Authors: John Conroe
The second kind inhabited a body and moved through the world creating chaos and mayhem with direct action. They were the more powerful of the two kinds. “How do they get the bodies?” she asked.
“Sometimes a person will invite them in willingly, not realizing that their own soul will be tossed aside like trash. Some are the result of Wyrms.”
“Worms?”
“That’s what I call them, but with a ‘y’. Hellbourne will toss them on people as they move about. If a person is weak-willed or despondent enough, the Wyrm will get a hold and start to dig in. Mindless and brainless, the Wyrm weakens the person’s hold on their own body. When the time is right, the Wyrm becomes a doorway for a demon to take over the body. Most people fight them off without ever knowing they were at risk. Friends and family can really help. But enough people succumb to make my life interesting.”
“And these demons know about you?”
“Yeah, they would love to take me out, but just as they can cloak from humans and vampires, I am cloaked from them.” I didn’t add that it was what had protected my eight-year-old self when I cow
ered in my brother’s closet. Bec
ause I was too afraid to tell her just how cowardly I was, which, ironically, proved my cowardice all over again.
“Why don’t they hire a human to kill you? Why don’t they go after your Gramps?”
“Both good questions. I don’t know the first, although I have been expecting something like that for some time. Gramps is pretty protected by a whole bunch of fetishes. My turn for a question. Are there other types of paranormal beings besides vampires? You know…like werewolves, zombies, ghouls, witches, and chubacabra?” I asked.
“Of course, it only makes sense that if vampires are real so are a bunch of other legends. Certainly weres are real, with the wolves the most numerous. But others too. Werebears, were- panthers, weretigers.”
“How about weredeer?” I asked.
“What? Of course not! Only carnivores.”
“Okay, what about wereweasels?” I joked.
She nodded without smiling. “Yeah, they’re pretty dangerous. Really quick.”
“As quick as you?” I asked. She just smiled and shook her head. I had a feeling that there wasn’t much out there that could match her.
“Wererats?”
“Eww, don’t be gross.”
Sweet! I managed to gross out a vampire princess.
“How about zombies?”
“Well, I’ve heard rumors in the vampire world of some who can temporarily animate the dead.”
“Can you animate things?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m pretty certain I can animate you!”
She was right.
Monday dawned cold and wet, which, of course, meant that it had to be my day for an outdoor workout. One of the local parks has a series of bodyweight exercise stations – chin up bars, dip railings, wooden posts and I use them as the basis for a work out. Most times, my hands would be ice cold by the time I finished the last set of pull-ups and began the run home, but today I managed to stay warm.
I stopped at a corner deli for an order of chili and corn bread, with a big cup of hot tea. All morning I had been noticing odors, the wet leaves, dead worms,
diesel fumes, garbage, pipe tobacco,
women’s
' perfume, and a thousand separate foods. By the time I hit my apartment door, I was too hungry to shower, opting to eat my takeout first. I emailed
Gramps
after my shower.
Gramps,
Count me in on the land purchase (if you can talk my Trustee into it). I'll fill you in on the daytime thing when I visit at T-giving. Hlbrn interested in a girl. Too complex for email. Work is going well. Weather down here is cold and damp, but I see from the weather channel that you've already had snow. Can't wait to see the farm, the dogs and of course your old curmudgeon self.
Love Chris.
Seeing as Gramps was my Trustee it was as good as a done deal that we would buy the adjoining farm and its six hundred acres. He would take half the money from my Trust, which had been funded after my family's murder. During the last fifteen years the principal had grown from just over six hundred thousand to slightly over two million, although the market crash had knocked it down a bit. Gramps had about half the account in Treasury bonds that had gained in value as the market declined and so offset some of the stock losses. Now we would get a great deal on a large chunk of land, which to Gramp’s way of thinking was always a good investment.
I layered my uniform over a solid base of synthetic Under Armour, grabbed my heavy rain gear and patrol bag, and headed into work. The Muster room smelled like a moldy locker room, the result of changing through two shifts of wet cops. “Hi Bernice, whata we got today?” I greeted my partner.
“
I
got prisoner detail,
you
gotta see the Sarge about an interview.”
“What? What interview?
“Sugar, you got some suits from the Plaza to talk to. Sooo, I get to stay dry and move bad girls around.” She looked at my expression and added, “Don't sweat it, Chris. It ain't a bad thing.”
Before I could answer, I heard the Sarge calling my name and I turned to find him almost upon me.
“Gordon, get your ass up stairs. Some suits from Police Plaza wanna see you. You been up to anything I should know about?” He asked.
“No Sarge, not a thing. Who are they?”
He eyed me for a moment then answered. “Inspecter Roma, Special Situations. Now why would Special Situations be interested in you?”
“What the hell is Special Situations?”
“Hmm, never mind. Just get your ass upstairs and don't embarrass us.”
He turned away before I could ask any other questions, leaving me nothing for it but to climb the old stairs to the second floor. This was the domain of the detectives, Homicide, Robbery, Narcotics and Vice. The Robbery detective at the first desk sent me back into the Homicide division’s realm at the back of the building. An overweight plainclothes officer saw me enter the bullpen and turned to his right, nodding at a muscular blond guy in khakis and black turtleneck. The blond immediately approached me. “You Gordon?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Come with me.” He turned and led me down a hall to a conference room, where he knocked on the door once and stuck his head in. “Sir, Gordon's here.”
“Send him in, Steve.” I could hear from inside.
The blond guy pushed the door open and waved me through. As I took in the room, I could feel ‘Steve’ follow me in and close the door, standing directly behind me. In front of me was a small table with four chairs, one of which was occupied by what had to be Inspector Roma, who was making a show of studying my file. That it was my file was obvious from the photo conspicuously displayed on the inside cover. I'm not sure how I noticed that as most of my attention was centered on the female detective standing just behind the Inspector's left elbow. My heart sank into my shoes as I realized that the hard brown eyes in the dark suit belonged to Gina
Velasquez
, Peter's observer from Saturday night.
The badge and gun clipped to her belt told me that my career in the force was over and Special Situations was a smartass name for Internal Affairs.
Roma finally looked up and after a moment announced, “We're not Internal Affairs.” He stood up and held out his hand. I took in his details as I shook his hand: strong grip, about five nine, trim cyclist's build, short dark hair peppered with gray, mustache and trimmed goatee, expensive suit and a pair of penetrating gray eyes. He looked more like a hardened corporate attorney than a cop.
“I'm Inspector Martin Roma. I head up the Special Situations Squad, which is a subgroup of Special Operations. We handle...unique cases. You've already met Detective
Velasquez
and behind you is Detective Steve Sommers.”
Special Ops is the unit that holds Emergency services, the NYPD Harbor unit, NYPD Aviation and a host of others. Essentially the largest SWAT force in the country. Whatever this Special Situations group was, it was headed by a full Inspector, which was unusual to say the least. Most precincts are headed by Captains or higher ranked Deputy Inspectors. Inspectors are the next rank higher.
“Officer Gordon, this isn't a witch hunt.”
Sommers snorted behind me in amusement as Roma said this.
“It's a job interview.”
“Ah Sir, there must be a mistake. I haven't been on foot patrol long enough to change jobs.”
“Well that's normally the case, Chris..may I call you Chris? But Special Situations has a certain degree of latitude to select personnel that other departments don't. Gina has told us about your activities of Saturday night. Meeting you was the natural next step.”
I glanced at her once, noting her hard stare and returned my puzzled attention to Roma.
“The Special Situations Squad doesn't appear on the Department's org chart, Chris. The Department will not admit or deny our existence, but we have strong funding and a free hand to handle our mission. As
you
are fully aware, there are many things that go bump in the night and sometimes the day. Our modern society doesn't officially recognize them, but a city of eight million people attracts more than its fair share of them and always has. The NYPD created this group over fifty years ago to investigate and deal with those things that are a danger to society but aren't recognized by that same society. Which brings us to you. You see, we've been hearing through our contacts in the clergy about a young man that could exercise any evil entity without fail and without religious means. Gina, as the Squad's Parapsychologist, has been quietly looking for you and when she brought NYPRT in check out that demonic entity, lo and behold, your name popped up.”
I was trying to keep up. NYPD had a group that dealt with the supernatural!
Velasquez
was a parapsychologist and Peter had thrown me under the bus. After a moment’s pause, Roma asked,
“You have questions?”
“NYPRT told you about me, Sir?”
“Don't be too hard on poor Peter. The lion's share of their funding comes from us, as we use
their personnel and equipment to help our investigations where appropriate. Gina really did find
that case and call them in. It was only when they had exhausted their normal exorcism channels that he was willing to bring you in. Can't blame him, really. A Class Five entity is nothing to sneeze at, although Gina tells me it took you just a little under four minutes to completely eradicate all trace of the vile beasty. How does that work?”
I stalled for time as I tried to figure out what to say.
“Er, Class Five entity sir?”
“We classify demonic entities on a ten c
lass system, Gordon, with
f
ive being middle of the pack and
t
en being Linda Blair type situations. How do you classify them?”
“Ah, either geographically bound or corporeal, Sir.”
“What the hell is corporeal, Gordon?”
“You know..ambulatory...occupying a body...ah sir.”
He just looked at me for a moment.
Velasquez
's mouth was hanging open a bit, ‘til she shut it and looked to Roma in question.
“Gordon, are you telling me that there are entities that can move about on their own...in a person's body?”
Oops. My stalling technique had let out more than I had planned.
“Well, yes, in an empty body, sir. I...ah...call them meat shells...as the person is long gone.”
From behind me, Sommers threw out the next question. “How do you rank the house-bound ones, then?”
I turned to answer: “I don't. They’re pretty much all the same as far as I'm concerned. Not much trouble, although they throw stuff and play mind games. It’s the Hellbourne..the ambulatory ones that are the challenge.”
“And you don't use any religious methods?” Roma asked.
“God and I aren't on speaking terms, sir.”
“Does your odd violet aura have anything to do with it?” he asked.
“You see auras sir?” He nodded, so I answered. “Yes sir. I use it to a..rip them from their meat shells and then I ...well...I guess you could say I banish them. Sir.”
They all looked at me for a moment, but the silence was suddenly broken by three cell phones ringing at the same time. Roma read the text that came through on his, then dialed a number and identified himself. After listening for a moment, he answered, “Have the rest of the team meet us on site.”
He
hung up
and turned to me
. “Gordon, we have a call. I want you to come with us on this. I'm interested in your reactions. Consider it part of the interview.”
We moved quickly downstairs with me pausing to grab my rain gear and patrol bag. A stack of sub sandwiches caught my eye as I passed through the Muster room and I grabbed one in a plastic bag and stuffed it in my cargo pockets on my navy blue BDU pants, not knowing when my next meal would come.