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Post by Deleted on Jul 27, 2014 18:46:35 GMT -5
It was a typical girl's dorm room. Almost too typical Agent Faye Baxter thought as she glanced around the room. Growing up with four older brothers had made her a bit adverse toward pink. But Miss Steph Howe seemed unwilling to buy anything that wasn't pink.
The twenty-year-old's bright blood didn't match the throw-pillows that it had sprayed on, nor the silk night-gown with frilly white lace. Red and pink didn't go well together, except on Valentine's cards. Even Faye knew that.
Faye approached Misaki, the senior forensics analyst. "Any sign of who the attacker might be?"
Misaki shook his head. "The bed is made, and she's laying on it. Blood splatter shows she died, and immediately fell onto it, so we don't need to move the body to check the linens and sheets, as far as I'm concerned. The girl has no DNA on her, except her own."
"Any sign of sexual assault?" she asked the analyst.
The short, bald Japanese man shrugged. "Not from the looks of it. We can rule it out at the lab for sure, but as for now? All signs point to 'no.' No defensives, nails are clean. Really clean actually. In fact, the entire body is totally clean. Like, fresh out of the shower, didn't leave the dormitory clean. I mean, y'know... 'Cept the blood."
Faye nodded. "Except the blood."
"There's an exit wound at the back of the head, we found a partial bullet in the headboard. Looks like from a 9mm. But, again, we'll know for sure back at the lab. "
"Find out as soon as possible and get it to me. With a body this fresh, our unsub can't be too far." Faye pulled out her phone and rang her partner, Agent Corbin Reid. She paced past the crime scene investigators and forensics, and into the hallway of the college dorm. "It's him again."
Corbin sounded groggy on the other line. "Hrm?"
"Jesus, Reid, are you just waking up?"
The sound of a dry tongue smacking against dry lips snapped through the airwaves and out the top of Faye's cell. "Nope... No, definitely n-aaaahhhh--t."
Even though he obviously couldn't see her, Faye put a hand on her hip impatiently. "You know what my dad used to tell me when I was hungover?"
"Enlighten me."
"He said, 'if you wanna dance, you gotta pay the fiddler.' Get up, we've got a warm body here that looks like one of his."
His cover blown, Corbin allowed himself a longer, fuller yawn. "The Gentleman Ghost? You think so?"
Agent Baxter paced down the dorm stairs, toward her car, brushing past sobbing students and concerned RAs. "I know so. And don't call him that, that's so kitschy, and it makes us sound like protagonists in some shitty story. This sonofabitch is killing young girls, Reid."
She could hear the clink of stainless steel on glass as Agent Reid ostensibly stirred his coffee. "The 'gentleman' part is supposed to be tongue in cheek, Faye. Anyway, what makes you think its him?"
Counting on her fingers, even though, again, he could not see her, Faye rattled them off. "Girl, early 20s. Blonde hair. Um... buxom. No sign of sexual assault, not a single strand of DNA left at the scene. His victimology, his style, and his fucking godlike cleanliness. This is the fifth one in two weeks, and the first in two days. He is ramping up."
"Who is it, baby?" Faye heard on the other line. "No one, just go back to sleep."
Sighing, Faye leaned against the brick building where, three floors up, a young girl lay dead. "Damn it, Corbin! Are you on campus right now? You're still sleeping with that student?"
"Shhh, Faye. Yeah, I'm at Levis House. I'll meet you in 5, help you with interviews?"
"Wash your fucking hands first," Faye spat, and hung up.
Agent Corbin Reid was a handsome man, though he looked more "surfer douche" than Quantico protege. Tall and lean, with white-blonde hair, a Venice beach tan and body to match. Faye caught herself eyeing as he came up, and then shook her head. Nope.
"Where do we start?" her partner asked.
"You'll be happy to know that this is an all-girls' dormitory. The first is Evelynn Kinsey. She was the victim's across the hall neighbor."
Corbin grinned, "Hey, I'm a one woman kind of man."
"Really?" she gave him her best shit-eating grin.
"Well, one woman per campus..."
If Steph's room was pink, then Evelynn's was violet. Though her hair was shorter and brown, and where Steph had Channing Tatum on the wall, Evelynn had a bunch of sad looking, eyeliner-clad men who were, as far as Faye could tell, collectively known as "Pixie Corpse."
Evelynn was frowning, with tears in her eyes. "Stephanie was the sweetest girl I have ever met. So kind, and giving. Did you know she went to Africa last summer?"
"Was she seeing anyone, Evelynn?"
Gingerly dobbing away tears, Evelynn shook her head. "No, I mean... Lots of guys are into her, but she didn't have a boyfriend or anything. I mean, she did for a while, but they just broke up a few weeks ago."
Baxter and Reid exchanged glances. Faye set a hand on Evelynn's knee. "Who is this boy?"
"His name was Jed. Jed Laurent. He was a sweet guy, but eventually Stephanie broke up with him. Said he was a creep."
Faye got Jed's address from the girl, and thanked her. "If you remember anything, Evelynn, call me, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks."
After a quick saunter across campus, and after an awkward intrusion on a game of Dungeons & Dragons, they found Jed Laurent's dorm. It made sense to see that he had dated Stephanie. The young man dwarfed even Reid, though was twice as broad, with dark, spiky hair.
"'Sup," he said as he answered the door. Faye didn't hear the question mark.
"We want to talk to you, Mr Laurent, if you have a moment."
He scratched his eye with a knuckle. Another late sleeper. It was 9am for goodness sake. "You got an appointment?" When Faye didn't smile, he held up a hand. "Yo, chill. What do you need to know."
Faye started to push her way in the door. "May we come in?"
He shrugged, "I mean, you can, but... There's people sleeping. Upstairs and on the couch and shit."
"You were with them all night?"
"I was with her all night," and he gestured back over toward the couch. "Look, if this is about Steph, I didn't do it. I got alibis up the ass. Jenny or Janey or whoever over there, my buddies upstairs. The whole campus bar saw me. It was karaoke night. Back in Black, bee-otch."
Faye blinked hard, and then looked at Corbin. Reid took charge. "Watch it, buddy. Now, you say you didn't do it, but if that's the case, how do you know?"
He held up a mobile phone. "All over fuckin' Twitter, man. Look, Steph was a nice girl and all. Frigid, and a bit of a prude to be fuckin' honest, but nice. I hope you catch the guy that did this, but you're wasting your time here."
"Thank you, Jedidiah."
As they walked back to Levis House, Reid turned to Faye, "You think he did it?"
Faye shrugged. "Nah. No way. The Ghost is clean, he's a slob. Besides, he has an alibi. And did you see him? Still half drunk. Yet the victim's estimated TOD was 4:30am. He would have still been drunk, or at the bar getting drunk. No way could he make that shot. Our guy shoots as clean as he leaves a scene."
Corbin nodded, "You're right. Look, I'll head back to the lab, talk to Misaki."
Pebbles were kicked as Faye looked down, dejected. "Yeah, okay." She felt Reid's rough hands grab her face and lift it up.
"Hey. Stop. You're a good fuckin' detective, Faye. We're gonna get this guy." He smiled, and she forced one in return.
"Alright. I know. Alright. Get outta here," she said. You beautiful, magnificent bastard...
A small crowd had assembled as Stephanie Howe's body was pulled out, covered, on a gurney. Girls cried, campus police and RAs tried to offer what comfort they could. A crowd had assembled, even the chaplain was on hand. Squinting, Faye remembered the last two times she had seen this. Local PD had gotten the FBI involved after two murders, baffled by the lack of evidence, and Faye had seen the Ghost kill three times since arriving. Squinting harder, she remembered the last three.
The first was Celine Malachy, a young stripper. Gunned down outside, in the alley where she smoked. A crowd had formed then, too, as she was dragged out for all to see.
Second had been Tamara Rice. She had been a nanny, and was looking after two children in a residential neighbourhood not too far from here. There had been a street party going on that day, and so a huge crowd had formed as the body was removed.
And now Stephanie's body came out. The setting was different, but the situation was entirely the same. A gaggle of people.
Why?
And then it hit her like a pneumatic fist. This is part of his kill. There had been no pattern as of yet. The first victim that the PD had found was a school teacher, who wasn't found until the evening, during a middle school dance.
A crowd.
The second had been killed in the outhouse at a carnival.
Every time, there is a crowd...
Why?
So everyone can see them being brought out...
Why
Because then, they're not longer beautiful.
But he wouldn't benefit from that...
Not unless he's here.
Faye swallowed hard, and scanned the crowd. A young man in a fraying old Philadelphia Flyers winter jacket paced away, the hood pulled up over his face, back toward another dorm. Faye clenched and unclenched her fist, and began to slowly walk behind him.
As she drew nearer, she called out. "Hey!"
He didn't respond.
"Hey! Hey you!"
The man bolted.
Faye charged after him, pulling out her phone. "Corbin," she stammered breathlessly. "Corbin, I got him. I'm chasing him eastward from Levis. Come quick."
"Where? Where is he going?"
"He just went into a dormitory building. I can't see the name? Charles House?" She surged forward, "Yes," she puffed, "Yes, Charles. Come quick," she said again, and hung up, stuffing the phone back into her jacket pocket.
The security door had already shut behind him, though Faye saw the man turn the stairs, down into the basement level of the building. She drew her gun and shot out the glass. Cursing as she cut herself, she reached in and turned the door latch downward, and pulled the door open, crunching the glass as she stepped in.
It was morning, and the dormitory seemed silent. Downstairs, she heard a door close. She bolted downstairs. On one door, a "My Little Pony" sign hung, and below the ponies, in cotton candy blue and pink, dangling from a chain, a piece of wood said, "WELCOME." The welcome sign was still moving.
Got you, she mused. She approached the door, her gun still drawn. The bottom of her fist hammered against it, the blood on her hand smearing Twilight Sparkles' face. "This is the FBI, you have five seconds to open this door!"
She counted down in her head. No response. She knew that she could not boot the door open. These college dorms were safe. So, she sank three shots into the security mechanism, and then let it taste her leather cowboy boot. It flung open, and the stench flew out like some sort of unholy miasma.
Inside, the room was dark. A large, brownish blanket hung over the single window, and the only light was a dim glow from three LCD monitors. Faye peered in. On one, there was just a dark screen of code, on another a security camera feed of some dark room. The final one had tranny porn in HD.
"You are under arrest for five counts of murder, come out with your hands up!"
The large, highbacked leather chair spun around. In it, sat a man. "You caught me, agent. Come on in." He held up his wrists in surrender.
Faye reached for her cuffs with one hand, the gun still in her bloody one. She glanced back just for a moment, and just barely saw the fist come swinging. It caught her in her right temple, and sent her falling to the left, onto a pile of pizza boxes. No! I was so sloppy! The unsub must have had two partners...
The fists beat down on her again and again, though they only hit her forearms and elbows. Corbin was the best CQC expert at Quantico, and he was her partner. She thrust her pelvis up, and the mysterious assailant flew forward, making some sort of weird noise as he hit the wall.
Faye reached for her gun, but it was already gone. The original unsub held it in his hand. On his hand, on both of them, was some sort of strange glove. "Uh uh uh. This is a gun-free campus, agent," he stepped forward, and she lunged at him. Her pistol came down, cracking her in the head. He was faster and stronger than she expected.
Groaning, Faye looked over at the other assailant. He was rising to his feet, and she could see that he looked rather short. Between the stars in her eyes from the pistol whip and the darkness in the room, she could barely make out his features. What was wrong with his face?
"A few months ago, Agent, you would have probably gotten the jump on me right there. I didn't really care about my health, you see. Then I found it online. I learned how to pick-up women. I shaved and showered, and even gained a little confidence. I worked out every day. I was finally going to get everything I wanted."
Reaching up, Faye felt the egg-bump on her head. "Good for you. Why are we here, then?" She knew she had to stall him. He had her gun, and she was outnumbered.
He smiled, "Maybe you were the one I was looking for. Girls had always treated me like a freak, like a leper. I thought if I changed myself, if I changed everything I was... That they would like me..."
"And they didn't?"
"Oh no. They did. And then I realized I did not like them. With all due respect, Agent, but most girls on this campus are a bunch of sluts and imbeciles. Meat. Horrendously proud and conceited, and without any sort of love or compassion. Compassion is evolutionary, its scientific. We cannot live without it, you know. I am doing our gene pool a favour by weeding out these vapid whores."
Faye nodded, "I know."
He leaned forward, "Hm?"
"I know. I know what its like. I was a tomboy. Youngest of five, the only girl. My mom died when I was little. I... I dressed like a boy, acted like a boy. Hell," she coughed. "I could beat up most boys... But then, you know, puberty came. I changed myself. Started brushing my hair. Make-up. Dresses."
"I'm getting bored, Agent."
She wiped the blood that was slowly trickling from her forehead on the back of her sleeve. "And I found exactly what you did. Oh, sure, I was pretty enough. Boys liked me, and girls liked me... but it was all so stupid. So... Base. I know exactly what you mean."
He nodded, "The first one... I had slept with her, a few weeks before I... you know. The next day, she wouldn't even talk to me. I thought the problem was me, but even when I became attractive... The problem was them."
"Yes," gasped Faye. "Yes, now. We need to tell your story. Come on, come with me and-"
The other assailant grabbed her by her arms, and began bending them back behind her. She screamed and the joints in her shoulders popped and stretched.
"You're a fucking liar too! Like all of them! Like everybody! He was out of his seat now, with his arms held forward and his gloved hand grasping nothing but air. Faye turned around, and for the first time, got a look at her assailant's face. It was some sort of robot.
And then it all made sense. The lack of DNA, the perfectly angled gunshots. She laughed. "You are a pussy! You can't even kill in person! Do you spend your whole life behind that screen?" She gasped and moaned as the robot pulled harder on her arms. "Did you even sleep with that stripper, or did she just flash you onli-AAAAAAAGH!"
He stepped forward, and punched her in the mouth. "SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR DAMNED MOUTH. I WILL FUCKING BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT AND THEN WE'LL SEE WHO-"
The poor man's eyes opened wide as the bullet cleared his brain. A thick spray of blood gushed forward, and then he fell to his knees before crumpling to the floor, her pistol still in his hand.
Corbin Reid charged into the room, tackling the robot aside. Faye fell with them, and the three were in a pile of organic and synthetic limbs and torsos. Corbin started punching it in the face angrily. Then, "Is this a-"
"Robot? Yes." Faye groaned. Still lying there, practically on top of her, Corbin furrowed his brow.
"It isn't the strangest thing I've seen."
"Top 10 for me," she replied. They lay in silence. Man, woman, and machine. Faye's eyes locked with Corbins, and his with hers, and she found herself glancing longingly at his lips. For crying out loud, he even looks good in this filthy, dimly-lit man-cave... She knew that if something didn't happen in three seconds, she was about to do something incredibly stupid. Thankfully, Corbin broke the silence.
“Are you alright, Faye?” Agent Reid glanced at his partner, uncharacteristic concern in his voice.
“Fine. Just get this thing off of me.” Empty Dr. Pepper cans skittered away from her kicking feet while she struggled against pneumatic fingers of the now lifeless machine trying to pry her arm free with barrel of her pistol. Funny what panic can make a person do.
“Hold on, you’re going to shoot yourself.” Reid looked around, his eyes settling on a stapler; droplets of blood marred its gleaming off-white surface. He wiped it off on his shirt and handed it to her. “Here, try this.”
Faye snatched it from his hand and went to work wedging the edge of the device between her bruised arm and the metallic phalanges. “I was hoping for a screwdriver.” She snarled, through gritted teeth.
“If I see one, I’ll let you know.” Agent Reid kicked a soda can out of the way and rolled the body over. The man was in his mid to late thirties, unexpectedly fit. The rest of him matched the stereotype, though. Unshaven basement-dweller, his shirt was stained with more than just blood and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks. It was all the gear that had Reid’s attention, though. His hands bore a pair of strange electronic gloves which covered the wrists and finger tips; wires extended between those two points. On his head he wore a sort visor, the kind of thing you see in a sci-fi movie; probably worth some money without the bullet hole. The whole apparatus, though, was utterly foreign to him. “What did you say this guy did again?”
“He was a fry-cook.” Agent Baxter answered, having finally wrestled herself free.
“And you say he used all of this,” Reid gestured to the whole scene and tried to imagine it without brain-matter spattered on everything, “to control that?” He used his chin to indicate the broken robot. The hand had been dismantled; how had she done that?
Faye nodded, rubbing her arm.
“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” He moved toward the stairs, “But you’re doing the paperwork.”
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Post by JMDavis ((Silver)) on Aug 1, 2014 10:00:31 GMT -5
Agent Faye Baxter stalked into her office with all the annoyance and fury her five foot frame was capable of holding. She slammed her door shut so that the sound resounded and caused heads to turn before seating herself in a comfortable leather chair to glower at the assignment she’d been handed. “Typical,” she muttered under her breath, “Just. Fucking. Typical.” She spat the words like the curses they were – the report had the makings of a murder spree right up the alley of the Initiative. But at the same time that’s all it was, a murder spree.
A slight knock at the door was all the warning she received as Brian Reid, her partner and the rock that typically bore the brunt of his partner’s misplaced wrath, stepped inside. He shut the door calmly behind him. “Can you believe this? Can you?” she snarled at him, gesturing at the folder as if it were a shit taken on her desk instead of evidence for the investigation of a serial killer. Reid didn’t reply he leaned against the door to let her vent. “Oh, sure, send fucking Tyler and Wallowitz to deal with a werebear, or god-damned Murphy and Bowden for that necromancer –“
“Necrodancer,” Reid corrected, though Faye overrode him.
“- in Calcutta, but give Agents Baxter and Reid a string of serial killings because that’s all they can fucking handle!” She took in a deep breath, Reid used that moment to try and calm her – he knew she had enough steam to continue the tirade.
“Faye, the big wigs at the top assign the agents they think can deal with each case best. Wallowitz is fluent in speaking Russian and Tyler grew up in a family who typically hunted any sort of therianthrope that reared its ugly head – or heads as the case may be. Murphy is literally carrying the wrath of Heaven in his right hand and Bowden is a good enough dancer that he can take on whatever is causing corpses to dance to Thriller when it comes down to it. Clearly, you and I are best for handling this case,” Reid said evenly.
Faye glowered, before muttering, “If Bowden saves the world from a zombie apocalypse through fucking Gangnam Style we’ll never hear the end of it.” She brushed a few strands of red hair from her reddened face, “It’s because we’re just human, Reid. Everyone else has an ace up their sleeve – you’re just some jerk from New York and I’m just some girl from Washington. Hell, all I can speak is high school French.”
Reid clucked his tongue, “Hey, Wallowitz and Bowden only went on their missions for non-mystical reasons.”
Faye stared at him blankly for a moment, “Wallowitz can grant life to inanimate matter to form a golem at will and Bowden’s mother is a fucking faerie goddess, or did you forget about those tidbits?”
Reid cleared his throat, “I was hoping you had forgotten, to be honest.” He said dryly, before leaving his relaxed post at the door to walk forward and sit in the highly uncomfortable chair Faye kept on the opposite side of her desk. “Look, the Initiative recruited us – they came to us and asked us to join. There’s some reason for it, they see something in us that we don’t see in ourselves,” he shrugged as he tried, fruitlessly, to get comfortable.
Faye snorted, an unlovely sound as she stared at him, “Anything else, Confucius?”
Reid held up a hand, “We’ve been on regular cases you’d get from regular police stations or in the FBI for the year we’ve worked here. That might be their way of testing us – seeing what we can do before they give us big league stuff. Who knows, we pass these tests they could break out something from the mystical armoury that puts Bowden’s dance moves to shame.”
Faye rolled her eyes, “Fine. Fine – here, this is what we got.” She slid the manila folder containing pictures, mystical sigils, a dossier and some doodles of their supervisor hanging above a pit of lava over to Reid. He flicked it open, absently noticing how artistic the pictures of dismembered men and women looked in black and white. “Twelve dead so far, no apparent connection between them – also a distance of a hundred miles between one and the rest, in that case it’s only the cause of death that added up.”
Reid glanced up, “They didn’t think it was a copycat?”
Faye shook her head, “It was too precise, especially since the bosses are keeping this one on lock and key from the general public. Besides, it’s the way they were dismembered. Look again, they weren’t hacked up, they were ripped limb from limb – literally. Name me any one person, outside of the Initiative, who can display that kind of strength.”
Reid pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Well, it could have been a leech… but the amount of blood left behind doesn’t fit. It’s chaotic enough to be one of the fey.”
Faye shook her head, “No – I mean, yes, it’s chaotic enough, but the fey are malicious torturers. This just looks violent and bloody. They’ve ruled out any sort of therianthrope as well – something about set hunting grounds and lack of a full moon.”
“Demon? A sorcerer conjuring up some hellspawn or another to fuel a big rite or fulfill a petty sense of vengeance?” Reid offered, closing the folder – he knew what the mystical symbols inside meant, but had to ask anyway. It was part of the job.
Faye shook her head again, “No – they ruled out any mystical influence, earthly or otherwise. We’re dealing with something that is strong enough to rip a person apart, that doesn’t want to eat them in anyway, has an apparently chaotic set of attacking, and is completely mortal.”
Reid lightly banged the folder against the desk, “See? And you thought this was just going to be a regular series of serial killings.”
Faye rolled her eyes again, “Come on – the company jet is going to take us to Bum-Fuck-Nowhere, Kansas so we can solve who had the candlestick in the billiard room.” She stood from her desk, Reid following suit with a slight sigh of relief as they ventured out into the office again – the desk minions keeping their heads down and eyes averted. Even if both Faye and Reid were regular mortals, it didn’t pay to look at the short woman when she had cooled down after a fury filled shouting session.
There was an unmarked black SUV waiting for them, the windows heavily tinted and the sheen on the car as if it had a fresh coat of wax. A balaclava-clad driver stood patiently waiting for them, a heavy kukri strapped to one hip and an ugly .44 at the other, wordlessly he opened the back seat passenger door allowing Faye and Reid to slip inside, before shutting it and walking around to the front of the car. Then they were off, heading for the company landing strip.
A black partition between the front and back seat allowed for privacy – it wasn’t that the drivers weren’t allowed to listen in on official Initiative business, in fact the entire car was most likely bugged. It was more for the sense of privacy it gave than any actual privacy. “So, we’ll most likely arrive at the office in,” Reid flipped open the folder, glancing at the dossier. “Larned, Kansas… population of 4,023 before the death toll – getting close enough to almost break the barrier back to 3,999.”
Faye nodded, sitting back, “We find out anything the yokels have before we were handed the case. Arm ourselves to the nines and bust some hopefully corporeal heads.”
“Yeah, nothing like a man and woman all in black toting weaponry out of Star Wars to keep the local population calm,” Reid muttered wryly.
Faye scowled, “That’s another thing, why the hell haven’t we put a Blackout on the place?”
Reid shrugged, closing the folder and settling back for the ride, “They’ve initiated a lockdown at least. This hasn’t reached national news, but I’m sure the people in the city know. Place that small, word is bound to get around. Might be that the office there is too understaffed to handle a full Blackout.”
She shook her head, “Just send a couple of goons like our chauffeur down. Impose Initiative-style order and get in and out before they attribute it to a wild animal or aliens.”
Reid chuckled, “Maybe that’s what you and are for?”
Faye’s face paled, “Oh god – dear god they wouldn’t do that to us, would they? You don’t think my jokes got back to them, do you?”
Reid gave her a flat look, “I’m sure they have. But I don’t think they’d punish me alongside you. I’m thinking it more likely that because of the oddness of the situation they want to refrain from full on Blackout status until they’re completely sure what they’re dealing with is something Man-Is-Not-Meant-To-See.” The last was delivered in a solemn voice out of the old time classic monster movies of the 50s and 60s.
Faye pursed her lips, “So, a town under threat – a killing 100 miles out that we can rule as falling under the scope of the investigation that seems to have garnered full Blackout status for the moment. You and I with just our side arms and whatever big guns we have the clearance to requisition. More and more I’m hoping this is some sideshow freak of a strongman going on a drunken rampage.”
Reid chuckled, “Look on the bright side – we can still requisition specialty ammunition.”
Faye pondered that before shrugging, “Good enough consolation prize.”
The two lapsed into a companionable silence as the SUV drove smoothly down the flashing lights of the underground road into and out of the Initiative before ascending a ramp that brought them into a star filled winter night next to Reagan Airport, the SUV turned onto the tarmac and rumbled down to the private hangar for the Initiative. They were grateful as the car drew to a halt, they joked and worked well together… but they were colleagues more than friends, and long silences with no work to discuss in anyway tended to get awkward.
Their driver exited, opening the passenger door for both Faye and Reid to exit. A jet that wouldn’t look out of place in a spy film was waiting for them, four other balaclava-clad men standing next to it – two of them wearing white pilot caps. Faye stared at them as if this were some kind of bad joke, “I swear, if we have stewardesses and they’re dressed like that but with the skirts and hats I’m going to doubt the veracity of our organization.”
Reid arched an eyebrow, “That makes you doubt the veracity of our organization? Not the fact Bowden was sent on a mission less for the fact he can call up some major mojo and more for the fact he’s won twenty major dance competitions in his life?”
Faye sighed, starting for the stairs that would lead into the luxury jet, “It’s all about the layers, Reid. At a certain point we stop looking like some shadowy organization that ranks up there with the Illuminati and pyramid schemes and become a Weird Al music video.”
Reid followed a step behind, “Say what you will – but foil has saved countless lives, Faye.”
As soon as their guards were on board, and the ramp was raised, sure enough a balaclava-clad stewardess emerged to offer food and drinks. Faye had her head buried in her hands as she ordered a Jack and coke with bacon and eggs, while Reid, barely containing, asked for a coffee and a sausage and egg biscuit. Their two guards, the driver having returned to headquarters, sat near the cockpit. They hadn’t said a word for the flight as they both sat playing a card game.
After her second drink Faye looked at them and cleared her throat, they looked up immediately. She offered a smile before speaking, “So – are you two our only backup on this mission? Or will we have the usual small army for these investigations.”
The look that passed between the two was barely readable as awkward, Faye really hated the fact those they employed were required to remain faceless drones. After a minute one turned back to focus on the game while the other cleared his – no, her – throat. “We’re assigned to guarding the plane,” her accent was a very heavy French, “All of your resources are located at the Larned headquarters.”
Faye stared at them, nothing coming to mind as the disbelief at their lack of being able to utilize the – as far as she was concerned – nameless cobra commandos to do the heavy work. Reid shrugged slightly when she looked to him, “Could be –“
“Don’t. Don’t say it. I know what you’re going to say. Don’t say it,” Faye snapped. They lapsed into silence, Reid calm and unconcerned, Faye simmering. The flight wasn’t a long one, the plane landing – roughly two hours – the ramp lowered allowing Faye and Reid to exit, the stewardess waving at them from the top of the stairs.
There was another SUV waiting for them – a dingy tan instead of black – and next to it stood their driver, not a faceless soldier who could kill at a moment’s notice, but some office drone fresh out of high school. Faye glared at Reid who studiously ignored her as they walked toward the car. The kid looked up, gawking at them behind coke bottle glasses. It couldn’t have been their appearance – Reid did have a good foot and two inches on Faye, but they both looked like regular people compared to some of the others in the Initiative. It wasn’t until they got closer that the amazement was put into words, “Real agents, wow.”
Reid glanced at Faye, “I can hear your teeth grinding, calm down.” His voice was pitched low enough that he was sure the kid couldn’t hear, before turning a friendly face toward the kid. “That’s us – agents Faye Baxter and Brian Reid, and you?”
“Arthur Neilman,” he said, holding out his hand while still staring at us in awe. Faye gave him a crisp nod before climbing into the SUV while Reid shook the offered hand, “Did I do something?”
“Not at all, Arthur, flying just doesn’t agree with Agent Baxter… well, not much agrees with her,” He added with an easy smile that had the rail thin cubicle jockey relaxing. Reid climbed into the back of the SUV and shut the door as Arthur scurried into the front and started off.
There was no partition.
Faye was glaring out of the windows, tinted just enough not nowhere near company standards, as Reid glanced between her and Arthur. Clearing his throat he focused on Arthur instead of the lost cause next to him, “So, Arty-boy, what can you tell us about how the Initiative has been handling things down here?”
Arthur looked into the rearview before focusing on the road again, “Uh, well… the landlines are down, phone company dealing with some interference. We have a few road blockades made up of the locals in the know –“
“What?” Faye snapped, roused to the conversation. “That’s a huge breach of security! Why aren’t our own forces on the job?”
Arthur looked in the rearview again, “Ah, well, Agent Baxter… no one at the office looks official enough to pull it off.”
“Bullshit – our boys and girls in black tend to look like what Marines aspire to be in their uniforms. Do they all have baby faces beneath those masks?” She demanded, clutching at the seat and leaning forward to stare into the side of his face as she began her rant.
Arthur winced slightly, “Er, well, yes. I mean, yes they are intimidating. But, uh… we don’t have any of them.”
Faye was quiet for a few long moments, “What?” The word was barely whispered.
Arthur began to sweat, his knuckles stark white on the wheel. “The… The office in Larned is too small to warrant any of the divisions. So we mostly rely on what the other offices can send us and the local force.”
Faye sank back into her seat slowly, breathing heavily through her nose as she tried to calm down. “Let me guess. They decided the locals could handle a blockade and declined to send any reinforcements?”
Arthur nodded his head hurriedly.
“Reid. I hate you. I hate you more than you can possibly imagine,” her voice was quiet, barely contained rage.
Reid shook his head, “I’d say stop being superstitious, but considering what the Initiative deals with I think you’re justified this time around.” Turning to Arthur, Reid adopted a soothing tone – laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Arty-boy, what do you have as far as an armoury goes? I know we can’t tote the big guns, but we’re hoping for something that will give us an edge.”
Arthur nodded his head, “Ah, well… we have a couple of hunting rifles, two automatic shotguns, and enough armour-penetrating rounds to spare.”
Now it was Reid’s turn to go silent, “You let me down, Arthur. You let me down.” He sunk back in his own seat, bowing his head to run his hands over his smooth head.
Faye looked at Reid then Arthur, “At least tell me the place isn’t stuck in the past where they’ll look at a black man and white woman walking together and not give a damn.”
Arthur brightened, “Oh! Yeah! No, they’re really cool about that!” There was too much eagerness in his voice, Faye lost it and Reid determined that the frustrated laughter of Faye was far worse than her usual surliness.
They passed one of the aforementioned roadblocks, Arthur waving cheerfully to the deputy on duty, before the SUV continued into Larned. It wasn’t a far drive to a squat, square and unmarked building. Its white stucco walls were stained from rain and dirt. It drove to a stop, letting out Faye, Reid and Arthur. Neither Faye nor Reid bothered to find out more about the place – they knew it was going to be all that it appeared to be, “Right, Arthur. We’re going to need those two shotguns, the armour piercing rounds and the full cooperation of the locals. Please tell me, please, that there are more than just the ones blocking the roads in and out of here.”
“Of course there are, there’s only two roads in and out of here so there’s still three deputies patrolling at any time and the Sheriff,” he answered cheerfully.
They had seen three deputies at the roadblock. That meant there were, dismally, at least sixteen locals. Faye just nodded her head, “I’ll take the keys to the SUV. Get those weapons and set up an appointment with the Sheriff for us, please.” She said softly.
Arthur nodded his head, handing her the keys before rushing into the building. Reid watched him go before looking back at Faye, “You’re starting to take this well.”
“I’ve resolved that I’m living in some sort of hell and that it isn’t within my power to change these circumstances,” She responded simply.
Reid thought about it for a moment before nodding slowly, “I can see how your natural fatalism responds in such a way. Look on the bright side very few things – supernatural or not – manage to stand up to a shotgun blast. Hell, half the time the noise alone stops them in their tracks.”
“Shut up,” Faye said in that same, soft, voice. Arthur returned within ten minutes lugging a black sports bag over his shoulder. He passed it off to Reid who casually placed the guns and ammo in the back of the car before climbing into the passenger seat. Faye nodded to Arthur before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling out and heading for the sheriff’s department.
It, thankfully, wasn’t hard to find. After swapping the regular rounds in their S&W 500 for the armour piercing ones and returning their side arms to the shoulder holsters before exiting the SUV and heading inside to the artificially cooled air. An elderly woman sat at a small desk near the front and glanced up from behind horn-rimmed, pink spectacles, “May I help you two?”
Reid nodded, stepping forward and flashing his pearly whites, “Yes you can, ma’am, my partner and I are here to see the Sheriff? I believe Arthur Neilman called ahead?”
A flash of recognition at the boy’s name sparked in the woman’s eyes, “Oh, yes. Go right ahead, Sheriff Connors is expecting you.” Reid nodded, and was about to start walking when the woman said, “By the way, I voted for Obama.”
Reid paused, looking at the woman quietly for a moment before saying slowly, “Thank… Thank you?” She smiled and nodded her head, the way she had said it made it sound as if she had done Reid a personal favour before she went back to her work – which seemed to be clipping coupons from a newspaper. Shaking his head, Reid started toward the back with a smirking Faye following.
“I’m surprised she didn’t mention MLK,” Faye murmured as they navigated around desks – fifteen in all – before heading to a door that lead into a more private office. The glazed glass had bold black letters lined in gold painted on that read Sheriff Patrick Connors on it. There were no other deputies in the place, “Must be a swan loose.”
Reid shook his head, knocking politely and waited until a slightly muffled voice told them to enter. The two entered, closing the door behind them and turned to face a slightly overweight man of middle years. Cowboy boots were propped up on a desk with blue jeans tucked through, a black cowboy hat sat on a head of thick grey-brown hair. Sheriff Connors smiled, standing from his desk and walking around to shake both their hands, “Agents Baxter and Reid – pleased to meet ya.” He looked at Reid and smiled wider, “I loved The Jeffersons as a kid.”
Reid elbowed Faye discreetly before she could laugh and just nodded his head, “Good, thank you.” The Sheriff nodded his head before retreating back behind his desk to his comfy chair – gesturing for them to take a seat in either of the thick leather chairs in front of his desk. Reid and Faye sat, Faye sinking into her chair with Reid sitting on the edge of his. “So, Sheriff Connors, what can you tell us about the murders?”
Connors leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head, “Well – I’m sure you folks have all the pictures and whatnot. So, I’m not rightly sure what you two want to know.”
Faye cut in, “Suspects? Potential motives? Anything, no matter how minute, that could link them together?”
Connors sucked on his teeth, scratched at some stubble on his chin, before nodding slightly. “Not much on suspects – don’t know of anyone in town who could do that to a person. Motives are pretty close to the same – a few of them maybe but not all of them.”
“Those few?” Faye prompted.
Connors nodded his head, sitting forward again to rummage in his desk before retrieving a folder similar to the one Faye and Reid had left on the plane – minus the symbols, dossier, and the drawing of a superior dangling over lava. They were also not in black and white, it made the murders as ugly and gruesome as they truly were. Connors slid out the three that were most pertinent, “This is Arnold Mayhew, Jessica Laurents and Michael Stocken. Arnold Mayhew is a hardass – not the kind of guy you look to for comfort and not the friendliest of neighbors – I hear he was a real slav- erm, tyrant to his employees as well. Jessica… well, classic popular girl, carried that with her out of high school and into her everyday life, rubbed those who knew about her the wrong way. Finally, Michael Stocken, classic bully to Jessica’s popular girl – the two were dating but it didn’t seem like it was really going anywhere.
“As for the rest, well – most of them are good people. Didn’t cause trouble to no one who didn’t trouble them first,” Connors shrugged slightly. “I’d offer more, but that’s all we’ve been able to piece together as far as motive.”
Faye nodded, “So, we have a link for two of them, at least. Did any of the others go to the same high school as Jessica and Michael?”
Connors scratched his chin, “A few – I think two others did. But the rest are too old for it.”
Faye nodded, “Anything else? Any routine these people might have had that would have had them in the same place?”
“Not that I can really think of – this is a small town, I mean, we’re always in contact with one another in some shape or form,” Connors responded.
Faye closed her eyes and Reid took over, recognizing the signs of a brewing storm. “Look at it from an outsider’s perspective, Sheriff. A place that might tie these people together – minus the one 100 miles south.”
Connors shrugged, “I… I suppose The Homestead? Mayhew was the owner, and it’s the only place in town really worth having dates at aside from at home or the movies.”
Reid smiled and nodded, “Thanks – Agent Baxter will look into that.”
Connors returned the smile, “Happy to help. If y’all need anything else, don’t be afraid to ask.”
The three rose, shook hands, and Faye and Reid departed. “A fucking restaurant, really? That’s what we’re going on with a connection?” Faye spat, hunching her shoulders – they had seen the place as they drove through town. It was still doing business even with the owner dead.
Reid blew out a breath, running a hand over his shaved head. “It’s all we have to go on, we’ll get back to Arthur and talk with him. You can do some research into the employees there – the databases are going to be fully running if anything. If Arthur is the standard then I’m relatively sure we won’t be working on systems like in The Net.”
Faye glared at Reid as they climbed into the SUV and drove back to their base of operations. She was delightfully surprised to find out Reid was right, the computers were all hi-tech, on par – if not above – the quality of those back at their offices. Arthur compiled a list and brought it to the desk Faye had commandeered, as soon as the paper hit the desk she dove into her work – running background checks and crosschecking employees with those murdered.
Reid stopped by, offering a mug of warm coffee as he leaned against the edge of a desk and sipped at his own. “Find anything yet?”
Faye frowned but nodded, “I think so.” She tapped the eraser end of a pencil against the computer screen, “Robert Zeckis – graduated the same year as Laurents and Stocken. Went on to get quite a few degrees in engineering and theoretical metaphysics before coming back to his home town and… well, becoming a cook at The Homestead.”
Reid arched an eyebrow, “Either poor career choices or a trust fund baby.”
She shook her head, “I think the former. Unless he’s really low-key about any inheritance. He lives in his parent’s former house still – which looks like it was ripped from the scene of The Wizard of Oz.”
Reid nodded slowly, taking a sip of his coffee, “Right, so. Guy goes to the same school as the town bully and popular girl, heads out to a college to get two hefty degrees and decides to spend his life in an old house, in BFN as a fry-cook. Does the guy look like he could rip people apart as if they were papier-mache?”
Faye turned the screen toward Reid, he had a ratty beard, dark hair cut close in a military fashion. Fit enough to look almost like one of the Stormtroopers of the Initiative, though pale enough to show how much sun he really got. “Unless he’s on some major new drugs, I doubt it.”
Reid shrugged, “I’ll have Arthur call The Homestead, ask them if Zeckis is working. We’ll head to his place if he’s not, if he is we’ll ask when he’s off work so we can talk to him.”
Faye just nodded, “Why not? He’s linked to at least six of the victims directly. Maybe he knows the other six as well – more than just as small towners normally do.”
Reid pushed from the desk, “Or maybe we’re just wasting our time.” He headed off, having Arthur make the call. Faye searched a bit more before Reid returned, “Zeckis is getting off work now and has agreed to meet us at his place.”
Faye glanced up at him before nodding, grabbing her jacket off the back of her chair and shrugging into it, “Well, let’s not keep our genius fry-cook waiting.”
The SUV came to a halt outside of Zeckis’ house – it was drab enough to be the sepia-toned stand in for Dorothy’s house. Faye and Reid got out, looking at the place. “Seemed nice enough on the phone, according to Arthur. Don’t think we need to go in worrying about a fight,” Reid remarked casually.
They crossed onto the lawn and a couch came soaring out of the side of the house.
It bounced once, twice, then rolled to bowl Reid down. Faye had drawn her gun instantly and glanced down at Reid. He was gasping, but alive – and slowly easing the couch off of him. “What the hell?” he gasped out.
An easy chair followed, which Faye narrowly avoided. The SUV was not as lucky as the passenger side suddenly became concave. Faye helped Reid lever the couch off, the two ducking behind it. “Okay, we have something strong enough to wield furniture like a weapon and cave in the side of cars. I’m going to bet that it’s either Zeckis or the poor guy was next on the hit list.”
Reid drew his own gun, still struggling for breath, “We should…”
“Split up, I go in and hold the fort you call for help,” Faye finished incorrectly, launching herself over the couch as Reid wheezed after her. He sank back, dialing the number of the Larned office on a smartphone as Faye ventured inside. The room was empty, whatever had been attacking them having vanished for the moment.
Wariness crept into her, if what they were up against could render itself invisible, or move fast enough to leave the scene of the crime, they were both woefully underequipped. Stalking through the house cautiously brought her to an open door that lead down into the basement of the place. She glanced down it quietly, turning to step away, when a gleaming black hand lashed out to catch her leg and drag her – screaming – down the stairs. Her head rattled a few times, but she had enough presence of mind to hold onto her gun as she finally reached the bottom, the remaining air that hadn’t been knocked out wheezing from her lungs.
Above her, in the dimly lit basement, loomed the culprit they’d been hunting. Metallic skin a deep black, a cyclopean red eye in the center of its head. The details were fuzzy, though that could have been the concussion, but it was definitely not mystical in nature – as far as Faye could tell.
“Do you like it?” A soft voice asked this from the furthest reaches of the lair. Robert Zeckis stepped forward and looked as if he’d just come from the basement of a scifi film. One hand was locked in a similar grip to that of the robot holding Faye’s wrist. “I built it myself. Nothing short of a tank can breach its armour – not even a shot to the eye will disable it. Do you like it?” Zeckis asked again.
Faye mumbled something as she struggled to regain her breath.
“I know you do. You’re as impressed as all my victims have been. But they deserved it. They deserved every moment as we – I – tore them apart. I experienced every moment of it, I felt powerful – as powerful as they had felt all of their lives. These hands, these eyes – both taking part in their justice up close and witnessing it from afar. I was a god. A god of steel and electricity!” He laughed, loud and deep, “Through me the engine of the destruction of the powerful and cruel will be brought down! I will –“
A gunshot. An explosion of brain matter. The body crumpled where it was. “Monologue long enough and make the same fucking mistake the villains do in every single movie,” Faye growled, before beginning to struggle with the arm that still held her in a vise grip. Even with Zeckis’ death the robot hadn’t let go – though it slumped, powered down.
“Are you alright, Faye?” Agent Reid glanced at his partner, uncharacteristic concern in his voice.
“Fine. Just get this thing off of me.” Empty Dr. Pepper cans skittered away from her kicking feet while she struggled against pneumatic fingers of the now lifeless machine trying to pry her arm free with barrel of her pistol. Funny what panic can make a person do.
“Hold on, you’re going to shoot yourself.” Reid looked around, his eyes settling on a stapler; droplets of blood marred its gleaming off-white surface. He wiped it off on his shirt and handed it to her. “Here, try this.”
Faye snatched it from his hand and went to work wedging the edge of the device between her bruised arm and the metallic phalanges. “I was hoping for a screwdriver.” She snarled, through gritted teeth.
“If I see one, I’ll let you know.” Agent Reid kicked a soda can out of the way and rolled the body over. The man was in his mid to late thirties, unexpectedly fit. The rest of him matched the stereotype, though. Unshaven basement-dweller, his shirt was stained with more than just blood and he smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks. It was all the gear that had Reid’s attention, though. His hands bore a pair of strange electronic gloves which covered the wrists and finger tips; wires extended between those two points. On his head he wore a sort visor, the kind of thing you see in a sci-fi movie; probably worth some money without the bullet hole. The whole apparatus, though, was utterly foreign to him. “What did you say this guy did again?”
“He was a fry-cook.” Agent Baxter answered, having finally wrestled herself free.
“And you say he used all of this,” Reid gestured to the whole scene and tried to imagine it without brain-matter spattered on everything, “to control that?” He used his chin to indicate the broken robot. The hand had been dismantled; how had she done that?
Faye nodded, rubbing her arm.
“Alright, I’ll take your word for it.” He moved toward the stairs, “But you’re doing the paperwork.”
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