(no subject)
Chapter One
Their ability can affect the world around them, but that effect goes unnoticed by the general public who has come to accept it as a normal occurrence.
Catherine knew she didn’t have to drive all the way to Dallas and back again since there are quicker and easier ways to get across the country. There was something about the open road at night, lights glittering like souls, that was calming to her. It used to be no one could ever find her if she drove fast enough, far enough, but now her old military issue Jeep was weighed down with supposedly the latest in satellite uplink technology.
She could still hide if she wanted, only it was a lot more difficult these days. Times were changing, and maybe she might even live long enough to be out of a job.
The dimmed LCD screen of her mobile communications center lit up announcing an incoming call. Catherine tapped the hands-free control and set her eyes back onto the road ahead. The lights of her Jeep flashed across the road sign Tulsa, 12 Miles.
“Catherine Thatcher speaking,” a slight yawn escaped her lips.
“Hey Cat, it’s Sandy,” came the slightly Georgian accent of her assistant. “You almost into town?”
“Yeah, what you got?” she replied as a man on a motorbike went screaming past.
“We’ve had a 1-35, on Riverside.”
“1-35…” the numbers foreign on her lips, “haven’t had one of those in a while.”
“Not since you promoted Derek to Detective.” Catherine could almost see the older woman poking her pencil at the air as she was prone to do when she knew she was on to something.
“Thanks,” she had to smile, “You take the night off and we can take care of the conference notes tomorrow. I’m going to make a detour.”
Sandy was quite possibly the most capable assistant Catherine had employed in all the years she had worked for the Association. Unfortunately, Sandy was getting towards the age of retirement and it was going to be a shame to lose her. Training a new assistant was never fun.
“Uploading file data into your computer now,” Sandy added a moment later as an icon popped up on Catherine’s computer screen. Glancing off the road she tapped open the file and scrolled down to the address listed.
“Thanks Sandy.”
“Not a problem, boss,” Sandy shrugged it off, “you have a good night.”
“You too,” Catherine replied then cut the connection, flying past her normal exit into Tulsa and making her way through downtown to get to the Riverside Drive off-ramp. Construction blocked the road and she was detoured around a maze of size roads, but eventually she ended up at her destination: the RiverView Apartments.
There was nothing special about the units, just your standard single-person-making-a-modest-living apartments. Four stories of doors and wrought-iron stairs decorated the beige brickwork which wasn’t completely in need of a paintjob, but getting there. At least it had a view of the Arkansas River, although at this time of year the water was only trickling down the riverbed.
Surveying the parking lot as she turned in, several cars lined the spaces, two of which she recognized as belonging to Derek and the Association. Pulling along side a small sedan, it had one of those cartoon characters stuck on the glass, as if trying to get out.
Taking a last glance at the information still displayed on her console, she powered down the system. Hopping out of her Jeep, she tugged her black briefcase bag behind her. As she locked up, musing at why anyone would want to steal her vehicle out of those available, she noticed the whole area was quiet, not your eerie something-is-going-to-jump-out-at-you quiet, just, peaceful.
Standard operating procedures were in place. Life went on.
Easily she made her way up to Apartment 213 as listed on the data she had received. She didn’t knock, didn’t speak, the door simply opened for her and she slipped inside. Not exactly a hard trick to accomplish as she nodded thanks to the agent who closed it behind her.
Posters for various action movies hung on the wall, there was the odor of five-day-old cheese and onion chips, and the décor was a perfect homage to the school of chaos. A large entertainment center lined one wall with random stacks of VHS and DVD’s, as well as three different console gaming systems, a sure sign of a single male occupant, if she had to make a guess. What she didn’t find were random bits of trash or clothing lying about.
“Cathrine,” a voice practically snapped at her. “What are you doing here?”
Derek stepped around from behind a worn leather sofa, taking care to avoid the blood. The Kiowa descended detective had his dark hair cut short against his copper skin, blue jeans and a light gray t-shirt his usual attire. The simple dress jacket that he wore with the ensemble was slung across the back of a nearby chair.
“I’m your boss,” Catherine handed her satchel to the agent who had opened the door for her as there was no point in her carrying it around when she had perfectly good lackeys to do it for her, “I go where I please, especially if this is indeed a 1-35.”
“Come see for yourself,” he gestured down to the deceased.
Catherine nodded, ignoring his gruff nature as acceptable. She was stepping into his territory, but she was still Director of District 382 and if she had made a mistake promoting Derek, she’s like to know now before she had another mess to clean up.
Following Derek around the sofa, she pulled her shoulder length blonde hair back with a band so it wouldn’t get in the way. A forensic tech was already working on the body of an average height, small build, male, the corpse’s face splashed with blood but there were no head injuries in the short dark tresses that she could make out. Head wounds always caused more problems than they were worth for all those involved if this was, indeed, a 1-35.
“Show me,” Catherine ordered the tech as he finished taking his samples.
With gloved hands he pulled back strips of bloody dress shirt. “Victim is the current resident, Brendan Collier, age twenty-six, lives alone. The gashes are more than likely claw marks, I’ve also found hairs and there are the residuals.”
Catherine nodded as she looked at the torn, ripped flesh, feeling the residuals herself, a kind of heaviness that hung in the air after a surge of energy. “So what makes this 1-35?”
“Claw marks it was a changeling,” Derek answered, his voice a little curt, but confident. “Victim has only been dead a little over an hour. No one knows it’s happen.”
“Are you sure no one knows?” Surety was always the biggest issue with these cases. Every problem could be fixed, but having to fix would cause trouble. Trouble always meant something unpleasant, or at the very least annoying.
“Positive,” he answered with a slight puff to his chest.
She stood to meet his gaze, “Who found him then?”
“Pizza delivery guy,” he replied and she wasn’t too surprised, it was always a courier or random tradesman.
“Registered?”
“That’s why it’s 1-35,” a slight grin formed on Derek’s lips.
It was looking as if the faith she had put in the man when she promoted him was well placed, but she only nodded, not giving the game away yet. “Has he given his deposition yet?”
“Written, yes.” Derek tilted his head towards a young man in a red checked shirt sitting at what passed for a kitchen table in the small apartment, the most universal expression of boredom on his face. “I was waiting for Kersey to show up and sign off on it. Unless of course you want to do it and I can call and tell him to go back to the party.”
Catherine didn’t let her puzzlement show as she tried to remember the one of a thousand papers that had passed across her desk in the past month. There had been a notification of Kersey’s son turning eighteen without showing any signs of demonstrating, let alone awakening. The party must have been today even though as Assistant Director he was on call in her absence.
“Yeah, tell him I’ve got it handled.” Catherine started to walk towards the pizza boy then paused, turning back to Derek who already had his cell phone out. “You called Diana?”
“Ten minutes before you got here,” he answered without looking up from his dialing
“Good.” She finally let herself smile with approval. “Finish things up here and I’ll help you get the body ready after I’m done with the witness.”
Derek nodded and gestured to a couple of agents as he put his phone to his ear. Seeing that he had it all well in hand, she made her way across the apartment to the small dining-area, if you could call it one. There were a few papers and mugs that littered the table, but they had been pushed aside, an open area created for the disposition paperwork.
The pimpled teen looked up at her from under his red ball cap, “Oh, hey Cat.”
It took her a second. “Jonas right? You’re James Fisher’s son.”
“Yeah,” he chuckled slightly, “that’s me.”
“How is James?” she asked as she took a seat on the opposite side of the table, “still angry you didn’t take after the old man?”
“Nah, he’s over it,” he leaned back in his chair, slumped, “disappointed, but over it.”
Catherine picked up the deposition papers that Jonas and Derek had filled out earlier, trying not to grin. “Sounds like your father. He was always stubborn. That’s what got him into trouble at your age.”
Jonas full out laughed this time. “Yeah, I hear stories. Thankfully you bailed him out though.”
“That’s my job,” was the most honest reply she could give.
Catherine went over the report with Jonas and his version of events, all of which seemed very clean cut. The victim, Mr. Collier, was a regular customer and Jonas had delivered pizzas to him almost every Friday night for the past year. Sensing something was wrong when Collier didn’t answer, Jonas found that the door was unlocked. Seeing the dead body, he called the AMU.
“Why did you call us instead of the police?” Cathrine asked, checking for any signs of deception on the kid’s part.
Jonas stared at her blankly, his previous jovialness lost. “I don’t know. Just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“I see,” Catherine mumbled mostly for Jonas’ benefit. Something was nagging at her, just on the edge of her senses now that she had opened them. It was as if a whisper echoed throughout the apartment, constantly fading out of her audible grasp.
“Everything okay?” the young man asked.
“Yes,” Catherine automatically answered, trying to shake off the feeling but at the same time hold onto it. “You probably saved his life.”
“Great! He was an excellent tipper… er… is, um…” he finally shook his head, giving up, and Catherine stifled a laugh, the moment having passed but the edge still there.
“You can go now, Jonas,” she decided, signing in all the boxes required of her. “Do you need a cover?”
“Nah, I called the boss and told him I had a flat,” Jonas stood, grabbing his delivery bag from where he laid it under the table and pulled out a pizza box, “I just need twelve fifty for the pizza.”
“One second,” Catherine stood and found her detective helping the tech “Hey, Derek, got the vic’s wallet handy?”
Without questioning her, Derek leaned over the sofa and picked up a paper bag from the magazine laden coffee table and rummaged through it. Pulling out a flip wallet, he tossed it over which she caught with one hand and snapped open. A sweet picture of the deceased and a light haired brunette hugging were on the left in a plastic sleeve, while his driver’s license was tucked in on the right.
“Looks better dead,” Catherine commented as she started foraging through the folds of the wallet. Her hand falling across a twenty-dollar bill, she passed it over to Jonas. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks,” he took the money and gave her a half-salute as he handed over the pizza box.
“Tell your father I said hello,” she told the young man as he passed her to leave.
“Will do,” he replied, then made his way to the door were he was let out by an agent.
Derek approached, slightly gesturing around. “Looks like we’re all done here, Cat.”
“Samples done?” she asked idly, that something still tugging at her, like an obvious conclusion to a simple puzzle.
“Taken and labeled,” he replied, gesturing to the tech who was now being let out of the apartment along with his travel case.
“All right then,” Catherine took a long breath, sitting the pizza box and wallet on the coffee table, “get him into the tub and I’ll clean up the mess.”
Derek nodded and she watched as he and the last agent left in the apartment picked up the body and started carrying him towards the bathroom. Thankfully Collier had been dead long enough that most of the external blood had dried and he didn’t leave a trail in his wake. She only had to deal with the blood stain she now stared down at.
Lucky bastard… had Jonas called the police he would have been a write off…
There it was again, a slight tickle that told her that she was missing something very important. The case itself was dubious enough, all the right pieces falling conveniently into place. However, that didn’t mean that this wasn’t exactly how it looked. Dumb luck was just that.
She took in the apartment once again, focusing on the details as they presented themselves. The small bookcase next to where the living room ended and the kitchen began was full of manuals for role playing games. There was a layer of dust on them, so they were probably throw-backs to his university days. He wouldn’t be the first person to have had a keen interest in the games waver as life in a full time job got the better of him.
The video games, on the other hand, looked still in use, a brand new first person shooter sitting on top of a wide screen tv. Most of the movies ranged from old to new, and usually of the science fiction and fantasy persuasion. There was the occasional chick flick, Catherine’s second hint that perhaps Mr. Collier had a lady friend.
A thump from the bathroom followed by the unique squeaking of rubbing up against porcelain reminded Catherine she had her own job to do. Whatever was bothering her would reveal itself in due time, or perhaps go away altogether. For now she needed to go through the motions as dictated by the evidence before her.
The blood and tissue left by Mr. Collier stained the brown rug, making the fibers stiff as it dried. A large bloodstain was just that, and it tended to draw too many questions. There was no way to cover up the fact that it was there, or to explain it away. To put it simply, the blood would have to go. There were plenty of cleaners that could do the job, but they would still leave residue that could be picked by actual policemen if anything occurred in the future.
She’d just have to do things the old fashioned way.
Closing her eyes, she imagined the stain, the way it seemed to shape into a half-crescent and then snake its way out in small tendrils. Thinking deeper, she saw the individual clumps of fibers, melding together as the blood grew brown and sticky. The blood itself was nothing but cells and fluids, particles that she had studied under microscopes and learned intimately.
In her mind she separated the bodily fluids from the polyester fibers, pulling against its natural inclination to cling against the surface. Starting from the center she slowly gathered the liquid, tugging it into shape against her invisible hold.
When she finally opened her eyes, the mass of rusty brown goop floated in a swirling mass as it tried to break free of its spherical confines. Glancing down to make sure she hadn’t missed any, she found that section of carpet to be noticeably cleaner than the rest. It was something that most people would see, and then ignore.
Her mental grasp still firm on the blood, she walked towards the kitchen in search of a sink. A few cups and forks littered the basin, and she quickly removed them to the counter. The sphere still towing behind her, she moved it across to settle into the depression.
This was always the tricky part. If she just let go then the sphere would collapse and the blood would splash about and she would have to repeat the process all over again. It was a fact that could only be learned through experience, no matter how much you tried to drum the concepts of control and patience into the mind of a telekinetic. So she slowly eased her grip away from the bottom of the sphere, letting the blood flow down a mental funnel she constructed leading into the drain.
Once all the blood was gone, she turned on the taps and let them run.
“Cat,” Derek’s voice came from the living room.
Shutting off the water she made the few short steps back into the living room. “Yeah?”
“The body is prepped,” Derek held up a black trash bag which should hold the victim’s clothes if he was following protocol, “just waiting on Diana.”
“Anything else needs cleaning?” she asked as she checked her watch. The healer should be there within the next twenty minutes, unless she got hung up, which wasn’t likely to happen. Diana had it good, she basically got paid to always be on call, but rarely did they need to drag her out on short notice like this.
“Checked his room,” Derek passed the bag over to the other agent who headed towards the door with it, “he has duplicates of everything he had on, or close enough.”
Catherine snickered, “Thank goodness for men’s lack of fashion sense.”
Derek raised an eyebrow, but ignored the jab. “There was blood on his shoes, the only type of those he has, but I took care of that myself.”
“So let’s finish then,” Catherine spoke as she turned back to the kitchen. “Do we know if the vic is a drinker?”
“I believe he is,” Derek followed, “I found an empty beer can under the sofa when I was checking out the body.”
“There is always one,” she grinned, opening up the refrigerator, “and five more.”
The detective leaned over her shoulder as she pulled out the six-pack of lager which was missing one can. “Think that’s enough?”
“It’ll have to be,” she answered.
Taking the cans over to the sink she had used earlier, she and Derek popped the lids and poured the beer down the drain. Once they were done, he took the cans to the living room while she placed the utensils she had removed earlier back into the basin. On her way out she brushed her hand over the table to put the magazines back into a haphazard order.
“Man,” Derek smirked as he scattered the beer cans around, “this guy is going to have one hell of a hangover.”
“Exactly,” she opened the pizza box and the distinctive smell of pepperoni floated up to her. “Want some cold pizza?”
“Ate before I came,” he declined as he sat down on the sofa. “Thanks though.”
“Well,” she picked up a piece and examined it, “I didn’t, and I’m starving.”
“Help yourself,” he chuckled, gesturing towards the lone piece in her hand.
“Thank you,” she bobbed her head slightly, “I think I will.”
Tired from her journey and cleaning up the blood, she slumped down onto the sofa next to the detective. Nibbling on the pizza, she found herself not as hungry as she thought she was. The whispers were gone but that wouldn’t stop her from thinking about them. She was no clairvoyant, but she had years of instincts.
“We’ll have the paperwork drawn up when we get back,” she mumbled between bites, “it can wait.”
“Sure,” he said slowly next to her. “Can I ask though, why are you here?”
She swallowed harshly, the grease burning her throat, “Checking up on you, of course.”
The man sighed, “I gathered as much.”
“Don’t worry,” she turned and gave him a wry smile, “I have done this to every detective I’ve promoted, even Kersey.”
He raised an eyebrow, “And?”
“And,” she took a breath, “no complaints.”
“Well,” he offered a half grin, “I do try.”
“It’s all I can ask,” she replied, neglecting to mention that she could ask for more, and would, if the situation arose.
Before he could respond, the door to the apartment swung open revealing the agent who had previously left with the victim’s clothing. He stepped aside to reveal Diana, a tall, dark haired woman of Spanish decent. She was dressed much like Catherine was, in simple business clothes, nothing fancy, nothing that brought attention to herself, the medical bag in her hand being the only conspicuous item.
“Nice to see you again,” Catherine greeted the healer, making sure to wipe the grease from her hand onto the sofa before standing and shaking Diana’s.
“Always a pleasure,” she gave a fake smile, one that Catherine didn’t blame. This was hard work for a healer and would leave the woman drained.
“Derek,” she called over her shoulder, “make sure a facility is set up for Diana after she’s done so she can rest.”
“Of course,” he said as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
“Thank you,” Diana gave a genuine smile this time. “Now, has everything been taken care of?”
Catherine stepped aside and gestured towards the bathroom, “Prepped and ready for you.”
“Well then,” she hefted up her bag to hold in front of her, “let’s resurrect the poor bastard.”