’s uniform tell him he’s not going to get it just yet. Cae’s blue eyes take in the badges a
nd chevrons and stars in a heartbeat.
“Good morning commissioner,” he says.
“Detective Rex,” says the old man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”
The man rises from the desk and offers his hand with a kind smile. Cae gives it his usual brief shake, and the police commissioner steps around the desk.
“Sorry about usurping your throne there, Rex,” he says. “It just looked awfully comfortable to these old bones. I’m Commissioner Hardy, but please call me Max.”
Cae leans on his desk weakly for support. “I’d say call me Caecilius, but I suspect you’d prefer just Rex,” he answers.
Hardy lets out a little laugh. After a moment he takes the chair opposite Cae’s desk, and the detective settles himself into his own leather seat.
“Mad times we live in, eh?” The commissioner observes. Cae just smiles, finding it hard to hide his growing impatience for some peace and quiet. “But we have to move forward, don’t we Rex?”
“Not much choice about that, sir,” is his answer. Cae supposes to himself that he knows where this is the going, and old Hardy’s next words confirm his suspicions instantly.
“We have to bring in a new chief of police,” says Hardy, “and as soon as is humanly possible.”
“I quite agree,” says Cae. “Just try not to employ someone else who’s got it in for me.” He regrets the glib tone almost as soon as it leaves his mouth, but perhaps it’s better for the commissioner not to know how much Cae will grieve for Damian in the coming days.
“Heavens no, boy,” says the old man with another kind smile. “I’ll do my best not to. Though I would never have guessed things would end up like this for old Damian. He was a good man, once.”
Cae nods. “I remember,” he replies quietly.
“So to business then,” Hardy chortles. “How do you fancy it?”
The commissioner gives a wide grin. Cae just blinks blankly.
“Fancy what?” He asks.
“The job, lad!” Hardy claps an old hand on Cae’s desk. “Young blood, that’s what this town needs. And you’re a born survivor, Rex, that much is clear.”
Cae starts to shake his head slowly as he forms his words. The grin on Hardy’s face fades off a little.
