Chapter Twenty-one

Morrisey floated in nothingness, distant lights winking in and out. He felt more than saw the presence next to him. “Where are we?”

Farren answered softly, his voice carrying a musical quality Morrisey had heard before. “In the places between places. Between realms.”

“What are the lights? Why are some going out?”

“Those are the realms.” Farren sounded sad now. “The ones going out have ceased to exist.”

What? So many? Another light faded to nothingness. Holy shit! “They’re all dying?”

“In this place, time is irrelevant. Some have died, some are dying, some are yet to die. But see the new bright lights? Some are also being born.”

Recognition slammed into Morrisey with shocking force. The musical tones. Where he’d heard them before. Farren had spoken to the paramedic in this way. Not English words. The language of Domus. Yet Morrisey understood. “Why are we here?”

“I’m looking for something.”

“Your lost family? But why am I here?”

Farren faced Morrisey, not in human form, but as pure white light. Beautiful, alien, but still Farren. “Because you’re the one I’m looking for.”

Morrisey’s mind kept drifting back to last night’s dream. Was sleeping under the same roof as Farren causing more dreams about him?

“Morrisey?” Farren waved a hand before Morrisey”s face.

Morrisey jumped. “Sorry. My mind wandered. What were you saying?” He stepped onto the elevator with Farren, then rode the God-knew-how-many-floors to the building’s lobby.

“I said, I’m one of three from Domus who works on the task force.”

“Some humans call it Hell.” Morrisey did, too, occasionally.

“So I’ve heard. Anyway, Sykes is our IT guru, and Waverly investigates suspected traveler crimes.”

They paused the conversation as the elevator doors opened, resuming in the parking lot.

Morrisey recalled having met the two briefly. Like with Farren, Morrisey didn’t see superimposed faces over the ones the other two agents wore. One wore a female”s physical form and had tracked her host’s killers. Both were Magestra. “You appear younger than them, but they defer to you.”

“I outrank them both in Domus and Terra.” Farren unlocked the doors to his assigned car with the click of a fob. “I found them dealing out vigilante justice to errant travelers. Like me, they stumbled through the barrier between worlds against their will.”

Why did Farren look away for the last part, climbing into the vehicle and not meeting Morrisey’s gaze? Morrisey swung the door open and settled himself into a passenger seat he didn’t have to scrape food wrappers off to uncover.

Sykes and Waverly might be from Farren’s home realm, but neither appeared in his dreams. Morrisey changed the subject while buckling in. “The whole falling through the barrier thing happened a lot, I’m thinking.”

Farren slowly drove the car out of the parking lot, waving to the gate guard in passing. “It happens more now. Or maybe people don’t hide so well. Maybe technology makes it harder to hide.” Farren shrugged, one hand gripping the steering wheel. He seemed preoccupied, not looking directly at Morrisey. Had he shared the same dreams?

How the hell could someone say, “You were in my dreams last night. Was I in yours?” and not get pulled into Human Resources for a lecture on what not to say to coworkers?

They idled in traffic, waiting for the light to turn. Morrisey kept to a less intimate conversation. “So, the legends about angel and demon sightings are real?”

“Some probably are. Then again, some people from Terra have found themselves in Domus. A few even came back with unbelievable tales.”

Morrisey had read a few of those accounts in less than reputable magazines. “How can they go and return if you can’t go back?”

“It’s a rare gift to cross realms at will.”

“Would you if you could?”

Farren didn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on driving as the light finally turned green. “There’s nothing waiting for me. My home, family, job. All gone.”

Fuck. Poor guy must be as alone as Morrisey. Somehow, he couldn’t see Farren as remotely the same as the attacker who’d killed Bob and tried to kill Morrisey. “You’ve made friends here, right?”

Farren inclined his head to the right just enough to reveal a bittersweet smile. “Few humans know what I truly am or what I can do. I report to Leary. Sykes and Waverly report to me. I keep my relationships casual, as I can’t share the truth with just anyone. My last boyfriend ended things because he felt I was hiding something. I never introduced him to family and never took him to my place.” Farren huffed out a harsh breath. “I couldn’t lie and keep things from someone I truly care about. It”s wiser not to care. Also, I live in the compound. It’s not like I could bring anyone home. Not without a security clearance. How about you?”

“Me?” Well, the conversation turned intimate despite Morrisey’s attempts to keep things casual. No one had asked about his personal life in so long he had to think before answering. The shock of someone caring enough to ask might be what loosened his tongue on personal details. “The one I thought I’d grow old with left for someone else. Couldn’t put up with me anymore.” It wasn”t as if Morrisey had even attempted to compromise. “Like you, I kept my job to myself.”

“Where are they now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Now time to out himself, as though a thorough background check hadn’t revealed Morrisey’s past relationship. “He. Craig worked in a law office. Came home as neat as when he left. I normally looked like something the cat refused to drag in on principle, even if I got home before he went to bed.” Morrisey frowned, recalling petty arguments about towels on the floor or food left out of the refrigerator. About missed dinner dates and all the times Craig visited friends and family alone. Things that didn’t seem important then, but for which Morrisey would like a do-over now. “He left, moved in with a new boyfriend, and died a few months later. Murdered. We never found the boyfriend.” Fuck. Did someone torture and terrify Craig long before he died? If only Morrisey had summoned the courage to touch him, see if any impressions lingered.

No. Craig had been dead for too long when the cops summoned Morrisey for being listed as Craig’s emergency contact.

“I’m sorry.” Farren’s words were barely above a whisper.

Old pain threatened to resurface. Morrisey squashed it down. He’d grown skilled at denying emotions. “Don’t be. I’m sorry enough for you, me, and a few other folks.” Besides, Farren endured the same heartache. A shiver crept up Morrisey’s spine. “Because you’re the one I’m looking for.” Just a dream. A silly, meaningless dream.

“Still, it’s hard losing someone close to you.”

All Morrisey could think of to say was, “Yeah.”

“How sad to both have the same thing in common.”

Yes, though hardly their only commonality. Both loners, both dedicated to their jobs—perhaps too much so. Both alone.

“Will you tell me about the missing boyfriend?” Farren asked. “They never found him?”

“No. Everyone said he was a straight-up kind of guy. Owned his own interior design company. One day he just… changed.” Morrisey snapped his fingers. “He beat Craig to death with a high dollar lamp.” Oh, the blood. Morrisey took the call from dispatch, finding out his destination too late.

“I know this might be painful to talk about, but you saw him? Your former lover, I mean.”

“I identified his body.” Morrisey exhaled heavily. He wouldn’t recall the sight of poor Craig, part of his face so badly damaged Morrisey barely recognized him. Morrisey’s heart squeezed. He wasn”t the best partner, but he”d loved Craig in his own way.

“Morrisey? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Hairs on Morrisey”s nape rose. Could Craig have been a traveler kill? Fuck. The pieces clicked into place. “Son of a bitch.” Though Morrisey never encountered the face-upon-face thing with the jerk boyfriend. Then again, the alley encounter appeared to have awakened latent abilities.

Farren spoke matter-of-factly. “I think there’s a possibility a traveler might’ve killed Craig.”

“A demon?” The term seemed to fit better than “traveler” in this case. Poor Craig. What had he gone through before the end?

Farren flinched. “Your kind insists on calling us demons, but really, I was just an average guy like you, except for having wings and sleeping upside down. I’m not here to hurt anyone, and I’m not here by choice.”

Wings? Like the angel Morrisey thought of him as when they’d met? The sleeping upside-down thing didn’t sound too comfortable. What was the man, part bat? “Sorry. My temper sometimes gets the better for me.” Farren tapped out a staccato beat against the steering wheel. “S’okay. That’s what most people call us. I’m just being a little sensitive because I’m nothing like the killers I catch and banish.”

“What’s the biggest difference between most travelers and those ossie thingies?”

“Occisors. They lack what you call a soul. A conscience. And are driven by desire and hunger. Some are born without the sense of right and wrong; others are criminals who’ve reverted to a lower life form. Either way, some travelers have learned to control them.”

Now to handle the next question delicately, without giving too much away. ”What do you know about succubuses?”

“Succuba is the Latin term.” Farren resorted to instructor mode, voice going professional. “I guess you’ve noticed all Domus classifications are based on Latin, a pattern I suppose started eons ago. Succuba, or what humans call succubi and incubi, feed on certain warm emotions within this realm, such as love and lust. The deeper the passion, the more satisfying the meal. Lust is a potent emotion. Back in Domus, they were pleasure workers and entertainers. Why? Anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Just wondering.” Reading over the material Leary gave him, Morrisey had wondered about Jessa.

“I’ve never actually gotten to know one on this plane, though I believe I spotted a succuba at a bar the other night, but I’ve seen the results.”

“What?” Who had Farren seen in the bar? Had he been one of the agents tailing Morrisey?

Muscles in Farren’s jaw flexed. “Several years back, a pimp hired someone to bring succuba into the bodies of attractive young women, forcing them to work for him.”

A sex demon in a sex worker? Sounded like the plot of a B horror movie crossed with be careful what you wish for. “What happened?” Morrisey could only imagine. Maybe he really didn’t want to know. His dreams were bothersome enough as they were, apart from the ones involving Farren.

“Not to mince words, but”–-Farren paused before continuing—”they grew tired of being ordered around and… umm… fucked him to death.”

“Fucked him to death?” As a younger man flooded with hormones, Morrisey and a friend made a bet on how many times they could get off in a day. The last time? Ow! But to go through an orgy and be unable to stop? He shuddered.

“Yes. While in human bodies, succuba inspire lust, especially when you get a group of them together. By the way, they aren’t team players. They normally hunt alone, which improves a victim’s chance of survival.”

“What happened to the sex workers?”

“The cops couldn’t charge them because they didn’t know what happened. I only read the case files later. By then, the succuba and their hosts were gone.”

“Do succuba often take unwilling hosts?”

“In that case, yes, they didn’t have a choice. As I said, I haven’t known any personally, so I can’t say for sure. They feed on emotions, which requires a body.”

“What about in your realm?”

“In Domus, they provide a necessary service. They’re revered.” Farren added, “I never took advantage of those services. I had a partner.”

Which brought images to mind best not dwelled upon in public. “But there they lived on whatever was in the air and not emotion, right?”

“The ether carried a similar energy, so no, they didn’t drain their clients.”

Formerrealm. Morrisey must remember that. How much could he say without divulging his conversations with Jessa? He felt honor bound to keep his word, at least until she gave him a reason not to, which she hadn’t yet. “We keep track of all known entities who’ve crossed over, right?”

“Those we know of. I’m sure there’s so many more we don’t know about.”

Not very reassuring words. “Do we keep a check on them beyond just their locations?”

“We monitor the ones we need to.”

“The rest?”

“Do human cops monitor law-abiding citizens?”

No. This lent credibility to Jessa’s anxieties about friends disappearing. “Could someone be using them?”

Farren stopped at a traffic signal, whipping his head toward Morrisey, brows furrowed. ”What are you implying?”

”If you”re not checking on them, how can you be certain they”re still alive and well?”

“Are you suggesting wellness checks?”

Morrisey shrugged, adding extra motion to turn the gesture into a stretch. “Wouldn’t hurt to drop in on them. Let them know we’re here if they need us. And to ensure they haven’t gone over to the dark side.”

Farren emitted a soft whistle and accelerated when the traffic light switched to green. “You’re talking about one hell of a lot of people.”

“Don’t they have community leaders? You know, the wise old granny everyone goes to for advice.” Or others who took on the role for the good of all—like Jessa.

If she told the truth.

”Hmmm...” Farren removed a hand from the wheel to rub his chin. “Right now, we don’t have enough personnel, but I’ll discuss your suggestion with Leary. He might know of policies already in place to make the travelers easier to manage.”

Travelers. What an interesting term. “Say I was one of your kind who found himself here. What would I do?”

“That depends on how you arrived and what you intended. We help those who merely wish to live a law-abiding life. But it’s hard to know who they are when they inhabit other bodies.”

So far, Farren had been forthcoming with answers. The next question could change the comradery. “I have a personal question.” Morrisey started to add if you don’t mind me asking, but mincing words went against his character.

Farren”s chuckle definitely carried a touch of uncertainty. “I’ve grown a thick skin. Trust me. You can’t ask me anything fifty others haven’t asked before.”

”Usually, when I see a traveler, if I look closely enough, I can see another form blurred with the human, even if only briefly. And you know about what I saw the night of the attack. I can’t with you. Why?”

Tires squealed as Farren slammed on brakes. “What?”

“It’s kind of a hazy image, some suggestive of sharp teeth and horns, like myths say demons have. And you know what I saw with Arianna. Paramedics and nurses have a blue tint. I thought it was their skin at first, but it’s more like a mist around them.” What did those psychic shows on TV call it? “An aura, maybe? Why don’t I see one when I look at you?”

Farren stared, slack-jawed. A car horn behind them prompted him to drive again. “First off, kudos for asking me something I haven’t heard before.” He chanced another glance at Morrisey. “Exactly how long have you been able to do this? From what we read on your report from the attack and what you sensed of your attacker, I wondered if you always could see the non-human.”

“Since the first night in the alley, when that… thing grabbed me.” Morrisey slapped a hand over his face. Open mouth, insert foot. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t apologize if you’re trying to. You’re right. It was a thing, or rather, down the lifeform hierarchy in my world. Think of Magestras as humans who possess certain aptitudes. That must be why you see me as an equal, not alien. Travelers can’t sense me, but I always felt that was because of my nature of enforcing laws. Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I didn’t think it was important. For all I knew, anyone can do it.”

“The attack seemed to awaken latent skills for you. Interesting. Very interesting. And possibly useful. But you are trying to interpret information your brain isn”t equipped to handle. Which helps explain why past humans who could see us called us demons or angels. We’re really more energy and light.” Farren pulled the SUV into a parking lot already filled with police cars and two ambulances. “Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Once we see inside, do a perimeter sweep for any travelers. You seem uniquely qualified.”

The brick and siding building wasn’t nice or new, comprising two floors and doors facing each other across a breezeway. Morrisey hated apartments built like this. So many places for someone to hide in the shadows at night.

The chest-high boxwoods might as well already sport crime scene tape. They seemed made for muggers.

Three police cars were in the parking area.

The smell of blood hung heavy in the air even before Morrisey climbed to the second-floor apartment. A uniformed cop hanging crime scene tape appeared a bit green. Not good. Not good at all.

Morrisey recalled the cop throwing up over the railing on his last case with Will. Please, Lord, let this crime scene not be as bad as the birthday party massacre.

Farren silently grabbed two pairs of gloves and footies from the cop watching the open door. Morrisey peered around him.

Blood soaked the dirty brown carpet. Spatter covered the walls like some weird modern art, dark red against white walls, abstract art for the criminal mind.

Morrisey inhaled through his mouth to calm his roiling stomach. He’d not been sick at a crime scene in years and wasn’t about to start now. He ignored the sneering cop at the door while shuffling into the apartment.

Yeah. Nothing like having to wait on the FBI to piss a cop off. Morrisey had been there.

Blood left a trail down a short hallway and into a back bedroom. A body, or the remains of one, lay on the bed, too badly mangled to tell gender at first glance.

This had been a living person. No. Morrisey couldn’t try imagining them alive, laughing, smiling. If he did, he might end up retching outside. He couldn’t help this person now. The best he could do was seek justice—and prevent this from happening to anyone else.

Memories of Craig threatened to return.

Forensic folks hovered outside the door, awaiting their chance to enter.

“A traveler was here.” Chatting among the cops drowned Farren’s words to all but Morrisey’s ears. “Can you smell herbs?”

Herbs? Morrisey put better judgment aside long enough for a hearty sniff. Nothing but blood and gore. A traveler had been here, a hungry one. The victim had been tormented before finally breathing their last. But wait! Something was wrong. Holy fuck. Not one body, but two. Morrisey crossed the room to where a woman lay hidden in the drapes. The image of a traveler briefly flitted over her face before disappearing. Had her traveler nature kept her hidden from the cops?

“Farren,” he called, trying to keep his voice calm. “This one’s still alive, but unconscious.” Morrisey wouldn’t show his hand by performing his own reading of her emotions. Besides, Farren might get more information.

Farren joined him, letting out a gasp upon seeing the woman. “I don’t have much time. I’m going to pretend to faint in case anyone is watching. Don’t let anyone near me.” He crouched on his hands and knees, rolling down the wrist of one glove to expose skin, which he touched to a clean spot on the woman’s fingers.

He went limp. Morrisey grabbed him, encircling Farren’s shoulders with his arm. No one paid them any mind. Suddenly, Farren gasped, eyes flying wide. “The perimeter. Quick. Check. No one is to enter this room until I say so. This traveler could still seek another body.”

Farren swayed when Morrisey released him but didn’t fall over. Morrisey shouted, “Out! Everyone out!” exiting the apartment once they’d done so. He stripped off blood-soaked footies and gloves and tossed them into a trash can marked “Hazardous.” “Keep everybody out,” he told the cop by the door.

No one stopped him as he bounded down the stairs, though a few cops nodded in recognition. Hell, even when Morrisey worked for Atlanta PD, he’d not really known anyone there well but Will.

Morrisey stood at the base of the stairs, taking in his surroundings. Though neighbors peeked from windows, no one loitered, except…

A head disappeared behind the building’s edge the moment Morrisey spotted the guy. For a brief second, they’d both frozen.

Morrisey darted around the building. The guy had a good head start. Young, maybe early twenties, medium build, medium brown hair, gray hoodie, blue jeans. An ordinary-looking guy who’d blend into the crowd.

Except for the blood on his clothes. Morrisey hadn”t had time to check for the face upon a face thing. The guy kept going through the apartment complex to the back, then easily scaled the chain-link fence.

Morrisey puffed for breath, barely swinging himself over and launching through waist-high broom sage down a gully.

Train tracks sat at the bottom. Before Morrisey could get there, another man stepped from behind a tree. He locked eyes with Morrisey. Evil lurked behind those soulless eyes.

Familiar somehow. Maybe Morrisey had seen him in nightmares.

Hoodie guy stopped as the ominous man approached and placed a hand on hoodie guy’s head.

In the distance, a whistle blew. The chugga-chugga of a train grew closer. Too close. Morrisey ran. If the train got between them, the two suspects could escape, leaving Morrisey with no possibility of reaching them until the train passed.

The man dragged the kid by the arm across the tracks, still keeping one hand on the kid’s head.

Closer, nearly there…

The image of a beast covered the hoodie guy’s face. The man pushed, shoving the kid into the train’s path.

The kid never even screamed.