❝I FOUND IT IN YOU.❞
In which Izzy Holt, the new deputy at the LAPD, manages to catch the soul torturer's eye.
[LUCIFER SEASON 2]
BOOK TWO IN THE ❝ CHILDREN OF DARKNESS ❞ SERIES
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"IZZY? IZZY! HEY!"
It felt like a thousand alarms were going off in her head at once, the blaring unbearable until she could hear her own name repeated over and over again, the mixed voices all drenched in panic and worry. For a second, Isadora thought she was just dreaming — that she had gone home and Diane had tucked her in after a long day, but once the haze of her unconsciousness faded away, she couldn't hold back the pained groan and figure that the burn all over her body was far too vivid to be a mere nightmare. Her insides felt like they were melting together, and while she was shivering with cold, she could also feel the wave of heat suffocate her in steady tides. Her eyelids felt like cement and every inch of her skin was crawling with aching, making it hard to move even a fingertip. At first, anyway.
As the ringing dissolved into the background, her head tilted to the side and eyes carefully cracked open, only for the bright lights to instantly blind her. Grimacing at the misery she could never find the right words to describe, Izzy's disoriented thoughts knew enough — that she wasn't home, and she wasn't safe, so she pushed herself into looking around. On her right side was a bed, hoisted to keep the man on it in a sitting position, and as her gaze weakly wandered, she noticed that she, too, was resting similarly on an identical bed. But none of it made sense, not until a new voice popped up and she painfully craned her neck to look forward, her blurred gaze trying to identify the figure through the plastic enveloping them in a home-made quarantine room.
"I was going to pick a kid from the university, but then you tried to intervene, so I decided to go after one of your own. After some digging, I found the perfect target", the intimidating male voice taunted, the words echoing in Izzy's head as the woman nearly doze off again, but the pain nor the mention of her name granted her the relief. "Izzy Holt. Twenty-nine years old, only barely started a career with the LAPD. Whole life ahead of her. I drugged her at your surprisingly poorly supervised parking lot", he continued, and even though everything was a little crooked to the wrong side and everything was spinning a little bit, Izzy finally reacted with another groan, words still a distant goal. Now she knew what had happened to her, and frankly, she didn't like it — well, she had wanted to work on the case, and now she had front row seats to a day in the killer's life.
She hadn't even realized the man — called the professor by whoever he was communicating with — had moved from his seat by his computer, not until he was standing right by her side. So close, yet out of reach for the woman who could barely keep her eyes open. "And here she is. Attached to a poison drip", he monologued, and once she had gathered the strength to turn to where he was gesturing, Izzy noticed the bag of poison slowly drying itself into her. The sight made her cry out desperately, knowing that by now the deadly liquid was flowing throughout her veins, explaining the pale sight of her face and the struggle to breathe, move, even blink.
But, she was unwilling to go down without swinging a little, so after swallowing and cringing at the burning dryness of her throat, Izzy looked up to the professor. "At least I slept through the injection", she croaked out, a bitter smile on her lips, "I hate needles."
