“I’m sorry darlin’,” Markov replied with a bit of twang in his voice. “I thought that was implied.”
“Pig,” Karen said, holding back a smile. Sometimes Markov reminded her of the older brother she always wished she had. Karen had two younger sisters who drove her father nuts. She was always more comfortable with the boys and spent most of her youth doing typically ‘male’ activities with her father. There was no greater pastime for her than trading barbs with her partner.
The Taurus ran a red light and was nearly hit by a passing car. One of the police cruisers wasn’t so lucky. The car struck the cruiser in front of the passenger side door, making it spin around sideways. Detective Hall jerked the wheel to the open lane and floored it, honking her horn and yelling obscenities as she did so.
“Dispatch, this is 5-Henry Unit 3,” Markov said into the radio. “Accident at 2nd and Bryant, officer involved with injuries probable. Dispatch medical.”
Markov placed the radio into a cup holder and gave Detective Hall an incredulous stare. Karen wasn’t normally prone to road rage. She was known for keeping her cool. She gazed back at Markov with a curious expression. Markov could be pretty judgmental when it came to driving, but his car had been totaled not two weeks before, prompting him to get that mid-life crisis Red Mustang. He didn’t have any room to talk.
“What?” she asked defensively.
“It’s nothing.”
“Come on,” Karen incited. “You’re the one who goaded me to express myself more. Speak.”
“It’s just, have you been feeling all right?” Markov asked with concern. “A lot’s happened today, I won’t make fun of you if you need to let it out.”
“You’re busting my balls, right? Now is not the time to talk about this.”
Karen shifted her gaze from the road to Markov, who stared stone-faced back at her.
“I’m fine,” Karen assured him. “Once we get this guy I promise I’ll take a day off.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, I don’t want—”
Markov was interrupted by an audible growl emanating from Detective Hall’s stomach. She clutched her gut and let out a groan. Markov laughed.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.
“Must have been lunch.”
“Let’s wrap this up and go to that Mexican place you’ve been talking about.”
Karen nodded excitedly and took the radio from the cup holder, speaking directly to the only other police vehicle still in pursuit of the suspect.
“Unit 413, Unit 3, you have authorization to pit him.”
“Copy,” the officer replied.
The police cruiser accelerated and began inching up on the side of the Taurus. His car was a few inches past the trunk of the Taurus when the suspect broke hard and slammed into the side of the officer’s car. The black and white veered to the right, colliding with a parked car, inflating the officer’s airbag and crumpling his hood.
Karen tossed the radio into Markov’s lap and gripped the wheel with both hands. The suspect turned down a narrow side street with Karen right on his tail. After completing the turn, she rammed into the Taurus’ rear bumper. She would have called it a love tap, but the shock caused the suspect’s head to snap forward and back. Karen’s stomach growled again, this time causing a sharp pain along her left side. She hunched over the wheel and groaned.
The suspect slammed the brakes. Karen continued to press down on the gas, moving the red Taurus forward. She was hoping he’d turn the wheel and she could make him spin out. Out of panic, he did, and the Taurus turned around until it was locked between the brick façade of an apartment building and Detective Hall’s beat up sedan. They skidded to a stop.
Markov unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car, drawing his weapon and pointing at the Taurus over the roof of Detective Hall’s sedan. The door of the Taurus was ajar and the suspect was already 20 meters up the street. Karen stepped out of the car holding her belly, visibly disoriented.
At the head of the side street was an apartment building under renovation. The suspect tried the glass entryway, but it was locked. As he took a few steps back, Markov let loose a few rounds from his Beretta. One whizzed by the man’s head. He turned and stared at Markov with his skeletal face, hunched over in pain. In the setting sun his eyes reflected an unnatural hue. The suspect took a running start and burst through the glass.
Markov holstered his gun and ripped off the siren and light, tossing it in the passenger seat as he reached inside Detective Hall’s sedan for the radio. He pressed the push-to-talk button and held it close his mouth.
“Dispatch, this is 5-Henry, Unit 3. Suspect is cornered at 67 Bryant Street. Requesting additional units.”
Karen braced herself with the roof of her car. She cracked her neck and pulled her gun from its holster, checking the magazine and sliding it back in until she heard the satisfying click. Markov tossed the radio back into the passenger seat and shut the door with a loud clunk. The door was a little off its track but could still close, for the most part. Karen had been meaning to fix that.
“He’s got nowhere to go,” Markov said, holding a hand up to a feisty Detective Hall. “Let’s hold tight for backup.”
“Nothing good ever came from showing up late, I’m going now.”
Karen slid back the slide of her Beretta and released it, and then ran toward the broken glass door of the abandoned apartment building.
“Hell, let’s do this,” Markov said to himself, taking off after her.
16
1918 Hours – Day 2 – Summit Apartment Building
Detective Hall clicked her tactical flashlight to the ‘on’ position and held it under her gun in front of her as she entered the unfinished apartment building. Construction was nearing completion, but plastic sheets still hung loose where the doorways and windows were to be put in. There appeared to be only two apartments per floor in a layout that was decidedly vertical.
Detective Markov entered through the broken glass entryway behind her, huffing hard. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, holding a knee with one hand and his gun in the other. Cardio was not Markov’s strong suit. With his bodybuilder past, anything with ‘press’ or ‘row’ in the title was his game.
“Keep up,” Karen whispered. “I am not dragging your lazy ass up those stairs. And not just because I physically can’t.”
“Call me after five more years of this crap and tell me how you’re feeling.”
Being a homicide detective took a number on the body. Detective Hall had been shot in the shoulder, cracking the bone, shot in the vest on three occasions leaving monstrous welts, and had two of her fingers broken by a Mexican drug lord. Some of the guys on the force thought she was bad luck. She considered herself more of a high-risk quarterback like Brett Favre. Sure, she threw a lot of interceptions, but you couldn’t argue with her results. Although still a little green in some areas, she put most of the force to shame with her arrest record.
Markov pointed to the first doorway and said, “Let’s clear these rooms before we move up.”
“Take the left,” Karen whispered.
“I’m giving the orders here,” Markov said.
Karen glared at him with exasperation. Detective Markov was technically senior, but he didn’t have to go out of his way all the time to point it out. She was a perfectly capable detective and he needed to learn to respect her opinion.
Good luck with that, she thought.
“Fine, what’s the plan?” she asked sarcastically.
Markov hesitated, and then said, “You take the right.”
“Seriously?”
“Just go,” Markov retorted.
Karen let out a hefty sigh and pushed through the first plastic door covering. The entryway went right into the living room which was combined with the kitchen into a great room layout. The only light was from a bank of windows on the far side, and dusk was rapidly approaching. The apartment appeared finished except for carpet, d
oors, and a fresh set of paint. She inched into the living area, keeping her gun aloft and pointed in front of her.
She slowly turned a corner into the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom. Karen crept up to the bathroom door and turned quickly, her flashlight reflecting off the mirror back at her. Clear. She checked the bedroom last, the eerie darkness of the room prompting a chill to run down her spine. Clear.
Karen returned to the entryway, meeting a disappointed Markov.
“Clear,” he said.
“Clear,” Karen repeated. “Looks like I’m dragging you up after all.”
“How many floors did you count?”
“Six, I think.”
Karen could hear sirens in the distance, coming closer every second. For a moment they seemed to stop. She wondered if they were their backup or if they were responding to the accidents. Generally speaking, an injured officer would take precedent. Karen looked up the wood staircase and pricked her ears, listening for any noise that was out of the ordinary. It was a graveyard.
“What are you thinking?” Karen asked.
“I told you never to ask me that.”
“Oh, grow up.”
Detective Markov was referring to their conversation in the car two days prior. He posited that a woman couldn’t make it through one day without asking someone what they were thinking. He said it’s perfectly possible for a man to not be thinking anything at all. He said his happy place was a place of silence and reflection. Karen couldn’t remember ever asking someone what they thought. She once spent an entire day fishing with her father without saying more than ten words. She’d called it a wonderful day. Karen had meant to ask him what his plan was.
“What I think is we need to clear the second floor,” Markov replied. “If he were to jump from any higher, he wouldn’t get very far.”
“Lead the way, hotshot.”
Detective Markov ascended the historic wood staircase, a remnant of the old apartment complex’s original structure. The boards creaked under his weight. Karen giggled. She knew Markov was touchy about his weight. It wasn’t that he was fat. Markov used to be a pro bodybuilder and had very little fat until he got a hernia. After that he put on a few pounds and let his muscle dwindle. Now he looked like a washed-up ex-wrestler.
At the top of the steps Markov stopped and put a hand in the air, signaling Detective Hall to stop. He put a finger up to his lips and then pointed to the apartment on the right. They clicked off their flashlights and waited. After a moment of silence, they heard a creaking sound, muffled through the wall. They approached the doorway and Markov put a hand on the plastic covering.
“On three,” he whispered.
Karen nodded and readied herself for whatever was through the entryway. This was easily one of the more exciting aspects of being a detective. Anything could happen when she busted through a door. Yes, it was dangerous, but the job description didn’t exactly present the safest career path. She’d known from the start what she was getting into and it thrilled the hell out of her.
Markov whispered, “One, two—”
“Wait.”
Markov looked to her expectantly.
“Do you mean one, two, three, or one, two, three, go?”
“Always on three!” Markov whispered with exasperation.
The sound of a window sliding open behind them silenced them. Detective Hall spun around and pointed her weapon toward the opposite doorway. The plastic hanging from the entryway rustled with the bay breeze. Karen looked to Markov curiously.
“Split up?” Karen asked meekly.
“Now you’re asking permission?”
Karen grunted and tiptoed closer to the rustling plastic sheet. She rested her shoulder against the frame, ready to strike. Detective Hall looked at Markov, awaiting a signal. He motioned with his hand and then disappeared inside the other apartment. Karen took a deep breath and brushed aside the plastic sheet, turning on her flashlight and leveling her gun at the room.
•
Neil Meriwether gripped a towel rack in the bathroom of an unfinished apartment. He heard footsteps approaching and froze. The steps stopped short of the door. His heart pounded, beads of sweat collecting on his forehead before finding their way down his gaunt face. Adrenaline coursed through his body sending a tingling sensation to his extremities. Neil closed his eyes and tried to remember how he’d gotten there.
A parking garage, a crowded street, a police chase; they were singular images without meaning. I’m losing my mind, he thought. Confusion became anger, boiling his shrunken belly. He felt ‘The Other’ creeping inside his head. Neil didn’t fight it. He couldn’t fight it. He didn’t know what to do without it. In a moment, Neil was gone, replaced by something else.
He grasped the towel rack harder and pulled it from the wall. In a single motion, he stepped out from the bathroom and swung the rod at the detective’s head, connecting with a brutal blow that echoed throughout the empty apartment. The detective fell back, their weapon slipping from their hand as they fell. He stopped dead, sniffing the air, terrified. He dropped the metal bar and ran to the body, putting its hand over the flowing wound.
“No,” he said, aghast. “Why here?”
The detective’s eyes creaked open, dazed and glinting green in the slender light of the dusk. Neil hovered over the detective, bringing his face within inches of his own. He spoke in a tongue alien to Earth. The detective’s eyes widened. A noise from the other room broke his gaze. His head turned to the plastic doorway and then back to the detective’s waiting stare.
•
“Goodbye, friend,” the suspect said before he vanished.
Detective Hall lay on her back in the empty room, her skull pounding. Karen’s stomach churned. With a slight movement of her head to the left, she vomited on the unfinished floor. She had enough wits about her to know she had a bad concussion, but not enough willpower to move. She made her best effort to Markov’s attention.
“Marghof!” she shouted.
The suspect had said something to her before he disappeared. It sounded like clicking and a deep guttural sound from the throat. Something about it was familiar. Maybe she was watching too many of those bad science fiction movies on Netflix.
Moments later, heavy steps approached, brushing aside the plastic covering. Markov ran to her side and knelt beside her. He leaned over, snapping his fingers.
“Shit,” he said. “Wake up, Karen.”
Markov ripped a piece of fabric from the long-sleeved thermal under his blazer, pressing it firmly against her bleeding head. Karen closed her eyes and winced as he pushed down. She tried to get up but he forced her back down. The pain shot down the nerves in her spine.
“Don’t get up, your neck might be injured.”
Karen brushed away his hands and sat up defiantly.
“I’m okay, go after him,” she said, using her hands to keep herself propped up.
Markov gave her a concerned look and then nodded grimly. He picked up his gun and disappeared past the plastic sheet. Karen lifted the scrap of Markov’s shirt from her head and checked the wound with her fingers. The flow was slowing down. She pressed it against her head once more and tried to stand. Karen wobbled and held onto the wall. She took a few paces to the bathroom and turned on the light.
Staring back at her was the face of a woman beaten. The right side of her face was stained with blood and she could see her pulse pound on her temple. Her eyes were tired. Karen’s stomach wrenched and she felt a hunger unlike one she’d ever felt. A part of her knew that she needed sustenance to fix her body. But it was more than that. She had to feed her mind.
Karen inched her face closer to the mirror. Her ears began to ring, increasing in volume until all she could hear was the pounding of her own blood to the site of her wound. Her heart pulsated, causing her ribs to feel undue pressure. She cried out for the agony to stop.
Let me save you, a voice in her head said.
“No,” Karen screamed through grit
ted teeth.
I can help you.
“No!” she cried.
We’re on the same side, it pleaded. Let me in!
Karen closed her eyes and clutched her head with both hands. She backed into the bathroom wall, slamming into it with enough force to punch a hole in the drywall with her arched back.
“What do you want from me?”
To exist, it replied.
17
1931 Hours – Day 2 – Summit Apartment Building
Detective Markov barreled up the stairs, his mind a white-hot coal of fury, thinking through countless scenarios. He retrieved his cell phone from his blazer pocket and dialed dispatch. They were number two on speed dial behind Detective Hall. Number three was his mother. Detective Hall had to go and get herself taken out of commission again leaving him to do the dirty work. Fourth floor; from his count out on the street this building topped out at six floors.
Markov stopped on the fourth floor landing. In the distance he could hear creaks on the historic stairwell. The suspect was headed to the roof and he was running out of room. Markov continued up the stairs, his breathing labored. Maybe Detective Hall was right and he needed to do more cardio. It sure wasn’t like it was the old days.
He made it to the sixth floor just as the roof access door closed. Markov imagined it was going to be one of those swanky San Francisco condo buildings when construction was finished, complete with a rooftop garden or some other hippy thing. If it were his place he would prefer a couple of lawn chairs and a cooler of beer. Not that fancy beer coming out of the west coast recently with the puns in the name. No, he’d settle for the American classic. Bud Light; or maybe Bud if he was feeling frisky.
Markov turned the door’s handle and opened it a few inches. He half expected an ambush. Instead, he saw an emaciated man in a beat up wool coat and jeans that hung from his body like clothes on a line. He hovered at the ledge looking down at the street. The city lights reflected off the sweat on the nape of the man’s neck. He looked pitiful up there; like a man that had lost everything and had no place else to go.
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