Page 25 of Remnants: Disruption
NCPD Instructions:Kill on sight, Updated October 20th, 1030 A.D.
I lean back in my chair, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes.
The latter two entries after Fyre are Revenant, a known serial killer still on the loose in the Steel Empire, and Marek who I’ve never heard of until now. A click on their entry shows the barestbones of detail, which probably means they’ve just now made their way onto RISE’s radar.
“Anything?” Percy asks, leaning against the door frame of her office.
“Mara was number eight before she died,” I say, gesturing lamely at the computer. “Numbers one through three are out of our pay grade unless we ask the Guild for help. Numbers four through seven are either on Darkrend’s payroll or former allies.”
“So, we’ll bark up the second tree,” she says with a small, mischievous smile. I try to return it, but it feels forced. Hollow.
“Which is?”
“We’ll go to DAEMON and ask why their exec got tossed like a meat rocket.”
“That’s a pleasant mental image,” I say, thankful my voice sounds more normal now.
Percy tilts her head a little, eyes studying me like she wants to unlock the secrets I’d rather die with.
“Do you want to go get some dinner?” she asks the question like it’s no big deal. Like we’d done it before.
But except for the semi-regular trips to Frank’s—we’d never gone to dinner before. I blink back at her for a few seconds too long and her lips tug up a little.
“You had a rough night, let me at least make sure you get some food. I doubt you’ve eaten all day.”
I glance down at the clock on the computer. She’s right, I haven’t eaten all day. I even forgot a meal bar this morning when I left my apartment.
My heart thunders in my throat. Part of me wants to ask if it’s more than just colleagues, or friends, going for dinner. In all these years, I’d never gone beyond asking if she was seeing someone. She’d hinted at dating but never specified who.
“Sure,” I say softly, giving her a smile that does feel genuine this time. “Where?”
I give myself another once over in the mirror. My eyes are still depressed from the lack of sleep, worsened by the sunken look in my cheeks. The platinum-blonde of my hair looks dull in the harsh lighting of my apartment.
The blouse I found was the only one that gave “could be a date, but probably just friends,” and stares back at me from the countertop in my room.
It’s hard to admit, but the belladonna tattoo that wraps itself around the right side of my ribs ending at the base of my neck is the only feature of myself that I truly love. I’d discovered theplant in an old horticulture textbook from before the war, and the beauty in the simplicity of the flower had taken me.
I trace the lines with my finger, shivering at my own touch.
The simple black bra I procured fits snuggly as I strap it behind my back. With the blouse tucked into my jeans, I ensure my braid hasn’t lost its structural integrity.
I find my peacoat slung over my couch and tuck it across my lap as I flop down into it.
Then I make the mistake of looking into the darkened corner of my living room—the one place I’d managed to miss when I’d gotten home.
Their cries grow louder every day. Each time I reach across the planes and brush my fingertips along the lost souls, they grow in intensity. Each wayward glance into darkness reflects their faces. Even now I can see Mara’s unholy scream as her body is siphoned. I see Blackwood, distorted and wrong, but still very clearly him. Each victim of violence layered on one another, their voices screaming for justice and vengeance in tandem.
I swallow thickly, trying to blink away the vision, but it just won’t leave.
Theyjust won’t leave.
As though they know I’m thinking about them, the shadowy corner expands. It grows and grows and shifts, blotting out the room.
Their voiceless screams turn into shuddering whispers. I pull myself further back onto the couch, tucking my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs.
But they just grow louder. Their whispers eat at my ears, like bugs crawling through the canal.
I let out a scream, but it’s muffled by the shadows taking advantage of my already-depressive thoughts.
