Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns

by Andrews, Christopher

  “No, nothing like that, I don’t think. Not exactly, anyway. I guess maybe it’s the ‘ick’ factor around the whole thing. That those rogues were involved in, you know, sex trafficking, with a paranormal twist.”

  Callin nodded. “Yes, it was disturbing. But we stopped them.”

  “But this isn’t the only incident like that lately. It feels like a lot of this disturbing stuff has been going on for a few weeks now ...”

  Callin nodded again, slower this time. “Yes. Yes, since you bring it up, I have noticed this as well.”

  On that note, they both fell quiet, sharing their comradery but each slipping back into their own thoughts. Thanks to Lieutenant Takayasu, they were not only privy to their own exploits, but also had information on crimes to which the general public did not have access.

  Since becoming Vortex two years prior, Steve had grown accustomed to bank robberies and other predictable, almost banal crimes committed by the superpowered rogues. But the stuff that had been going on lately involved paranormals who had not gone rogue — or, at least, who had no prior criminal records as such. Some of them were even well-respected citizens within the paranormal community.

  The first indication that something unusual might be occurring was when, out of nowhere, the incidents of paranormals committing rape or attempted rape quadrupled — and that was just the ones that were reported. It was as though, over the course of about a week, a huge number of paranormals — again, with no prior criminal records — had suddenly gone off the rails and turned into sexual predators. Steve and Callin had seen evidence of this with their own eyes.

  The week after this disturbing trend began, a paranormal therapist who could generate tailored pheromones — a renowned caregiver who specialized in using her unique ability to help treat patients suffering from PTSD — apparently woke up one morning and found she got a thrill out of making her patients worse, rather than better. Over a ten-day period, she had caused six patients to commit suicide before the authorities realized they were dealing with a crime for the PCA. Shining Star was instrumental in her arrest because her pheromones had no effect on his Taalu physiology.

  Then a paranormal nurse, who could not actually heal injuries like Davison Electronics’ employee, Jeremy Walker, but who could help regulate a patient’s bodily functions, started choosing which patients were “worthy” or “unworthy” of living. And, once discovered, it turned out he was basing their “worthiness” upon how physically attractive they were — those who looked like male or female models, he saved; those whom he found less aesthetically appealing, he pushed toward death.

  Next, a paranormal party clown who could generate a variety of amusing sounds from his hands and feet, and who was known for entertaining children at hospitals and elementary schools, got frustrated when a cafeteria of Kindergarteners through third-graders were ignoring his act. So he started producing subsonics that caused vomiting and/or diarrhea in the kids ... then the school staff members who tried to stop him ... then the police and PCA agents who arrived at the scene. Vortex and Shockwave had worked together to take the perpetrator down from a distance, but four of the youngest children died from the event — three from internal trauma and sudden extreme dehydration, one from a brain hemorrhage.

  And, of course, the latest in this month’s dark parade was today’s paranormal sex-ring. These people, at least, were mostly known rogues, having run afoul of the PCA at one time or another, and the authorities had no idea how long the group had been taking advantage of the situation with this particular brand of “the Church of the Seven Stars.” Six months? A year? Only time and investigation would tell. But it was over the past few weeks that the rogues, led by that shadow-controlling asshole, had gotten greedy — instead of kidnapping one or two church members here and there, they started abducting a dozen at a time. Their actions tipped off the PCA, leading to Lieutenant Takayasu’s setting up today’s sting operation.

  So far, the PCA had managed to keep the bulk of these recent, ugly crimes out of the news, in hopes of avoiding copycats or other provocations — the public at large had little idea about any of this. And yet, something sure had been stirring things up in a nasty way.

  Would today’s victory mark the end of whatever had been going on? Were they past the worst of it? Steve hoped so ... but his gut was telling him otherwise.

  “What do you think?” he asked Callin, sharing these latest thoughts. “Do you think we’re past the worst of it? Do your people have, you know, intuition or gut-feelings about this sort of thing?”

  Callin turned his eyes to the ceiling, his silver irises catching the lights as he considered his answer. “Traditionally, no. The Taalu dismissed anything remotely resembling ‘precognition’ centuries ago. But since the conversion wave, and after my grandfather’s peculiar foresight saved us from genocide by the Cargaun and his people ... we have reopened our minds to such possibilities.”

  “And?”

  “And I fear you may be correct. It feels as though a shadow of some sort has been cast over us. I have tried to ignore this foreboding, tried to press on with the integration of my society into yours, to focus upon my duties as Grand Lord and as the Shining Star, partner of Vortex. But hearing you say these things aloud lends credence to my own concerns.” Callin met his gaze. “My ‘gut’ agrees with yours. Something feels wrong, something ‘creepy,’ as you put it, lurking beyond the edges of my sight. But I do not know what it is, and this disturbs me.” Then a slight smile graced his narrow face. “I do feel better that we are ...” He thought a moment. “... we are ‘on the same page’.”

  Steve chuckled at that. “Good one. And yeah, it looks like we are.” He placed his hands on his hips, unconscious of the fact that he was striking a “Vortex pose” even though he was out of uniform. “The question is: What the hell do we do about it?”

  “Does the PCA employ any paranormal ‘psychics’?”

  “Not that I know of — I understand the true psychics are pretty rare — and I’m sure Lieutenant Takayasu would be making good use of them if they did. I read online that they have one working with Canada’s Paranormal Task Force ...”

  A male voice said from behind Steve, “I can’t see the PTF loaning out an asset that valuable.”

  Steve turned to see Jeremy, his on-call healer, approaching. “Hey. What’s up?”

  Jeremy waved to Ardette and Alan as he reached Steve and Callin’s little huddle. Since Steve had shared his identity as Vortex with Jeremy last year — the whole “underground fight club” excuse to explain his plethora of injuries had been wearing thin, anyway — Alan had arranged for Jeremy to have his own security pass into the training center; it saved them all the headache of having to escort Jeremy in and out every time.

  “Ardette pinged me to say that you were back from your latest mission,” Jeremy explained. “I wanted to see if you needed my services tonight?”

  Steve rolled his bad shoulder, then his neck. “No. Thanks, but no, I think I’m good. I didn’t take any real hits today. Nothing I couldn’t handle, anyway.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Jeremy looked to Callin. “Grand Lord?”

  Callin shook his head. “I sustained no injuries. And please, it’s ‘Callin,’ remember?”

  Jeremy laughed. “I’m sorry, but I still have trouble being that informal with a Head of State from outer space.”

  Callin smiled and shrugged. They had been through this before, Steve knew, and likely would again.

  “So why were you guys talking about the psychic at the PTF?”

  “You know about her?”

  Jeremy grinned and shook his head. “I know your job makes it seem like there are paranormals crawling all over the place, but we really are a small community. At least, those of us who didn’t turn into assholes the moment we got powers.”

  Steve blinked. “So ... you actually do know her?”

  Jeremy’s grin widened. “Not personally, no;
we’re not that small a community. But a lot of us stay in touch through social media, and the more of us who join the PCA or the PTF, the more excited we get.” He pointed at Steve. “You had a lot to do with that. You, and Shockwave and Powerhouse.”

  Steve got it. The world assumed — quite understandably, since the technology behind his cybernetic eyes was secret — that Vortex was a paranormal, and Steve had done nothing to dissuade this notion. Hence, he was counted among the famous paranormals who were upstanding citizens that the non-rogues could hopefully look upon as a positive example.

  Jeremy clapped his hands together. “Okay, if you’re both sure you don’t need my services, I’m going to have a chat with Ardette.” He turned to Callin one more time. “You sure you don’t need anything?”

  A flash of confusion washed over Callin’s face. “No. Like Steve, ‘I’m good’.”

  Jeremy smiled, apparently pleased to hear this, even though it was repeated information. Sometimes Steve wondered if maybe Jeremy had a bit of a crush on the Shining Star. While the golden-haired Taalu women were gorgeous by most Earthly standards, the Taalu men’s heads tended to be a little too narrow, their hair a little too flat and thick, almost foam-like, for the same general attraction to hold. There were a few, of course, who found them beautiful in their own way, and Steve suspected Jeremy might be one of them.

  After a noticeable pause, Jeremy nodded to Steve, bowed his head toward Callin without irony, and made his way toward the control niche.

  “Okay,” Steve proclaimed, mimicking Jeremy’s hand-clap from moments before, “shall we go again?”

  Callin peered over at the wall clock. “If you would not mind ... I should probably stop early this evening and head back to my people. I have some matters to discuss with Larr and Naltin regarding another attempt to distill our base inoculations to make them compatible with human biology.”

  “Sound promising?”

  Callin pulled a face that suggested he was not getting his hopes up, but also refused to give up just yet.

  “All right, then. See you tomorrow?”

  Callin nodded, almost doing it Taalu-style before switching to the Earth equivalent. “Same time as usual.”

  Callin waved his farewell to Steve’s support team, and Steve walked him to the nearest door. Night had fallen; Callin would keep his energy aura to its minimal level as he flew off property, but Alan and Steve had also arranged to have the security patrols nowhere near the training center on these evenings.

  As Callin pulled his ebony eye-mask from his belt and slipped it on, Steve said, “Give my best to your family.”

  “My mother and Charl are paying a diplomatic visit to Ecuador, but I will pass your words along to Della.”

  Steve’s heart fluttered when Callin mentioned his sister, and it had nothing to do with strain from using his vortex wave. For the hundredth time, he considered probing as to how Callin might feel about Steve’s approaching Della in a romantic fashion ... and for the hundredth time, he chickened out.

  So brave, he chided himself, without really meaning it. He could be the first person in Earth’s recorded history to initiate a romantic relationship with an extra-terrestrial ... and he couldn’t even work up to the nerve to ask her brother — her Grand Lord, and his best friend — about it? Gee, what could be so intimidating about that?

  Eye-mask in place, Callin looked every bit the Shining Star, but his words came out far more vulnerable. “This ‘shadow’ that we each feel hanging over us ... I will think on this, and consider what we might be able to do about it, if anything.”

  “I’ll do the same. And maybe we should discuss it with Lieutenant Takayasu. He made a couple of comments earlier that suggest he’s feeling the same way.”

  “Agreed.”

  “In the meantime, we promise to watch each other’s backs.”

  Callin nodded, Taalu-style. “Always.”

  They shook hands, and Steve said, “Tos navreta.” Which translated, roughly, as: See you tomorrow.

  Callin smiled. “Your Taalu accent is improving.”

  Steve nodded his thanks at the compliment.

  Then Callin took to the air, leaving his usual faint but visible silver trail in his wake.

  Maybe we’re making too much of this, Steve thought as he watched the trail fade away. Maybe busting up this slave ring has balanced karma or whatever, and we’re over the hump.

  But then Steve considered the two women the shadow-rogue had used as “arm candy,” and the fact that one of them had been tricked into being changed into such a sexual caricature ... and he knew that, whatever was going on, it wasn’t over yet. Hell, it might just be getting started.

  Wonderful thought, he groused, not quite irritated at himself for thinking it.

  Hands in his jeans pockets, Steve went back inside.

  TAKAYASU AND SHOCKWAVE

  Michael Takayasu and Mark Westmore stepped out of the elevator near the top of Bendis Tower at precisely 9:01 AM the next morning. The directional plates on the wall indicated “Doctor Andrew Park” to the left, and everything else on the floor to the right.

  Michael glanced over at his partner, then led Mark toward that end of the hallway.

  Michael had spent his evening doing a good deal of research on Doctor Andrew Park. Given the circumstances surrounding this visit, and coupled with the description Madison had given — not to mention Madison’s physical state at this point — Michael had fully expected to uncover a shady, quasi-legal business, paying for this expensive real estate via dubious deals with rich mafia types’ wives and desperate porn star wannabes.

  Instead, he was surprised to discover that, not only was Doctor Park indeed openly paranormal, but he was also a legitimate, licensed, board-certified cosmetic “body modifier.” He had actually sued the state and the ABMS when he went paranormal four years prior, winning the right to incorporate his new abilities into what had previously been a third-rate fitness practice — since he could produce the same results as a norm surgeon, with no proven health risks and without the need for putting his patients “under the knife,” the case was eventually won. Park had flourished ever since, especially when word got around that his paranormal techniques were virtually pain-free and came with near-immediate recovery. Of course, not everyone was willing to have their bodies altered by such means, but when a popular actress showed up as a guest at the Academy Awards two years ago, having undergone conspicuous breast augmentation, an excellent facelift, and the removal of two no-longer-en-vogue tattoos — all accomplished and recuperated within the three days since she was last seen in public — Doctor Park’s industry reputation soared to new heights. Under the circumstances, Michael was somewhat surprised that he had never heard the man’s name before.

  The one part of his investigation that had leaned more toward what Michael originally expected was the discovery that Park also had a cult-following for his secondary career, promoted as “The Skin Sculptor,” which he kept separate from his more professional website. There, in Skin Sculptor moniker and presented in a format similar to televised reality shows, Park performed some of the more exotic body modifications; his services ranged from the gigantic levels of breast augmentation they had already witnessed, to giving patients “Vulcan ears” or forked tongues or horns or any number of other body distortions. Some of the results turned Michael’s stomach, but the clients — and the website’s considerable audience — seemed pleased with his work.

  The “slam dunk” of the whole thing was that Park could give his clients all these extreme alterations “without the need for silicone or other foreign substances.” He claimed to redistribute the body’s natural fats and fluids, but Michael called bullshit on that — some of the modifications, such as the enormous breasts, would have used more fats and fluids than some of the thinner clients possessed throughout their entire bodies. Like Mark and his shockwaves, Michael suspected that Park was generating it from whatever mysterious source all paranormals drew upon for their imp
ossible acts.

  In the end, the whole “Skin Sculptor” website didn’t really surprise Michael, especially given its reality show-styled format. Over the past year or two, even network reality shows had finally embraced the paranormals, which — to give credit where it was due — had actually helped fight against the general population’s paranoia and discrimination, somewhat. They followed the sad but inevitable formula of either showcasing the most beautiful (a woman with butterfly wings is a go; a woman with ragged vulture wings is a pass) or the most crass (a woman with two extra functioning arms is a pass; a woman whose breasts secrete a mild acid that makes it impossible to clothe them is a go), but at least it was mass-media public exposure having nothing to do with rogue crimes. Of course, even more TV producers, big time and small fry, were hounding after the Taalu — especially their beautiful women, and Shining Star’s mother and sister in particular as the Taalu’s “royalty” — but so far Grand Lord Callin had put a ban on that (once Steve explained to him exactly what “reality TV” was).

  Michael and Mark reached the frosted glass door at the end of the hallway — no lettering on the door itself, but the placard to the left told them they had reached the correct suite.

  “Remember,” Michael said in a low voice as he placed his hand on the brass pull handle. “Keep it low-key, for now. And keep your tongue in your mouth.”

  Mark surprised him by acknowledging with nothing more than a grunt and an almost bashful nod. He wondered if getting called out by Hannah yesterday was still stinging him — which was a pleasant surprise, if he actually learned his lesson.

  The waiting area, set in modern décor, was posh without going overboard. Madison had mentioned posters of both Hollywood and pornographic stars, but Michael didn’t see any on display. The exception was a signed, framed, oversized headshot of a famous actor known for looking younger than his years — Park’s work, he presumed.

  In spite of the early hour, two patients waited in the comfortable-looking chairs; a middle-aged man and a very young woman, each with their smart phone in evidence. The man glanced up at Michael and Mark as they entered, the woman did not. Michael could only speculate as to the woman’s visit, but he noted that the man was missing his left hand. Was Doctor Park capable of rebuilding lost limbs? None of his PR had suggested that, so he was either even more powerful than expected, or the one-handed man was full of hope that would soon crash.