Darkness of the Soul (2 page)

The
airbag
deploys
with
an
annoyed
explosive
sound,
and
Drakanis’ head
jounces
against
it,
hard;
blood
is
running
down
his
face
from
a
split
lip
and
a
bloodied
nose,
but
he
doesn’t
pay
it
any
mind
as
he
dives
out
of
the
car
and
runs
up
the
driveway
screaming
questions
to
which,
in
his
heart,
he
already
knows
the
answers.

“What
happened?”
he
asks
of
nobody
in
particular.
“Where
are
they?
What
happened?
Where
are
they?”
The
two
questions
circle
around
and
around,
no
end
to
them,
even
when
the
cop
he
nearly
ran
over
tries
to
block
his
path—and
Drakanis
now
recognizes
this
one
at
least.
Perez,
his
name
is
Perez,
hired
two
weeks
ago
and
still
doing
ride-alongs,
but
a
good
kid,
a
good
cop
in
the
making.
He’s
shouting
that
he
doesn’t
want
to
go
in
there,
that
it’s
better
if
he
doesn’t.

Drakanis
gives
very
little
thought
to
what
Perez
thinks
is
a
good
idea,
and
his
fist
moves
of
its
own
accord,
pistoning
out
with
all
his
power
and
shattering
Perez’s
nose,
driving
him
to
his
knees.
Drakanis
marches
right
past
him.
The
remaining
boys
in
blue
scatter
before
him,
not
sure
how
to
react,
frozen
in
place
by
the
brutality
of
what
they’ve
seen
tonight
and
the
madness
gleaming
in
the
detective’s
eyes.

The
smell
of
blood
is
thick
on
the
air
as
Drakanis
comes
up
the
sidewalk
and
toward
the
porch
steps,
but
other
than
that,
it
seems
like
any
other
neat
little
home
in
a
smallish
city—it
has
a
nice
lawn,
buried
under
a
blanket
of
white,
where
Gina’s
roses
and
tulips
would
line
the
edge
of
the
house
once
warmer
weather
arrived.
The
house
itself
sits
facing
the
street,
with
only
four
windows
and
the
garage
for
people
to
look
into,
but
it’s
nice
and
cozy
just
the
same,
with
its
sensible
blue
trim
and
white
paint.
As
he
comes
up
the
walk,
he
can
see
Joey’s
latest
masterpiece:
a
crude
but
still
recognizable
watercolor
of
Santa
Claus
coming
down
the
chimney
of
their
place,
cartoon
balloon
reading,
“Ho
ho
ho!”—
And damn if that kid isn’t going to be the next Rembrandt,
Drakanis
thinks
to
himself
with
pride.
It
is
hanging
in
the
window
like
an
invitation
to
the
jolly
fat
man
that
he
somehow
managed
to
continue
to
believe
in,
despite
being
eight
already
and
with
most
of
his
classmates
already
convinced
of
the
horrible,
inevitable
truth
we
all
must
find
out
one
day:
that
Santa
Claus
is
really
one’s
parents.

He
can
hear
footsteps
crunching
in
the
snow
behind
him
and
figures
Perez
has
gotten
up
and
the
others
are
following
him,
but
that
registers
only
distantly
as
something
to
think
about
some
other
day
when
he’s
better
equipped
for
such
mundane
thoughts.
Now
he
can
see
the
porch
clearly
and
where
that
smell
is
coming
from.
He
can
see
it
very
well,
and
even
though
he
wants
to
close
his
eyes,
he
can’t.
An
inarticulate
sound
escapes
his
lips,
and
then
he
rushes
past
what
he’s
seen.
He
shoves
through
the
front
door
and
into
the
living
room,
where
it
will
only
get
worse.

Perez
has
managed
to
gain
his
feet
and
is
using
a
handful
of
snow
to
pack
against
his
nose,
shaking
his
head
at
the
other
three
officers
as
they
make
as
if
to
go
after
him.
His
voice
is
muffled
by
the
snow
and
distorted
by
the
broken
nose,
but
Officers
Tarson,
Woods,
and
Mendoza
understand
him
well
enough,
and
though
Mendoza’s
been
with
the
force
longer,
he
figures
the
rookie’s
got
a
point.

“Let ’im
alone;
he
won’t
screw
anything
up,
except
more
of
our
noses.
He
knows
anyway.”

The
others
all
nod
in
unison
but
follow
him
up
the
walk
a
little
ways
anyway,
just
to
be
sure
Drakanis
won’t
do
anything
stupid.

They
needn’t
worry;
Drakanis,
though
already
entering
the
beginning
stages
of
his
grieving,
still
has
the
instincts
and
the
soul
of
a
cop,
and
he
knows
better
than
to
touch
anything.
Even
when
he
slams
through
the
door,
he
does
it
with
his
elbows.
Once
inside,
he
just
freezes,
as
he
takes
in
what’s
waiting
for
him
there.