Chapter Sixteen

Morrisey bolted upright, nearly falling off the couch. Ah, so he’d passed out in the living room again. What strange dreams. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. He’d dreamed of Austen, those blue eyes boring into him, deeper and deeper.

Then deeper still. They”d stood at the brink of... something. Austen pulled away. “You are my missing piece.”

Too much to take in, especially with a hangover jackhammering away in Morrisey’s brain. His entire world had flipped upside down. Too fast. Too much.

No wonder he dreamed of Farren. But missing piece?

Ridiculous.

Accepting the job might be a mistake. Or maybe the start of Morrisey’s redemption. Would the task force put him to work immediately or insist on keeping him on leave?

He needed to be out there, damn it! Finding the sonofabitches who invaded a birthday party for sadistic sport. Or the asshole who’d killed Craig.

Just like Morrisey had found Bob’s killer. And now needed to find him again.

Morrisey might be no one”s notion of a respectable person, but he knew scum, how to catch them, how to bring them down.

His only talent.

Actually, one of two. Now fully awake at five a.m., he retrieved a rarely-used-at-home sketch pad and a pencil, shading and drawing random lines until a likeness of Farren Austen appeared.

“You’ll be working with Austen,” Leary said much too loudly for this early in the morning—or anytime, really. Morrisey finished signing a massive amount of paperwork after completing orientation and a psych evaluation. He’d kind of worried about that part. No one with sound judgment would consider him even remotely stable.

That the evaluation hadn’t disqualified him only underscored the belief of emotional instability being a requirement for this new job, whatever the hell Task Force Agent entailed.

Morrisey glanced up from his place at a table in the—you guessed it, gray—conference room, which hid behind yet another unmarked door and smelled of furniture polish.

He remembered the furniture polish gathering dust in his kitchen cabinet, unused since Craig left. Gray walls, gray carpet. If Morrisey hadn’t lost his mind yet, the color scheme might soon send him around the bend.

Close proximity to Farren Austen wasn’t helping.

Austen leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed tightly across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, features completely neutral, looking very much the part of the model Morrisey suspected him of being. Austen’s current blank cop face must mean disapproval or concern. No one could fault him on either account.

Austen studied Morrisey with an overwhelming intensity, which put Morrisey on edge, especially after last night’s weird-as-fuck dream.

Still looked like an angel, though. A faint sensation not felt in a while had recently stirred to life. Lust. Oh shit, and they’d be working together. The fucking dream made Morrisey feel like he knew the guy. Felt a kinship.

Bullshit. Morrisey didn’t feel kinship with people.

Why had they been assigned to work together? There were other recruits. Morrisey had encountered a couple during orientation—clean-cut, military types who likely bench-pressed Mazdas in their off time, though they’d gone off with other trainers. Austen seemed important. Why pair him with a newbie off the street? Maybe he’d fucked up and got Morrisey as punishment.

“What will we be doing, exactly, Austen?” Morrisey finally asked when the inscrutable stare grew too heavy.

Austen smiled, the expression somewhat strained. “Please, call me Farren.”

Austen… Farren… joined Morrisey and Leary at the table, sitting on the side opposite Morrisey. Leary had taken the end and sat back, letting Farren do the talking.

Farren toyed with an iPad. “Your last big case involved a multiple homicide.”

Morrisey blinked hard. The image still formed on the back of his eyelids. He tried his hardest not to blink. “Yeah. Mothers with kids. Only the mothers died. Horribly.” Had the women somehow sacrificed themselves for their children?

“You never found the person or persons responsible.”

“No. Never had the chance since I was on leave later the same day.” They’d never get anywhere now either if Aust… Farren spent the clusterfucking day repeating the obvious.

Farren paused for several moments before continuing, guaranteeing Morrisey’s gaze didn’t wander. “We strongly believe a malevolent entity possessed the suspects. You and I will continue your investigation. We need to ensure this wasn’t a human-on-human killing.”

Malevolent entity. Did the job come with a dictionary? “My preliminary investigation turned up nothing.” But a dead partner. Morrisey, unfortunately, didn”t get to investigate. “Due to… circumstances, I had to hand the case off.” Circumstances like laying a partner to rest, getting attacked, and nearly dying. “The trail’s going cold.”

Leary pursed his lips but said nothing. Farren pushed on. “We have tools at our disposal that your precinct doesn’t.”

Oh yeah? “Like what?”

“Were you aware of an additional adult victim? A survivor.”

What the absolute hell? Morrisey balled his hands into fists, fingernails biting into his palms. “No! Why the hell didn’t I get this information?” How was it even conceivable for anyone to survive such carnage?

“Because of us,” Leary finally said. “We didn’t want the suspect coming back. The doctors have officially declared the victim brain dead. Recovery is not possible. He’s on life support after being found catatonic a few houses away. They took him to a human hospital since he wasn’t in any danger of spilling secrets.”

Anger brought on by frustrating weeks of no closure flashed through Morrisey. “How the hell was I supposed to investigate if I didn’t know about the survivor?”

Leary stared upward briefly, then dropped his gaze. “You know now, and you’ll handle the investigation.”

”The official reason he”s connected to life support is because he”s an organ donor, being kept alive until they can harvest his organs,” Farren offered. “Standard procedure in such cases.”

A pit opened in the bottom of Morrisey’s stomach. “What’s the real reason?”

Farren glanced at his boss, who paused before returning his attention to Morrisey. “So we can talk to him.”

How was it possible to communicate with someone brain-dead? Could this be like the impressions Morrisey got from touching a dead body? Did the FBI somehow know of Morrisey’s talents?

Farren and Leary exchanged meaningful glances once more. This time, Leary acted as spokesman. ”We have our ways.”

The words didn”t bode well, invoking a multitude of late-night movie villains. Morrisey almost expected a chortled Muh-ha-ha-ha!

Leary and Farren both stared expectantly.

Once more, Morrisey contemplated running. “What about my job? I haven’t even spoken to my captain yet.” He spared an inkling of guilt for never reporting back after his FBI interview per Gaskins’s instructions and wasn’t looking forward to the meeting.

Farren rose from his chair. “I’ve been in contact with your Captain Gaskins. You’ll receive a new weapon, and we’ll return the old one. You work for us as of eight o’clock this morning. Now”—he rubbed his hands together — “let’s go. Our witness won’t wait forever.”

Fuck. Morrisey would have to call and apologize to Gaskins later. Right now, he seemed bound for the Twilight Zone.

Morrisey slouched in the backseat of Leary”s SUV, reading over the case file. Michael Hawkins, Caucasian male, twenty-six. Neighbors found him three houses away from the attack, where he’d apparently gone for help and lost consciousness on the doorstep. Morrsiey recognized the man’s picture from the photo at the birthday party crime scene of a man, woman, and child.

The killers hadn’t slashed him like the others—not a mark on him, yet he’d lapsed into a coma.

Drawing from the photographs and FAET”s report, the survivor sustained nonvisible injuries similar to the ones Morrisey suffered, only worse. Much worse. Had he made it through with his mental faculties intact, he’d have been a big help in solving the case.

How could anyone obtain useful information from Michael Howkins now? Morrisey might get impressions, but little more.

Leary and Farren chatted quietly in the front seat. Farren Austen. Except for the single internet entry, Morrisey found nothing. Now the reference gave an “not found” error when he tried to find more info on the bookmarked site. Someone seemed determined to erase any traces of Farren Austen’s pre-FBI life. How had a model wound up in law enforcement with some secret task force, not aging a day in ten years?

Which made the whole thing even more suspicious.

Leary turned off Main Street, making a few rights and lefts before pulling into the parking lot of an imposing ten-story building. Mercy General Hospital. Morrisey knew the place well, having visited coworkers here. He’d even stood outside the nursery while proud father Will gushed baby talk through a window.

But mostly, Morrisey visited the morgue—far too often. He didn’t dare touch anyone, living or dead, unless he had to. He didn’t want or need any extra pain.

Evenly spaced planters of marigolds led to the entrance, giving a splash of color to the otherwise gray walls, a likely attempt to create a more cheerful atmosphere, as if that could happen. Oh, how Morrisey hated gray.

Farren followed in Leary’s footsteps. Morrisey brought up the rear. There might’ve been a metaphor there. An automatic door whooshed open, admitting them into an overly optimistic reception center. A gift shop stood to the left, offerings spilling out of the open storefront, enticing visitors to make impulse buys rather than arrive at a loved one’s bedside empty-handed.

Leary showed his badge to the attendant, who gestured toward the elevators. Morrisey and Farren followed, riding to the sixth floor in silence. They arrived at another reception area. Morrisey peered out the windows while Leary talked to the duty nurse seated behind a glass barrier, the better not to see things—or people—who might leave Morrisey needing a drink.

At one time, he’d have considered ten a.m. too early for a drink. How times had changed. Hell, these days, just waking up sent Morrisey reaching for a bottle.

The nurse stood, shaking her graying head. Whew! No extra face distorted her features. “I’m sorry, sir, but the patient is unresponsive. He’s only on life support until his organs are ready for transplantation.”

Leary spoke to the nurse in much softer tones than normal, presenting his badge. “The hospital administrator has already cleared us. Agents James and Austen, Special Agent Leary, FBI. We’ll only need a couple of minutes.”

The nurse made a call, speaking in hushed tones. With a curt nod, she disconnected and informed them, “You can go in.” She stared after them, likely wondering what the FBI wanted with a patient who couldn’t answer questions.

Leary led the way to the room, taking up a position just inside the door. “Good. No family here makes things easier.”

Much easier since the poor family mourned multiple losses.

The room contained two beds: one empty, one occupied. The steady whooshing of air and machines filled the room, as well as the bitter stench of antiseptic.

Even reading the report hadn’t prepared Morrisey for the reality of a young man looking peaceful, unmarked. Nonvisible injuries. “What happened to him?”

“Same as with you,” Leary replied. “A traveler tried to take his body. He put up a fight, likely because the traveler tried to use him to attack the women—his loved ones. Damaged his mind beyond repair. My guess is the attacker’s host body sustained injuries, and the traveler needed to make a clean break. Our victim was covered in blood when we found him. This poor guy must’ve fought like hell. He didn’t win, but he didn’t lose either. Not totally.”

Tubes and wires connected the patient to machines. A ventilator concealed a portion of his face.

Farren fixed his gaze on the motionless body, a furrow appearing between his brows. “We are short on time.” Without another word, he moved the second bed close to the first and flopped onto the mattress. “Touching helps,” he explained.

So, maybe this was similar to how Morrisey read victims.

Leary turned Morrisey with a hand to the shoulder, putting them eye-to-eye if Morrisey looked down. “You’re about to witness a process you might find horrifying at first. I know it terrified me completely. But neither Farren nor the patient will suffer harm from the procedure. Whatever you do, don’t interfere.”

“Except I might lose a little sleep at night.” Farren reached for the patient’s hand, placing two fingers against the exposed skin on the man’s wrist. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. On an exhale, he went motionless.

The injured man shuddered yet didn’t open his eyes. What the hell were they doing?

Farren’s body lay still. Too still. His chest didn’t rise and fall.

Morrisey inched a finger toward his neck.

Leary swatted his hand away. “There’s no need to check. You won’t find a pulse.”

Morrisey jumped back. “What the fuck?”

“Just call it alternative interrogation.” Leary kept his eyes trained on Farren. “We’re here to keep people out while Austen works. We only intervene if he’s not back in two minutes.”

Back?

Farren’s chest swelled a split second later. He gasped, eyes popping open. Morrisey could nearly hear his heart racing even from a few feet away.

Leary clutched Farren’s hand, either not noticing or simply not acknowledging the flinch. “Find what we need?” he asked, far more calmly than the situation called for, in Morrisey’s opinion.

Farren wiped a tear from the corner of his eye with a shaky hand. “Yes.” His voice emerged hoarse. “I told you alternative interrogation would work.”

Alternative interrogation. Holy fuck! Had Farren actually been in someone else’s mind? Could he get into Morrisey’s? Chilling tendrils of fear swept down his spine. The last thing he needed was someone snooping around in the disgusting dumpster fire serving as his brain.

Could Morrisey perform such a procedure with someone else? He’d never tried with a living person.

The entire process took five minutes, start to finish, allowing Farren time to get his bearings from whatever the fuck just happened. They restored the bed. Morrisey offered a hand. If he didn’t get this over with, allowed himself time to dwell and let his imagination run wild, he might never be able to touch Farren again.

Farren’s skin was cold, but his firm grip reassuring. His thoughts remained guarded.

“That was freaky as fuck!” Morrisey blurted, unable to apply a filter. His fingers weren’t too steady. Nor was the rest of his body.

“I’d say you adjust to the weird but don’t want to lie.” Leary took a quick peek out the door. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Morrisey remained semi-professional until they reached the SUV, mostly by not talking and simply placing one foot before the other. I will not freak out. I will not freak out. The moment the vehicle’s doors closed, he blurted, ”What in God”s name happened?”

Farren slumped against the window in the front passenger seat. Morrisey sat squarely in the middle of the back seat.

Leary started the SUV and pulled out into traffic; eyes trained on the road. “Remember us telling you about possessing bodies?”

“Yes.”

“Farren temporarily occupied the patient’s body in order to see his memories.”

“He temporarily what?” Morrisey leaned to the farthest limit his seat belt allowed, taking in Leary’s stern expression and the scrunched pallor of Farren’s face. Even with Leary’s warning… No. No fucking way.

Farren spoke, voice a pained whisper, but kept his eyes closed. “It was hard because I felt his pain, his horror. He watched his wife and sister die. But I now know what happened to him. Who did this.”

“Any evidence Austen finds this way isn’t admissible in court, but with the positive ID, we can usually piece together enough to get a conviction.” Leary gave a bitter laugh. “Nothing like confronting a suspect, describing every blow, every word, to get a confession. Or at least trip them up.”

“There were three of them,” Farren murmured. “All travelers. Only one was injured to the point where a new body was necessary. We can play them off each other if we have to or follow one to see where they go.”

“What do you mean?” The lyrics to Golden Earring’s Twilight Zone started playing in Morrisey’s head.

Farren opened his mouth, but Leary answered instead. “With enough detail, we can convince the suspects the others turned on them. Messy business for a while, quite painful for Austen, but we get results.”

Farren added, “They were criminals, even in their own realm, so don’t expect too much. Our priority is to make sure they don’t escape to a new host before we can take them into custody.”

Damn. What if all murder victims could give testimony? “Some old cases come to mind. I’m pretty sure of the murderer but couldn’t prove guilt. Could Farren have helped?” Morrisey would find out later how Farren managed. His skills must resemble Morrisey’s, yet far stronger.

Leary briefly stopped for a red light and glanced back at Morrisey. “Possibly. But the victim has to still be alive or recently deceased. Once the body shuts down, there’s nothing we can do.”

”And it”s pretty fucking horrible trying, trust me.” Farren finally peered into the back seat with bloodshot eyes. For a beautiful man like him to look like hell, the experience must have been bad. “I can’t see everything, but I can see a lot, experience their fear and many negative emotions.”

What if Farren had reached any of the remaining victims in time? Morrisey cringed at the thought. How could Farren go through this, case after case, without losing his mind—or taking Will’s way out? “So, those demon things caused this.”

”Travelers, or Viators in Latin,” Farren corrected, then shrugged. “But yes.”

Viators. Morrisey had noticed that word in the information packet, or maybe Sister Mary Margaret mentioned the name back in parochial school. He might not want to know the answer, but he had to ask, “What the hell are you?”

“Here, he’s exactly what he seems,” Leary answered after a long pause and two red lights. “He enforces the laws. As he did in Domus.”

Holy fuck. Farren? A demon? He was one of those… things? Morrisey had read about law enforcement in the other realm, but a motherfucking demon? Oh. Right. Magestra. Why couldn’t Morrisey tell by his face, like with Arianna and others? Someone should have provided those details before now. He seriously considered backing out of the job. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh holy fucking fuck!

Once Leary slowed for the next light, Morrisey would take his chances and jump.

The locks clicked shut. Was Leary a demon too, or had the panic on Morrisey’s face broadcast his plans?

Leary regarded Morrisey in the rearview mirror. “Until now, we couldn’t be sure of you. We can’t go around telling every recruit, but we’ve been watching you.”

Oh, shit. Did they know about Jessa? Morrisey didn’t ask.

Farren remained quiet, letting Leary do the talking. “With how you reacted in the hospital, we see you can handle what we might throw at you. Before we went further with your training, we needed you to understand what belonging to the task force truly means.”

Iron bands constricted Morrisey’s chest. I will not panic; I will not panic. “What are you, Leary?”

“I’m one hundred percent human,” Leary said, “and I stumbled into something I couldn’t escape from.” Even from the back seat, Morrisey saw the tightening of Leary’s jaw. “Let’s just say I ran into things my mind couldn’t accept, and I lived to tell the tale.” More quietly, though nowhere near what most folks probably considered quiet, he added, “Much like yourself.”

“How?” The words to Twilight Zone in Morrisey’s head advanced to a second chorus.

“Austen arrived in the nick of time.”

Morrisey would unpack later what Leary calling Farren by his surname meant. Gaskins used Morrisey, Morse, or James in different circumstances. Morrisey gestured toward the hospital. Whether Leary noticed was anyone’s guess. “Could that have been me?”

“Nope.” Leary nearly barked the word. “The demon you encountered tried to possess you, but only out of desperation. Any who looked at you twice would know not to try.”

Morrisey weak sense of self-preservation screamed Danger! “Why not?”

This time, Farren answered, “We can’t penetrate the darkness of your mind.”

There went the talk of darkness again. “What became of the children at the crime scene?”

“They were taken to the hospital, pronounced healthy and relatively unscathed, and entrusted to their families,” Farren replied.

“Did they see their mothers die?” Please, God, let them not have seen.

“They have no memories of the attack.”

“Why were they spared?”

“In Domus, spawn are rare and prized,” Farren said. “Even the most animalistic traveler wouldn’t harm the young.”

“There’s that at least.” The words came out more bitterly than Morrisey intended, but, hey, no regrets. Wait! “You said spawn.”

“What they call young in the Domus realm.”

Morrisey quieted, rolling over all this information in his too-full mind.

Leary broke the quiet. ”Now, since you’re still inside the vehicle and not screaming, I assume you’ve bought into the whole program.”

Bought into the program, or was too fucking terrified to move?

Leary added, ”You”re obligated to remain on-site, at least until the end of training. Austen here will help you get settled in.”

“Wait a minute! On-site? I never signed on for moving.” The third-floor shoebox might not be luxurious, but Morrisey found sanctuary in his apartment.

“Yes, you did. Page seven of the contract.”

Morrisey longed to punch the smugness off Leary’s face.

Farren turned, mouthing, “Sorry.”

Not nearly as sorry as Morrisey. Just when he thought life couldn’t get any more fucked.

He turned toward the window and hummed along with the music in his head. While the whole situation should repulse him, he couldn’t deny a thread of admiration for Farren. This clearly wasn’t some piece of cake for him. A demon. A traveler. A man from an alternate dimension.

No, not a demon. An angel.

Someone fighting evil in their own way.

Just like Morrisey.