I wanted to tell him no—it wasn't wrong. For me it wasn't, but then I didn't suppose I was built of the best moral fiber. After all—I wasn't exactly sure what I was anymore.
But it was also time for me to stop snooping. I opened the door again, making more noise, and then barreled forward.
Charlie Holmes wasn't what I expected.
I sort of expected an overweight man in a beat cop uniform. Something very stereotypical. Complete with several chins and a balding head. But the man who stood up from the chair I usually sat in wasn't anything like that. He was past sixty—that much I was certain of. Though his skin was remarkably unwrinkled. Oh, there were laugh lines around his eyes, which were kind and dark brown. His hair was salt and pepper, with more salt than pepper, and he was as tall as me. He was dressed in a regular suit— out of Sears, nothing fancy—and he gave me a genuine smile when he looked at me.
He offered me his right hand. "Lieutenant Charles Daniel Holmes." He winked. "Most friends call me Danny, but I think in this case you should call me Charlie. Less confusing that way. And you must be the new distraction in his life. It's very nice to meet you."
I took his hand, hesitating just a tad. Lately me touching solid human hands with my own wasn't a good idea.
And it wasn't.
The skull was there. The sign this man—this very sweet man—was going to die.
Damn it.
•••
"Captain Cooper called me, said he was being called in. Wanted me to come sit with Danny Boy here," he gestured to my boyfriend. "To tell you the truth, I didn't know this had happened. Oh, I'd heard about the incident down at the warehouse—but I never thought my Danny would be involved."
My Danny. I realized these two had a history—and in the short time I'd known Daniel, he'd never mentioned a man named Charlie Holmes. And, in a way, I was relived at not having to tell Daniel I knew his friend was doomed to die. The skull never gave me a time and a place—it was more of a marker that the death would be soon.
Once Dags and Rhonda came in, Charlie did his introduction again. He smiled at Rhonda, though I could see in his expression he wasn't quite sure what to make of her black hair, lips, eyes, and nails. And then he looked at Dags—and here he really looked confused.
Rhonda spoke up as she reached in her backpack and pulled out a pen and paper to hand to me. "Dags here is helping us on a—" she hesitated. "A project."
"Project?" Charlie shook Dags' hand, but kept his expression wary. "I thought Danny here said you were a bunch of amateur detectives?"
Amateur detectives? Shit...that made us sound like the Scooby Gang.
Well—I guess in Daniel's eyes, we were amateur. Pooh on him, though, for discussing us with someone we didn't know.
Rhonda was the one to answer. "You could say that."
Charlie seemed satisfied. "Sorry to surprise you like this—but I would do anything for the captain. He's a good man."
"So what's your association with Detective Frasier?" Dags asked in a very professional voice.
"I was Danny's mentor—sort of his sponsor when he joined the force. I was his first partner," he chuckled. "And the only one to survive."
Yeah, I remembered Daniel talking about his partner past. Not exceptionally good.
"We worked downtown for several years before he decided to go for detective. He wanted more out of the job—and he wanted a bigger salary. He was seeing that news reporter at the time, and I think she was having problems dating just a cop. She wanted someone with a higher profile."
Dating what news reporter? I looked at Dags and Rhonda, but it didn't look as if they were gonna ask that question, and I was busy holding hands with my man.
"So he made detective, and we sort of lost touch. He had that problem a year ago—with the one partner who got shot—and then Cooper called about this." He looked over at Daniel. "I must say, I never expected him to end up in the hospital. Though Cooper did tell me the doctor said he would regain full use of his leg again. Not sure if he'll be running after any skels for a while, but knowing Danny, he'll give it a try."
I pursed my lips. I had no idea what this man was talking about. What the hell was a skel? And did you spell that with a C or with one or two Ls? See, when you write out your sentences, those things become kinda important.
Dags said, "Are you retired?"
"Almost. Got a part-time job working several warehouses. Night watchman mostly. Very quiet, and I think I can do that for a while. I wanted to get together with Daniel and tell him."
"You have any kids?" Rhonda asked. She looked impatient.
"One. He was adopted. Trevor. He's in Japan, learning Japanese. Been there for several years. I'd wanted him to come home after my wife—his mother—died. But," he shrugged, "he's happy, and I can't deny him that."
I looked at Daniel. Did his eyes flutter? Would he be mad if I propped them open so I could see them?
"Zoë. We need to get back to the shop." Rhonda and Dags left the room.
I lingered a moment, looking at Daniel. I really didn't want to leave, but I also was wondering about what had happened in that loft. I was sure the second Shadow Person wasn't like the first two who tried to throw Dags and Rhonda down the stairs. But I didn't know why I thought that. They all looked the same—just shadowy little people. So—why the difference? Why were the first two mean and that third one helpful?
And how on earth could anyone think theses things were Brownies?
"Zoë."
I looked at Charlie. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at me with a strange intensity. "You go. Do what ever it is you do, okay? I'll be here with Danny. I promise. And if something happens, you'll know in here," and he put his hand over his heart.
With a nod, I leaned down, gave Daniel a kiss on his cheek, and left the room.
"I like him," Rhonda said in the elevator on the way down. She was looking at me.
I nodded. I could sense he was a good man—I just—I just wanted to stay here. I gave her a half smile, and the door opened into the lobby.
It looked like any other lobby with its marble and tile flooring—one half old, one half new. The industrial Berber carpet and the window-covered atrium. The registration and admittance desk was to the right as we moved to the front.
And then it hit me—an overwhelming need to curl up in a corner. I—I had never experienced anything like this before. It was like every fear I had, every inadequate thought about myself, every random thing anyone had ever said to me and hurt me came flooding back into my memory.
I put my hands to my head and stopped.
"Zoë? Dags? What's wrong?"
I had to get a hold of myself—'cause all I wanted to do was cry. I realized I was shaking, my head down. Oh dear lord, you're in a hospital with a track record. Get out before they put you in a bed!
"What the hell…is that?" came Dags' voice.
I did manage to move a few steps away from the center of the atrium, as Rhonda pulled on my arm. I looked up to see Dags standing in the center, his right hand to his head, his eyes closed. He looked like he was going to fall over.
Literally.
The feeling intensified as I felt winter air come through the front sliding doors. And another feeling came to me—this one stronger. A culmination of familiarity, of force, and of power. But this wasn't like the power I experienced before when this happened—this was a Ghost of something—sinister.
Of something almost primitive in its subdued rage.
Everything around me turned to gray at that moment—the injured and the well, the visitors and the doctors, as well as the furnishings and the sky through the glass. It was like stepping into a black-and-white movie, only the shadows around me undulated and moved, oozed and laughed, in whispered voices.
I was too shocked to be scared—though a scream would be nice about right now.
And there was color in front of me. Brilliant color. It was Dags, standing in the center of a ring of light, his hands t
o the sides of his head, his eyes closed. He was in pain, and there was a tinkling like a bell somewhere in the air. Everyone stopped moving.
Everyone. Including Rhonda. But not Dags and me. I looked down at myself and saw the same vibrant colors. What the hell?
The familiar presence was close now, and I looked at the front door. There was movement there, a subtle shape and shadow surrounding a tall, thin gentleman in an expensive suit. He walked with a strange menagerie of creatures trailing behind him—but not creatures the normal human could see.
But I could see them.
And so could Dags. His eyes were open wide now, and he was looking at them just as I was. But what was worse—they were noticing him. The creatures were—the odd shapes and tentacled things that trailed behind this human man. But the man—he had stopped in the doorway and was looking around for something.
"Sonofa—" came Rhonda's voice beside me and, in a blink, the world came back in full, blinding color. Rhonda was beside Dags, pulling him out of the atrium and into the side waiting room.
I looked back at the man—and he was looking directly at me. And he was smiling. It was like having Jason Isaacs leering at me.
Ewwwwww.
There was something else there, as well—that familiar taint to the air. It was almost the smell of sex, but not quite. Something I smelled in the morgue that evening when I woke inside of a drawer. Something I'd only felt when Trench Coat was around—
Too late I realized what I was staring at.
"Zoë!" Rhonda hissed at me from behind. "It's a Symbiont!"
-6-
His smile deepened.
No—couldn't be a Symbiont. It felt all wrong. Well, yeah, it felt right, but it was wrong. And what were those things around it? The things I'd just seen when that whole slow-down-time-John-Woo-thing happened?
Need answers here.
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. I stumbled with Rhonda as she pulled me into the waiting room as well, but I had to peek around the wall to see what it was doing.
"Doctor Bonville," a woman in a white coat dashed up to the Jason Isaacs look-a-like. He leaned down and turned an ear to her. I couldn't hear her whisper. But who cared?
I was still shocked. This guy was Dr. Bonville? This was the chief of surgery?
Holy shit.
Mr. Scary? No wonder all those people disappeared. If I had a boss like that, I'd disappear too.
"Get back here," Rhonda pulled at my hair, and I would have yelped if I could. I did swat at her where we hid behind the wall in the waiting room. That's when I noticed Dags was in a chair behind us, bent forward, his arms crossed over his chest.
I pointed to him to indicate What up with him?
"We need to get you and Dags away from this guy, pronto," she moved around me and peered behind the wall. I moved above her head and looked as well. I'm sure we looked like two bodyless heads floating along the edge of the wall. Dr. Bonville was moving out of the atrium but not before glancing back in our general direction.,
In fact, it looked as if he were looking around for something.
Rhonda and I ducked back behind. "Jesus—something about that guy is powerful. It's not him directly, but something around him."
I nodded. And freak'n creepy.
She moved to Dags and knelt in front of him before touching his cheek. "Think you can make it to the car?"
He nodded, but didn't look up. All I saw was a cascade of black hair over a leather peacoat. When had he taken his ponytail out?
What the hell's wrong with you?
He did look up then, and he was way pale—like Goth pale. "I —I don't know. I just —I'm nauseated. And my hands are burning."
Rhonda glanced from me to Dags. She pulled his hands out and moved them face up.
The tattoos were lit up like he had fluorescent bulbs on the inside of both hands. I glanced back around the wall—Mr. Spooky was gone. But the atrium still had that weird metallic feel to it. In fact, everything in the atrium had like a shadowy, metallic aftereffect to it—almost like a sheen. It was creepy.
I turned back. Dags' expression was one of pain, and he was holding it in. The skin around the concentric circles on his hands was red and puckered. I pointed to it and waved at Rhonda. "Summoning?" I managed to spell, remembering that book on sign language.
She nodded. "They're summoning circles—but I don't think he's actually summoning anything. I think he's being summoned. And it started happening the moment dark and creepy walked in. We have to get to Nona's. With her protections up around that shop he should be fine."
And, as if on cue—the way my life seems to be playing out lately—Dags sort of faded. Just —zzzzzip. Like someone reduced the transparency on him from 110 percent to like 70 percent.
Or maybe more like 50 percent.
I don't know why, but I felt I needed to touch him—although not like this. With another glance around to make sure we were alone in the waiting room, I sat down quickly and slipped out of my body, making sure it was semipropped up against the wall.
"What are you doing?" Rhonda hissed.
I waved at her to shush and reached down—now remember—the last few times I'd done this met with a bad end—for the other person. But the overwhelming need to touch Dags was incredible. Apparently, Rhonda remembered my Wraith touch and tried to stop me.
Her hand passed through my arm as I knelt down in front of Dags and touched his open palms.
Wind, darkness, howling, shadows—it was as if I were standing on a mountain top overlooking an apocalyptic scene of mass destruction. Only nothing in the ruins looked normal to me. There was nothing familiar. Only—
I saw his face—a face I'd never wanted to see again.
The Archer.
And he was angry. He screamed at me, as did all those little weirdoes I'd seen behind Bonville in the atrium, and they charged at me, over and over again, coming up the ragged mountain.
Then I popped back again, sitting on my butt in front of Dags—who was looking at me as if I were some sort of bug. At least he was solid again.
"I don't know what you did," Rhonda was saying as she reached around Dags' front and grabbed at his wrists. The marks on his hands were still there, but not as bright. "But it worked. Now get in your body, and let's get out of here."
I did as Rhonda said, sitting up in my body and dusting myself off as I stood. Looking around the wall again and seeing it clear, I motioned them to follow me. Rhonda helped Dags along with an arm beneath his shoulder—and in a hospital this looked fairly normal. So we moseyed on through to the front door and then across the walk to the parking garage. Once in the Volvo, I took the wheel while Rhonda held onto Dags in the back seat.
I sure as hell hoped she didn't put the moves on him while he was in this condition. That would be like seven shades of wrong.
But as we pulled into traffic she called out, "He's fading again!"
Shit.
I pulled over, and Rhonda and I switched places. I half pulled out of my body and resigned myself to enduring the weird mountain scene every time I touched him. The worst part of it for me was that every time I technically "pulled him back," those buggers were closer up the mountainside.
But I didn't see TC's face again. Only that first time.
So, what happens if they reach me before we get him to Mom's? I really didn't wanna know.
But with Rhonda's Speed Racer imitation, we made it to Little Five Points and up the driveway. Mom and Jemmy came out the door, the former in her blue caftan and the latter in that housedress. I slipped back into my body and realized the whole upper half was on pins and needles—like it went to sleep.
Weird.
Once Dags was inside—I noticed a weird wave in the air in the doorway when he crossed through—he was okay. The tattoos on his hands vanished, and he wasn't as nauseated as before. Mom offered him some tea, and Rhonda shook her head just where Dags and I could see (Mom's tea has been a little off lately). He took it out of k
indness, but then poured it into one of the plants in the Tea Shop.
Poor Ficus.
Rhonda gave Mom one of her highly detailed recounts of what happened at the restaurant with the odd-acting Shadow Folk and then what happened at the hospital.
Mom frowned. "Who's Charlie Holmes?"
Rhonda gave her a brief rundown of his and Daniel's history. "Evidently Cooper called him in."
"Well if Captain Cooper has confidence in him, I do too."
Jemmy interrupted. "So, Zoë here was moved same as Dags there. Only his tattoos reacted, and Zoë had to go all OOB and stop him from vanishing?"
Everyone nodded. Even Dags.
Dags waved to get my attention. "You saw them—moving up the mountain?"
I nodded. You did too?
"Yeah," he swallowed. "I—I didn't recognize where that place was. I mean—it didn't look like here. Like Earth."
And no, it hadn't. It had looked more like some wacko fantasy landscape in a Tolkien nightmare.
He didn't mention seeing TC, and for some reason, neither did I. But I knew my reasons were more personal. If I did mention seeing the Archer again, I knew my mom would somehow lock me away, terrified that the creature was going to change me into something else.
Everyone gathered at the table. Rhonda pulled out some day-old pastries and some iced tea from the fridge. I helped get the pot of tea (store bought) brewed and into a teapot. Mom encouraged Dags to eat and even sat down beside him. Tim and Steve appeared, looking extremely brighter than usual.
Mom took the documents from Rhonda and looked at each one of them. I snacked on an espresso brownie. Zing! I was gonna be high on caffeine later. Yow! But man—it was goooood.
"I think it's a set of contracts," Rhonda said. "For the Cruorem."
Mom nodded. I got the feeling from her rather grim expression that this was a bad thing. I sipped at my tea, wishing for a hot dog. Or even a salad with lots of grilled chicken. I was starving again. Those peanuts just hadn't done it.
Tales Of The Abysmal Plane (Zoë Martinique Short Stories) (The Zoë Martinique Investigation Series) Page 9
