Chapter Twelve

Six hours’ worth of mind-blowing details later, Morrisey sat in his living room on the white leather couch someone else picked out. A white leather couch, now stained by time and rough treatment. In fact, most of the stuff in the apartment had been picked by someone else, left by previous tenants, or donated by well-meaning coworkers. There might even be an item or two scavenged from off the street. Who had time to worry about the décor? The mattress wasn’t too lumpy, though the bed was empty, the fridge kept beer cold, and the shower supplied plenty of hot water. What more could a man want?

Oh, right. Not having an empty bed.

Morrisey stared at two fingers’ worth of tequila in a shot glass sitting on a wooden cable reel he’d salvaged from the dumpster behind an electrical supply company—not because he couldn’t afford better, but because he didn’t need anything fancy as a coffee table. Besides, who’d see?

In all honesty, drinking was probably the very last thing he needed right now, even if he’d worked up the nerve to go to another liquor store to restock supplies. No shots fired. Nobody died. No demon possessions.

All in all, a successful foray into the outside world.

He downed the shot, sucking in air at the burn. Burn. Exactly what he needed. Feeling. Fire to make him feel alive again.

Was the FBI Alternate Entities Task Force for real or an elaborate hoax? Googling didn’t turn up anything. It wasn”t as if he’d expected full disclosure from the feds. Especially feds talking sci-fi crap. They probably should say the FBI Entities Alternate Task Force, or EAT for short, since the evil bastards essentially tried to eat human souls.

Or so his pickled brain told him.

Morrisey had discreetly taken pictures on his phone of Austen and Leary. The Leary image didn’t get a hit, but Austen’s?

Holy shit. Image lookup showed a picture of a young model from about ten years ago. Austen hadn’t changed much. The guy had to be at least eighteen in the photos, plus ten years, which would put Austen at twenty-eight at a minimum.

Morrisey read the article.

Male model, twenty-seven. Went out drinking with friends after a show. Disappeared while walking back to his hotel, never seen again.

Wait! Austen had been twenty-seven ten years ago?

A lead weight settled into Morrisey’s gut. The whole day, especially Leary and Austen, made him want to run.

Austen”s story could have been Morrisey”s, apart from the male model part. The picture showed Austen on a runway, shirt off, pants skin tight. Oh hell. What a body.

Ten years hadn’t changed Austen’s appearance. Besides the lone picture and article, not a single additional mention came up on the internet. Strange. In a world of Instagram and Facebook, a model would’ve plastered his photos on every social media site available. Right?

Were they the same guy? If so, he hadn’t aged. Was he possessed? Morrisey saw nothing weird, not like with Arianna. Then again, he’d visualized Austen as an angel during his near-death experience. Instincts deep inside assured Morrisey of Leary’s humanity, but he lacked the same confidence about Austen.

Whoever these feds were, they wanted Morrisey to work for them.

Fuck. His head hurt.

He plugged the FAET flash drive from the envelope into his laptop. Based on information from the drive, the travelers came from a place called Domus, not exactly a world, but more of an alternate dimension or realm. Some far-out Twilight Zone shit. The highest level was Princeps, the ruling class and some of the first to disappear. Whether they simply vanished or escaped to another realm was anyone’s guess. Elitist snobs, more than likely, saving themselves with no thought of others.

Yet, only a few had been identified on Earth. Or what those from Domus called Terra. Strange.

Next came government officials, then the Magestra, the equivalent of law enforcement in whatever form. Hmm… Wasn’t that Latin for teacher? Or maybe it was intended as a variation of magestratus, or magistrate. Who knew? Then again, a smart person would definitely learn a lesson from getting arrested by a cop.

Or maybe years of drinking had stripped away all the scant Latin Morrisey once knew.

The Operares came next, the white-collar working class, also decimated by disappearances, and the Succuba, or comfort workers, which seemed to cover anything from sex work to masseurs. Damn, but Morrisey could use a good massage about now. He stretched his neck right, then left, until a pop sounded. Ah, better.

He continued reading. Next, the public servants, or Servus.

All the titles seemed to be Latin, so humans must’ve decided what to call them unless the other realm had similar words. Had Latin originated in another realm? This might explain why Morrisey never fully grasped the concept in Catholic school.

His head really hurt now.

Healers came from yet another level, Nutrixes, followed by those responsible for logistics and navigation, ensuring folks got from point A to point B efficiently. Bus drivers? Pilots?

Then came lower ranks, on down to the worst people the realm offered, or animals, rather: occisors, not a class, but more like a tiger or bear. They were bred as guardians until they turned on their owners, formed packs, and preyed on the unsuspecting. As they fed on negative energy among humans, they began provoking more responses to gain additional energy until they resorted to maiming victims to the point of death and feasting on their fear.

Prickles traced up Morrisey”s nape. Maiming. Instilling fear. His and Will’s last case.

If those were the ones coming into this realm, possessing human bodies, no wonder the crime rate was soaring. Then again, Leary mentioned beings from additional realms occasionally popping in. And the federal government knew about all this? How many realms were there?

Wait!What was Morrisey thinking? He couldn’t be buying into this whole alternate realm thing, not even in an alcohol-induced delusion. But…

But what if everything Austen and Leary said today was real? Would more killing happen? Had a possessed being killed the victims whose deaths sent Will over the edge? A woman had recognized whoever stood at the door. Had it been someone she knew possessed by a demon? What about the guy who had murdered Bob, the liquor store owner, for the hell of it?

Maybe Morrisey should use the word “hell” sparingly.

Travelers had been traversing realms for centuries according to the information presented, their appearances and disappearances put down to myth and legend. Humans also stumbled through the other direction occasionally. Those who somehow came back reported different versions of where they’d been.

Then again, different realms. Did this explain Heaven and Hell? Valhalla?

If there were “demons” from other realms, could there be angels too? Even fallen ones?

His thoughts circled back to the ambulance, seeing an angelic being—Farren Austen.

An angelic being who didn’t age.

Years ago, when he’d been young and idealistic, Morrisey had vowed to enforce the law and protect those he’d sworn to serve. There might not be enough good deeds left in him to make up for the past, but he could try, couldn’t he?

Besides, if left unchecked, crime would only get worse. At least with the FBI Alternate Entities Task Force, he might know what he faced. Be privy to the facts. He also had no family to worry about, and even he acknowledged his thriving death wish.

And he wouldn”t need to confront the empty desk where Will should be.

Will. If Morrisey caught the assholes who sent Will into a downward spiral…

Worth any price.

Where did Jessa-whatever figure in? Though Morrisey mostly didn’t see her as other than a woman, he’d noticed the same sense of one face overlaid on another, but only briefly and more subdued.

He downed another fortifying shot of tequila before clicking on a link for an article called A Brief History.

Legends of demons and other creatures like werewolves who preyed on humans are thought to be early examples of human clashes with travelers. The entities were summoned or otherwise came from another plane, Domus being the most documented realm and closest to Terra. Criminals entering a dangerous predator’s body wreaked havoc, especially if they fed from fear or killed one human after another in search of a suitable inhabitable body.

Like the… thing… tried to do to Morrisey. Even now, the creature lurked somewhere in Atlanta as a nurse who’d just become a threat to anyone around her.

Morrisey should stop wasting time and track her down.

Occisors, they were called.

Another entry read: Tenebris. Sounded familiar, but what did it mean?

He continued reading.

Tenebriswere rare, born into any social class, the most powerful of all Domusian beings.Once, Tenebris joined with its counterpart, Lux. Darkness and light. The first pair, Tenebris and Lux, are credited with the creation of Domus. Then came more. Provided that they were paired, all was well. Then Tenebris came into the world without a counterpart. Through their unchecked darkness, they destroyed cities, their power too great to wield alone. The council decided they were too dangerous to live. Tenebris were banished upon first manifesting their terrible powers.

Hadn’t someone called Morrisey the same? Darkness. No use denying the truth, though.

Maybe you needed darkness to fight darkness.

Morrisey abandoned his laptop and stumbled into the kitchen, stepping over a filled trash bag and a few empty pizza boxes. He found a takeout container in the fridge, opened the flaps, and sniffed. Didn’t smell bad. But when had he last ordered Chinese?

He removed the metal handles from the container and popped the carton into the microwave, resting his palms on the counter to wait. The microwave hummed. Three minutes.

The sun sank lower in the sky. He should have reported back to Gaskins but needed time to wrap his head around all he’d been told. Fucking unbelievable.

Morrisey trudged a few feet to gaze outside at the traffic below. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if the people passing by were human or not. If someone didn’t act soon, the city could be overrun. Then the country. Then the world. The walls between the planes were thinner here than in some other parts of the world. Localized, for now. If only they stayed local.

Austen’s smiling face invaded Morrisey’s thoughts. That smile. His earnestness reminded Morrisey of himself a time long ago. Oh, who was he kidding? He’d always been a miserable sonofabitch, except for his time with Craig.

Craig.

The microwave dinged. Morrisey continued gazing out the window, imagining turning to find his lover removing the carton from the microwave.

Dinner’s ready,Craig would say with a smile. No, not right. More than likely, he’d say, Do you have any idea what the chemical additives in this shit will do to your body?

Morrisey lifted the corners of his mouth. Craig had been the health-conscious one who should have lived a long and healthy life. The beginnings of a smile fell.

Until the last year, when his personality suddenly changed. Craig had blamed Morrisey’s job…

Morrisey should have quit the job. Maybe then Craig would still be alive, still be happy.

Morrisey turned away from the window.

He’d captured Craig’s smile in so many ways, with acrylics on canvas, the occasional watercolor, and even charcoal sketches while Craig slept, still smiling.

He hadn’t smiled much in their last year together.

All images but one were jumbled in a closet, along with early sketches of Morrisey’s parents and the family dog who’d died shortly before his parents had.

Parts of a past life, when Morrisey thought he might succeed in the world and had reasons to.

He’d been no good to anyone for so long. How could he change now? All his friends had given up on him. Parents were gone. He’d never known his biological family. Gaskins put up with him, mostly because he’d worked well with Will.

Now, Will joined the others who’d left.

What you need is a purpose,Morrisey heard Craig whisper.

”Other than to locate the scumbag who killed you and beat him to death with my bare hands?” Morrisey replied out loud. A promise he’d once made, still unfulfilled.

The Craig within Morrisey”s thoughts faded away to nothingness. A brush of air against his cheek might’ve been the air vent—or ghostly fingers giving a final caress. Morrisey placed his hand against the skin there, holding on to an imaginary kiss.

The microwave pinged, the food now turned stomach-churning. Morrisey dumped it into the trash, his appetite gone.

He’d been offered a purpose. Leary and Austen claimed they knew all about Morrisey’s shortcomings and wanted him anyway. About time somebody did. Wasn’t like Morrisey had anything better to do except catch a few killers. But… first he met with Jessa, now the FBI extended a job offer. Coincidence?

He had never been a big believer in coincidence. Maybe he should finally watch Men in Black after all.

His new job, if he accepted the offer, might be more tragedy than comedy.