by Rach Elle
Junior grumbled, “You know the more you talk like this the less I want to help you.”
“I know; I figured that out the first time I tried to tell you any of it at West Coleman. You shut me down before I could even mention the destroyer; but the fact is you owe me one. I watched over your Responsibility for eleven years without any hesitation. Now it’s my turn to ask something big of you. I don’t care if you don’t believe any of this right now, but I’m asking you to protect the girl.”
Junior couldn’t argue. His friend did help him eleven years ago with no questions asked. It was time he did the same. There was no way he’d be able to go along with this fantasy, as eerie as it was, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t honor the favor his friend had so outstandingly deserved. He looked Kingsley in the eye. “Let’s find her first.”
The shifters headed back into the living room where Elizabeth stood watch at the window. “No sign of anyone.” She announced. Junior stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. He surveyed the space, trying to find anything out of place; other than creepy writing all over the walls, of course. His eyes landed on the end of the davenport where a book was propped. It had a small, white book marker sticking out of it two-thirds of the way through. He reached out and grabbed the book and flipped to the marked page. A torn painting of an anorexic, hairless gargoyle with large round eyes stared back at him. He crinkled his nose at the ugly creature before redirecting his attention to the bookmark. He lifted it to see it was a business card and read it aloud. “Sunders Harper: DAA Finders Division.”
“What?” Kingsley sharply turned and snatched the card from Junior’s hand. “Shit.” He breathed.
“What? Do you know this guy?”
“No, but I know of the DAA; The Dark Angel Alliance.”
“Sounds like a bunch of nellies.”
“Not exactly; they’re an underground group that believes in supernatural beings. They believe themselves to be the only protection the human race has against us.”
“Are they legit; a real threat?”
“The Finders – no; they’re the ones that sit behind computers and bury their noses in books. They try to locate where supernatural activity might be happening in the world; but once they find any they call in the Protectors. They’re the ones to worry about.”
“What do the Protectors do exactly?” Junior asked, suddenly feeling concern for the safety of the girl.
“They’ll do whatever it takes. At first they simply captured for study to learn how to co-exist; but in the last half century their methods have become bloodier and their trigger fingers itchier. I remember when they first started a little over a hundred years ago. They publicly released their mission statement and were crucified almost immediately. Some thought they were crazy for thinking supernatural beings existed and others thought they were evil for thinking co-existence was possible. There were numerous attacks and some of the members were found burned at the stake ala witch hunts. It wasn’t long after that the organization disappeared from the public eye. I almost thought they were gone completely.” Kingsley looked at the business card again. “Apparently I was wrong.”
“So where did they take the girl?” Junior asked.
Kingsley read the bottom line of the business card. “London, England, looks like. It’s probably where the Finders are primarily located; but we have to expect Protectors to show up too; and that’s when we’ll need a little help.”
“And who the hell is going to help us; I don’t know anyone in England.”
Kingsley thought for a moment. “I used to keep in touch with other shifters. I had a fairly large circle of friends, actually. When they started dying off, however, I lost touch with their descendents; but there was one family in London that was particularly well off; the Vanderburens. A family like that is based off of inheritance. I wouldn’t be surprised if the current heir to the family fortune is living in the same house. Even if his generation doesn’t carry the shifter gene he should still be alive; very old, but alive.”
Thunder sounded in the night sky and rain drops began splattering against the front window. “We better go now.” Kingsley said. “We don’t have much time before your picture is released to every airport.” He looked to Junior with urgency. “It’s now or never, kid.”
9
Awilda had never been outside of the country before; but thanks to Sunders Harper she was now standing in the middle of the Heathrow airport in London, England. Her hair was matted to her face after grueling travel, a long layover and jet lag from the time change. She hadn’t slept at all; whether it was due to anxiety or fear, she didn’t know. She had officially been off her medication for forty-eight hours and undoubtedly the moment she closed her eyes to sleep her monsters would ravage her dreams.
She felt exhausted as she stood at the baggage claim surrounded by a large crowd of travelers. She wrapped her arms around herself and huddled next to Simon as much as possible. Thankfully he didn’t mind the contact. He willingly held her close. She still wore her blue scrubs from Bain Asylum but covered them with Sunders’ long trench coat he’d brought with him overseas. She supposed if anyone had questions she could tell them she was a nurse. That was probably a better story than an escaped asylum patient anyway.
Simon and Awilda followed Sunders through the airport and into the cold early morning air. Shortly after, a taxi pulled up beside them and they all climbed inside. Sunders gave the driver his address and the cab took them across the city to an older, rundown neighborhood. The apartments looked worn and the cars parked along the street were cheap. The one streetlamp flickered every now and then, begging for a change of bulb. The car stopped alongside the sidewalk in front of a ground floor apartment with a large picture window facing the street. All three passengers emerged and Sunders paid the driver. He met the girl and the doctor on the sidewalk in front of his flat and inhaled deeply the crisp, heavily fogged London air.
“Home sweet home,” He smiled and led the other two through his front door.
Sunders’ flat was a small one bathroom studio. He had his desk sitting in front of the picture window, a queen sized bed across the room from a dresser – slash – television stand, a large wing chair with ottoman in the back corner and the tiniest kitchen Awilda had ever seen in the opposite corner. The place looked recently cleaned, as if Sunders had been expecting company all along; but overall it lacked warmth. The walls were stark white and sporadically cracked. The ceiling light fixture was covered in cobwebs and half of the cheap wood cabinetry missed their hardware. Even with a made bed and vacuum lines on the carpet the space still felt cluttered and forgotten.
“Make yourselves at home.” Sunders said. He turned to Crisp, “You and Awilda can have the bed. I’ll take the chair.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Awilda declined.
“Nah, it’s alright. I sleep there half the time anyway.” It was his usual drunken resting place. Too many times he’d woken with a hangover in that chair.
Crisp surveyed the studio apartment. “I take it you live here alone.” He crinkled his nose at the layer of dust on the wooden work desk.
“Aye, just me,” Sunders began sifting through his dresser for a change of clothes.
Crisp peered into a desk drawer that was slightly ajar. His eyes landed on a framed photograph. “Who’s this?” He asked as he fetched it.
Sunders looked toward the doctor and could feel his body turn ice cold and rigid. He didn’t like people invading his privacy. The picture was put away in a drawer for a reason. In a low, monotone voice, he answered. “That’s my son.” He returned to his dresser.
“What’s his name?” Awilda asked as she sat innocently on the edge of the bed.
“Max.”
“How old is he?”
“Eight.” Sunders grumbled.
Crisp was intrigued by the man’s sudden change in demeanor. “And where is your wife?” He prodded further.
Sunders slammed the dresser d
rawer shut and headed over to Dr. Crispin. He grabbed the photo and placed it back in the drawer before shoving that shut too. “She’s in Scotland.” He answered. He turned and headed for the bathroom to change. “She moved back there after the divorce.”
Sunders stood in his tiny bathroom with his hands on his hips. He was upset with the doctor’s snooping but knew he couldn’t let on. He needed Awilda to trust him and she wouldn’t do that if he continued to slam drawers and storm off every time he was asked a question about his personal life. If he didn’t get his act together soon he could lose this chance to capture a true gargoyle and be on his way to the brew in no time.
The Scotsman sighed. No one except him had been in his flat for years. He wasn’t used to the lack of privacy the small space had to offer. But he needed to get used to it; fast. For now, however, he was still fuming. He ran the tap, splashed his face with water and stared at his aged, tired expression in the mirror. He was looking a bit craw; his eyes inhuman; dead to the world. He needed to sleep but unfortunately now was not the time. He grabbed a towel and dried his face.
Moments later Sunders emerged from the bathroom in a pair of jeans and a wrinkled black button up. He grabbed his keys, “I have to run down to the office for a bit.” He announced. “Feel free to get washed up and get some sleep. The sun will be rising in a couple of hours so I suggest lowering the blinds.” Without any objection from his two new roommates he walked through the front door and began his four block trek to the DAA’s office.
Crisp locked the door after Sunders left and followed his suggestion of lowering the front window blinds. He headed over to the luggage Sunders had checked and brought with him to and from the states. He opened it and sifted through until locating the handgun he’d stashed before arriving to the Seattle airport.
“What’s that?” Awilda asked.
“A gun from Tomlin’s office.”
“You brought one?”
“All this guy had was a tranquilizer. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have some real bullets too.” He checked the rounds to make sure the gun was fully loaded. He locked them back into place and put it in the waistband of his slacks. “Why don’t you take a shower; I’ll keep watch.”
10
Sunders reached the front entrance to the DAA office building and unlocked it with his personal set of keys. The name above the door read ‘United Financial’; the accounting firm that cloaked the Dark Angels. The team members that worked on the first two floors had no idea about the underground operation they were masking. They believed the rest of the building to be offices of the corporate hierarchy. They looked at Sunders like he was an important man when he walked through the foyer. The receptionist often smiled and batted her eyelashes as the bigwig walked by and greeted her. If he was in a particularly good mood he’d make a joke about the daily grind and she’d force a giggle. But he wouldn’t have to bother with small talk today. It was much too early for her shift.
Sunders should’ve been excited. He should’ve had an extra spring in his step; instead he was in a losing fight with a bout of depression. Damn the doctor. It took him only minutes to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. What questions would be waiting for him when he got home, he wondered. Maybe burying his nose in some work would take his mind off of things. He had a lot to do and a short amount of time to do it in.
He took the elevator to the fourth floor. He headed down the dimly lit, carpeted hallway past the break room and lounge area. He poked his head into an office where two young men were poring over a map spread over a desk. He wrapped his knuckles against the door frame. “Still here at his hour?”
The men looked up from the map and smiled. “Well that was fast.” One of them observed. “No luck?”
“Actually, quite the opposite.”
“You found one then?” The one holding the protractor asked.
“Let’s just say we’re closer than we’ve been in a long time.” Sunders smiled. “How’s the banshee hunt going?”
“Not well I’m afraid. We had a bead on one for a while but the activity has backed off.”
“Well I’m sure something will turn up.” Sunders turned to leave. “You two should go home. Get some rest.”
“Cheers.” The two men called after him.
Sunders made his way further down the hall and reached his team’s office. He peered through the crack in the door to see the space empty. It was still early; his team wouldn’t arrive for a number of hours. He continued one door further and opened it into his personal office. He closed himself in and walked through the dark space to his desk and turned on his table lamp. It barely lit the space, but he was used to it. All he needed sat on or inside his desk anyway, and for that the lamp was perfectly adequate.
Sunders sat in his computer chair and turned on his laptop. As he waited for it to power on he scowled at the underwhelming existence of his small office. There was a time, at their inception, when The Dark Angel Alliance was funded by the wealthy elitists who could be frightened into throwing money at just about any cause. That was a century ago; long before Sunders ever signed onto the task force. Now no one really knew who funded the DAA anymore. There were rumors that some eccentric billionaire who still believed in their mission signed the checks; others were naive enough to believe United Financial made enough money to support the entire underground coalition. Sunders knew that to be impossible, however, as the DAA extended much further than the Finders division and this one little office building.
Sunders ran the mouse across his computer screen until he located the file ‘Reimbursement’. He printed the form on which he would later enter his rental car price with mileage and the cost of his airfare along with the price for two additional one way tickets from Seattle. Under ‘Additions’ he would make sure to list the extra cost of two expedited, forged passports that he needed to smuggle Awilda and her doctor into the country. In the end he would sign the form and submit it for review and possible reimbursement. He was sure this venture would be seen as an essential one to the DAA and he would get his money back on his next paycheck.
The next folder Sunders located was titled ‘Claims’. He printed the document and prepared himself to fill in the blanks with as much detail as possible. He needed the assistance of the Protectors to control the gargoyles he’d hoped would follow him half way around the world.
The Protectors were a faction of the DAA that were spread all over the globe. They were split into smaller groups to investigate local notions that Finders might have. Only if they found more than expected would they call on the help of Protectors in other locales. The claim form would request the assistance of the Protectors in the U.K.; and only if it seemed worthy of resources would the division act upon it. Sunders wasn’t sure where the team was at the moment. They could be up in his homeland of Scotland for all he knew, but he hoped they’d respond quickly to his claim; despite the last one he’d submitted.
Egypt had been on the radar in the search for gargoyles for years. Legends of the creatures originated there; too many for coincidence. When reports began to surface of monster sightings in Cairo Sunders knew he had to investigate. He called on the Protectors in the Middle East who responded almost immediately and agreed to aid him on his search. Unfortunately, no monsters were found. Sunders did, however, stumble upon ancient hieroglyphics that supported one of the many legends; a gargoyle was revealed to the princess and in an act of horror and disgrace she ordered her people to stone him to death. The carvings fascinated Sunders and made the trip well worth the trouble. The Protectors, on the other hand, did not feel the same way.
As a whole the Protector division was rash, violent, rude, and tactless. They thought of themselves as the be-all-end-all when it came to the DAA. Often times they turned up their noses at the Finders, calling them book worms and paper pushers; but without people like Sunders they would have no leads and no direction. Still, the Protectors didn’t like it when a Finder wasted their time, and they made damn sure Sunders k
new it. He didn’t believe any of them would go so far as to hurt him, but he couldn’t be too sure. They were a group that prided themselves on being rogue; lone warriors. There was no telling what they were really capable of.
Sunders inhaled deeply as he finished his claim form, knowing he wouldn’t be wasting anyone’s time with this one. This time he was armed with bait.
After carefully reviewing his plea he was ready to run his claim up to the sixth floor for processing, but no one would be there at his hour. No matter. The idea of facing some of the analysts made him cringe anyway. They had denied his claims in the past; refusing to send them to the Protectors, and rightfully so; after he staked out in front of Westminster Abbey for a week straight he didn’t find a shred of evidence. When he returned from Paris he still had way more questions than answers. When the ladies on the sixth floor had finally forwarded one of his claims; the claim for Egypt, and it turned up nothing, he felt like a joke; like they were laughing at him. He was still embarrassed and grateful he would have to fax in this request instead.
The fax machine squealed and groaned as it sent his document through. Normally Sunders would wait for a confirmation but he was too tired to stand any longer. His depression began weighing on him heavier and heavier the more he thought about his reputation. Too many people saw him as the boy who cried wolf; or gargoyle as was the case. Sluggish and disheveled, Sunders returned to his computer chair and pulled up the internet on his laptop. He entered in three letters in the search engine before it auto-populated the website he wanted. After logging in and entering his search criteria, an image appeared on his screen. It was a vast landscape too distant to make out any details. He zoomed in on the exact location. Then zoomed in again, and again, and one more time before the shingled roof of a house in his hometown of Glasgow came into view. It was still nightfall; the sun wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours. He watched intently for some movement but couldn’t see any sign of life. He silently cursed himself. Of course no one would be up at this hour. He was an idiot to think otherwise. Pissed off at himself and at the time of day he slammed his laptop shut and lowered his head to his desk.
