“K-pop is an interesting nickname. You super into that kind of music or something?” Peter asked Kourtnay as the two of them walked past empty holding cells toward the freight-sized elevator at the end of the hall.
“Music?” she asked, perplexed. “It is a weird nickname, but everyone at ORCA seems to have some kind of weird nickname. The boss has a thing… I don’t really get it.”
Peter wondered if maybe ‘the boss’ was into K-pop. Probably, he figured. He was reminded of the note for Andy, which was addressed to Alfonzo. At the time he’d thought it was a code name, but perhaps it was just this boss guy’s nickname for Andy. Before he had time to fully contemplate the actual difference between a nickname and a code name, a young woman in a cell ahead caught his eye. And his ears.
She was moaning loudly in a very profane manner, drawing Peter’s eyes before they were quickly averted. It was a young woman, nude on the bed with her clothes tossed flippantly onto the floor. She was pleasuring herself and by all appearances, and sounds, was doing an excellent job. Looking firmly into the adjacent cell, Peter walked past the young woman toward the elevator at the end of the hall.
Peter followed K-pop into the elevator and she pressed the button for the highest level, marked 6. The transparent glass door of the elevator provided Peter the opportunity to have a look at this building he was being held captive within. By all accounts, the first few floors looked to be nothing more than an ordinary business office with a lobby on the first floor. The higher floors were mostly populated with cubicles, though the fourth and fifth both looked to be laboratories of some kind.
The elevator chimed as the doors slid open on the sixth floor.
The entire top floor of this building that Peter Mayhew found himself in was one massive room. It was sectioned off into a few areas. A kitchenette complete with a bar. An office area with a work desk and computer by the west-facing window. And the part that really caught Peter’s eye. A few plush couches encircled a truly sizable television. It was there on the couch directly in front of the screen that Peter got his first look at ‘the boss’.
The man was playing a video game that looked like soccer played in RC cars. He watched for a moment as the man saved a goal against and found himself interested in trying his hand at this game. It looked like a good deal of fun.
The man himself was strikingly handsome. His charming features lacked the perfection to match Peter Mayhew, but he would certainly be the best looking person in most rooms.
At K-pop’s cleared throat, he turned away from the game briefly before plastering his eyes back to the big screen.
“Come on in,” he called over his shoulder. “You hungry? Thirsty? Kitchen’s to your right. Feel free to grab whatever, then come have a seat.”
Peter was taken aback by the hospitality. He was hungry. And thirsty. A brief worry came and went concerning eating or drinking something provided by this cult leader, but Peter dismissed it. This was the kitchen in his office on the top floor of his office building. The assorted fruits that were left in his holding cell, maybe, but Peter very much doubted he had anything to worry about.
K-pop smiled at him encouragingly, jutting her chin slightly toward the kitchen. When Peter nodded, her shoulders drew together and lips pursed before making her way to sit next to the boss guy. Peter stepped into the kitchen area, separated from the rest of the massive open room by stylish black counters, and opened the fridge. He frowned with distaste.
Inside, there was an entire shelf stacked with a certain energy drink that was sickeningly sweet – Peter had tried it once before, and it was not for him. Below that was a shelf filled with various alcoholic beverages. And below that, another shelf with bottled water. All beverages. Peter plucked a hard seltzer out of the fridge, closed the door, and opened the freezer. The entire thing was filled with meat that looked to have been packaged, labeled, and dated by hand.
A hunter, perhaps?
The freezer’s contents reminded Peter of his uncle Rico’s garage freezer. That crazy old cook always had meat packaged just like this filling that dirty cold box. Among other, wildly varying hobbies, uncle Rico was into hunting deer.
Peter did not understand the appeal of hunting, nor the purpose. He found the whole concept deplorable. Who in their right mind would go into the wilderness, trudging around for miles on end for just the chance to kill an innocent creature. An innocent creature that was simply living its life and hurting nobody at all.
Grocery stores have meat and are much more accessible. And you don’t even have to butcher the carcass.
More importantly, he was of the opinion that if one creature – any creature – insists on murdering another, it should be a fair fight. Even the seal has a fair chance to escape the shark, and many do every single day. Nothing can escape from a bullet.
Peter closed the freezer, turned, and moved to the nearby pantry. Peter’s frown deepened when he found nothing but junk food within. Chips, cookies, and an inordinate number of gummy bears. Sighing, Peter grabbed a bag of potato chips and closed the door.
He wanted frittatas.
He opened the bag, popped a chip into his mouth, then set it down on the counter and cracked open his drink. It was delightfully refreshing, so much that Peter lifted it up to see which flavor he’d pulled out at random. Passionfruit. It was delicious. Peter made a mental note to add the brand to his shopping list when he got home. If he got home…
Munching and sipping, Peter thought about how to approach this cult leader when he eventually moved to sit with him and K-pop. He was keeping Roma captive in the basement, and Alyson, and Peter’s cat almost had to be somewhere in the building. He had no idea what happened to Greg, but someone who could take on both Greg and Roma at the same time was someone who could kill Peter Mayhew with very little effort.
He wanted to make demands. Release your prisoners, let me go, and stop abducting people. It’s not nice. But that had between zero and no chance of getting him anywhere. Except perhaps back to his cell in the basement. K-pop had mentioned that he wasn’t a prisoner when she’d opened the cell door, and perhaps he’d just be released. But Peter doubted it.
After a few minutes of thinking over the issue, Peter decided to play it by ear. Leaving his drink and half-eaten bag of chips on the counter, he walked to the TV area and took a seat on a couch adjacent to the one K-pop and the handsome cult leader were seated.
“K-pop said you wanted to talk to me.” Peter leaned back into the plush black couch, getting comfortable.
“That’s right,” he said, not looking away from his game. “Thanks for coming. Give me just a minute to finish this game.”
Peter raised a brow. Thanks for coming? He wasn’t given an option or even an invitation. He rolled his eyes and then watched, trying to hide his interest in the game until it came to an end. The cult leader won and was smiling triumphantly when he handed the controller to K-pop – who accepted it, and then set it down on the other side of the couch.
“Sorry,” the man said, getting to his feet. Peter stood to mirror him. “I’m Nick Diggle.”
Smiling warmly, Nick put out his hand for Peter to shake, and Peter reluctantly took it. “Peter.
Name: Nicholas Diggle
Race: Human - Enhanced*
Age: 29
Power Level: 1
Fun Fact(s):
1. Even though he is the founder and owner of ORCA, Nicholas remains the organization’s top recruiter of new members.
2. Nicholas gets rather flustered when someone does not accept a nickname he attempts to bestow them.
3. Like some people are born with unreasonably good looks (Peter Mayhew), Nicholas Diggle was born with a natural charm ability* that compels the people around him to trust and follow him.
“I know,” Nicholas Diggle said, smiling. “Peter Mayhew of 7864 Windridge Drive, it said so on your driver’s license. Organ donor, too. Good on you. It’s nice to meet you, Peter Mayhew. Would it be alright if I called you Pistol Pete?”
Peter didn’t know whether or not to laugh. Or whether to agree.
“Peter’s fine,” he decided.
Nick Diggle frowned, disappointed. “Alright, Peter it is then. Did you get some food?”
Peter squinted in confusion. “Food? I mean… I had some chips. Do you have anything a little more substantial? I’m famished.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Diggle laughed with a dimpled grin. “My apologies, Peter. I forget not everyone shares my poor eating habits. We’ve got a cantina for employees on the third floor. We could go see what’s on the menu down there, or order Taco Bell. Up to you.”
Peter held up a hand. “The cantina sounds great. But I’ve got some questions a little more urgent than my grumbling tummy. Where’s my gods danged cat?”
Nick looked at Peter uncomprehendingly for a moment and then realization dawned. “Oh, that… that was your… your cat,” he said slowly, as though explaining it to himself. “It’s safe. Not injured, but we had to take some pretty extreme measures to contain it.”
“Her,” Peter corrected. “Before anything else, I want her back.”
Nick scrunched up his lips contemplatively. “I will give her back to you, Peter,” he said after a moment. “But I have some questions for you as well. Let’s eat, chat a bit, then we’ll go get your cat out of containment. Does that sound alright?”
“What about Greg?” Peter asked, ignoring the question. “Is he being held somewhere, too?”
Nick looked at Peter with a pleading expression. On someone else, someone less handsome, it would have looked pathetic. On Nick Diggle’s face, the expression was oddly convincing.
“Another topic for discussion over food, am I right? Let’s hit up the cantina.”
Peter glared but followed as Nick moved around the couch and started walking toward the elevator. Behind them the television started playing a documentary about wolves. Peter glanced over his shoulder to see K-pop seated on the ground, leaning forward with her legs crossed, right in front of the television like a child watching cartoons.
The cantina on the third floor looked a lot like the break room of a large hotel where Peter had worked as a bellman in his youth. Food was served buffet style on metal trays set out on a counter between the sitting area and the industrial kitchen. The walls had motivational posters everywhere, the cheesy ones that could be found in the library of every elementary school in the country. ‘Be the change you want to see in the world’, and the like.
There were a handful of employees sitting in little groups scattered throughout the room, chatting amongst themselves. When Peter and Nick entered, the murmur of voices lowered significantly. Peter followed Diggle to the food, and then winced when he saw the offerings. There was one tray of basmati rice with green peas mixed in, all of it looking greasy in a way he’d never seen rice look greasy. The other tray held some kind of… stew? If Peter had to guess, he’d say the meat slop with unevenly cut potatoes and vegetables tossed in was a stew. Diggle noticed his lack of enthusiasm.
“Not your cup of tea?” he asked, replacing the serving spoon to the tray of meat slop without loading the plate in his hand. “Taco Bell, then?”
“Is that kitchen well stocked?” Peter asked hopefully.
“Oh yeah,” Diggle replied. “Very stocked. We’ve got just about everything in here.”
“Mind if I toss something together?”
“Not in the slightest. Have at it,” he said, indicating the door separating the eating area from the kitchen. “You don’t have to make me any of what you’re having, but I certainly wouldn’t complain if you did. I’m going to go chat with my people. Just holler if you need anything, alright?”
Peter nodded slowly, suspiciously. Was he just going to let Peter wander off? When Nick walked away to join a nearby table with a group of young Hispanic people having lunch, Peter got his answer. He was just going to trust Peter not to try to escape. Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
After a few minutes of poking around in the kitchen, getting a feel for the layout, Peter began pulling ingredients from the shelves and refrigerator. He cracked a few eggs into a bowl and got to whisking, adding a bit of heavy cream to give the dish a nice fluffy texture. The margarita style frittata with spinach, tomatoes, and mozzarella only took him a few minutes to prepare. He topped the dish with finely chopped basil, then tossed it into the oven to bake.
As he waited, mind wandering back to the conversation he and Diggle had upstairs, Peter’s worries began to grow. This mysterious cult leader knew his home address. What if he’d sent people after Renea? Would she even be there if they did? By now, Renea must know Peter had been captured. If so, he knew she would be tearing the world apart to find him. And what would this cult do when she did inevitably show up here, guns blazing – so to speak. Renea did not like nor approve of guns. Peter frowned; he couldn’t get a good read on this Nick Diggle character.
On one hand, Peter knew Diggle was responsible for Alyson’s disappearance and confinement – along with whatever treatment she received while in that cell. On the other, Diggle had been jovial, polite, and even trusting toward Peter. Watching him chat amicably with his underlings, all of them smiling fondly at him, Peter wondered if this face he put on was all an act. But he seemed so genuine.
“…but that’s the whole thing, Wizard,” Nick was explaining. “It’s only called soccer in America.”
Peter put his elbows on the counter and rested his chin on his hands as he watched. Nick Diggle continued chatting with his underlings, calling each of them by what had to be a nickname he’d given them. Finally, the oven timer beeped. Peter bent to check on the frittata. It looked perfect.
A few minutes later, Peter sat down at the table where Nick was entertaining the others with a story from his youth. He set the two plates of steaming deliciousness on the table, one in front of each of them.
“Wow,” Nick said, closing his eyes as he inhaled the rich scent of the dish. “Mr. Mayhew, this smells amazing. Thank you.”
“Sure,” Peter said cooly. “Now about those questions?”
“Wizard, Left Lean, Kong,” he said to the cultists at the table with an apologetic smile, “would you excuse us?”
They all got up and moved their plates to another table on the other side of the breakroom.
“Let’s go quid pro quo, yeah?” Diggle asked, not looking up from his meal. “You first.”
“You’ve got my home address. Did you send people after my wife?” Peter asked with a threatening tone.
“I have not seen a reason to do so just yet, no.” Diggle forked a bite of the frittata into his mouth, moaning softly as he slowly chewed. “This is… Peter, this is simply fantastic. You wouldn’t be interested in a job as a private chef, would you?”
Peter raised a brow. “I don’t work for criminals. Was that your question?”
“No,” he said with a pained frown, as though he’d just been insulted. “But let’s address that right now. I may be considered a criminal by current societal standards, Peter. But I’m not a bad guy. This organization,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the building all around them, “is dedicated to preserving life on Earth. We spend a great deal of time and resources protecting endangered species. Right here in this compound we’re breeding several such species to keep them from going completely extinct. We’ve purchased thousands of acres all around the world and converted them into wildlife sanctuaries.”
“Mr. Diggle,” Peter said, but paused at Diggle’s raised hand.
“Please call me Nick.”
“Well, it’s great that you do good things, too, Nick. But you also drug people to kidnap them and then perform your experiments on them while keeping them imprisoned against their will. Kinda hard to come back from something like that.”
“People,” Nick started speaking with his mouth full. He chewed quickly and swallowed. “The creatures I’ve taken into custody are not people, Peter. They’re monsters. And the world is a safer place with them in holding cells than running free, trust me.”
Peter could see he and Nick were not going to see eye to eye on this. “They possess intelligence and free will. That makes them people in my book. I think it’s your turn for a question.”
Diggle paused, looking into Peter’s eyes intensely. It was as though he was determined to remain on the current subject. To convince Peter that he wasn’t a bad guy. Finally, he sighed. “What can you tell me about this Van Helsing fella?”
“He’s big. Kind of a jerk. Kind of a sweetheart. And he hunts monsters. Is there anything specific you want to know? Is he being held here, too?”
“He’s not. We got the vampire, as I’m sure you saw. But the Van Helsing pulled off a frankly miraculous escape. I take it he’s a friend of yours?”
“He is,” Peter confirmed.
“How is it that you are morally comfortable with what he does, but not what I do?”
Peter scoffed. “Greg kills monsters that need to be killed. You capture them and experiment on them. And that vampire locked up in your basement, Roma, is also Greg’s very good friend. He’ll find us here, wherever we are, and break her out whether or not you release me.”
He’d said it without hesitation, but Diggle did bring up a good point that Peter himself had been considering for some time. What made a monster a monster? What line must one cross to fit in the category of ‘monster that needs to be killed’? And wasn’t there some better way to deal with those who did cross the line?
“You think so, huh?” Nick asked.
“I’m sure of it.”
“What is he?”
“A Van Helsing,” Peter explained simply. He took a bite of his frittata and smiled with satisfaction. It was really good.
Diggle did not look amused. “But what does that mean, really? He isn’t human. That was clear enough. But he isn’t a vampire, demon, witch, or any other supernatural creature I’m familiar with.”
“And how is it that you are familiar with supernatural creatures?” Peter asked, dabbing away some cheese from his cheek with a napkin.
“Likely the same way that you are,” Diggle replied cryptically. “A chance encounter opened my eyes to the world as it really is some time ago.”
Peter used his fork to separate another bite and speared it, then paused with the food halfway to his mouth. “What are you doing with the demon blood?”
That brought Diggle up short, eyes widening slightly before he schooled his expression. “Mmm. It’s still my turn. Quid pro quo, remember? What is the Van Helsing?”
“A very old Witch Hunter,” Peter finally relented. “Now answer my question. The blood. What’s it for?”
“A Witch Hunter. Interesting. I haven’t heard of that,” Diggle replied. He savored another bite with visible pleasure before continuing. “To answer your question: in a word, immortality. I’ve been searching for the path to immortality for a very long time. And I’ve finally found it. Probably. Not true immortality, mind you. But with regular infusions of a chemical solution, one that includes the demon blood in question, I believe I’ll live for centuries. Or I could develop horrendous tumors all over my body before finally popping like an overfilled balloon. The tests weren’t entirely conclusive. Is there more of this?” he asked hopefully, pointing with his fork to the empty plate in front of him.
“Yeah,” Peter said vacantly. “On the counter in the kitchen.”
Diggle made a strange sound of excitement before hurrying off to the kitchen. Leaving Peter to consider his explanation. Immortality. What a concept. The possibility appealed greatly to Peter. Who wouldn’t want to live forever? But at what cost? Clearly this Nick Diggle guy was willing to pay just about any cost. Based on his statement about the potential to grow tumors and blow up, Peter reasoned that he’d already tested this ‘solution’, or one like it, on other people. And that some of them died horribly in the process.
“My turn again, right?” Nick asked as he sat back down with another serving of Peter’s frittata.
Nick and Peter continued going back and forth for the better part of an hour. Nick’s mostly pertaining to Greg, Peter’s mostly probing for a hint about where this building was located and who else might be held captive here. Finally, Peter lost his patience for this back-and-forth questioning.
“I answered your questions, Nick. Now I want my cat.”
“Agreed,” Nick said, surprising Peter. He wiped his face with a napkin, tossed it onto the table as he got to his feet, then brushed the crumbs from his pants. “Let’s go get your cat.”