“They are from another world, another way of life that somehow has merged with our own. These worlds are kept separate for the safety of everyone." "And yet, I connect them." "You do.”
―Meredith T. Taylor, Churning Waters.
The story goes like this: a woman was conducting an investigation with her team in a mountain deep into an occultist lair. It's said that something happened that day—a shift in the balance of the world—an action so vile that it almost managed to connect the human world and the supernatural together by ripping the membrane that kept it away on the 'other side'. That's why an organization was formed to deal with it; The Agency, not the most creative name I know, but that was the point, keeping it uninteresting to anyone who tried to discover the reason behind its existence.
Mother never told me much about anything related to this world; she tried her best to keep me away from this life, to allow me to be a normal college girl, destined to get a decent job and a good husband to share the rest of my uninteresting life with, but some things just can't be stopped. Some call it fate, others call it lack of luck, as I just think of it as the best thing that could have happened to me, really.
I guess even if you founded an organization, you still need to think about the greater good. That's why she didn't have a choice but to assign me to a unit formed of fresh agents like myself. It saved me from going to a university far away and studying things I don't care about, like math or chemistry, so without hesitation, I accepted the invitation. The only thing in my mind is the pressure from the higher-ups, and their expectations for me to be just like my mother, the best agent they had.
As I inspect the badge they sent alongside the invitation letter, it finally dawns on me that this is real. My face on display behind the plastic cover, not one of my best photos, but when I asked to take another one, they refused to do it. The government agent title right below it makes me feel important, and alongside it lies my name: Erina Ariss Volkomenn.
My phone warns me of a message; I don't even pick it up, knowing already what it means: my colleagues have arrived. Almost on cue, a green motorhome appears from the main road, creaking and producing a sound that already tells me when it was last that someone made a checkup on it. The vehicle is parked near the fire truck. It's now or never; I'm a twenty-year-old adult now, not a kid anymore.
With slow and composed steps, I get to the back of the motorhome, adjusting my messenger bag filled with some important stuff over my flight jacket, and placing the badge on the front pocket of my jeans to be in full view. I then proceed to knock on the vehicle door.
"Uhm, hello? It's Erina." The silence makes me impatient, dragging out of me the will to knock again, but as I raise my hand to do so, the door opens. From inside, I see a woman with black hair and a face as pale as the snow, expressing no emotion in particular. I notice, in between her fingers, a cigarette waiting to be lit. Something tells me to just step out of her way, and without losing time, I obey my instinct. The woman passes by me and only gazes upon me once with her tired eyes before pulling out a lighter and taking some distance to start smoking it. Well, at least she seems polite enough to not smoke in my face; that's a good sign. The gray sweater and lab coat she pulls is a combo that not most can appreciate fully, so I do the job for those in the world with no taste.
"Hello Erina," Another woman appears from inside the motorhome, stepping out and placing her hands in the pockets of her coat, letting out a shiver upon entering in direct contact with the cold autumn air. Deep caramel eyes and freckles paint her face, hands, and chest masterfully, visible through the opening of her v-shaped shirt. I also notice a military dog tag hanging from her neck. "I'm Birdie, the one you talked to on the phone yesterday. It's a pleasure to have you join us."
Birdie extends her hand to me, offering a peaceful handshake that I take with a smile. "Allow me to get you up to speed. The one that just passed you by is Ada; she's our forensic specialist and medic, so if you find anything that can be evidence or get yourself a nasty cut, call her up.
"I'm a combat specialist, and I've taken some lessons in explosives, so if you need any grenades, breaching charges, or anything like that, just hit me up. The last one is Naomi, our intel specialist and full-time van girl."
She points to inside the motorhome, and sitting on a chair typing on a computer is a young girl, probably my age, typing on a computer while listening to music on her headphones. The most noticeable thing about her besides her black, blueish hair styled up in a pineapple ponytail is the katana resting in between her legs.
"She doesn't talk," Birdie adds. "Now that this is out of the way, come inside; let me show you what we are dealing with."
There's no need for an affirmation; we both enter the motorhome together. Birdie gratefully meets the small warmth the vehicle provides. A nice carpet on the floor provides the two office conference chairs with freedom of movement, but also enough hold so that when driving, they don't straight up fly away. The wall opposite the seats resides a detective wallboard, with some photos of teenagers wearing school uniforms—five to be exact—all marked as missing. There's even a kitchen, two sets of
"What-"
"We will get there in a minute. First, the agency asked me to give this to you." Birdie hands me a black box, very familiar in shape—the type of weapon case you find everywhere. I lay it on the table and open the case, seeing a letter on top of a pistol. Taking the letter, I see the brief and undisclosed signature of my mother—nothing more. The letter goes straight to my bag, so I can focus on the weapon. Upon inspecting it in my hand, it feels heavy—a 1911 model, two extra magazines, seven bullets each—leaving me with twenty-one bullets—a little overkill but sure. Tilting the gun, I make sure that everything is fine, checking the chamber for safety and slapping the magazine for good measure before storing it on my belt.
"For this first mission, the agency has asked us to talk to the local authorities only; then we turn in the information and wait for new orders."
"Okay, now, can you explain to me what we know?"
"Oh, sorry, I almost forgot." She laughs awkwardly. "Last night there was a fire in this school, Oakwater High. The cause is still unknown, but our handler received the information from a trustworthy source about occultists lurking near the building some nights ago. It isn't a far stretch to assume the teens were taken by them."
"Do we have clearance to talk with the teachers?"
"Not at this moment; we are tasked with recon only, but maybe later our handler can arrange that."
"Seems easy enough, then." Gazing upon the board, I see the work ahead of us—no information at all, just a secret 'source'. Starting from scratch is never easy; this will be a tiresome day. "Who's our handler? I didn't have the chance to meet them."
"You will when we return to base, so for now, don't worry about it."
"Yes ma'am." I move towards leaving the motorhome, but a curious hand stops me before I am able to.
"Just one question: what type are you? Your file didn't state it."
"Uhm, mostly sure I'm B negative."
"No, that's not what I-" Her words are cut short by a slap of a file on top of her head. Naomi, who was until this point sitting down, quietly does something. "What is it?"
Naomi opens the file and points to something in it, angling it on purpose to not allow me to see what they are checking. For a split second, Birdie's eyes widen. She looks at me curiously before returning her gaze to the file, only stopping to silently communicate with Naomi. It gets awkward really fast.
Noticing the way I awkwardly shift my feet, Birdie forces a smile. "Sorry, it's nothing."
"If you say so." Even if she says that, something she read made both of them gaze at me differently, almost like I'm a wild animal. Before this can get any worse for me, I step out of the motorhome to get some fresh air.
The return to the cold air is nice, and the sound of cars in the street, even if not many, serves to soothe my nerves slightly. This city is so young that it is strange no one stops to think about it, but this place is as old as me. Many places were rebuilt after the esoterrorism accident that my mother fought against, but not everything happened perfectly. According to her words, "This is a product of war; even when we win, we lose somehow." At least the general public thinks it was all the work of tectonic plates and hurricanes, a lie so easy to keep when there were no survivors to say otherwise. That's how Black Bridge was born, as well as other cities like Wayhaven and Casterville here in Oregon.
"Hey, you!" A voice rings in my ear, forcing me out of my daydream. "This is a crime scene; the media is not allowed in here."
Black hair kept short and professional, a sharp face that can cause fear in anyone who sees her, and a commanding voice—that's all the components that make Yuri Hisa an all-time cop and part-time best friend.
"Three months, is that all it takes for you to forget how I look?" With a smug, I turn to her. It's always cute to see the serious side of her break for a moment, allowing the truth to slip out in the form of a grin. That's all she needed to lower my guard.
An expected punch right in my gut, making me happy I didn't eat any breakfast. "You forgot how to use a phone?"
How do I say to her that my phone was taken away while training at the agency? The answer: I don't. "My bad, I just didn't have time to call," With a trembling hand, I raise my badge, showing her my new title proudly, even if the agency is not exactly connected to the government, and what I'm doing right now is impersonating a federal agent.
"No way," Yuri gets impressed for over a second before grinning teasingly. "Miss Volkomenn gave you the job out of pity, huh?"
"Not exactly; she didn't want me to work in the same area as her, but I can be rather convincing when I need to," I say grandly. "But now, talking seriously, I'm happy we will see more of each other now that I have this job."
"Me too." Not exactly unexpected, but rather out of nowhere. Yuri wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a hug, which I return happily. As soon as it starts, the hug ends, and Yuri allows her seriousness to return. "I assume that you being here has something to do with the missing teens, then."
"Yeah, if there's anything you can share with me, it would be of great help."
"At the moment, unfortunately, there isn't anything; we are still in the investigation phase; the scene was just discovered an hour ago after all. The forensic team will get some samples of whatever they find, and we will get the teachers into questioning later when my request gets approved."
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"Your request? Isn't it Detective Rowe's job to get it with the captain?"
"True, you didn't get the news yet. To make it simple, Captain Cooper is retiring, so Rowe was elected the new captain, and try to guess who was promoted to detective." This explains why she's trying to act more composed than usual; she got the promotion she always dreamed of.
I move to hug her once again, and halfway through, a voice calls for her. "Detective Hisa, we need you to see something."
"Duty calls," Yuri adjusts her uniform and turns to me with an apologetic expression. "Come later by the station; I'll make it official with the captain so we can share information."
"One thing before you go, a real important thing," I force a serious expression on my face, making Yuri tense in anticipation of bad news. "You, Yuri Hisa, look good in that uniform."
"You dork," Her expression breaks into a blushful smile. I'm glad I still have the ability to do this to her. "Just so you know, that jacket looks good on you too. Now bye; expect a phone call later."
As Yuri walks away to tend to her responsibilities, I feel the weight of someone's gaze on my back that forces me to look around, resulting in me finding nothing... strange. I drop the feeling to the side and walk back to the motorhome to inform the unit of my amazing work. I catch a conversation in the middle between Birdie and Ada.
"In my view, that is not an issue; if you have anything to complain about, talk to our handler," Ada states, nestling her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "Now, talking about more urgent matters, the local forces did not allow me to search the scene. What do you suggest we do?"
Birdie lets out a long, exaggerated sigh as she presses her back to the motorhome, crossing her arms and losing herself in thoughts for some good seconds. That's when I enter the conversation abruptly with a victorious grin.
"Fear not, 'cause I just dealt with the problem." Both turn to me expecting more context, something I gladly provide. "The detective in this case is a friend of mine, and I might have happened to talk to her and get us a meeting later with the station's captain to officialize our cooperation."
Their gazes meet before they turn their attention back to me. Birdie is the first to talk. "Great job; this saves us some precious time." Ada nods her head to me in a small gesture of gratitude before excusing herself back into the motorhome.
My stomach growls, the first sign of demand for some breakfast. "There isn't much left to do here; the cops will gather everything they can and process the stuff, so we just need to pass the time before my friend calls me. So, can we get some food?"
"Sure, I guess this solves two of our problems." She talks to herself and gestures for me to enter the RV passenger seat. I open the door and get myself comfortable, allowing myself to look around while Birdie grabs her keys. The insides are very comfortable; even the exterior is somewhat unexpected. A full black Luton van is normally the standard police choice, as in the night you can park it somewhere and go unnoticed, but the cream-green color and size make it stand out more as a family vehicle, something that strikes me as intentional. Hanging above the rearview mirror is a small wool duck charm with cool sunglasses and a cowboy hat. Leading to the back, where the equipment is, the only thing that separates us from them is a sliding curtain.
Opening it a bit, I spy a kitchen with some free space to move around, a bunk bed and a sofa, as well as the bench to a dining table that should allow one to sleep on if needed. Birdie revs the engine and grants the sound to take over the dangling keychain noise as the van vibrates.
"You know a good place around? I know nothing of this place." Birdie comments with an awkward smile while scratching the back of her neck.
"I know one; just follow the road and turn to the first right you see, and then you'll spot a cafe at the end of the street. Just pray that it is empty at this time; otherwise, it will be hard to park this big girl."
Taking her time, Birdie manages to get us out of the school parking lot and back to the street, where she follows my instructions carefully until we both spot the place I was talking about: Lily's Haven, coffee, and pastries. Lucky for us, parking this junk turns out to be easy. We leave it on the other side of the street and get out of it, and of course, we look both ways before crossing.
Coffee and fresh baked goods, entering someone's house and smelling that should mean only one thing, 'marry them', if I could wake up in the morning and, every day, eat that instead of dry scrambled eggs, I would be set for life. Inside the cafe, to my surprise, it's empty today. Something that makes sense considering the main street leading here is blocked by the police. The shop bell rings as we enter, immediately causing Lily, the owner, to scream from the kitchen.
"I'll be there in a minute," The sound of a heavy box being put down accompanies her tired voice.
"Let's take that corner." Birdie orders, and so we move towards the corner table. Upon reaching the seats, Lily, cleaning her forehead with a kitchen cloth, looks over to us and adjusts her uniform, trying to look as friendly as she can, a trait she has always had since we were kids.
"Welcome to Lily's haven," She bows, making her iconic green hair tie ribbon bounce; her smile is polite and brings attention to her glossy lipstick; she notices me soon after starting to distribute the menus to those on the table. "Here's the menu," Moving near me, Lily lets the menu grab the attention of the others, allowing her to shoot me a smile, one I gladly reciprocate.
Not even looking at the menu, Ada looks sure of what she wants. "Coffee, black, please."
"I'll take one croissant, and what type of tea do you recommend?" Birdie asks, putting the menu aside.
"We do seasonal herbs, so this season apple tea and pumpkin have been very popular," Lily answers with the big, enthusiastic smile of a tea lover herself.
"Then I'll take the apple tea, please."
Lily's eyes fall on Naomi, bringing her attention off the menu. I watch as she does a strange thing: sign language, not directed to the waiter but to me of all people. It feels like a sort of test to see if I can understand her, or maybe she knows somehow. Gladly for me, my mother made me study the basics of some languages when her plan was to still send me out of the country to a prestige college far, far away from here.
"She wants a latte and some biscuits." I translate to Lily, getting a curious look out of Birdie in the process.
"All righty, and you'll want the usual, right, Rin?"
"Yes please."
"I'll come back with y'all's food in a minute then." Taking the menus back, Birdie stops her.
"Can you leave one with us? We are expecting one more."
"Sure thing, ma'am."
With that, Lily leaves in the direction of the kitchen. That allows me to ask. "How did you know I knew sign language?"
It is almost a turn-off when she signs me the word 'file'. "Well, that makes sense."
After checking her phone, Birdie puts it away after reading a message. "Our handler is near; just a fair warning to you." Her expression turns into an awkward smile that has a hint of pity for me. "She can be a little 'exotic' sometimes; just don't mind if she says something strange, and you'll be fine."
Before the chance to question those words is granted to me, the shop bell rings. White hair as the snow, with roots darker than the universe, a tuxedo fitting all of the curves of her body like the black gloves she arms her hands with. Black and white all over, with only a hint of red, both on her bow tie and on her lips, now looking closely, it's almost like her eyes carry that same blood color, but as soon as she finds my curious and appreciative gaze on hers, that color reveals itself to be a tone so gray that any light that reflects on it turns predominant, like all of her know-my-worth vibe. She is beautiful and knows that. The knowledge that she has all my attention for herself just like that seems to entice her to show me a seductive smile.
Tall, gratefully thin, elegant—how to better describe her, I don't know, only feel. One thing becomes clear: the three people sitting across me seemed to have chosen their spot on purpose, as now in this situation, being sat on the long sofa-like bench takes away her power of choice, so the only place to be is beside me. If this was really a decision they made to be away from her, I might start regretting giving her my head on a silver tray. Now that I've already messed up, it's best to stick with this approach.
The woman places herself beside me like royalty. She crosses her legs and pulls the red cloth out of her tuxedo, placing it on the table before all of her curious eyes befall right on my face.
"Erina Ariss Volkomenn, your file was a delight to read. The best shot at your class in the agency course. Exceptional understanding of occultist rituals, even if your supernatural creature's knowledge left lots to be desired. Fluent in English, French, and sign language. Having you in my unit is a true pleasure."
"Hey, keep that up, and you'll make me blush." The smug I give her is not even a bit professional, but to hell with etiquette anyway.
"Besides all that I just said, different from these other girls, you speak your mind freely, having even enough backbone to flirt with your boss. This will be, indeed, interesting.
"Now, to more pressing matters," Her tone and face shift suddenly; the flirty and dominating demeanor disappears and is exchanged for a professional and graceful one. "The local authorities, your message leads me to believe that the situation didn't go as smoothly as we expected." These words are directed at Birdie.
"Yes, that was before Erina told us her friend works for the police. We are currently waiting for a phone call so we can drop by the police station and ask to be part of the case." Birdie informs, trying to maintain her composure under the cold gray eyes glued to her.
"If that's the current situation, then proceed with your plan. The only thing I order is to not investigate anything without informing me first." She grabs her cloth and rises from the seat. "I'll go back to headquarters so I can prepare the paperwork; if they ask to talk to your supervisor, then call me on the secondary number."
That was quick; she just arrived and already needs to leave; paperwork really is hell. One last thing she does before disappearing out of the door is looking at me from the distance—not flirting, not serious—more to make sure of something before I lose sight of her out of the shop's window.
"Now I get the 'exotic' part."
Lily brings our order to the table, and everyone takes their moment to dig in. It's strange to be here, sitting opposite the people I'm supposed to trust while keeping a deafening silence. I've imagined that, at least, there would be more. I don't know.