ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 9: up in smoke

      I knew Night Crawlers had the ability to dissolve into darkness and skip around Manhattan in a matter of minutes, but could only teleport a few metres depending on experience. I kick in a door and inspect the room to find it empty; apparently Night Crawlers could go for weeks on end without sleep because they don’t exert themselves like the normal human.

      I unlock my jaw in frustration when I keep coming up empty. The man that impersonated Henry Nikita, the one that killed Mitsudome Ishizuma, could teleport in and out of black smoke. Night Crawlers had different coloured eyes instead of Shifter-black. This case still isn’t making any sense.

      Sam and I nod to ascend the broken staircase. The banister’s splintered from harsh impact and the trashing of the building continues. More holes are made in the walls and electrical cords protrude from the skirtings and ceiling. I move a piece of insulation out of the way and start to check the other rooms.

      Most are bedrooms with plain mattresses, bundles of old clothing (mostly men’s style) litter the floors along with assorted rubbish. I step over it and move on to inspect the other rooms. How can anyone live in such squaller? I nudge rancid food with the toe of my NYPD boots and shake my head; I hope the Night Crawlers have an attitude that doesn’t represent their living habits.

      “Stevens,” Sam calls.

      I back out of the corridor and jog towards Sam who slips into one of the rooms in the hall he was inspecting. I follow Sam to see he’s crouching over a dead body; he places two fingers against the girl’s neck and then wrist before exhaling.

      The girl’s dressed scantly, no doubt a prostitute of sorts but her body’s splayed with her arms behind her head and her legs are crossed at her ankles. From what I can tell she’s only wearing a man’s large plaid t-shirt and there’s deep purple bruises on her skinny thighs. Is it natural for someone to be that skinny?

       Since Snag isn’t in the mood to talk to me, I can’t request the M.E. to come to Hell’s Kitchen and process the scene. Instead, I go to someone who can order Snag what to do. I just hope Dad isn’t busy with filing cases or talking with the coffee runner.

      I dial Dad’s number; someone picks up on the third ring, “Deputy Chief Stevens’s office, can I take a message?”

      Why the fuck is Helena at the Seventh Precinct. She isn’t the coffee runner, she doesn’t even go into the precinct usually, why is she even there. My posture becomes rigid as I grit my teeth at the phone. It takes most of my strength to not put another hole into the plaster flaking around me. Helena’s giggle travels across the line and I almost gag. Why. Just, why.

      “Who is it?” Dad asks in the background.

      “Nobody,” she laughs and then adds in a soft tone, almost a purr, “Robert will have to call you back later Akira.” 

     The line goes dead and I dig my nails into the palms of my shaking hands. The whispers accumulate in my mind; the re-entrance of them makes me twitch slightly. My mind had been silent for so long that the whispers startled me. But that could only mean one thing if I can hear voices in my head.

      I pocket my phone and click the hammer back on my gun. I don’t even bother turning around, from Sam’s stance I can tell that the Night Crawlers found us. I spin on my heel and press the barrel against the man’s throat. I can already see the thin tendrils of smoke appearing around my gun.  

      The Night Crawler has long blonde hair tied up in a bun, he’s dressed in a plaid shirt, a match to the one covering Jane Doe, with frayed jeans. He’s bare foot and snarls, his eyes illuminate with dark intent. He lifts a cigarette to his pink lips and takes a long drag from the filter.