“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”

-Ernest Hemingway

5:59 p.m

5 hours earlier

Three blocks away from them, Hotel Alexandria stood with a hole into another universe above its roof. The otherworldly blue crystals, as large as an entire level, hung from the edges of the roof like freezer frost. The building, a millennium aged glass build, looked as fragile with its windowed exterior design as an older generation would say about the current ones. Pampered, materialistic, and more in favour of looks over functionality.

“Did you know I was in a war a few hundred years ago? Or was it hundred years later? I always get those mixed up.”

“Was it anything like this?” Tim asked monotonously.

Howard Galloway replied, “Pretty close actually. Just a lot more people though.”

The pair of them stood on the roof of the apartment building. Tim had walked to the city from the Barber's house, leaving the couple behind for their safety. He had chosen that location to rest his weary legs when somehow, amidst all the chaos, the librarian managed to find him. Behind them, the sun was slowly setting between the gap of the horizon and black smoked clouds.

Below them, in a sea of fire, cars burned and barrels were lit with flames. Mixed in an ocean of mass, rioters and looters pillaged and rampaged through the streets. Rescue vehicles were overturned while a group of teenagers repeatedly smashed a fire hydrant with baseball bats and crowbars.

Tim noted, “It's senseless.”

“War always is. What are you going to do now?”

“I need to get to Hotel Alexandria. That's where the portal is.”

Standing on one of the overturned cars, Detective Julliane Smith stood with a megaphone in one hand and a pistol in the other. Her flaming red hair stood out even in the burning streets. With ferocity he had not seen in her before, she shouted out orders to those who followed her.

Find Timothy Kleve.

Kill the boy.

All the Somnidin you want.

Save the world.

The librarian said, “She's gone mad,” and Tim merely nodded in agreement. The man asked, “Are you going to stop her?”

Tim stepped away from the edge of the roof, hand rested gently on the butt of his revolver. He headed for the door. “Not my call.”

“Hey Timmy,” Howard called out. Tim turned, and the older man threw him a camcorder.

Catching it with his free hand, he stared at the contraption, confused, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you will do with it,” the man replied, an out-of-situation smile stretched across his face.

Tim nodded a farewell, leaving the man behind on the rooftop. Taking the stairs down the apartment building two at a time, he arrived on the ground floor within a dozen breaths of air. Staring up at the glowing exit sign that marked the back door of the apartment, he pocketed the small camcorder and drew his revolver. The gun felt heavier than it had ever been.

He remembered the image of the bullet going through Adam Pearlman's forehead. How Clay took a bat to The Brother. How Stella shot Joseph Camein with the latter's own rifle. How Joshua saved him from The Father.

“Chin up, kid,” he said to himself as he headed for the door. “It's going to be fine.”

XXX

6:10 p.m

4 hours earlier

Megaphones were amazing inventions. Whoever wielded them would feel empowered, full of control. But it wasn't the megaphone that gave Julie her confidence, it was the stash of Somnidin she had hidden in a secure warehouse, where the only one with the password and key was her.

“Find the boy!” she yelled into the machine. “You find him and kill him and this nightmare will all be over!”

Even through the crowd, Oliver stood out like a sore thumb. Pushing through the masses, he headed towards his partner, screaming, “What are you doing? This isn't like you Julie! Snap out of it!”

Ignoring her partner, her eyes, sharp and trained from years on the force, spotted the maroon headed teen popping out of the apartment building. Tim stood outside the door, making sure the coast was clear. However, their eyes met, and he knew that he could only run.

She grinned, “Gotcha,” Tim bolted across the streets, pushing through the crowd, gun hanging by his side. Dropping her megaphone and at the top of her voice, Julie shouted, “THERE HE IS!” she raised her pistol and fired at Tim.

Oliver shouted, “JULIE!”

The bullet ricochet off the door as Tim ducked to avoid the shrapnel. Thinking quickly, he darted into the crowd, keeping low as he moved through the walls of human shield.

“Damn that kid,” she cursed. A group of her followers charged in the general direction she had fired at. She jumped off the car, chasing after the teen.

Oliver cursed, “Fuck!” and followed after her, shouting, “Stop it! This isn't you!”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She swung her gun back and fired at his feet, bringing him to a halt. “If you follow me, I'll put one between your eyes!” she turned back to her target and fired another round just as Tim darted into a corner alley. Blood burst from his shoulders, splattering against the brick wall right before he disappeared from her sight. “Shit...” she followed after.

Tim held his shoulder, panting in both pain and exhaustion as the hurt from the gunshot wound sunk in. His vision blurred as Hotel Alexandria's large neon sign came into view. The skyscraper, with the whirling portal overhead, was just two streets across, looking menacingly similar to a super villain's lair in a cheesy 1990s superhero movie.

He could feel his own blood soaking into his hand. Instinctively, he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, only to have the blood smear into his hair. From behind, another gunshot rang through the alley, and he knew the detective had caught up to him even before the bullet plunk off the wall beside him. The adrenaline kept him awake, and he dashed back into another crowd, toppling over the television set a man had stolen from one of the many raided stores.

Pushing through to another alley, he almost stopped to catch his breath again, only to turn back to see the redhead flowing through the people like a knife through water. She was, at that moment, almost as terrifying as any hunter he had in the nightmares.

“Crazy bitch,” he huffed under his breath. He sped through the last alley, knocking over trash cans as he passed.

But the alleyway was long, and a clear line of sight between him and Julie. She raised her gun in a jog, firing wildly at him as he zigzagged to dodge the hail of bullets. She emptied her magazine, slowed further to reload, giving Tim enough time to turn a corner at the end of the alley, crossing the final street that stood between him and the hotel.

The entrance of the hotel had a driveway curving into it. But what used to be a magnificent set of double oak doors had a black, smoking limousine embedded through it.

Sucking up the pain in his injured arm, Tim climbed on top of the vehicle, a lot slower than he had hoped to do. He slipped on the windscreen and screamed in pain as he slammed shoulders first onto the roof of the car. His entire body almost gave in to the pain, his vision blurred as the border of consciousness greeted him.

“Stop right there!” Julie commanded from behind.

That shout both saved him from passing out and scared the living hell out of him. Slowly, he got to his feet and stood on the roof of the car. Even slower, he turned to face the female detective whose gun was aimed at him. But also, to the back of Oliver Hardy, who stood between his partner and the teenager, his own gun raised at the former.

Julie barked, “Get out of the way Ollie!” her red eyes seemingly reflecting her anger. Her once beautiful face scrunched in a crazed rage.

“You-” Oliver started through gritted teeth and panting breaths. “You are a detective.”

“I won't say it again,” she insisted, taking a menacing step forward and better positioned herself to make her intentions clear. “Get out of my way.”

Her partner took a breath for conviction, and another for strength. “You're not the only one with a gun here. If you try to hurt him, I will shoot you.”

“You won't shoot me,” she called his bluff, taking aim at Tim.

Tim got ready to jump away, but Oliver made good on his words and fired a round at her feet. Stunned by his action, she momentarily snapped out of whatever mad trance she had been engulfed in.

Oliver reasoned, “You are one of the best detectives I've ever met. One of the most logical, fierce, and loyal people I've ever met. If you can give me one shred of proof that this kid is behind all of this, then I will turn around and shoot him myself. But until then, he is an innocent civilian and I will not let you lay a finger on him,” he turned to Tim and nodded for the teen to go ahead.

Tim mouthed back his thanks, asking the detective to, “Evacuate as many as you can. Get as far away from the city as possible,” before climbing off the car and into the hotel.

Still shocked by her partner's action, Julie did not give chase. Instead, Oliver returned her his attention. “You are my partner, and my best friend. I will not let you waste an entire life of right for this one wrong. Even if it means I have to take you down.”

From behind her, through the crowd, her followers pushed through, clumsier and slower than their leader, but approaching all the same. A mass of frightened individuals ready to tear apart a single life to save their own.

“What's it going to be? Are we partners?” Oliver asked before raising his gun sights to line with her head. “Or enemies?”

Her gun still half raised, she stared at her partner in confused deliberation. “Ollie...” her hands shook as she muttered his names. Her fears subsided, her thoughts no longer fixated on her impending demise by Sin, she lowered her gun. Sighing in relief, Oliver did the same.

From behind, a woman leading the mob ran up to her. “Detective! Where is the boy?”

Still numbed, the words somehow managed to force their way out of Julie's mouth. “He went that way,” she lied and redirected them down the streets, knowing that talking them off would take too long. “Make sure no one gets hurt.”

The mob gave a loud shout as a poor attempt at a war cry, only to sound like the whistle of a punctured heater. As they left, Oliver walked up to her, covering her shivering body with his coat.

She said to him, “I hope you're right Ollie,” and turned to look up the towering building. “If you are wrong...”

“I'll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “Coffee sounds good right now.”