《World of Darkness: Helsong》
Chapter 1: Why the long Face?
A little girl was walking down her cellar steps. She had one hand on the railing to support her as her 8 year old legs carefully located each step. The only sounds that could be heard are the creaking of the wood beneath her and the low buzzing hum of machinery she was too young to understand the functions of.
Despite the pitch blackness, she made her way down without much dilemma, except for when the sleeve of her jammies got caught on a loose nail. As she reached the final step her left hand immediately found the wall and she ran it along the exposed brick to try to find the light switch, as she kept walking.
The humming grew louder. Her other hand was clutching her stuffed dolphin so she couldn''t feel around in front of her by the time she bumped into the object making all the noise. She let go of the wall and switched her doll to her free hand to feel the metal of a generator.
It dawns on her that she completely missed the switch, as she recalled the machine being in the corner of the room, she turns around to make another pass along the wall. Amidst the darkness, two glowing eyes now stare at her from the opposite wall, right by the stairs leading out to her only exit. She clutched her dolphin and took a step back, pushing herself up against the generator.
"M-Mommy," she called out. The hum of the machine against her back almost distracted her from her rising heartbeat. The eyes only blinked at her.
She took two steps to the side. Clear of the obstacle she could know step back all the way the wall. She presses against the brick and now both hands are clutching onto the stuffed toy.
"Is-Is this where you''ve b-been all this time mommy?" she asked the figure. The eyes blinked again, but this time it made its way towards her, each step making the tapping of long unkempt nails against concrete floor.
With the clinking of what could be chains, the figure falls short of the girl. It was tall; its eyes made its height to be about 6 feet tall if not more. Despite the distance, the girl could smell the stench of its breath, and she knew that even from there the creature could reach her.
They only stared at each other, the little girl and the tall thing in the dark. For a good minute and a half, it was only two pale glowing eyes, a buzzing hum, and darkness.
"Yiieeeeeeeeee..." the creature made a drawn out noise in an effort to communicate.
Before it could finish articulating, the lights to the first floor turns on and the silhouette of a man appears in the doorway. The man''s face looked horrified at the sight, but just as quickly it turned to disappointment.
"Sweetheart, I told you never to come down here," Daisy''s father said.
With the light now pouring in, she could make out the grotesque form before her: A crooked torso with drooping breasts, lanky arms that reached the floor, and a long droopy face, with gaps between rotten teeth.
"Yiieeeeee yieeee, you should go to bed honey."
EEEEEEK-EEEEEEK-EEEEEEK-EEEEEEK
Daisy McCarthy awoke with a jolt. By the time she was fully conscious she realized she already had her hand on her phone, muscle memory alone allowing her to turn off her alarm. She sighs to herself, it''s been years since she''s dreamt of the cellar. Why she remembers that particular event today, of all days, she doesn''t know, so she allows her mind to place the memory in the safe where it belongs.
She sits up, stretches and blinks the sleep out of her eyes. The first thing she sees in the morning is the cork board nailed over her work desk. A red string connects images of victims and cases to one another. The path outlined the locations where murders that followed a certain theme occurred. Repeated murder methods usually pointed to one thing; the activity of a serial killer.
For a whole month, Daisy and her partner have been tracking down one particular killer, the Jacksonville Killer, who has since been moving south of Illinois. The killer always seemed to be one step ahead of them, but Daisy knew that this was the day she would finally catch her quarry.
Daisy smiles at the board, gets out of bed and starts her day. As she moves out of the covers, she nearly knocks the case files she was reading the night prior off the bed.
Her bedroom served her two purposes: it was where she could gather her thoughts and work on her cases outside of the office, and it was her workspace for preparing minor rituals and spell components. If she was feeling too tired to make her way to the sofa, it was a good enough place to sleep.
The bedroom opened directly to the living area and continuing forward lead to the kitchen. Going right after exiting the bedroom lead to the bathroom, and to the exit to the main hall.
As she finishes her shower, she immediately heads to the kitchen to prepare her to-go coffee. She idly listens to the TV playing the current news story discussing the recent political setting. Daisy was a registered voter, but the popularity contest some would call an election couldn''t be further from her mind right now, which was probably why she didn''t notice the shift in topics.
"-is currently leading the elections. In other news, another body was found-" said the anchorman.
Amidst the news, Daisy''s phone rings on the kitchen counter. "Richard Fuller," her partner''s name, displayed on the screen. She answers the call and sandwiches the phone between her ear and shoulder.
"What''s up Rick?" asked Daisy, tightening the lid on her thermos.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"-young Latino male in his home the previous evening-"
"Daisy! Are you watching the news right now?" asked Rick.
"-sliced his face from ear to ear-"
"Yeah, I am," said Daisy. She turns around to face the television. "What''s going on?"
"-we believe this to be some type of signature-"
"It''s out Zee, must have been leaked or something." Daisy stares at the screen horrified.
"-the Jacksonville Killer, here in our city-"
"Daisy I''ll be right over. What are we gonna do?"
"..."
"Hello?"
"Fuck"
The light turns red just as the silver Pontiac makes it to the intersection.
Rick puts the car on park and checks his phone. He had 5 missed calls and a text. The calls all came from numbers belonging to VASCU supervisors, and the text came from Daisy: "Don''t talk to anyone, don''t answer any calls. Just come pick me up."
Daisy was always the one taking the lead in their partnership, and Rick was completely fine with that. By all means they were both rookies, but Daisy just seemed to take all this monster stuff in stride.
The Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit is a department within the FBI that employed psychic individuals to identify and catch serial murderers. They vet agents for latent psychic tendencies, and through a clandestine process, bring out their potential.
The procedure itself was classified, but it was common knowledge that different individuals developed different abilities. Rick developed heightened empathic perception, making him ideal for interrogation.
Rick used to think the gifts were amazing, and phenomenal for police work, but it''s since proved to be a double edged sword. After all, who would want to get inside the hell scape of a killers mind?
A movement within the periphery of Rick''s vision catches his eye. Directly to his right, he sees a pasty white man emerge from behind a tree. The man is wearing dry fit joggers attire and shades. The man wasn''t holding a phone or anything that could justify his being there in his hand, and the other was being obscured by the tree.
Rick couldn''t tell where the man was looking through their shades, but he stoo still, like he was waiting for something. Rick wasn''t a coward, but he shortly felt himself getting more anxious as the red light drew on, and the man just quietly and unmovingly stood there. He reached over to his glove compartment and flipped it open. The service pistol he keeps in his car slides down. In one swift motion, the gun is in his hand and clocked, all out of the stranger''s line of sight.
A beat passed and the vehicle behind him blasts their horn. In his shock, Rick almost discharges his firearm, but instead opts to drop it on the passenger seat. A quick glance at the light shows that it had already turned green. He slams his foot on the gas and accelerates out of there.
Looking at his side mirror, he spots a fluffy lapdog pissing on the tree, attached to the man''s hand by a leash. Rick sighs to himself in relief and mentally kicks himself for getting scared enough to pull his gun on a man walking his dog, but as he speeds along he notices his pulse isn''t going down.
He could feel his skin breaking out in sweat as his breathing gets heavier. He pulls over to the side and puts his gun back in the compartment. Before closing it, he grabs his zoloft and pops a tablet in his mouth. Rick''s heart feels like it''s trying to break out of his ribcage, but he tries to stabilize his breathing and waits for it to subside.
It wasn''t uncommon for agents to be diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, depression and the like. He was told that they were just side effects developed by psychics new to the procedures. Rick knew better, he knew it was all bullshit.
It wasn''t just serial killers and murderers the FBI had them chasing. There was something else out there, whether they used to be people, or something wearing human skin. There were things out there that just were too far gone in the other side that that was what they became, "other."
The term VASCU used for them was "slasher," superhuman killers that relished the act. He thought they were joking at first. Who would send green agents, just barely new hires, to go after living slaughterhouses.
It wasn''t the psychic powers that made you crazy- it was the job. Still, it was better to suck it up, and finish the mission. No one lasted long enough to prove his theory anyway.
When he could finally breath again; Rick threw his pills in with his gun; texted Daisy, tell her he''d be there soon; and sped on his way.
Later that day.
"We''re home Mrs. Wheeler," announced Jeffrey, opening the door with his shoulder. A silky terrier walks in ahead of him. He lets the leash drop from his fingers as his hands were to full at the moment to remove her harness. "I bought some food for a few days and gave Cookie a walk while I was out. Hope that was alright."
He watches Cookie''s green leash disappear into the dining room. He follows after her. He passes by portraits of Mrs. Wheeler and her family. Most depict her with her Grandkids, but a few pictures showed her in her youth. She was a looker, he had to admit, but all that was in the past and that pretty face was taken by time. This was something that worried him deeply.
It wasn''t that he was the most beautiful person in the world, Jeffrey wasn''t that vain, but he did know he had a face people liked. He was sure of it. Jeffrey knew every single person that has seen his face, even through pictures and videos, and he knew exactly where they were at any given time too.
In this town, he knew there were exactly thirty-four people that have seen his face, not including Mrs. Wheeler of course. During his walk he even encountered one such individual. Although, that guy turned out to be one of the more unfriendly sort. Meeting him in the street during the day like that almost gave him a heart attack.
Upon entering the dining room, he sets the bags full of styro takeout containers on the dark wood table. The terrier is nowhere to be seen, but he does spot Mrs. Wheeler napping on the rocking chair where he left her. She seems to be having a pleasant dream with that smile on her face.
He walks over to her and closes the drapes on the window. He covered the rest of the windows in the dining room while he was at it. He then walked over to the mirror on the opposite wall that encompassed the entire span of the table.
He took off his shades and two beady eyes stared back at him. He reached for the side of his face, just below the earlobe, and found a seam in his flesh. He digs his fingers into it and pulls hard. The synthetic skin covering the bottom of his face rips off.
The act produces a grin that reaches from ear to ear. Where his nose should be is only a slight bump on the pale leathery skin that covers his face.
"That''s much better," Jeffrey says to himself, smiling and prodding his face. In that moment, the small brown lapdog barrels into the room and begins barking at the old lady.
"Stop that," Jeffrey said, trying to placate the dog. "Mrs. Wheeler is trying taking a nap right now Cookie, so we need to be quiet."
The dog now turns to him and begins barking even louder.
"I told you to stop," said Jeffrey. His eyes display annoyance despite his perpetual smile. "Maybe it''s time for you to also take a nap doggie."
He takes a step towards the terrier, but right before he could get his hands on her she whizzes beneath the table. Jeffrey springs up onto the table, he leaps over the takeout and lands right in front of the doorway that Cookie would have escaped through. As the dog emerges from beneath the table, his hands shoots down and grabs her by the scruff of her neck. It seems that she was able to squirm her way out of her harness while she was out of sight.
He takes the dog by its head in his other hand and begins to squeeze. The dog is whimpering and biting his fingers, but he doesn''t cease. Warm mushy flesh begin to ooze through his fingers.
"Cookie, I think it''s time for you to go to sleep."
Chapter 2: Cry me a river
"OK, I''ll be right down," Daisy said. She tucks her phone in her side pocket and makes to leave the apartment. She stops on her tracks and quickly jogs back to her bedroom. There she grabs the case files on her bed and the carton of cigarettes on her work table. She tucks the packet in her pants pocket, a slight distortion in the air trails its motion.
She rushes to the elevator and makes for the ground floor. She exits the building just as Rick is coming to a stop on front of her building. He reaches over to the passenger side door and opens it for her.
"Is it time to fuck?" Rick asked. "Though, I don''t see how that would help our situation."
"Shut up, dick," Daisy retorts; she hops onto her seat and shuts the car door. "I was caught off guard."
"You know you want me," Rick teased. He started forward again and made for the Alton police department. VASCU Illinois'' main operations were situated at the FBI field office in Chicago, but in order to apprehend the south-bound slasher before they could escape the state through the Missouri River, the two agents were deployed to Alton.
Daisy brings out the case files and begins looking through it. "It just doesn''t make sense," Daisy said. "Every murder after he left Jacksonville didn''t have his signature, just common stabbings that the media doesn''t care about. Why now?"
"Maybe he knows we''re closing in on him," Rick said. "It''s not uncommon for freaks to develop tracking abilities."
Every slasher was unique, each one having their own killing styles and various other idiosyncrasies. VASCU operatives, however, noticed certain similarities in how some slashers operated and discovered five distinct types. The classifications bore their own titles: freak, brute, charmer, avenger, and genius.
"How are you so sure we''re dealing with a freak?" asked Daisy.
Rick reaches over and grabs the corner of a single sheet in the files, marked with a blue piece of tape for distinction. The sheet was a map detailing the Jacksonville killer''s movement, a series of red dot stickers litter one portion of Illinois, but a broken line of dots go southward. This is a miniature version of the one hanging on Daisy''s wall.
"There, look," Rick said, while tapping on the cluster of red. "That''s establishment of territory."
"Freaks never leave their territory!" Daisy interjected. She held up the map to Rick''s face and pointed at the dots that trailed off from the cluster. "The face carving shows signs of narcissist tendencies, that could be attributed to charmers."
"Narcissism is also prevalent in freaks," Rick said. He tried to focus on the road despite the Daisy''s efforts to mush the map onto his face. "Could you cut it out Zee! I''m driving."
Daisy returns the map to the proper folder and organizes the papers. The drive turns quiet for a while. Rick would occasionally give Daisy cursory glances, to find her scouring incident reports. He gave the sight a small smile, out of Daisy''s view. Daisy was always passionate with the work they do, but that passion would often turn discussions into yelling matches. Rick found out a long time ago that if he just waited, she''d eventually turn her attention to the case and all that fiery hot headedness would make her laser focused on the nearest piece of evidence. She was by far the best investigator in the Chicago branch, so Rick thought that if anyone would find this bastard, it would be her.
"Every time we get close, he seems to slip right through our fingers. Maybe he''s a genius," Daisy said, barely able to keep the excitement from her voice.
"Oh please not this again," Rick said. The moment he develops any confidence in his partner, she goes and says something like that.
"What do you mean ''this again!''" Daisy said indignantly. Ironically if there was anything that could inhibit her amazing potential, it was her misguided ambition.
"You always do this Zee. If the perp seems to have any kind of upper hand, you immediately assume that they''re a genius. As if only a genius could outsmart you."
Daisy is taken aback by this. Her eyes drew down and she bites the corner of her lip. "I never said that. Brutes, charmers and freaks are a dime a dozen. When you catch a genius, that makes you a cut above."
"So, what, you''re going to bring in a genius for validation? To be recognized as the best?" Rick asked.
"Don''t put words in my mouth Rick," she said. "I just know that if I ever do, it''ll send my career skyrocketing."
"I''m just having a hard time trying to envision what you want to achieve. I mean, I get wanting to move up the ladder, but you already have good momentum. Asking for more is knocking on death''s door." At the last turn, the precinct rolls into view. After showing the gate attendant ID, they cruise along the lot looking for a space. They manage to spot one relatively close to the building, so Rick begins maneuvering towards the spot.
"We''re green so they send us out to catch the easy pickings. Our only chance of getting the good cases is if we stumble upon them. We need the good cases. They''ll help bump us up to the big name, high profile cases, and then we can actually start doing some real work.
"Sorry, but that''s just insane Zee," Rick said. After successfully parking the vehicle he turns to Daisy and continues his tirade. "There''s a reason they give us the ''Hobo Joes'' and ''Clubhouse killers''. They want us to survive long enough to actually be ready for the real dangerous crap. The way you''re talking, it''s almost like you would''ve wanted to join Task Force Valkyrie. Those guys deal with things we''re not even allowed to know about. They have to turn themselves into literal cyborgs to stand a chance against what''s out there."
"I wouldn''t say no to joining Valkyrie," Daisy said. The retort provoked a raised brow from Rick. "What? There''s worse things out there than the shit we have to deal with. Do you ever think about that?"
"I try not to," Rick admitted.
"Well regardless of whether you care to think about it or not, they''re out there, and people are getting killed or turned into more of them. Whether it''s human or some kind of monster that could rip you to shreds with its bare hands, someone''s got to take a stand even against that."
Daisy meets Rick''s gaze with unwavering steel. She does, however, notice the slight trembling of his hands as he was still gripping the wheel. She levels her eyes back at Rick''s, but this time with more softness.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"It''s too much," Rick said, breaking away from Daisy''s stare. "All this dark shit we have to deal with; I feel like I''m losing my mind. If I haven''t lost it already."
Rick reaches for the glove compartment, but Daisy catches his hand and holds it between hers. "You haven''t lost your mind, Rick. You''re the best partner I''ve ever had and one hell of an interrogator."
Between her palms, he feels his hand slowly still. He gives her a sheepish grin and reaches the back of his neck with his free hand. "I''m the only partner you''ve ever had," Rick replied.
Daisy let''s go of his hand and let''s her own fall to her lap. She returns his grin with a small smile.
"Well," Rick said. "Let''s go get chewed out by an angry lady in a monitor."
The Vanguard Serial Crimes Unit only had offices in FBI Divisions located in major metropolitan areas of the U.S., so when sending agents out to apprehend suspects, an arrangement is usually made with the local law enforcement, or hunter group. "Hunter" was the term used for individuals who pursued supernatural creatures of any form. Most of the time, these groups act independently of the government, but efforts are being made to either shut them down, or integrate them into a supervised workforce.
VASCU itself could be described as a hunter organization. In this case, agents Richard Fuller and Daisy McCarthy were sent to cooperate with the Alton Police Department with the apprehension of Jeffrey Woods, suspected murderer under the alias "Jacksonville Killer."
In the FBI''s long history, encounters with the supernatural may not have been as rare as some would think. With the refinement of their practices, the bureau began noticing severe abnormalities in their suspects. Though some of their research displayed traits from already known creatures of the night, those specimens were transferred to clandestine organizations that held higher yet peculiar jurisdictions; yet some bore no difference from regular human DNA, except for their peculiar aptitude for murder.
These individuals, classified as "slashers", were so fine tuned to killing that they were put in a class of their own. Thusly, VASCU was born. Using highly refined profiling methods, and Dr. Wintergreen''s psychic enhancement process, FBI agents with the potential for Teleinformatics are trained and sent out to apprehend America''s most dangerous killers.
Being a yet newly formed division, most VASCU agents were new hires. With this being the case, most offices are headed by a senior in the FBI to act as supervisor, with some having been retired agents brought back in for the express purpose of guiding the new recruits. One such supervisor is right now, giving our two agents a good scolding.
"Agent McCarthy, on your last report did you not state that after leaving Jacksonville, Mr. Woods had since opted not to mutilate his victims faces as per his signature?" asked Rita Durnam. The supervising special agent was projected onto the wall of a borrowed conference room. The image showed her sitting behind the desk in her office. A webcam set on top of a desk captured the apprehensive expressions of the two agents and relayed it to her own screen.
"Yes ma''am," Daisy replied. "We had believed this to be the case after we acquired Mr. Woods'' favored implement, his carving knife, at the scene of his last murder in Jacksonville."
"Where you had him cornered and he got away," Rita said. The senior agent had never been known to give reprieve to any of her juniors shortcomings, but her tenure within VASCU only made her more severe.
"That is accurate, yeah," Daisy said. She takes a nervous glance at Rick, who was sitting across from her on the conference table. Despite how nervous she knew he was his stony gaze projected none of that. She quickly darts her eyes back to their supervisor.
"And now the media is all over this case. You were incorrect in your analysis. Our killer is is going to be carving up more faces Alton, or so the reports say."
"I believe this incident was merely an outlier," Rick said, speaking up." -and I can attest to why that''s the case. To be frank, we are under the assumption that the killer has a tracking ability. That''s why even with Daisy''s skills we were still unable to apprehend him. We think that because he can feel us drawing close, he decided to reveal himself and attempt to shake us in the ensuing panic."
Daisy was impressed with Rick, but Rita remained nonplussed. "I see," Rita said.. "This does change things. I will be moving the case to a higher priority and have VASCU deploy the Special Ops agents. You two have done well. Return to Chicago for your next assignment and we''ll-"
"Excuse me, but you can''t do that," Daisy said. She was belligerent, and both Rick and Rita were caught surprised by the audacity of the interruption.
"I assure you agent, you have no control over what I can and cannot do," Rita said after regaining her composure. "A slasher with perfect tracking is way above your abilities. You haven''t even provided a classification report."
"We know he''s a freak," Daisy said. She draws the map from her folder and spreads it out for the webcam. She gestures to the cluster of dots. "He was establishing territory. We just got a bit confused because he left, but this along with having a tracking ability and how we discovered that his first three victims allegedly poured acid on his face, disfiguring him. We''ve been tracking this guy for weeks and we know how he operates. Let us finish this case, supervisor."
Both women were locked on to their respective webcams, while Rick was in the sidelines, his stony demeanor broken and his nervousness coming out in his fidgety hands. A beat passed before their supervisor gave her verdict.
" You are not ready to take him down," Rita said. You will be back in Chicago by noon tomorrow with your full report on the investigation. Do I make myself clear agent McCarthy?"
"Crystal," Daisy said, after another beat of silence.
"Good," Rita said. " You know, you should be thanking me. Dying on this case won''t get you better cases. Safe returns agents. Signing off." The call ended and Rick and Daisy were left in silence.
Rick was the first to get up. He stretched and walked over to the door. "That could have seriously gone worse for us. Cheer up Zee, there''s always next time." He opens the door and invited her to walk out with him after seeing she was still seated.
Daisy reluctantly follows him out. On the way out to the lot, they spot a mob of journalists trying to get information out of the officers present, but the officers merely tried to escort them back out. Luckily for Daisy and Rick, their involvement was undisclosed to the public and didn''t have any observable paraphernalia. They could easily pass of as civilian and walk out of the station without a hitch. Before they could leave, however, they were stopped by one of the officers. The officer requested their help on the interrogation of a particularly difficult suspect. In their stay, they somehow developed a reputation for getting the perps to talk. Rick volunteered to assist and Daisy opted to stay to collect the materials they had left in their borrowed area. She would leave first and try to get a head start on packing for the trip back.
After her commute home, Daisy was feeling more than a little dejected. She rides up the elevator and makes her way to her apartment. On the way she notices something amiss. As she nears her apartment she notices that her door was ajar. She quickly snatches a cigarette from her pocket and places it in her mouth. She lights the cigarette while at the same time reaches for her gun. At her exhale a purple smoke comes out of her nostrils. She forces the image of a white rabbit hiding in the snow into her mind. The smoke envelops her and she can feel the magic tingling against her skin.
She pushes on the door with her shoulder as she cocks her pistol. The apartment was in tatters. Only her kitchen light was on, but it was enough illumination to show her the sorry state of her residence. Holes were cut onto her sofa; drawers were pulled all the way out and littered the floor, with their contents strewn about; cabinets were open, with some having their doors ripped from their hinges. She slowly walks through the wreckage with her gun drawn at eye level and ready to fire. She makes her way to her bedroom. When she gets there she kicks the door open and scans the room. The sight that greeted her was much the same as it was outside. The intruder barely touched her magic implements, but anything pertaining to the case was gone; her work desk lay bare.
After securing that the intruder was no longer present, Daisy allowed the smoke to dissipate. Maintaining any spell for long was always taxing. She gets out her phone and immediately calls Rick. By the third ring he picks up.
"Daisy are you ok?" Rick asked.
"Never mind that, where are you right now?"
"I''m at my apartment." Rick said. Daisy''s heart skips a beat. "It''s been ransacked. I''m with the cops. I came with after my neighbor reported a disturbance. Daisy, he has the knife."
Chapter 3: You鈥檒l fit right in
After the intrusions on their residences the night prior, Rick and Daisy were able to procure a stay at a local motel under the watchful eye of the Alton police. At least four armed officers were present in shifts to safeguard the pair as they slept. It was suspected that the federal agents were more than likely going to be the next targets of an attack, but the night passed by without any sightings of Jeff.
The two managed to survive the night, but there was still work to be done. After a call with Rita, the agents were told to postpone their trip back, as the possibility of them being intercepted and ambushed on the way was too great. They were, however, tasked to investigate the residence of a deceased Glenda Wheeler, whose home was confirmed to be Jeffrey Wood''s most recent hideout.
Daisy stared at the old lady. Her complexion was colorless and her neck was clearly broken, yet she sat so peacefully on her rocking chair. On her lap sits a silvery pooch yapping away at all the cops flitting about in its master''s home. Its barks going unheard by anyone while it and the old lady''s visage were visible only to one person.
Daisy couldn''t naturally see ghosts in the same way that she wasn''t a born psychic, but with various tweaks to her minor ritual she could achieve the former and fake the latter. She was always intrigued by the psychic phenomenon. By her understanding it was just another of the many ways that magic took form. Despite the so-called scientific process that made them that way, the agents'' abilities far surpassed what was possible for mere mental enhancement.
"Excuse me ma''am, we can''t have you smoking in here." Daisy was approached by a tall dark skinned gentleman wearing a jacket bearing the logo of his precinct. If she wasn''t distracted, Daisy would have also noticed his strong jaw, or the way his torso was abusing his button up shirt. Daisy had been going through a dry spell, but she wasn''t the kind of girl who noticed or even cared that her dating life plummeted after joining VASCU.
"Sorry," Daisy said, as she took the cigarette out of her mouth. "It doesn''t leave a residue and it helps me focus." She puts the cigarette out anyway and stores it with the others in the pack in her pocket. No use wasting her special blend ¡ª best to save it for later. Mrs. Wheeler wasn''t being cooperative anyways, so it was ok to put a stop to the seance.
"Are you sure? That purple stuff could jeopardize the crime scene," said the investigator, crossing his arms.
"Yup, it''ll be fine," Daisy said, waving the smoke away. As the lingering smoke cleared out, the image of the crooked old lady and her phantom dog dissipated along with it.
Daisy''s magic shouldn''t have even allowed her to see into the twilight, but during her first case she discovered something incredible. For a short time after their deaths, the victims of slashers made such a strong bond with the material world that even with Daisy''s hedge magic she could hijack that connection. Almost as if the aberrant nature of their deaths, or the supernatural qualities of the slasher, created a small nexus point in the location of the victims'' murders.
Daisy watched as the last vestige of her smoke faded, and with it the end of the draining ritual. With the right tools and with a good source of magic, a thaumaturge can enact miracles, but even with the minor nexus Jeffrey made here, the pragmatic non-believers milling about made the ritual all the more difficult to maintain. Mr. nosey here, arriving and challenging her smoking disrupted the ritual further, increasing the drain on her powers to an unbearable degree.
"You''re the psychics aren''t you?"
The question knocked Daisy out of her stupor and she looked at the investigator as if seeing him for the first time. "Excuse me," Daisy said.
"You and your partner ¡ªyou''re the psychological specialists from the FBI right?"
"Oh, I thought you said something else," Daisy said. In that moment she could see said partner waving at her from the den. He approached with his phone in hand and looked as if he was going to say something when the sight of her with the forensic investigator gave him pause.
The worried expression Rick carried all day was replaced with a grin at the sight of the pair. He came over and asked Daisy to the kitchen so they could talk in private. As they walked, he spared no chance to let the opportunity to tease her pass by.
"So, who''s mister tall, dark and handsome?" Rick asked.
"I never actually got his name," Daisy said, sparing a glance behind her.
"Oh, so you do think he''s handsome. He likes you by the way, thinks you''re cute."
"No he doesn''t," Daisy said. Her magic didn''t detect any affections towards her in proximity. Hedge magic specialized in enchantment and gave her the ability to detect the emotions of others. Despite her affinity emotions, Rick''s psychic empathy still trumped her magic so reading his emotions was beyond her.
"Yeah, you got me," Rick admitted. "How did you know? Woman''s intuition?"
"Sure, now what were you going to tell me?" Daisy asked, as they made it out of the house through the kitchen''s back door.
"Right, so I just got off a call with supervisor Durnam and like last night she said we can''t leave yet, but she did arrange for us to meet a local hunter cell."
"There are hunter''s this far south of the state?" Daisy asked. In hindsight, it wouldn''t be unusual for monsters to frequent more inconspicuous areas. Where there are monsters, there will be hunters.
"Apparently so, and we have to meet with them tonight and get them up to speed on slashers," Rick said. He took his phone out again and showed Daisy an image of a caucasian man in his late forties. The photo looked to be a captured mugshot, with the man looking frigidly at the camera. "This guy is supposed to be the cell''s leader, goes by ''Mad Dog''."
"So they''re doing the whole codename bit," Daisy said. She takes a closer look at the picture. "He''s missing most of an ear."
"Yeah, and let''s hope that''s all he''s missing."
"What do you mean?"
"Guy is suspected to have a few screws loose. Him and his army buddies were camping with their families when they had a run-in with something."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
"Something?" Daisy asked.
"It was classified if you could believe it. As if we can''t ask these guys what killed all their friends and family."
This was something Daisy could believe. While VASCU focused on slashers, they were still aware of the many other creatures of the night. Since Task Force Valkyrie was usually employed by the government to handle most of the other threats, the agency would withhold information on other entities from their own agents due to their screening process being not as secure as Valkyrie¡¯s. This has led to a few casualties¡ªmostly from agent encounters with vampire groups¡ªafter which a team from the task force is sent to handle the situation.
"And we''re supposed to be working with these guys," Daisy said. She sighed, unable to keep her worry from showing.
"We''re only supposed to stick with them until backup gets here," Rick said encouragingly. " It''s just for tonight."
From where they stood outside Mrs. Wheeler''s home, Daisy could see into the dining room and spot the gentleman she was talking to prior tagging various pieces of evidence. She takes a cigarette from her pack and
as she looks to her partner he''s already handing her his lighter with a supportive smile. She lights her implement with it and takes a puff before handing it back. As she locked eyes with the investigator she experienced a small hint of attraction, which put a smile on her face.
"Well, I don''t mind spending more time in Alton."
¡°We¡¯re the agents from the FBI¡¯s special unit and you should have received a call from our supervisor, Rita Durnam.¡± Rick stared down the barrel inches from his face. When he and Daisy received the address to the hunter cell¡¯s headquarters, they came upon an abandoned factory for a discontinued cereal brand, Goblin flakes. Investigation of the factory¡¯s interior led the pair to discover a reinforced metal door with what looked to be a sliding aperture. A precursory knock on that door, which much to Daisy¡¯s alarm, produced the shotgun aimed right between her partner¡¯s eyes.
¡°Yeah we got a call,¡± said the man with the gun. If he could be called a man. The voice was deep, but Daisy thought it sounded too young to be from anyone over twenty. ¡°But how can we be sure you¡¯re the actual agents?¡±
Daisy whipped out her badge and flipped it open for the boy to see. The motion cause the gun to now be aiming at her chest. ¡°See, we are from the FBI. Now please let us talk to the man in charge.¡±
¡°How can we be sure that¡¯s not fake or that you and miss Rita aren¡¯t all monsters,¡± said the boy, gun still aimed at her. ¡®This was getting ridiculous¡¯, thought Daisy. Beside her this whole time, her partner was stoically taking the whole situation in as calm as he was when the gun was pointed at him. She then wondered if he knew something she didn¡¯t.
Suddenly she heard a smacking sound and the gun shift slightly, it seemed as though the boy behind the door was struck. ¡°They¡¯re from the FBI you idiot. If they were other then they wouldn¡¯t go so far as to fake a badge.¡±
They heard the click of a latch and the metal door swung open to reveal smooth cemented walls and two men. The visibly younger of the two had dark skin and was taller than his senior, yet he was rubbing the back of his head where he was struck.
Daisy made a mental note to remember their use of ''other'' in association to supernatural entities. Perhaps adapting their jargon would allow their assimilation to go smoother. Despite the older man accepting them into their HQ, his hand still hovered around the gun on his hip.
"So you guys use codenames in your operations," Rick said cooly, lightening the mood even after he''d had a shotgun ready to blow his face off moments prior. "We understand that this is to protect your identities even from fellow cell mates. Though the FBI has information on a few of your members, we are not opposed to calling you by the callsigns you use while hunting.
"Yours is Watchdog," Rick said, gesturing to the boy with the shotgun. "We don''t know yours."
"My name is Peyton," the man was livid when we mentioned the FBI knowing their identities, then quickly began fuming by the time Rick got to mentioning callsigns.
The boy, watchdog, snickered drawing a scowl from Peyton. "Around here we call him Pinhead ''cause he''s pale and bald like the movie."
Given his unfortunate name, Daisy could see resemblance; he even had some scars on his face that made him look more like the classic horror monster. She could only blame the screwed up naming scheme on their leader who probably expected his people to call him Mad Dog with a straight face. She didn''t know whether to laugh or cry that these were the people her life relied on.
"You can call us agents Fuller and McCarthy," Daisy said, not wanting to abide by their group''s ridiculous naming scheme.
¡°Sure thing,¡± Peyton said. Watchdog looked like he wanted to interject, but Peyton prodded him along towards the hall and gestured for the two agents to follow suit. He sealed the door behind them and kept a close pace. As they walked, Watchdog gave the rundown on how the bunker, which they used as headquarters, had come to be in their possession. The story goes that the owner of Goblin Flakes went crazy and started believing in a conspiracy that the government was creating a bioweapon that would turn the populace into flesh eating zombies. He built the factory around the bunker to hide it in plain sight, in preparation for the expected zombie outbreak. No one knew what caused him to believe such a delusion, but shortly after the completion of the factory, he and his family completely disappeared. Mad Dog was tracking a small group of vampires around their hunting grounds when he managed to follow one all the way back to this factory. After he and his cell of hunters dispatched the creatures by attacking them in the day and exposing them to sunlight. He discovered that the tunnel system that the creatures called home was actually a bunker. He made it his own and enhanced it further to be the fortress it was today.
By the end of the story the group had made their way through a winding hallway and down a ladder into the deeper sanctums of the base. The mention of vampires excited Daisy, reaffirming her stance that there were more dangerous quarries out there that even non government sanctioned hunters knew about. Rick didn¡¯t take the revelation well, however, he actually froze for a good few seconds on the ladder and only Peyton requesting that he ¡®hurry his ass up¡¯ got him moving again.
¡°You ok?¡± Daisy asked her partner. The pause worried her and after they made it to the bottom, she could see that he was visibly paler.
¡°I¡¯m fine, it¡¯s just a lot to take in,¡± Rick replied. Daisy thought it was strange how he could handle chasing serial killers, but shuddered at the mere mention of supernatural horrors being real. Her partner sometimes showed an anxious side, but most of the time he was the stoney one, even talking through a gun to his face. She now realized that perhaps he¡¯d been pushing himself in spite of the darkness that they witnessed and this whole ordeal with now being the hunted probably has him on edge.
No time to address that now, as soon they¡¯ll be face to face with Mad Dog and the rest of his band. Perhaps when Jeffrey¡¯s been apprehended and they¡¯ve returned to Chicago, can Rick finally catch the break he so needed and quite frankly deserved. When they entered the room, Daisy counted five other members, but it was the leader¡¯s missing ear that she was searching for, and it was that marker that let her identify the man, for it was practically the only thing that associated him with the mugshot Rick showed her. His hair was still grey with age, but instead of the long ragged mane he had it was now buzz cut all the way around. His physique was completely different from the 57 year old retired vet. He wasn¡¯t big like a weightlifter or lean like a bodybuilder, but you knew it was built to perform. His file claimed that for the first few years he worked alone and Daisy wondered how an old man could stand up to the creatures of the night, but now she saw that this old man could eviscerate a regular person with his bare hands if he wanted to.
Our entrance drew the cell¡¯s attention from the heated discussion they were having, which going by the last things Daisy heard was being said, was probably an admonition against Mad Dog for inviting outsiders and the man reminding the group that he didn¡¯t give a fuck what they thought. The silence and the glares made the tension palpable. Mad Dog locking eyes with her didn¡¯t help ease her twisting gut any, but he was the first to break the silence.
¡°Welcome to the Night Salvation Army!¡±