Outside, traffic zipped by. People tried not to stop on East Hastings; it wasn’t one of Vancouver’s nicer streets.
The Summoner was taped under the counter to the left of the register. Her finger released the button.
She was fucked.
It was her duty to de-escalate situations to which she had been summoned. The man whose body she inhabited could have a family. People who might rely on him. People who could suffer if he took a bullet to the head.
The robber’s snarl fell away, his mouth dropping open.
The man she possessed had brown skin. That likely meant brown eyes. The rings around the pupils that indicated possession by an officer of the Assumed Control Unit were light-blue.
They would be as glaring as white paint on a chalkboard.
Sweat coated her face. She didn’t dare wipe it away. It collected in her goatee.
She couldn’t disarm the robber. Couldn’t move out of the way or duck behind the counter before he had time to pull the trigger.
The clerk should have handed over the money.
The robber closed his mouth and tightened his jaw.
“Let’s take a moment—”
The robber’s finger flexed. A flash of light swelled from the end of his barrel and whited out her world. Lead punched through her forehead, igniting a blaze that was thankfully brief.
Sarah awoke in her rig, sweat sticking her shirt to the hollow of her back. Her helmet was a vice. She yanked it off, neglecting to loosen the knob on the rear strap so that it pulled strands of hair from her scalp.
“Fuck,” she said. “Fuck!”
She slammed a hand into the soft plastic cushion on which she lay.
It wasn’t the first time she had failed in a moment of Assumed Control, but it never got easier. The situation had been hopeless. She hadn’t stood a chance.
That didn’t make it easy.
She checked her watch. Almost quitting time. Throwing in the towel would be acceptable, but it would ruin her day. Better to cleanse her palate with another summoning.
Sarah needed a win.
She slipped her helmet back on and accepted the next call.
White light washed over her vision. Three long seconds passed as her consciousness flowed from her body into that of a fit young man.
He was the type of guy who could take control of a situation. Body like a firefighter. Strong forearms, large biceps. A chest that could jump on command.
Why did he summon her?
“You are such a fucking loser! Am I not enough for you? People you’ve never met are more important than your fiancée?”
Sarah turned around. A woman stood before her, beautiful and furious. A PlayStation controller was in her hand, lifted as if to bludgeon.
Sarah was there to de-escalate. If nothing else, she could serve as a witness in the unlikely event he filed charges.
The woman looked to the Summoner in Sarah’s hand. Looked into her eyes. Recognized the blue rings.
“Ma’am,” Sarah began, “I am an officer of the Assumed Control Unit. Can we speak about—”
His fiancée shrieked in frustration. She hurled the controller into the stone mantle of their fireplace and stormed out of the apartment. Problem solved, at least until she returned.
How many times would an ACU officer be called to this apartment throughout their hopefully brief marriage? It didn’t matter; the man paid for their service, so they were obligated to provide assistance.
Sarah was about to relinquish control when she caught her own eye in the mirror hung over the mantle. The reflection revealed a handsome face with a sharp chin and eyes only a shade darker than the blue rings around the pupils—his pupils. Sarah rubbed her hands over the stubble of his cheeks, flexing his biceps, and running fingers over his abs.
She walked through his apartment, now running her hands over his things. The stone mantle, its rough edges like little teeth against her palm. The sharp corners of ornately framed photos depicting their doomed relationship.
What would it be like living this man’s life?
In his kitchen, Sarah opened up the double doors of their giant fridge. There was a shelf dedicated to kombucha and other health drinks—all organic, of course. This beautiful couple didn’t put anything toxic in their body. Something else must have poisoned their relationship.
On the top shelf sat the unhealthiest thing in the kitchen: a plate of tiramisu, thickly layered with cream and soft cookie. She took it out and sat it on the counter.
One of the benefits to possessing another person was that you tasted anything you put in your mouth while the body left behind dealt with the calories. It wasn’t professional, but it was harmless compared to the guys in the unit who she’d overheard bragging about the “racks” they’d felt up when assuming control.
The perks of the job were few. This man could handle a couple extra calories.
* * *
2
* * *
“You think Anderson knows his fly is undone?”
Sarah had been listening raptly when Otto pointed out the fashion faux pas. Anderson was large and commanding behind the podium. There was a sheet of printed notes on the clear surface, but not once did he consult them while introducing training courses in Krav Maga and Improvised Weaponry. The open fly undermined his competency and professionalism.
He gave the weekly briefing in the same, immaculate boardroom he always used. The constant lemony scent of Pledge hung in the air.
Sarah’s eyes flicked from his face to his pants.
“Ah, look at that.” White cloth with a red pattern showed between open zipper teeth in Anderson’s crisply pressed pants. “Maple leaves or hearts?”
Otto leaned forward, putting his newly Lasiked eyes to the test.
“My guess is maple leaves. I wouldn’t peg Anderson as a romantic.”
“Very patriotic.” She looked up. Anderson caught her eye. He smiled at her.
She smiled back and looked away, her face growing hot.
Among the Assumed Control Unit's fifty officers, Sarah was one of only five women. Instead of banding together, they all sat at separate tables in the packed boardroom to distance themselves from one another.
They wore baggy clothes to straighten curves. Hoodies and sweats. The unofficial uniform of the ACU. The other four women cut their hair short in conservative hairstyles, but Sarah wasn’t prepared to go that far. She had been growing her hair out since high school.
Her dark locks were one of her best features, and she hadn’t given up on love quite yet.
However, none of that mattered in the ACU; when you possessed someone else, you wore the body of whoever summoned you like a well-tailored suit.
It didn’t matter what you looked like, what clothes you wore, your gender or race. How strong you were. When you were called, all externals were stripped away and left in your rig. What remained was your mind. Your training. Discipline. That was all that was needed, all an officer brought with them.
Sarah brought her knowledge of boxing, jiu-jitsu, and conflict resolution into each encounter. Most people who purchased and utilized a Summoner were timid and weak. If Sarah couldn’t talk her way out of a dangerous situation alone, she was prepared to use their body to fight.
They feared injury. They feared death.
When she possessed these people, Sarah did not inherit that fear.
“In the few years the ACU has been established,” Captain Anderson said, “we have been able to take pride in the honour of our officers. Your record-keeping has been astounding, and we appreciate that. Performance in the field has been exemplary; most Assumed-Control situations are resolved in a professional manner with minimal casualties.” For the first time during his presentation, Anderson looked at the podium. “But recently we have been receiving some complaints.”
Sarah stiffened at Captain Anderson’s words, ice forming from the base of her skull to her tailbone.
They caught me.
Sar
ah dropped the pen she had been taking notes with. Her last call. The tiramisu. What if it was the fiancée’s? What if she’d come home looking forward to her one indulgence, and the empty plate in the sink pushed her over the edge? She was violent enough to have her outburst in front of Sarah. What was she like without outside intervention?
I’m fired.
She shook off the paranoid thoughts. Surely most officers did the same. It was a snack; it wasn’t like she cleared out the pantry.
“A local woman claims her jewelry was missing when she came to after a B&E,” Captain Anderson continued, his voice low. “She searched her house after the encounter and found them outside her first-floor bathroom. They were under a bush, presumably in a place where the offending officer could come back and retrieve them in his—or her—own body. I do not need to explain to you why actions like these reflect terribly on the department.”
His face grew severe. “Officers acting in a way not befitting of the badge will be summarily terminated and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. A great deal of trust is placed in your hands every time a victim presses that button. They relinquish consciousness with the hope you perform better in their body. The amount of trepidation they must overcome before activating their Summoner is something we can only guess at, and it is up to us to resolve the situation as effectively and professionally as possible. You do not have to deal with the ramifications of your actions after the situation. They do. There are ways to audit your calls, so let’s not go down that path.
“Remember your oath. Do not give my superiors reason to dismantle the program. You all know how valuable it is.”
Indeed, they did. How many times had Sarah and Otto shown up late to a call while working for the city police? Their cruiser reached too many situations where minutes had been the difference between life and death—minutes they lost in traffic, moments of mental agony sitting in a roaring car while they could only guess at the horrors occurring in the time between call and arrival. She and Otto jumped at the opportunity to join the new unit. It was a chance to make a difference. To save lives in seconds.
The officers filed out of the conference room after the speech, each one taking time to shake the captain’s hand as they left.
“Should I tell him about his fly?” Otto asked quietly.
“No,” Sarah hissed back, closing her binder and tucking it under her arm. “Let him be embarrassed in private. Have some decency.”
Otto rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay. Meet you in the ring, padawan. Got your gear?”
“Mhm. It’s gotta be a quick session though. I have a date tonight, and my Hot-Girl disguise takes time putting on.”
Otto chuckled and walked towards the door. He shook hands with the captain and said a few words before heading off to the men’s locker room.
“Forrester!”
She glanced over her shoulder.
Mark Taylor. He strutted towards her, shaker cup in hand and head held high as if the act of sitting through a meeting made him noble. Tall and well-built, another recruit from the police force. Guys like him had a hero complex. They thought they were God’s gift to mankind, like Superman sent to protect the city. He had a trendy blond haircut, long on the top, short on the sides.
I hope he goes bald. Sarah turned and began to walk off. He caught up easily.
“Why are you ignoring me?” His coy look of manufactured confusion seemed to ask, What reason could anyone have not to talk to little ol’ me?
“I’m not,” Sarah replied. “Guess I didn’t hear you.”
“Sure. What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m busy.” They reached the captain. Mark stepped ahead, transferred his shaker cup to his left hand, and enthusiastically shook hands with his superior.
“Taylor,” Anderson said, “They told me about that three-man mugging you neutralized yesterday. Great work, son. That’s the kind of story fit for the newsletter. A couple more of those and our funding should double, if not triple.”
Mark beamed. Those pearly whites shone like polished plastic.
“Thank you, sir. It was a little touch-and-go for a bit there. The woman who summoned me was on the older side. A bit stiff.”
“You’d never let a little thing like old age hold you back,” said Anderson.
They laughed. Mark stepped through the door. Just a couple guys, shooting the shit.
Sarah stepped to the captain, feeling like a dwarf before the tall man. He grasped her hand delicately, his large palm swallowing hers.
“Forrester. You’re off now, correct? I hope you’ve had a productive day.”
“Yes, sir. A teenager got into a fender bender but didn’t know how to trade insurance information.” She could’ve told him about the gas station robbery, but didn't want to highlight her failure. “Those possessions always feel like a waste.”
She had taken over the scrawny boy while a short, fat woman was in the middle of reaming him out. When the woman saw the blue rings appear in his eyes, her agitation disappeared, leaving behind only heaps of respect for the officer inside the boy’s body.
“Yes,” said Anderson, “but we are here to assist in all situations, life-threatening or trivial.”
Trivial was becoming the norm.
Sarah thanked the captain and walked toward the women’s modest locker room. As she approached the door, she felt a tap on the shoulder. Sarah turned in the direction of the tap but saw nobody. Rolling her eyes, she turned in the other direction to find Mark leaning against the wall beside the men’s locker room.
“Blow it off,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Whatever you’re doing tonight, blow it off. What can be so important on a Wednesday night that you can’t go out to dinner with me?”
“I have a date.”
“When?”
“Dinner time.”
He looked at his watch. “Come out with me now. I’ll buy you a smorgasbord so when you go out with the next schmuck you can act all ladylike and order a watercress salad or something.”
“You should talk to Anderson about these strategies you come up with. Maybe he can put you in charge of an all-female strike team. You certainly know how to talk to them.”
He smiled with the corner of his mouth. “I can’t talk to those bulldogs. They scare me.”
“Maybe I’ll blow off the seven o’clock schmuck after all and schedule an appointment with a barber. Would you still annoy the shit out of me if I had a buzz cut?”
“You’d have to put on about thirty pounds to get rid of me.”
“I’ll make sure to order the entire menu tonight then.”
“Save the schmuck that bill. Come out. If we leave now, we can still make happy hour.”
“She can’t,” said Otto. The door to the men’s locker room swung shut, air whooshing out of the room in a defeated sigh. He stood outside it, cinching tight the rope on his sweats. “We’ve got a date in the gym.”
Mark looked at Otto, then looked back at Sarah, raising his eyebrows.
“If you leave now, you can still make happy hour, Taylor.” She disappeared inside her own empty locker room.
* * *
3
* * *
Sarah panted as her blows landed like butterfly kisses upon the training pads Otto held.
“Who do you think the thief is?” she asked.
“Could be anyone.”
“If I got my hands on that asshole—”
Sarah swung extra hard. The pad moved an inch and a half.
Otto smiled.
“Seriously,” Sarah said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Who do you think it is? Think it could be—“
“You always want to talk about work.”
Otto swung his left pad at her head. Sarah ducked. His right followed, and she leaned back out of his reach.
The air smelled of fresh rubber. The gym had brand new punching bags, speed bags, weightlifting equipment, and state-of-the-art cardio machines. They had
it all to themselves, but Sarah was so focused that she wouldn’t have noticed a full marching band performing around the ring in which they sparred.
Otto’s arms barely moved as she sent jab after jab. Left, left, right, then a hook. A lock of hair came loose and fell in front of her eyes, but she ignored it, sending one inconsequential punch after another, never quite hitting as hard as she hoped. She longed for control over someone strong. To spar inside a body built for fighting would be heaven.
But Sarah trained for technique, not to build muscle. If she could be faster, if her reflexes could be better, maybe looking down the dark barrel of a gun wouldn’t mean defeat. Maybe she would have a chance.
She pushed harder. For the job. For herself.
Otto swung the pads at her head, one after the other. Sarah evaded, bending at the waist. When she popped back up, she led with an uppercut.
It connected with the pad, rotating Otto’s arm like a speeding windmill. Sarah gawked at it.
It finally moved!
The other pad was still in motion, however. It smacked her on the side of the head, sending her sprawling onto her knees.
“Oh my god,” Otto exclaimed, ripping the pads off and rushing to her aid. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Sarah replied, waving away his attempts to help. “My fault. I lost focus.” She stood blinking back tears. “You really got a swing on you, Otto.”
He blushed, looking at his palms. “I guess all the training is starting to pay off.” He laughed. “Where was all this a year ago?”
Sarah didn’t know what to say. Otto had been chunky as long as she knew him. His discipline had been scant. When they served on the police force, she frequently cleaned out junk-food wrappers from their cruiser at the end of their shift.
Ironically, it was only when his personal health stopped mattering as much that he started to improve his lifestyle. A month after joining the Assumed Control Unit, Sarah started seeing him in the gym. At first, he walked the treadmill, binge-watching Game of Thrones when people were around, and anime when they weren’t. Eventually, he started jogging, then mixing in dumbbell curls and bodyweight exercises. He ditched the specs and paid a doctor to zap his eyes to perfection. Before long, the pounds started to shed, leaving behind thick muscle and a happier man.
Howls From Hell Page 14
