11. Body Count
Body Count
Eamon
Of all the boring, predictable fucks they could have set Isla up with, this one is undoubtedly the most pathetic.
Silas and his admirers sprawl across chaise lounges and couches so filthy even I could get a disease from one of them.
Completely entranced with each other and the white powder on every available surface, including a pair of comically large breasts, none of them even notice the monster lurking in the shadows.
A nasally blonde vies for Silas's attention, her bloodshot eyes pleading with him even while she tries to remain calm, begging to be the center of his world. Why, I can't imagine.
It's not that Silas is ugly by any means. He's simply... forgettable. Long dark hair pulled into a bun atop his head, brown eyes that dart from every spare inch of skin on display around him, never remaining still for too long as if he's unsure where to keep them. Or incapable of doing so.
The blonde tries again, dabbling a substance across her lips as she straddles his hips and leans in to share it with him. He allows the contact, hands wandering across her half-naked body, but his eyes wander aimlessly still.
I shouldn't judge. This isn't the first party I've seen like this, and half a century ago, I would have enjoyed something very similar. Anything to escape the memories that fractured my mind and controlled it whenever I had a single moment of sobriety.
What need does this pompous asshole have for escaping into depravity? He's from a hunter's family, given everything he could ever possibly need from them, so long as he marries and continues the bloodline. He wouldn't even have to give this life up if he did all that. Wedding, wife, babies, then he's free to do as he pleases. If he sires bastards outside of his sham of a marriage, even then, they'll continue to thank him for continuing to bring sacred life into this world.
My eye twitches at the thought of Isla upon finding out that while she won't even be allowed the freedom to walk to the fucking bathroom by herself, her husband would be encouraged to stick his cock in whatever passing fancy pleases him.
A smile threatens to pull at my lips, knowing my little hunter would never allow such a thing. Even to her own detriment, she would fight against him, causing him just as much damage as he tries to do her.
Quite capable of taming your wild spirit , Isla's mother's words appear in the back of my mind, reminding me that while he may not seem like much to me, there's almost a guarantee that he takes pleasure in violence against those he finds weaker than him.
A shrill ringtone brings the celebration to a grinding halt, Silas shoving the blonde girl onto the couch beside him before standing.
With a sniff and wiggle of his nose, he snaps in the direction of a speaker blaring, silently ordering someone to stop the music.
Even once it stops, silence won't be found in a room like that one, too many bodies, too many substances, the laughter and whooping at full volume, missing his signals completely.
Instead of fighting against the cacophony, he stalks into the next room, out of my view.
I need to follow him, find out whose call was so important that he was willing to leave behind his court of coke-fiends.
The chances of getting all of them to leave are slim but not impossible. At least two others are hunters, their distinct lack of essence alerting me to them immediately. Three hunters in one house, even as fucked up as they are, will certainly notice me here before too long, if they haven't sensed me already.
As delicately as possible, I try to pry into the blonde's mind. Stephanie. No, Stefanie, with an F.
Buried beneath the euphoric high she's riding, paranoia clouds her senses.
Who is he on the phone with?
I bet it's that bitch, Kathy.
Why else would he need to leave the room?
Maybe he's ratting us out.
No, that's crazy.
Would he turn the rest of us in to save himself?
You're being paranoid.
I retreat almost as quickly as I delved into her mind. Jesus Christ , I would not want to be in that hellscape of a mind any longer than completely necessary.
If I attempt to slide past the gates of one of the hunters' minds, they'll know it instantly.
In a shadowy alcove, a couple I've tried ignoring continues to fuck.
Loudly.
How the rest of the guests ignore his grunting and her obnoxiously fake cries of pleasure, I have no idea. They're grating my ears from out here, drowning out whatever bits of Silas's conversation I might have been able to hear otherwise.
The man seems far too lost to be of any help to me, but the woman is certainly putting on the performance of a lifetime, focused on keeping up the charade enough that she's gotta be more sober than he is.
If I had to describe her thoughts, they would be, in one word, unimpressed.
And so, why then, is she wasting her time?
This is a fucking nightmare. I came here for Silas. And yet, he's just handed me off to one of his stupid buddies before giving me what I've already paid for. Thrice over.
More if the mental anguish he's put me through is any compensation.
Rage, pure and hot, floods my veins.
Whatever this woman is trying to get from Silas, it's bad enough that he's basically fucking pimping her out before he'll give it to her. And the nameless man beneath her is enjoying every second of his completely unwilling partner, his grimy hands sliding all over her as she rides him harder, wishing for it to be over.
A slap, far too loud to be pleasant, followed shortly by her silently cursing the foul man beneath her, radiates through my skull, and I'm momentarily distracted from the reason I'm here in the first place. Silas is not only a possible tormentor for Isla, he's a goddamn fucking blight that needs to be removed from this plane of existence altogether.
And his friend, too.
Hating myself for using her torture this way, I pry further, searching her mind for the answer. The reason she's not storming out the door right now and putting an end to this. Preferably with a flamethrower, if her fantasizing is any indication.
Not the worst idea.
I would love to burn this hellhole to the ground just to prevent Isla from ever possibly being brought inside this stylized torture chamber.
Finally, through a vault in her mind she kept locked, one she refused to share with a single soul, I find the answer.
A sex tape.
Silas has a sex tape of this woman somewhere, and she'll never be free of him unless she gets it back.
Not my problem.
Not my problem.
Not my fucking problem.
Walk away and come back when he's alone. Deal with it then. Don't do anything rash.
God fucking damn it.
The phone nearly rips my jeans with the force I use to tear it out of my pocket, dialing the only number I regularly do. It rings once, twice. Better not fucking ring a third time.
"Yeah."
"Kyle. I need every phone, computer, tablet, anything and everything at my current location searched."
A beat on the other end before he responds, wisely not asking me why or what the fuck I'm doing in nowhere,Nevada when I'm supposed to be in Alaska. "That'll take me a minute. There's firewalls and security all over the place."
I sigh, "Yeah that'll happen when a house is crawling with fucking hunters."
"You found one of their compounds?" Excitement lights up Kyle's voice, his desire to end this just as palpable as mine.
"Not exactly," I can't let him dream too big too soon. "Just a house with Isla's latest future husband and a couple of his friends."
He snickers, failing to hold back a laugh, "Isla's future husband, huh? Wow, I thought that would be y-"
"Don't finish that fucking sentence."
"Alright, alright." The humor doesn't leave his voice, but he's smart enough to leave it alone and not comment again, "Can you at least tell me what I'm looking for here? Narrow it down a bit?"
"Anything to do with Isla or the whole Parker family."
He scoffs, "Yeah, obviously, but what else?"
This isn't my problem. Not what I came here for.
"Search for sex tapes." Someone like Silas wouldn't just keep hard copies. He'd cover his fucking ass and keep a couple copies saved somewhere he thinks untouchable. "Whatever you find, scrap them." There's no telling how many victims of this scheme he's had.
"Got it. Give me a couple of hours to comb through it all, and I'll get it done." The phone clicks, and I shove the thing back into my pocket, considering my next move.
Not having Kyle on Isla duty any longer has been a godsend. I've spent more energy and resources than I'd care to admit on keeping an eye on her. Knowing she's home, safely fifteen feet underground in a desolate wasteland where no-fucking-body can reach her, makes everything else I need to do much more manageable.
Now, to empty the house.
Whoever called Silas must be very important. In the time this has taken me, he still hasn't returned to the party in his ostentatious living room.
The easiest way, the cleanest way, would be calling the police to come break up the festivities. But there's no telling how many of the local officers are in the Sanctum's pocket, no way to gauge whether they'd take care of the victimized woman in the corner or if she's going to be lumped in with the rest of them.
My attention drifts back to the fire blazing, casting light and shadow across the room.
There's liquor everywhere. It wouldn't be implausible to think some might find its way into the fireplace, lighting the whole place ablaze.
But that puts the entire room in danger of getting caught in it and injured, or worse.
Stefanie's paranoia catches my attention again. Again, she wonders what's taking Silas so long. If I can just push a little, she might go in search of him.
And... off she goes, storming her too-thin frame down the hall where Silas disappeared.
One down, seven to go.
Walking quickly through the Aether, I knock on the door. Hard. Definitely loud enough that someone would hear it before transporting back to my creepy peeping Tom spot. One of the other hunters, sprawled across a lounger, languidly stands, yelling at the door that he's coming.
Jesus Christ, this is taking too long.
With a groan, I realize exactly what I have to do. And that means my night is about to get a lot longer.
The Aether quickly takes me back home, dropping me into my room in the bunker. Distantly, I hear Isla chatting with a colleague; some presentation they collaborated on having gone exceptionally well.
Of course, it did. Isla doesn't do anything half-assed. She puts her whole, shapely, fantastic, plump ass into everything she does.
Including being a fucking thorn in my side.
Shaking my head to keep focused, I dig through my closet until I find the disguise I like the least. Muttering to myself about how much I fucking hate it, I still slide into the skin-tight dark blue pants and matching shirt, attaching the badge and fake firearm. The real tazer. The stupid hat. With one swift look into the mirror, I transport to my favorite taco shop, all the way down in Guadalajara. With a quick glance around, I quickly gather everything they have prepared, feeling guilty and dropping more than enough cash to pay for the inconvenience of their missing food.
Finally, the last step before I can enact my sure-to-be-a-disaster plan. I leave the tacos on the kitchen table in the bunker and a note near the TV. That little shit didn't eat any fucking protein at lunch, and she's definitely going to pay for it tomorrow morning, but I don't have time to deal with it right now.
Instead, I return to the scene of my next crime, only having been gone long enough for the hunter to return and get comfortable again.
No sign of Silas or Stefanie, and the couple from the dark corner disappeared, too.
Again, I knock on the door. Even harder this time.
"Fuck off!" someone inside the house yells.
So I knock harder.
A few moments pass before there's finally movement on the other side of the door. As it swings open, I pray to whoever might be listening that the hunters inside are too drug-addled to realize just who is standing on the doorstep.
"What the fuck do you— oh, shit." The man stops short, staring at me with red, exhausted eyes.
With a mirthless, fake polite smile, I respond, tapping on my badge, "Elko Police. We've had multiple noise complaints coming from this address."
"Uhhh, hang on," he stammers before shouting, "Silas!"
Within a few seconds, the current bane of my existence appears, disheveled and shoveling his cock back into his pants with a panting Stefanie hanging off his shoulder. He straightens upon seeing me, undoubtedly seeing the disgust I can't hide.
"How can I help you, Officer?" he asks, donning a mask of the upstanding gentleman when both of us are really monsters underneath our careful facades.
"As I was just telling your friend, there, we've had several noise complaints about your address. I'm assuming you're the owner of this house? Do you mind if I come inside and take a look around?" I ask, taking a step forward to make it clear it's not a request.
He raises a single brow, humor lighting up his face as if he's indulging me. "Sure, Officer..." he peers closer to get a better look at my badge.
"Gretzky."
He slaps a hand on my shoulder, and I fight off a shudder at the unwanted contact. "Officer Gretzky, come on in, man."
What the hell is he doing? Stefanie's mind screams loudly enough that Silas might actually feel her discomfort, shooting her a wink and tapping gently at his hip.
Gently, I ease another thought into her mind, urging her to find the other woman in here and get as far away from this as possible. As much as I'd like to believe tonight will end without bloodshed, Silas is already making it clear that he has no problem putting a bullet through me and cleaning up the mess later.
Which can only mean the local department is just as dirty as I predicted.
Stefanie, seeming unsure, blinks a couple of times, wondering if her paranoia is clawing at her mindagain,before disappearing down the hallway, hopefully to do as I commanded.
As a door down the hall opens, the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin alerts me, and I look at their gracious host again.
He laughs, a jovial, friendly sound, and I want to fucking throttle him, "It's a party. What can you do?"
The door shuts, and the sounds dull behind it until they stop completely. "Come on in, Gretzky. We're just having a few drinks and listening to some music." He guides me into the living area I've been watching most of the afternoon as it filled with guests and substances.
They didn't even try to hide the cocaine residue smeared across the glass coffee table, another sign they don't care if I walk out of there. Silas gestures to the couch, offering me a seat and a drink, and I get the feeling he does this to anyone he comes in contact with.
Plays the friendly fool, charms and smooshes his way into their good graces before tricking them into signing away something they can't get back. I can only imagine this is startlingly similar to how he charmed that woman down the hall into his bed before using her naivety against her. No telling how many others. The exact woman who, along with Stefanie, makes her way out the front door into the cold. Half naked and definitely in no shape to drive; I don't really want them out there for long, but anywhere is better than here for them.
"No, thanks. Something tells me I don't want whatever that couch is harboring." I shouldn't push his buttons, but this asshole was already on my shit list, even before I arrived to find out just what kind of fuckhead he is.
He plops onto a seat with a strained laugh, the insult landing. "No need to get nasty, officer. We haven't broken any laws. You want me to keep the music down, I'll keep the music down." He shrugs nonchalantly.
My eyes drift across the apparent proof of the laws they've broken before my unimpressed gaze meets his again.
"Recreational marijuana is legal in the state of Nevada," his condescension fills my chest with hate.
"Cocaine is not, I'm afraid," I remind him, though we both know he's already aware of that fact.
He sighs heavily, pulling the small, pitiful gun from his pants and propping it on his knee, pointing it straight at me.
"Ya know," he starts, "I couldn't help but notice you don't have a body cam on."
"Routine, boring noise complaints don't usually require them," I grit my teeth, hoping it comes across as fear and not fury.
"How unfortunate for you, then." He doesn't stand, doesn't so much as move, other than the narrowing of his eyes and tilt of his head. "Here's how it's gonna go, Gretzky. You're going to walk out of here. You're going to pretend you saw nothing. You're going to run along back to your superiors , and tell them all is well."
I fight against the instinct to let my teeth grow long and sharp, prepare to rip this motherfuckers throat out, "And if I don't?"
He scratches his head with the side of the gun, an even stupider move than I thought him capable of, "Then either I, or your bosses, will put a fucking bullet through that handsome skull. And I really don't feel like cleaning blood off the carpet tonight."
I take a single step closer, ready to tear this fucking asshole to shreds when the pistol fires. To his credit, Silas didn't hesitate to pull the trigger at the immediate threat. It barely stings as it soars through my abdomen, tearing through the flesh and escaping through the tissue in my lower back.
I have only a split second to decide what to do next.
Make what I am clear and risk exposure if anyone in this house survives.
Go down and pretend to be injured, which will only work until one of them gets close enough to see the black, decidedly wrong color of my blood, again risking exposure.
Start the fucking fire and hope they flee, presumably leaving me to burn alive in his house.
If seeing Silas shoot someone startles any of the others, they're too frightened to show it, remaining deathly still in the milliseconds it takes me to fall to the floor in pretend agony and drop three bottles of liquor through the Aether and into the fireplace, creating a small explosion that spews flames onto the rug just outside of it.
Shouts of expletives surround me, frantic and discordant, while they scramble, trying to douse the flames with whatever they have on hand, to no avail. As the fire grows, Silas stands and empties two more bullets into my torso, ensuring my demise and his escape before darting out of the house into the cold.
Fucking finally. Surrounded by the growing stench of smoke and weed, I get slightly lightheaded with all the fucking reefer basically hotboxing me in this room.
The flames start to really lick my skin, the officer uniform melting off my flesh.
"Fuck this," I mutter to myself, turning into my true form. Taking a bundle of the still-burning cloth in my hand, I storm down the hall, throwing it into the closest bedroom I can find. Further down the hall, another door yawns open, the light on and inviting me inside.
Silas's office is an entirely different reflection of his character than the scene of debauchery outside.
Meticulously organized, everything cold steel and completely devoid of life. Cabinets and cabinets full of names, paperwork, thumb drives, and god knows what else.
In a perfect world, I would have time to comb through every single thing in this office.
But in the real world, I can already hear sirens and have only moments to decide what's important enough to take home and what needs to be destroyed.
Flipping through the alphabetized cabinets, I find Isla's name, the folder containing a few sheets of paper, and a drive much like the others. As quickly as I can, I transport the file outside onto a thick tree branch, laying it flat enough that unless a massive storm comes through in the next two minutes, it'll remain safe and dry.
With only precious seconds left, I let kindling from the fire fall through the Aether onto the computer, then into the cabinets.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The fire department is here too quickly. I need this entire place to fall into nothing but fucking cinders.
I leave no room unturned, sprinkling bits of flaming rugs, tapestries, and wood across the carpet, begging for enough.
As the sirens grow louder, I know my time is up, getting one last glance inside the office to ensure everything is destroyed. Satisfied that it has to be enough, I grab Isla's folder from the tree and dart through the Aether back home, somehow both happy and disappointed that my body count didn't grow tonight.
Frustration tugs at me, furious at how fucking pointless tonight was. I definitely ruined everything in that house before Kyle could glean anything useful from it.
Throwing myself into the shower before I face Isla, I wonder at how quiet she is. The TV plays, and I wonder if she fell asleep in front of it.
Emerging from the bathroom, I find the living room empty except for her phone and an empty glass next to the remotes.
She's not in her room, either, though the scent of her and tequila cling to every inch, a beckoning, a summoning spell from my favorite witch. While I can't sense her in the traditional demon way, she calls to me all the same.
And she'd better not be where I fucking think she is.