Mendez Genesis

by Edward Hancock II

  She thanked Dr. Shepard and retreated out the front exit.

  As she got to her car, she retrieved the keys from her pocket

  “Well,” she sighed. “That was easy enough.”

  Opening the car door, Tina was rocked with sharp pains in her chest and abdomen. It came on so suddenly that she crashed into the driver’s seat, for fear of losing herself to the ground below.

  She grunted out loud, as she grabbed her chest. Were it within her power, she would have reached in and ripped out the millions of tiny miscreants stabbing her spleen with their viral ice picks.

  Her head began to ache. Her mind fogged. She thought she heard voices, but it could have very easily been delirium setting in. They could have been past, present or future for all she cared. Absolute or otherworldly. No matter. She struggled to concentrate on what the voices were saying if for no other reason than to try and block out the pain.

  “Baby” she heard. She distinctly heard the word Baby. She spouted curse words she hadn’t heard from her mouth in all her years of life. Between the pain racking her body and the confusion now filling her brain, she was growing less content by the second.

  I’ve got you baby. Ugh! That voice!

  It’ll be ok. I’ve got you, Baby!

  She cursed out loud. “I’m possessed by Sonny and Cher!” Her stab at humor did little to alleviate the sharp pains coursing through her veins.

  Growing weaker.

  Blacking out.

  Her vision swam.

  Light. Dark.

  Deep oceans of tears clouded her eyes.

  She slept.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE KEEPER

  Alex waited only a couple of seconds before gingerly raising his face to scan the immediate area. He grabbed his gun in one swift movement. It was only a single pop. Reflex had pushed him to the ground. Experience, however, had told him not to stay there, not without cover. As he scanned the surrounding lot, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. A couple of cars driving by here and there, but nothing that was likely to lend itself to an explanation.

  Alex remembered the two officers on the scene with him. As he sat up, he called to them. A swift cogitation revealed Chris Fields already standing erect, gun drawn as if half expecting a full-fledged fire fight to rain down any second. Alex motioned to him to get down, until he could be sure there was no danger.

  It was then that James Brenton emerged from his point of cover, behind a tree just 20 feet away from where Alex last remembered him to be standing.

  Common sense now told Alex that whatever had made the loud bang must not have been threatening. Probably not a gun, as no second shot seemed to be eminent. Anyone that was going to shoot at them would have shot at an open target, standing still, long before shooting at one hidden behind cover or ducked behind some pile of dirt. No real conversation was had as Alex checked to make sure that both officers were not injured.

  “Backfire?” James finally asked.

  “Either that or we’re all about to be in a world of hurt.” Confirmed Alex.

  “I vote for the backfire,” Chris chuckled.

  The uniformed officers waited for Alex to holster his weapon before doing so themselves. Working a homicide makes anyone nervous, but especially a couple of virtual rookies, one of which has an intimate connection to the case in question. Having rookies as his only immediate backup didn’t serve to ease Alex’s mind much either.

  After calming their nerves, Alex finally said “Ok, now unless anyone else has anything they want to bang on, blow up or fire at us, I’m going to head out of here.”

  Chris and James chuckled with Alex.

  “Heckuva way to start an investigation, ehh Sarge?” Chris remarked.

  “Heckuva way.” Confirmed Alex, still dusting his slacks and shirt clean. As he pulled away, Alex radioed in, letting them know he was leaving the scene to continue his investigation. From here on in, anyone needing to contact Alex would have to do so through his cellular phone. Might not have been standard police procedure, but Alex was tired. He figured anyone with brass enough to call him on his cellular would either be a superior officer or have a very good reason for costing him 25 cents a minute.

  * * *

  Jason Brenton’s room was decorated more in line with his physical appearance than his natural existence. His bed, neatly made, showed only slight tale tell signs of catatonic stillness. He had not moved since laying down on the bed. He had not spoken since James shut the door on his way out. He had not eaten, drank, or used the restroom. He had only existed. He had only continued to breathe, and he would gladly stop that if it meant having his friends back.

  He wasn’t one to lie to James. To his parents, sure, but never to James. Why now? Why?

  Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He lied for the same reason he’d labored to convince himself it wasn’t a lie. He lied because the truth was too unbelievable. When truth ceases to have reason, what else is left but lies?

  Lies. But not lies. The truth was his friends were gone. He had seen it with his own eyes. The sphere. The light. Pain. Black. Death.

  A single tear made its way down his cheek. It was an angry tear. A tear of futility. A tear of realization. Of confusion and clarity rolled into one.

  His mind filled with images. Snippets really. Foggy. Nothing to which his mind could take hold. Ric gasping for his last breath.

  Tony in the fetal position, then inexplicably convulsed almost straight-backed. The light. Ric calling his name. Peace.

  Oh the light! The beautiful light! The pain. The light.

  Ric. Pain. Light.

  Choking. Falling. Blacking out.

  He coughed himself back to reality. He could feel himself choking. He wasn’t sure what had frightened him more. The voices, the images or the sensation of having his soul torn apart. How else could he put into words what it felt like inside. The images still flooded his mind. The voices. The screams. Inside, he heard the voices over and over again.

  Death must come.

  He could not have heard with greater clarity if the source had been standing at the foot of his bed.

  Death must come. Death embraces you.

  A chill ran through his body so fast that he sprang, for the first time, to a standing position. In a millisecond of paranoia, he almost thought someone was in the room with him. Tears pouring, he moved toward the oak dresser near the foot of his bed. The bottom two drawers contained clothes. He wouldn’t need those.

  In the top drawer was where he would find his answer.

  Opening the top drawer revealed a collection of drug paraphernalia that would make even the most prolific drug user jealous. There were needles and syringes of varying shapes, sizes and lengths. Tin foil, a bent spoon and a makeshift pipe—disassembled of course, just in case his parents stumbled on his stash. To the untrained eye, this would look very much like an ambitious, if a bit contrived, teenager’s preparations for medical school. In his parents’ blind vanity, they would overlook Jason yet again.

  His mind crowded with faces. Faces he’d never seen before and yet faces he could swear he should know. Thousands of faces. Strangers to him. Tortured faces, twisted in the passionate throws of death.

  For a moment, he felt a sickening power inside him. It was as if he felt joy in the face of anguished shadows.

  Joy. But not his own. Whose?

  Looking into the mirror, he felt sick. Red, tear-soaked eyes, bruised deep from lack of rest. Pale complexion. He felt as if he were an anorexic skeleton, though he held all the healthy signs of an opulent life style.

  He removed his shirt, folded it neatly and placed it on the bed behind him. Taking another look in the mirror, he did his best to fix his horrifically tasseled hair. From the drawer, he retrieved a razor blade he’d often used for narcotic purposes. He knew he was too chicken to cut his wrists. Besides, he thought to himself, it would be too slow.

  Having removed his pants, he looked down at his naked body.
/>   He was looking with intent, not with the innate vanity taught to him by his parents.

  Slowly, he took the razor blade and pressed it against his inner thigh. A twinge of fear coursed through him, but it served more to give him a rush than to dissuade him from his destiny. He pressed a quivering hand deep into his skin, until the razor blade met the femoral artery. Deeper still. Blood spilled on to the carpet. Blood running down his legs. In a moment of delirium, he seemed to be leaking life.

  Leaking Life. He almost found purpose to smile at his profound analogy of such a perfunctory act.

  “Death must come,” he repeated, apathetically.

  The world around him lost all meaning.

  Death must come.

  And so it would.

  As the blood pulsed from his veins, he leaned back against the foot of his bed. Legs sprawled. His right leg resting to the side of the dresser. The left leg, bent, bleeding all the life from inside him. White hot pain surged through his lower extremities.

  Death. Must. Come.

  He breathed deeply. His head rested gently on the plaid comforter behind him. Death would come.

  He smiled.

  * * *

  His blood raged through His body, when he watched Tina lurch forward, falling limp into her car seat, as if she were a helpless child. The rumblings of the Ford Bronco grew louder. The radio lamented its screeching cry, beckoning to the outside world its monotone cry for help. The entire cabin of the Bronco was a glow with the cerulean depth of dissolution. Dissolution or resolution?

  Perception grants meaning to most things.

  “That’s it,” he hissed “This will only hurt for a second, My Love.”

  He felt Tina’s will struggling against his. Pushing harder still. He knew that Tina was growing weaker. “She must be growing stronger,” he said, thinking of The One that had stolen his pure victory last night. He scowled with confidence and growled. “I could destroy you, Tina.”

  But he knew better than to make that mistake. Tina was her vulnerability. She loved Tina. She cared for Tina. Tina was her weakness. Tina made the game fun. Gave it purpose. Gave him purpose.

  He growled, out loud this time. “I’ll save you for last. Or maybe I won’t. Decisions. Decisions.”

  * * *

  Lisa was staring out the window when Alex’s familiar blue Sedan pulled into her driveway. Dressed in jeans and a button up cotton top, she pulled her hair short hair back into a pony tail, just before opening the door. She knew she did not look her best, but it was her day off and even her partner would have to find it within his heart to deal with her frivolous behavior.

  As she opened the door, she caught a glimpse of death on

  Alex’s face. He appeared agitated to the point that she noticed he looked twice over his shoulder before he even made it to her front door.

  “Hey, Chica,” Alex said, with absent enthusiasm.

  “Glad to see you too, butthead,” Lisa remarked, giving Alex the look. For a moment, Alex stopped dead in his tracks, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond to Lisa’s face, let alone her statement. His gray complexion spoke volumes, but not in any language to which Lisa was accustomed to interpreting.

  Had he been anyone else, Lisa would have thought his feelings were hurt. But this was Alex. He should have known she was only ribbing him.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked him, turning to allow him to enter her foyer. He met her eyes and they told the story of something serious. She could not be sure what, but there was definitely something bothering Alex. Stepping down into the small living room, Alex finally spoke.

  “Star. Kiddo, be glad you weren’t there.”

  “Why? Haven’t they removed the bodies by now?”

  “Yeah,” Alex confirmed. “It wasn’t—I mean there was no—You know, I’m not sure that I can explain it.”

  “Ok. Well, how about you try the beginning,” Lisa laughed, gently probing Alex wherever he wished to take the conversation.

  Alex smirked, cupped his face with his hands, sighed and, looking back at Lisa, continued where he’d tried to begin before.

  “You know me, Kid. Been partners for quite a while now. You ever see me get bad shaken up by a crime?”

  “Well,” Lisa said “There was that incident with Ramirez, the chicken suit and the jar of Vaseline, but I’m pretty sure that would’ve spooked anybody.” Lisa was trying desperately to tap into Alex’s sense of humor. She knew that he was shaken up. She didn’t want to make light of it, but she knew that he would probably be more at ease if he was laughing. Distracted from whatever had affected him so. Reluctantly it seemed, Alex obliged her.

  “Ok, serious,” he finally continued “I don’t get shook. But for some reason, this whole thing just really spooks me.”

  “Spooks you?” Lisa asked “I don’t get it. What’s the deal? Are we looking for some new cyber-punk terrorist group with a bad attitude and a specific liking for cops and teenage boys or what? Now you got me paranoid, buddy. And you know I hate that stuff!” Lisa hugged herself, as if the clothes she had on provided little protection from the chill she felt.

  “It’s not so much the case—” Alex said, hesitating. “It’s—I gotta tell you, kiddo. It’s the people in it!”

  “I thought they canned Ramirez,” Lisa smirked, still hoping to ease the tension that Alex was manifesting.

  This time, Alex didn’t smirk. His eyes met Lisa’s with the sincerest edge of tension she’d ever known coming from Alex. As he sat down on her burgundy leather sofa, she eased in beside him and reached for his shoulder. “Ok” she said “Who in the world can freak you out this bad?”

  As Alex finally compose himself, he told Lisa of the connection between Jason Brenton and his brother James, the officer with whom Alex had almost bonded at the scene.

  “You mean someone actually survived a quadruple homicide?”

  Lisa asked.

  “That’s not the weirdest part. Have you ever known Lt. McAvey to put somebody in such a situation? A situation so close to home? That’s just wrong!” Alex slammed his fist so hard against the arm of the couch that even Lisa winced, though Alex hardly skipped a beat.

  “Well,” Lisa said, “Maybe he has some information, or maybe he’s just a good cop. Maybe both.”

  “He’s a freakin’ rookie!” Alex said, his eyes filling with an anger uncharacteristic to her cool partner. He sighed, cupped his hands to his face again and brushed his fingers through his hair.

  Finally it was clear why this had bothered Alex so much.

  She knew the story of his brother, Ted, all too well. She knew that Alex had waited more years than he ever wanted to before becoming a cop. She knew that he’d done everything he could, talked to all of Ted’s old friends, his old superiors, even as far as going to the mayor in an attempt to re-open Ted’s murder investigation.

  But, unfortunately, nothing was ever done. In a very real sense, this James, he made Alex envious. Reality was Alex felt cheated.

  “I think somebody needs a cup of coffee.” Lisa said, getting up and heading into the kitchen.

  “Oh, I’m fine.” Alex said “And besides, you know I can’t coffee. I like my caffeine cold, carbonated and rendered in a 20 oz bottle.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.” Lisa said, from the kitchen. “I don’t take well to being snapped at.” Her tone was sarcastic, but sufficient enough to let Alex know she was becoming increasingly unnerved by his emotional state.

  As she returned from the kitchen, Lisa encouraged Alex to move forward with the conversation.

  Alex moved close to her as she sat down. He put his arm around her and leaned in to hug her. Beer bottle in hand, she reciprocated.

  About to speak, Alex interrupted her. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

  “For being a total jerk.”

  “Ehhh . . .” she chuckled “I’m used to you.”

  Alex smiled. “Butthead.”

  �
��Love you too.”

  Just then, Alex’s cellular rang. All Lisa could hear was the occasional

  “Yes sir” from Alex coupled with the occasional “No sir.”

  And the ever popular “I understand.” When he hung up, Alex didn’t wait for Lisa to ask what the conversation entailed.

  “That was the Lieutenant. Jason Brenton tried to kill himself this morning.”

  CHAPTER 10

  AN OPEN DOOR

  The Lieutenant hadn’t wasted any time. The moment he found out Jason Brenton had survived his suicide attempt, he told Alex to make tracks to the hospital. He wanted the kid questioned by a seasoned professional. Of course, there was bad news as well. Though he hadn’t come right out and said it, Alex’s leadership on the case had been taken out from under him.

  Apparently, Alex had gotten the mistaken impression he was lead detective on the case. Ironic that he’d gotten it mostly from Detective Wilkes. Before their conversation at the crime scene, the whole concept of lead detective hadn’t even been a fleeting thought in Alex’s mind. Still, in the last few hours, he’d managed to get used to the idea of being “lead dog” on this case. Now to know that he was going to have to report to that idiot, Wilkes. A subordinate, nonetheless!

  He scowled “This day just keeps getting better and better!”

  “Easy, cowboy,” Lisa said. “Want me to go with you to the hospital?”

  “Would you?” Alex asked, sighing.

  “Just give me 10 minutes to freshen up and look more police-like.”

  “Hey,” Alex flirted. “You look pretty good from where I’m sitting”

  It was the first real joke he’d made since he’d been at Lisa’s.

  He needed the release. He smiled inside. There was nobody like Lisa. Nobody that knew him so well. That could control his thoughts, his actions, just by being in the room. Of all the women in his life that he’d loved, from mother to cousins to girlfriends, Lisa was the only one whose love came coupled with fear of its very strength. He would walk through the bowels of Hell for Lisa. Blindfolded, over broken glass, towing a dead body with a muddy rope dangling from his teeth.