Creatus

His brother let out a loud guffaw. “I’m not talking about the weather, dude.”

“Oh, that warm and cozy…” Derrick let his words trail off. “I’m not talking to you, man. Besides, what do you care? You hate humans. So you certainly don’t want to hear any of my boring details,” he drew out his words and then lowered his voice, “You want a strong woman who’ll rock your world, right?”

Michael laughed again. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“So, when exactly are you going to tell her?”

“Tell who?” he grumbled, giving away that he knew ‘who’.

“Victoria,” Derrick chided. “Come on, man. You practically crawled across the floor the other day, telling her what you wanted in a woman. She was just too angry to see it, but she will. You two are perfect for each other.”

Michael huffed. “We would end up destroying each other. We’re too much alike.”

“Ah-ha, so you are interested.”

“Yeah,” he conceded. “I’ve always been interested in Vic, but she sees right through me, as if I’m just an apparition. Jonas wanted her too. At least he did in high school. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the real reason he came back. You know, we always assumed she wanted you because you were the strongest.” Derrick rolled his eyes even though Michael couldn’t see him. “So, where’s Kristina? You let her out of your sight?” his brother asked nonchalantly as if he didn’t really care, just changing the subject.

“Not really. She’s having a spa treatment. We’ll be meeting in about fifteen minutes in the couple’s area.”

“Have fun, loverboy, while I endeavor here with no warm woman to keep me company on these chilly nights.”

Derrick laughed. “As if you’ve ever had a problem finding a warm body.”

“Yeah well, sometimes we grow up.”

A huff threatened to pop out of Derrick’s throat, but he restrained it. Maybe his brother really was growing up. “All right then. I’ll call you tomorrow,” Derrick said and hung up. He made his way to the couple’s lounge. He was looking forward to another incredible evening with his wife, but he had a day of outdoor activities planned today.

Derrick found an open love seat and sat down to wait for Kristina. He pulled out his iPhone, checking the weather to see what the ski conditions were for tomorrow, as he’d already made reservations for zip lining today. If they weren’t good, he had back-up plans of sleigh rides, hiking, or horseback riding. Heck, even staying inside all day would be fine with him, but he wanted their makeshift honeymoon to be something she’d remember forever, since she hadn’t wanted the huge wedding as most women did.

He glanced at the time. Kristina was late. He pulled their reservation receipt out of his wallet and confirmed the time. Only five minutes, which wasn’t unusual for her as she was habitually late. But still, the hotel filled every slot; they were never late.

Derrick made a loop outside the couple’s area. He glanced at the hot tub and pool, thinking maybe she’d assumed they were supposed to meet there. Coming up empty, he sought out one of the employees to see if her appointment had been rescheduled for a later time. The woman whom he had spoken with earlier was on the phone, explaining the different services they offered to a prospective customer. She peeped up at him and smiled, but returned her eyes to her computer. The woman droned on, detailing every massage and facial treatment that was available.

“I’m sorry, Miss,” he interrupted, and her eyes flashed to him, irritation now overshadowing her previously friendly smile. Ignoring her glower, he asked, “Did my wife change the time of her treatment?”

“Excuse me,” the woman said into the phone and then glanced at him. “Could you give me a minute, sir?”

“No. It’ll just take a second. My wife was supposed to meet me in the couple’s area ten minutes ago, and she’s not there.”

The woman sucked on her teeth. “One second, sir, and I will be glad to look up that information.” She returned to the caller. “Yes, ma’am. We can schedule you in tomorrow.” She clicked her mouse, scrolling down the computer screen. “Hmm… let’s see.”

Derrick had lost all patience. Even though it wasn’t the woman’s fault, her unwillingness to understand his concern aggravated him. He understood someone was on the phone, but shouldn’t the person standing in front of her take precedence? He stormed toward the couple’s area again to see if Kristina had returned. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time again. Fifteen minutes. His blood raced through his veins. He glanced at the women’s locker room, wondering how quickly he’d get the staff’s attention if he sought out his wife himself.

Clearly, fifteen minutes meant nothing to them, but if the rogue had found Kristina. He whooshed out a breath, his hands trembling. Decided, he opened the door to the female locker room. He didn’t care what they thought; he only wanted to know if he needed to seek his wife. And if she was embarrassed, so be it. “Kristina!” he shouted into the vacant corridor. All the rooms were private, so it wasn’t as if there would be naked women wandering the halls. They all wore robes, courtesy of the hotel.  He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “Kristina,” he repeated, louder, and he could be very loud. His voice had a tendency to carry if he so desired. And right now, he had only one concern: finding his wife.

Chapter Thirty-one

Reece sifted through the files, dating back fourteen years. He’d been surprised when he searched Kristina Heskin’s records and discovered she’d been the victim of a brutal attack that had left her mother bleeding on the street, but she’d walked away.

“My Dark Angel saved me”, O’Brian had written in quotes on the now-faded police report, but thankfully as most cops, all his reports were scribbled in bold black ink, standard procedure for officers. O’Brian had also made a file he’d titled as “dark angel”. Too bad O’Brian was dead; he probably could have picked his brain.

Reece pulled out the stack of reports he’d lifted from the dead detective’s office. Most cops didn’t bother to keep paper copies, but O’Brian was old school, just like Reece’s dad. Reece remembered how his old man would never trust computers, always said, “What’re they gonna do when they all crash and burn? Or terrorists take out the Internet?” He missed his father; he was the one man Reece could trust with his life. Even in the military, Reece hadn’t felt completely comfortable. Things weren’t the same as they’d been when his father was a cop, as he’d always complained, and Reece had to agree with his Pop. Reece was born in the Deep South where loyalty meant something. Even the men he’d met overseas and in Miami would stab you in the back metaphorically as quickly as a punk would stick you with a blade on the street, if it meant they’d advance in front of you. He’d kept his nose clean while he served his country and his head down when he returned to the U.S. His promotion had nothing to do with the good ole boy system; he was where he was because he had a knack for finding missing links.

The reports under the “Dark Angel” tab dated back eight years, but then stopped a few years ago. Some of the reports hadn’t been O’Brian’s, but they all had one thing in common. Every report was of an attack on a citizen where a vigilante had intervened. Though said in different ways, each victim had claimed that one second the thief had been on them, and the next it was as if they’d disappeared. One woman had gone on to say that she was sure it was Batman who had protected her.

Reece reclined on the hard mattress of the cheap hotel room his agency had reserved. Whatever happened to the plush accommodations he’d seen in the movies? James Bond had never stayed in a fleabag hotel. Apparently holding a license to kill didn’t mean the same as it used to.

He stared up at the water and smoke-stained ceiling, wondering how the incidents connected. Fourteen years ago, this supposed Dark Angel protected an eight-year-old girl. Six years later, he saves others, but then disappears until the Tobin Bridge event, nearly three years after the last report.

Reece logged into Massachusetts’ police database, courtesy of his boss’ security clearance. After a rudimentary search, he returned a few situations where a vigilante had stepped in to help a civilian in the last eight years. However, none of those incidents included any mention of supernatural occurrences as the others had. Maybe that was why O’Brian had left them out. Again, he thought about what a waste it was that O’Brian was