Day 4
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'When was the last time I felt like this?' I ask myself in my mind as I dare a look at the vanity mirror. 'Deeply scared and so pumped up with adrenaline that all I can feel is the increasing difficulty to keep my lungs filled with air?'
My face looks shadowed, devoid of any features; that's because my vision darkens ever so strongly as time goes by, making me unable to focus for long periods on anything, even if I try my hardest.
Blinking away intensely, I manage by a hair to postpone the darkness behind my eyes for later, if only by a minute more.
I think I was supposed to feel the engine's roar through the wheel; at least that would be the usual, but the thigh grip I keep on its leather body is so strong that the blood flow to my fingers is cut temporarily, turning them pure white and stealing my ability to feel through them.
The intense, natural dance between the sun and moon ends abruptly, just to remind me of the time running out.
Night starts to settle in, and the clock strikes true.
Revving the engine of my beaten car, I push it and myself over our limit, the consequences of such a decision not even crossing my mind.
All streets become static; cars cannot be seen over their extensions.
Everyone that should be somewhere already is, and that's perfect because that means there isn't anyone to endanger with my reckless driving.
'Otherwise, I would have to arrest myself.' The laugh that escapes me sounds desperate, cracked, and tired.
A silver line of hope reflects on my stinging eyes; the silhouette of my house grows close to me, or better said, I grow closer to it.
There must still be time; no, there needs to be time.
When I manage to get in front of it, the force I use to kick the brakes down is inhumane, a product of the adrenaline, for sure; the stop is so sudden that the car threatens to flip over, but the rubber tires grip hard against the street, saving me from that fate.
The whining of help from the same rubber tires against the ground hurts my ear, nauseating me. Worse yet, a sound escapes from the engine, one that I don't recognize but can't mean anything good.
Extending one hand beneath the wheel, I turn the key off, killing the crying engine before it breaks beyond repair and guiding my free hand to the door's handle.
It all happens in seconds; I pull the handle on it and find the door opening before I manage to complete the action.
An unknown hand yanks the door, soon reaching for me. I'm unable to react fast enough to the attack, and so the person succeeds in gripping my head.
POW!
Pain shoots up from my skull all over to my core before echoing back; my head is bashed against the wheel mightily.
Warm blood flows down my nose instantly as the vessels burst, coating my lips as gravity pulls it down.
Not satisfied, the person repeats the action; this time I'm able to turn my head just enough to avoid getting my nose broken.
Thinking as fast as I can, I try to find a way to defend myself from the attacker. It takes a moment, but when an idea ends up surging in my pained head, I act quickly upon it, reaching for the passenger seat, or more exactly, for what is hidden beneath it.
It takes some effort—an effort that threatens to rip the muscles from my arm as their elasticity is tested like a rubber band.
I grasp my hand around the cold handle of the emergency metal box, bringing it out of hiding and swinging it against the figure's arm.
The sound of breaking bones reverberates from the arm's center, loud enough to be worrying.
The moment they feel the pain, they instantly retreat their hand and, as if that wasn't enough, courageously stick their head inside the car. Not wanting to give them any chance, I swing once more and manage to get a good hit to the side of their head.
That seems to finally do the trick, as when I complete the motion I'm able to watch the figure stumble and start to fall backward, or so I think, before their hands grasp my leg and pull me out of the car with them.
I gasp as I feel the world pull me down, and for a moment, it feels like flying, only downwards.
Hitting the back of my head against the car, my body vibrates and hits the ground painfully; my back instinctively bends as a pained groan claws out of my throat.
"Motherfuc-" Summoning some strength through my anger, I raise my head to get a look at who's attacking me, expecting to find the killer I'm after, but the face I see drains all color from my face, crafting a cold feeling to surge in my stomach. "Robson? What are you—"
My mind hurts, and this time I can't tell if it is because of the fall or if it is caused by what I'm seeing.
The man in front of me looks like a monster; his dark skin, once healthy and strong, looks rotten and dirty, and his eyes that always harbored kindness appear off, colorless—dead.
"You're not him, you're not!" Screaming seems to do nothing but make the creature in front of me gaze at me, using his hands to push against the ground and prepare to pounce on me. "Don't you do it; stay where you are. I'm warning you, stop or I'll be forced to shoot."
Reaching my hand inside my coat, I whip my trusty pistol out, brushing my thumb against the safety lever—something that should bring a feeling of safety but actually does the opposite.
Sweat builds in my palm and forehead, forcing me to get a better grip on the gun and shake my head to throw the tears of sweat away from reaching my eyes.
It is like the gun means nothing to him; even when I aim it straight at his chest, he doesn't react as expected from a normal person. No fear crosses those dead eyes; only a dark, empty void stares back at me, consuming any courage I try to find in me.
"Please...Don't make me do this; not to you." I try freeing my leg to kick him away, but he dodges closer, using his body weight to stop me from using my legs. "He did this to you, didn't he? Even when I came here as he asked...Fuck, FUCK! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? HUH?"
From the edge of my vision, I notice shadows moving, closing in on me; some are familiar faces, people who live near me; others I don't recognize but am sure I saw them around the city.
Different from Robson, they look mostly normal, but their eyes are turned into their skulls, exposing the scary white of their eyeballs. Seeing them not blinking transforms this scenario more uncanny with each passing moment.
Doing a quick count, I see maybe six or seven; if there are more, I can't see them as the ones around me block the view on purpose.
They form a circle around me and stand like statues, seizing any path I could take to run, ending any chance I might have had to escape. By how they are focused on the scene, I start thinking they are waiting for what I'll do, expecting what will come next.
In the end, I'm forced to focus back on 'Robson', who ignores my words and leaps towards me anyway. A rock that I didn't even notice he got emerges, securely grasped at his hand, and ultimately aimed to bash my head.
My finger that stays in contact with the trigger tries desperately pulling it all the way back, but the face in front of me isn't just from anyone; it belongs to one of the few good people around the city—it belongs to someone I respect—a friend.
I tremble so hard that my teeth clash together; memories replaying in my head push me to the edge of my sanity.
All but painful reminders that take me back to a similar scenario that I once lived and promised myself that I wouldn't let it happen again.
This feels like an inescapable joke from God—to be forced to relieve my worst trauma.
"..."
I hate this cruel world; all that it ever does is eat away at me.
BANG
The pistol in my hand recoils as a projectile escapes its barrel, creating a flash of light that could blind me and a deafening sound that kills any sounds coming from the man.
A cold, grotesque liquid splashes on my face, something that instinctively makes me recoil away and close my eyes tightly. A plain thud sound makes me whimper, holding back the reflex to vomit while swallowing my tears.
I hate myself.
-Fifteen Minutes Before-
The police station's bright lights bring to life a street that, otherwise, would be engulfed by darkness; inside, the windows reveal very little movement, not uncommon at his hour.
After searching inside for the detective, going as far as asking the front desk worker to try calling her personal phone, the agents fail to locate any sign of the detective.
The only information they get is that she was seen working around the city not long ago.
The hope that once was to find her in her office and craft a good excuse for their absence through the day on the spot now crumbles, so Agent Dalia and Agent Yui are forced to exit from the front door empty-handed, no closer to find the detective than they were minutes ago.
"You know, this doesn't come as a surprise. A real surprise would be if the detective had put her work aside to wait for us; even if that would be something very sweet of her to do." Pushing their healing body past their limit, Yui attempts a lighthearted laugh, only to end up bringing a pained cough and a sharp breath from their lungs. "That bitch vamp; I'll tell you, next time I see that fucker, I won't even need to inject him with DMB; I'll straight up break his little fangs."
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"If that's what you wish, then fine. I only ask you to allow sufficient time for your body to heal properly first; the amount he injected you with wasn't light." Dalia places her hand on Yui's shoulder to stop them, making sure they hear and process her words. "We can't risk the same scenario as last night happening again."
"You worry too much; remember, I never screw up twice. At least not in a roll." Seeing that their attempt to wave away the woman's worries only causes her to frown, Yui decides to bring their shared worry to the table. "In any way, we should be more concerned about the detective. Our vampire sure won't put his efforts from last night to waste. That if he didn't do anything yet."
A rare expression takes over Dalia's face as the agent's words cross her ears; her muscles contort in a mix of disquietness and frustration.
In an attempt to keep her feelings at bay not to lose her ability to think critically, she crosses her arms and focuses her irises on the pale moon above.
"I would like to believe that we didn't arrive late enough for him to hurt the detective; this way, we are at least allowed hopping to prevent this scenario from ever happening."
Yui, noticing the tone and expression of her leader, decides to help ease her mind the best they can. "What do you say we get back to Colette and drive around some more, huh? Maybe we can catch her around town or on her way home."
To the offered idea, Dalia nods her head, seeing that doing so is better than waiting around for the world to do the hard work.
Smiling, Yui pats Dalia's shoulder and walks a little faster in front of her, hands soon reaching for the phone nestled in their flannel shirt. "All right, let's get back to the car then. I'll try to make an optimized route on the GPS so we can cover the most ground in one lap."
The two agents walk down the end of the street intending to reach the SUV parked there, close to one of the branches born from the main road. Colette can be seen inside with her head turned away, eyes focused on any sign of the detective's car coming to the station.
Her ears twitch as Yui opens the door and throws their body on the backseat, lazily laying down and sticking their phone up while they unlock the screen, as Dalia gets to the driver seat composedly and pulls the door closed.
Both agent's eyes meet, and without needing any words, Colette frowns and raises one brow, silently letting her question be read.
"No luck on our side either." Sighing tiredly, Dalia's hand falls on the wheel, finding comfort on the leather, still warm from when she was holding it not long back. "There was only one worker there, and they informed us that the detective was spotted working around the city. I asked, but she didn't inform us about a specific place."
Expecting a comment, Dalia looks at the woman.
Seconds go by, and the silence extends far as the agent doesn't say anything, choosing instead to look back at the road and keep her eyes peeled on the occasional moving cars that pass them by.
Unfortunately for the two, the silence that comes vanishes suddenly, like smoke in the wind.
"Wait, wait, wait; what? How the actual FUCK didn't I see this before?" On the back seat, Yui raises their head in such a hurry that they almost fall on the chasm, separating the front seat from the one they are in. "Uhm...guys? There's a chance I might have screwed us over."
"What did you do?"
Dalia and Colette ask, timing it so perfectly that even if the tone is different, the sound of their voices ends up mixing and becoming one whole new voice.
Moving their hands, the desperate agent grips Dalia's arm so rapidly that they don't mind the strength they possess.
Yui's phone ends up on the woman's hand, displaying a message from an unknown number sent almost half an hour ago that, all the agents know, can only belong to one person, more so taking into account they only have JB and their own numbers added to each other's phones.
The photo of a letter meant only for the detective, a clear threat to her life, paired with the worst possible four words: 'I know the truth'.
"There's still time, right? The sun has set only some minutes ago; that means we can still get there in time." Yui asks with an awkward smile, guilt glistering in their eyes. "I should have seen the message before; I'm so stupid, literally failing to do my only job."
Dalia's throat grows dry, which stops her from saying anything in return; her reflexes, on the other hand, stand as sharp as ever.
She throws the phone back at Yui—leaving them to groan as it hits their knee in its fall—then she revs the engine until it roars thunderously, flooring the accelerator with no time to waste.
A little over five minutes—that is all the time it takes for the agents to reach 44 Coneflower Avenue, and when they do, they are greeted by a nightmarish sight.
Seven half-turned humans form a tight circle around an easily recognizable car. The worn-out features turn the job of remembering who it belongs to non-existing, and with one careful look, it becomes even easier to notice a woman with her back pressed against it.
Then, ripping the night like lightning, a gunshot echoes through the empty street, completing a lap on the whole block before dissipating; nocturnal birds fly away from their resting place atop the street wires.
By the angle they have, telling if the detective was the one responsible for the sound is impossible, creating a sense that time is of the essence if they want to have a chance to save her.
"You two, go together and knock the targets out; be careful not to hurt them beyond what we can help with." Shutting down the engine, Dalia opens her door and barks orders without moving her gaze from where the detective is.
"But what do we do about the detective?" Yui asks worriedly, using the little time granted to them. "Shouldn't we get her out of there before she sees us in action? I mean, wouldn't that be the play if we don't want her to know what we are?"
"It's far too late for us to worry about that." Biting her lips angsty, Dalia admits with some effort. "At this point, we can't keep the truth from her, so we do our job; we move now and deal with the possible outcomes when we are all in a safer place."
One nod of the agent's head and the three of them begin to move fast to intercept the situation before the worst happens; Dalia closes in on the detective's unmoving body, and simultaneously, Yui and Colette move in almost perfect sync, fists ready to bash some heads into the concrete, mostly in a non-lethal way.
Colette's eyes dart from target to target, devising in her head a plan to deal with the bodies that will be left after they are done.
"You'll drag them away once they are out; hide the bodies." The woman adjusts her speed to the other agent, catching up and making sure they listen.
"Ay ay, Captain." Like a good soldier, Yui nods and sighs, doing a good job of hiding their frown from being thrown order after order. Their lips then curl into a confident grin once they think of something. "I just so happen to know the best place to put them; don't you worry about it. No one will find them soon; no one but us, of course."
A dance of opposites—Colette's claws don't put in an appearance, even when three of the half-turned humans turn in her direction and rush with rocks and kitchen utensils in hand.
Instead of giving in to her bare-bones instincts, she takes in a deep breath and focuses on adjusting her form.
Calmly, she raises her hand to her chest and, box style, starts ducking and eluding the attackers, waiting until she gets an opening to strike, targeting jaws and the side of the head to maximize knocking them unconscious.
As per Yui, they grin widely as they bathe in the wind rushing against their face—finding fun at the moment—speeding up like a bullet once the other four targets attempt to turn their heads to the sound of the speedy footsteps.
"Sorry, you guys will have to wait your turn." With a taunt, they seize the chance for them to react with a cool double-flying kick to one of the targets, a middle-aged man's chest, lining it up beforehand to smartly create a domino effect where each ends up on the ground as a result. "Jackpot. I should be rewarded with a gold medal for this."
Differently from the harbor, where the monsters were workers who spent their whole day carrying heavy boxes and so were very strong people, these ones are completely different; just innocent housewives and tired suit and tie workers, no stronger than the average Joe.
Because of that, the fight doesn't manage to last long, and soon enough all of the half-turned humans are either on the ground or being taken away by the fading figure of Yui, who uses their supernatural, vampiric speed to cross long distances on the city, carrying the bodies into the night, to a place only they know.
Dalia, who stayed on the sidelines until now—hiding behind the detective's car, patiently waiting for the right moment to act—finally gains ground to act.
Approaching the detective, the understanding of what happened hits the agents like a sledgehammer; a corpse lies motionless on the ground in front of the detective, black, putrid blood pooling from a hole in their forehead.
Her near-perfect memory wouldn't fail her now, guaranteeing the quick recognition of where she saw the dead man before.
Expecting to see a crying face or the woman frozen in shock, Dalia decides to delicately touch her shoulder in hopes of providing any type of comfort, even if a little.
Betraying her expectation, she finds the detective's eyes locked on the gun she holds, her face stained with the blood belonging to the dead, almost enough to distract any curious onlooker about the emptiness that takes over her eyes.
Mud eyes, lacking the wetness provided by tears; stolen of the reflection of the moon in them.
"Poor soul, I can't imagine how's your head at this moment." Taking pity at the hurt human in front of her eyes, the agent moves to grab the gun out of the woman's hand only to be interrupted by the sudden barking coming from inside the detective's house. "I only wish we had gotten here in time before you were fated to do such a terrible thing."
Joining her side quietly, Colette ignores the body lying lifeless on the ground and studies Olivia; the expression on her face brings nothing to her, so she is quick to switch her gaze to her leader.
"Someone is coming from inside the house." While talking, she grabs the dead man and lifts him off the ground. "We move now; before we are caught."
"Hey guys, all the bodies are secured in a nice place; no need for thanks, though I would—" The agent is interrupted by Colette throwing the corpse to their arms, pointing with her head for them to move.
They sigh and nod, only stopping to look at the detective and her state; they open their mouth to talk but ultimately decide not to and disappear to hide the last one.
"Detective, are you able to walk on your own?"
A gentle voice asks, distorted by my ringing ears; the woman in front of me rests one hand on my slumped shoulder, ready to lift me in any given second.
Blinking once, I raise my eyes to meet hers; Agent Dalia's eyes lighten when she sees me moving, more so when I open my mouth to talk.
My throat closes; the words are sent by my mind and lost on their way, resulting in a weak grunt escaping my lips instead of a sentence.
I give up instantly on talking, choosing instead to try getting up on my own, and the moment I show some difficulty due to the strange numbness taking over my legs, both agents start pulling me up.
"Let's get her to the car; we can think of where we will land after we are out of here," Dalia says, receiving a nod from Colette as an answer and so initiating their walk to the SUV, keeping the stumbling me in the middle of them.
My eyes wander around, flashes of what just happened constantly taking my mind over and over; the image of the bullet entering Robson's skull is forever engraved in my eyes, even when I close them.
I try looking back at my house, using every bit of strength I have left to find comfort in its sight, only to end up with the contrary.
Atop my house, a human shadow moves; their back bends as they watch me intently with a corrupted smile reflecting the moonlight.
In a flash, they move their focus away from me and bend their back, assuming a throwing pose, like a pitcher in a baseball game. The target? The person walking directly in front of me: Agent Colette.
WHOOSH
Successfully jumping forward, my shoulder painfully connects with the wall of a woman as she inhumanly reacts to my action, managing to almost fully turn around before I reach halfway to her, which is no more than a meter.
Maybe because of the adrenaline I don't feel any pain, but the sound and motion leads me to believe my shoulder has dislocated. No matter, the important thing is that I push her out of the way before the inevitable happens, and it does.
Time seems to slow down, making me capable of seeing her expression going from animalistic anger to deep surprise as her eyes catch the shadow of a moving object en route to where she stood.
Then, a sharp, nauseating pain originates on the side of my head as something hits it with such force that it tests how far my neck can bend and if my mind can take anymore.
Blood crosses my face the moment I meet the cold ground, entering my eyes and stealing my vision before the darkness can; for a moment, I see a world burning red.
Shadows of what I deduce are the two agents moving near me, coming into contact before one shoves the other in the opposite direction, seemingly discussing before one approaches me in time with the light going out in my brain.
...
I don't see anything anymore.
A drunk woman kicks the door of her house open, her face marked by a pattern belonging clearly to a sofa, as a dog bravely takes the lead, growling at the wind. Her gaze wanders outside as she points with a TV controller, trying to aim with it, thinking it to be her weapon.
Disappointingly, the warning from the dog led her to find nothing at first glance outside; not that she tries too hard to find anything.
"Pirate, baby; you woke me up for this? I told you, there's no raccoon outside stealing from our trashcan...at least not tonight."
Her blurred eyes wouldn't allow her to be sure of that, but still, she dismissively waves her hand and yawns as drowsiness takes her over. "I'm going back to sleep; maybe I'll heat some hot pockets before that."
Timely with the woman talking, the one-eyed dog explores the street, making sure no threats are nearby. It reaches an area where a black liquid polls, near a familiar car.
Curiously, he smells the substance. When the rotten and acidic smell enters his lungs, he whimpers away and dashes away back to the house and his owner.
The scene is watched by a man standing across the street, cloaked by the shadow of a broken street pole, smiling widely while keeping his arms open, embracing the moonlight.
It would be easy for the man to just snatch the drunk woman away, seeing the current state she's in, but that would not do; she's not the one he wants anyway.
Bathing in today's victory, the figure looks at the dog as it stops at the door and finds him. Lifting a finger to his pale lips, he smiles and disappears, leaving the dog to bark at nothing, soon being taken back inside for that reason.
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