The Forsaken (32 page)

42

CHASE VALLACE LOUNGED IN
Jude’s chair, scanning the headlines he’d penned and the bits of added anecdotes injected to spruce up what he knew was mediocre journalism.

“Can I get you something to drink, sir?” Jude remarked, walking toward his desk. “A martini, perhaps? Or how about some of those nice Dutch chocolates?”

“Sir?” Chase replied, closing the ends of the newspaper. “I must be moving up in the world.”

“I think you’re mistaking my tolerance for some kind of respect. In case you couldn’t tell, you over-zealous, chancre-sore, that was sarcasm. Now get out of my chair before I have you forcibly removed.”

“Easy does it.” Chase scratched his pushed-out stomach and rose to his feet. “I didn’t come to wage war.”

Jude’s nostrils flared, and he inhaled a thick breath. “What are you here for?”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but some of us common folk have to actually work to pay the bills. To make sure the world goes round. Know what I mean?”

“Work? Is that what you call printing libel? What’s the matter, Chase? Story time isn’t bringing in enough cash to keep the Cinemax on?”

“I forgot. You’re just a brute with a bad attitude and several accounts of psych issues. What would you know about using your brain for anything?”

“Is this where you tell me you’re the next great American writer, and I’m the scumbag standing in the way of your dreams?” Jude shrugged, arms folded.

“This is where I ask you again, politely, for an exclusive. I want more of this thing, and I know you’re holdin’ out on me.”

“
This thing
? To what are you referring?”

“Don’t play stupid. You took off in the middle of a murder investigation, and then you just show up again? I’ve spent the last week practically putting the pieces together with no help from you or this dimwitted department, and frankly, I’m a little frustrated. I think it’s time to start playing fair.”

“Look at you, a reporter after all.”

Chase nervously scraped his jaw, picking up some sweat beneath the nail. He was losing his edge. “Play ball with me, just this once. We’ve had our differences in the past. But you’d be doing me and our
beloved
community a monumental favor. I need something fresh, something real, for once. I want to give the people what the other papers can’t. Anything from the source.”

“So I’m your missing link, is that it?”

“I wouldn’t let it go to your head. I came here to strike a truce. No more bull. I just want a little piece of the pie. I want a
real
story. The city deserves a real story.”

“You actually came here to grovel,” Jude said, shoving Chase aside and taking a seat. “Nice touch. Could get used to this.”

Jude could probably smell the stench of cheap liquor breeding underneath his pores. The grim detective no doubt wanted to snarl because his armpits reeked of days without a shower. Come to think of it, Chase hadn’t even bothered to take a stroll by a mirror to fix his unkempt hair on his way here from downtown. “What’s this gonna cost me?”

“Why me? Get a quote from the chief or Detective Sutherland.”

“I’m not here to waste time. Of all the poor slobs in this funhouse, you’re the closest one to it all. And I want to be close to you.”

Jude arched his brow.

“Not like that. That’s not what I meant. Look, I’m a logical guy. I know there’s protocol and procedure, yada-yada. But this case is bugging me. More than anything else has before. And that’s…a problem for me.”

“Didn’t you write me off as an supercilious egomaniac?”

“Perhaps I need to reevaluate my opinions and come to terms with the fact that you and I are more alike than I prefer to admit.”

“Really? And how’s that?”

“We’re both…products of our environment. We do what we need to in order to survive. Only human.”

Silence swam between them.

“It is my hope that you and I see eye to eye on this,” Chase fidgeted with some of the pens on Jude’s desk. “There’s no need for it to turn unpleasant.”

“Is that a threat?”

“I know a lot about you, Detective. Your intriguing history, your shortcomings with post-traumatic stress disorder. In fact, why don’t we sojourn into the hypothetical and say I also know about a little investigation that went sour several years ago, hung nearly everybody on your team but you. And let’s just say I know about your baby brother, about your…well, to be politic, I’ll refer to them as
issues
.” He was striking a nerve. “That’s right. Your secrets are not just
your
secrets. Not anymore.”

Jude leaned forward, cracking his neck.

“I came here only to reason with you. I even begged. But I’m starting to question if you’ll ever change.” Chase swallowed hard then continued, “These are some desperate times for all of us.”

Jude chewed his bottom lip.

“Open your eyes, Detective. I’m fed up with picking up scraps off the table. It’s no cake walk crawling around on my belly in this town.” Chase scowled, nudging his gut up against the desk. “You know, it’s a whole lot better having someone like me as your ally than as your enemy, I can promise you that.”

“Is that a fact?” Jude sharply replied.

“Truth and truth. With one story—
poof
—all this could disappear. I could end your world. I don’t think that’s something you want. Come on, you don’t need a bunch of disgruntled douchebags crawling up your butt while a maniac is loose on the streets. Not to mention, your brother is missing, possibly dead. I mean, isn’t life complicated enough?” Chase wore a checkmate smile.

“Man, you must have more influence than I thought,” Jude said. “Guess I never really saw things from your perspective. It is hard out there. And the people, for whatever reason, seem to listen to you.”

“Never promised I’d be liked. But when the truth comes out, the people hear it.”

“The truth. Right. Maybe it’d do me some good to get some of these burdens off my mind.”

“Exactly. Who needs the added stress? I can make your life easier. I can turn you into a black and white hero. Whether you catch this guy or not, you’ll have people behind you.”

“And I can trust you?” Jude asked.

Chase crossed his heart with his index finger and kissed it. “Just let me know what you know.”

Jude’s stare was far away. “Is that how you see me? As the hero?”

Chase took several heavy breaths. “It’s one way you can be seen. Words can be powerful ammunition. All you gotta do is play nice.” Chase pulled out a digital recorder. “It’s such a simple, little thing, really. An exclusive with this city’s finest. My editor’s clamoring for a thrilling front-page story. Everybody wins.”

Jude’s face muscles flexed. “Everybody wins,” he repeated. “One exclusive. But not here. Too many ears.”

Chase slid the recorder into his jacket pocket and backed up, waiting for Jude to grab his things. “Lead the way, hero,” he said, blowing a bubble with his gum.

* * *

“Get out of my head!” Kevin growled with curses.

Pass out. Wake up. Repeat. Kevin didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he was so pathetic. So weak. Why he couldn’t find the strength to escape from this god-awful basement. But perhaps the answer was closer than he thought.

“He…H-He isn’t human,” he reasoned. “He’s just too strong.”

Yes, now you’re getting it. He’s much too strong for you, such a weak creature.

Was there even a way out? It had only been hours since the drugs had coated the insides of his nose, but the craving was back. The pen of his subconscious was busy scribbling his fears, listing them one by one. A dangerous poem they created.

Emptiness. Fear. Failure.

Failure stung the most.

Jude left once…Now he has forgotten his own blood.
Again forgotten. Again alone
. The all-knowing whispers broke through the quiet, creeping along the ground. He imagined he could hear their spiny, wicked legs tickling the concrete with their footsteps.

“But he came back,” Kevin shouted. “He took care of me when my street family turned their backs over and over again. Isn’t that right? Doesn’t that count too?”

Does it cut it?

“Maybe Jude’s gonna figure this mess out. Always does, doesn’t he? He won’t let me rot in here. Not like this.”

He knew you were innocent.

“There was nothin’ he could do. He had no choice but to play by their rules.”

Whose rules? He knew you were innocent, and he did nothing to save you. No one will come. No one will save you now. Cross is your redemption.

”Shut up! It can’t be true. You lie!”

The rain was relentless, as were the condemning soft cries. There was a storm sifting through the trees, and the wind caused their weak branches to scratch at the window above. Kevin looked up to catch a glimpse of a tormented reflection. Here he lay, existing to merely exist.

He slammed the back of his head against the wall. His head vibrated and stung. He did it a second time and nearly bit off his tongue; the pain was almost bearable. But the haunting had no cure.

“I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want it!” He clenched his fist and struck the wall, hoping to draw blood. “No more!”

You’ve been here before, haven’t you?

“It was different then.”

Just then, lightning struck the house, and the glass above him shattered.

So different, Kevin?

His gaze was misplaced, lost as his eyes wandered up the stairs—the broken step, the dusty rails, the door that opened into a light that breathed a devil. At the center of these terrible dreams, there was an outside world he was convinced he’d never see again.

No more light. Not here. Not anywhere. We are alone
.

“Why won’t it stop? I just want it to stop. I
need
it to stop.”

Can’t make it stop. Can’t
.

“Turn…it…off!”

How long will you hide in his shadow? Finish it, Kevin. End this wretched cycle. It doesn’t have to be this hard.

“No! Just leave me!” He cradled his body in his arms and started to shake violently. He flopped around in the dust and the small puddles. The rain dripped into the basement and soaked his back and chest. He washed his face with the filthy water, begging it to cleanse him, forgive him—fix him.

“I just want peace. God, forgive me. I am nothing.”

Suddenly, the darkness crept inside. He shut his eyes and sighed the longest sigh his lips could breathe. There was a swelling of frightened tears.

Finish it!

Kevin reached for a shard of glass from the remains of the shattered window. With no sound he made the first incision. A small cut to enlist others. The firsts drops of red slipped out. Then he pushed the glass deeper in and dragged it up his wrist.

The rain mixed with his tears and his torment. And his blood. “I’m sorry.”

43

JUDE UTTERED A NEW
language. His voice seemed to create a certain kind of echo when he talked, but it was likely that only he could perceive it. One of the numerous changes. As he spoke, his mouth took new shape, the phrases and riddles pouring off his tongue hot, like stomach acid.

He warred the thoughts that attempted to distract him from Rachel. Azrael’s grip was strong, constantly redirecting his mind to the interview in his apartment, and what remained there still.

“The case. Focus. Focus,” he told himself between the confusing patterns of a bizarre, dissonant speech. But the case wasn’t his focus. His brother wasn’t his focus. He had hurt Rachel, and Azrael’s relentless hold could not shut that painful reality out. The fear had been anchored. The regret was like a dagger; the flashes of memory crushing.

He caught a brief glimpse of his reflection and noticed how his skin hung off his bones like tough leather. His eyes had been affected as well, and they now peered out of a void cave. He was pale, terribly, ghostly pale.

“You don’t miss a beat, do you?” Rachel finally interrupted. He hadn’t noticed her enter the department.

The weird syllables were instantly squelched. He was thankful.

“Cat got your tongue, Jude?”

“Rachel, I…I’m sorry for what happened. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Funny. I was gonna say the same thing.” He watched her mouth drift from left to right, her lips no doubt wanting to shut out the very air she breathed. He noticed her hair was somewhat sloppy, unattended to. No makeup. No half-hearted attempt at a smile. She was a plain, un-thought-out sentence. No subtext. No poetics. Just the mundane facts of being human.

“So what now?”

Rachel took a seat. “Life goes on, right?”

Was that all she could say? Didn’t she want to talk? Didn’t she want to fight him, claw at his throat, and call him a self-gratifying pig?

“Can we talk?”

“I guess, for a microsecond, I refused to see the truth. I refused to see what was right in front of me.”