The Unholy Ones

5:: JAMES BLACK

Feet up on the metal table, James swings the handcuffs from his hands and chuckles once more. So now there's a third character in the interrogation wing; he didn't look to have anything special about him, like the girl did, but... Maybe he's supernaturally drunk. James settles on that conclusion just as his door squeals open. Sitting up, James looks the new man right in the eye, smirking. He throws his arms out.

    "Welcome to the casa! Can I offer you anything to drink? I'm sure I could find some dreary depression and sadness in one of these corners." He grins.

    The man doesn't even show the faintest amount of humor at James' joke. He wears a white button down shirt under an ash gray sport coat, with pants to match. His hair looks similar to James', and his eyes match the shade almost exactly. While the man's face was smooth and seemingly young-- he appeared to almost match James' age perfectly-- the eyes were dark and stormy, wiser than they should be. James cocks his head, all humor gone. There was something off about this man. And as he listened closer, he knew that he, too, wasn't human.

    "What are you?" James murmurs, putting his feet on the floor and leaning forward on the table. Through the wall, he could hear the girl shift at his words. Something was off with this man, and James was going to figure it out.

    The man doesn't react in the slightest, but simply pulls the other chair out and takes a seat.

    "James Black," he begins conversationally, voice deep and commanding. "Nice to meet you, at last."

    "Yeah, great, introductions can come later," James says, staring into the man's eyes. He doesn't flinch at all.

    "My name is Damian Salazar."

    "Congrats. What are you?"

    "I need your help."

    "Your heart doesn't beat, and--" James pauses, registering Damian's words. "What did you just say?"

    "Mr. Black, I need your help, or we're both going to die. Actually," he raises his voice slightly, "we're all going to die if you don't help me."

    "We're all? Who, exactly is 'we'?" James makes finger quotes around his last word, face contorted in confusion.

    "You must have figured this out already, Mr. Black," Damian says condescendingly. "You're certainly old enough." James' lip curls.

    "Don't come in here to play games," James growls, feeling his eyes darken with the emotions coursing through him. Damian doesn't react at all.

    "Why would I lie to you? I know that you would have no qualms about ripping me apart if I so much as gave you a wrong look. And I wouldn't lie about the extinction of our race; no, that is far too large a claim to lie about."

    James just squints at the man, and all of his archaic verbiage. He stares for awhile, taking in this man's appearance still. Who does he think he is, putting James in a cell and then coming in to tease him about the end of the world? Yeah. Funny joke.

    "Say I play along with this joke of yours."

    "It's not a joke," Damian cuts in, face still passive despite the irritation in his voice.

    "Sure, sure," James says, waving his hand. "Say I believe it. Who is this 'we', and what-- no, how are we all going to go extinct?" Everything sounds so stupid James holds back a laugh. Damian responds with utter seriousness.

    "Our race, the special breeds of supernatural creatures, has been permitted to walk around the mortal world for eons. We walk in plain daylight-- except maybe the vampires, of course." James sneers, crossing his arms. "But we have managed to take on a human form and live peacefully together. However, there's someone that believes we are not to have this privilege, this gift of being supernaturally inclined and being above the humans."

    "Oh, so someone's trying to snitch on us?" James gathers, raising an eyebrow.

    "Far worse, I'm afraid," Damian says gravely, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the table. At this, James actually snorts. "A witch, named Mariella, believes that we should not live above ground, that we are not worthy of the humans. That the supernatural creatures on this Earth belong... elsewhere."

    "Ah," James says, nodding as he realizes. "She wants to send us all back to the Hell we came from?"

    "Precisely. And she wants us all to stay there."

    James takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly. This whole situation is so off; there's no way that he's actually in jail with some lunatic that's preaching the end of the world. "That's quite the master plan, isn't it?" Damian nods solemnly. James ventures, "How do you plan on stopping her?"

    "I have gathered the three of you together to join me in stopping Mariella," Damian says, reaching into his coat and pulling out a card that he slides across the table. "Should you agree in helping me stop the end of the supernatural...."

    James picks up the card, a thin black piece of paper with gold text on it. It lists a date and a time-- not too far off from today's date-- as well as a location.

    "You want to meet us, some supernatural murderers-- I'm assuming-- in a restaurant? Do you really think that's the best idea?"

    "Of course I do," Damian says, adjusting his coat as he stands up and pushes the chair in. "I own the place."

    He walks out of the room, leaving James alone with several looming decisions. James snorts, then puts the card in his pocket. He turns to the glass partition, seeing Montoya bleeding on the other side.

    "So, can I leave now? Or do I have to force my way out again?" The Detective hurries to open the door, and James saunters out with a smile. He pauses, cocking his head as he thinks. Then, he turns left and heads further down the hallway, stopping at the girl's cell directly next to his. She looks up at him curiously, strands of pale hair falling onto her cheek as she cocks her head.

    "Hello, neighbor," James begins with a smirk, shoving his thumbs into the pockets of his jacket. "I am just parched. Want to grab a drink?" He flashes a toothy smile, and she laughs. Standing up, she walks towards the glass, tall heels snapping against the concrete floor. Stopping inches in front of the glass, she places her forefinger on her blood red lips, feigning deep thought.

    "I think that would be fun," she says finally, an evil smirk peeling across her face. Suddenly, she disappears in a wisp of black smoke, appearing next to James on the other side of the glass. She looks up at him.

"Shall we?"

Word Count: 1131

Can you feel the sarcasm? xoxo, sk