Interrogated
Early reports from the NCPD indicate that the parking structure’s collapse was due, in part, to a rivalry between known villains Omen and the Dark One.
One officer was killed in the process. Investigations are still ongoing, but the NCPD has made it clear that the G.O.D.
and DAEMON are both cooperating to the fullest extent.
Intensely bright light assaults my retinas as I wake again. Cold metal presses against my face and wrists. I try to raise my head, but violent throbbing lights up my left temple.
I raise my hand to rub at my eyes, but my wrist catches against something sharp that cuts at the skin.
A spike of anxiety traces my spine, and I wrench my eyes open, damning the pain that threatens to bring up whatever food I’d last eaten. Which was probably well over twenty-four hours ago.
“Always knew you were a fucking animal,” a gruff voice says from behind me.
I try to turn but the active lobotomy in my brain only worsens. Though after a few steadying breaths, my eyes adjust to the concrete room. Restraints pull at my wrists and the cuffs themselves are wrapped around a bar at the table’s center. A mirrored window covers the wall to my right.
And—
“Ah, fuck,” I groan as Bellick sits heavily in the chair across from me.
“You look awful, Skovsgaard,” his grin making it obvious that my poor state is probably the highlight of his day. Or night. Who fucking knows.
Bellick himself looks haggard, too, but more in the “hard working detective” sort of way that I’m sure gets him all the ladies. The idiot wouldn’t know “hard work” if it tried to kick him in the dick.
“Because someone broke into my home and assaulted me,” I grit out. “Oh, wait, it was you.”
“It was actually one of the junior officers. He shot you point blank with a lethal round. To the head, actually.”
“You—” I frown at him, then glance down at my shirt.
Blood covers the front of my sleep shirt that I’d woken up in.
After Mary had saved—or damned me.
“Something tells me your Death Communion isn’t the only thing you can do,” he enunciates the power like it’s hard to believe. Like it literally isn’t public record.
“Remnants heal quicker than humans,” I say, wincing as the bullet-sized wound pulsates. “And why the fuck did he shoot me? I was literally just standing there.”
Anger is good.
Anger obliterates the pain. It stuffs the confusion in the dumpster and lights the fucking thing on fire.
I can work with anger.
“You were resisting arrest,” Bellick says with a stupid shrug.
“I was confused by the sudden fragments of my front door showering my apartment,” my voice rises in pitch as I lean forward, the cuffs clinking roughly. “The fuck am I being arrested for?”
Bellick doesn’t even react to my outburst. He just glances down at the tablet in his hands.
“Detective De Luca is dead.”
The look he gives me isn’t one of condolence. It isn’t even one of mild sadness at the death of a coworker.
No, he’s grinning at me. He’s looking at me like this is a private joke between us.
When I say nothing in response, his grin turns more sinister. The balding spot on his head shines with sweat as he leans forward in his seat.
I can smell the sweat and nicotine wafting off him with the barest hint of ventilation in the room. Even without my heightened senses, it’s disgusting.
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“She’s—” I try my best attempt at shock. Though, at this juncture, all I can really muster is a mute numbness.
But it’ll have to do.
“Dead,” he nods. “Murdered, it seems. Two Remnants were at the scene with her.”
“And?” I ask, annoyed that he’s playing this like it’s a procedural cop drama. I should tear his fucking spine out—
“Omen, for one,” he checks the tablet again like he doesn’t already know. “And The Dark One.”
“Then why the fuck are you attacking me about it, then?” I bite back, letting the anger run its course.
“Where were you last night around five in the evening?” He responds, ignoring me.
“Bellick, if I were one of those two Remnants, do you think I’d let you arrest me?”
Bellick doesn’t look up from his tablet, but I see the subtle shift in his cheek. The sudden “oh, shit” moment.
“Where were you?” He asks again, this time looking up at me.
“At home,” I grit out, my tone probably not helping my innocence.
“Can anyone confirm that?” he asks, giving me a quirked eyebrow.
“No,” I hiss.
He snorts as he types something into his tablet.
“Is this fucking funny to you?” I pull at the cuffs at my wrists. They strain a little and it’s enough to tell me that they weren’t built for someone like me. “You shoot me in the head, pull me out of my home, and tell me my best friend is dead. And then you fucking accuse me of it?”
“No one’s—”
Blood rushes in my ears as I try to get as close as I can to Bellick. The chair creaks as the cuff’s chain crinkles.
“You don’t execute innocent people,” I scream. This time my voice does break. It feels like everything’s fucking breaking.
“Sit back—” he begins, but the chain on the cuff’s shatters like glass.
I slam both hands down on the table, the freeing movement intoxicating after being restrained.
“Fucking make me,” I growl at him, towering over him by at least a few inches.
The door behind me crashes open as someone tries to wrestle my arm behind my back. After a few seconds of frustrated grunting, I finally let them move me.
They roughly push me back into the chair, but I don’t drop Bellick’s panicked eyes. I relish in the way his pupils dilate. The way his breathing quickens.
“Bellick, McRoberts,” there’s another voice behind me. I turn to look and catch the greying hair of Aaron Travers.
The Chief of Police.
Bellick gives me a look of purest malice as he brushes past. The door slams shut behind them, but they don’t walk very far before talking.
“You fucking shot her?” Travers’ incredulous tone would be funny if the situation weren’t so asinine.
“She was resisting—” Bellick tries the same story again, but Travers barks a humorless laugh at him.
“I saw the footage, Bellick,” he growls. “You’re lucky that woman isn’t human because otherwise she’d be dead and you two would be looking at IA at the very least.”
“She killed De Luca,” McRoberts’ stupid voice chimes in, like I’d already been sentenced.
“With what evidence?” Travers asks in a tone that almost certainly means there is none.
There’s a harsh silence before Travers’ voice drops lower. Still discernible enough for me to hear, but as if he doesn’t want anyone besides his detectives to.
“I should let her tear you two apart. I imagine she could, utilitarian power or not. Then she’d probably make your corpses sing a lullaby. And she’d justified. I just lost a detective and a friend today. And she did, too.”
There’s a grunt of annoyance before footfalls echo down the hall.
A flicker of warmth licks at the cold numbness in my chest. I had never really interacted with Aaron Travers, but no one really stuck up for Remnants. Especially the ones with more taboo powers.
The interrogation room door opens again and two sets of feet round the table on both sides.
“I could, you know,” I smile viciously up at the two men as they sit again at the table. “I could make you both sing the loveliest little tune.”
“You’re a freak,” McRoberts says, tiny eyes narrowing.
“Old news,” I shrug, glaring between the two. “I know my way out.”
As I move to stand, Bellick jabs a finger at his tablet.
“I’ll put you in the ground, Skovsgaard. One of these days, we’ll find a way to get rid of you.”
It would be so easy.
So fucking easy to tear these two to shreds. To remove their insides and coat this fucking room with their organs.
And God, it would be so easy to just let it all go. Let the spirits win. Let them finally get their dues.
“Sure, Bellick,” I nod at him, then force myself to reach for the door handle, rather than his neck.