November 19th, 2009
The dark lab was a grim environment indeed. The various models of the human anatomy -mainly bones- dangling from the walls and ceiling, along with x-rays of a collapsed skull hung in front of the wall-mounted lightbox did nothing to brighten the mood of the large, open room. Beyond the microscopes, testing equipment and scientific apparatus was the room's only source of light - a computer screen; sat before it was the chubby shape of Toby O'Hara, Virginia Police Department's answer to Greg Sanders.
The man peered over his hefty shoulder at the sound of Detective Rhodes pushing past a chair as he traversed the maze to see him - a feat easier said than done. "Ah, Detective," the scientist began. "Been waiting for you!"
"I'm sure you have," Rhodes grunted as he stepped over a box full of folders, "considering I called you about fifteen minutes ago to tell you I was coming."
"Aha, touché!"
Rhodes sighed. "So what happened?"
The scientist stretched his arms so his hands were free of his oversized shirt's cuffs, then flexed his fingers. He then cracked his fingers and stretched them too. "This," he began in a grand tone, "is what happened!"
He pressed a button on the computer. A computer-generated representation of the hotel room appeared in bird's eye view. Inside the room was a very basic stick figure representing the victim, outside was the killer, marked green and red respectively. The red figure walks to the door and appears to knock. The green answers but as soon as the door opens the red figure forces its way in, the green victim backing away.
"Check this out, this is where the attack starts," Toby said, pointing at the screen. "Ready?"
"Yeah... I guess."
"My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!"
He pressed another button. As soon as Toby initiated the simulation the red figure is clearly seen reaching to his waist. He unsheathed a sword with one hand and cut the victim once with an upward left-to-right slash in the same fluent motion, then his other hand met the weapon and brought it down again right-to-left as the green figure backed away. The simulation paused.
"As you can see, the victim is trying to get away from our killer samurai. We can tell by the depth of the second wound compared to the first," Toby explained. "But those wounds weren't enough to kill, they were barely glancing blows; if the killer had intended to cause mortal wounding right away then he had every opportunity to do it – but he didn't. Suggests to me there was some talking going on."
"How do you know for sure that he did this? I mean exactly like this? How can you tell?"
"Oh, there's a lot of factors... blood splatter, footprints, various fibres in the carpet... tons of stuff!"
"Great. So if this didn't kill him, what did?"
Toby indicated to the screen and unpaused the simulation. By now the green figure had fallen over and crawled back to the bed while the killer advanced on him. The victim reached under the bed and produced some kind of stick.
"The golf club from the case notes," Rhodes muttered.
"Yep."
The sword sliced straight through the middle of the golf club.
"As easy as that?"
"Oh yeah, that sword was really sharp. Watch."
The murderer stepped to the victim's side and chopped down at his neck. The first blow didn't slice straight through so the red figure repeated this motion several times before decapitation was achieved. Apparently satisfied, the killer walked away from the body, stopping by the door to wipe the weapon clean and sheathe it again before he left.
"That's incredible."
"Yeah, pretty good huh?"
"You could say that," Rhodes grunted. "So that's what happened, what do we know about the killer?"
"Well, based on what we found at the crime scene we think the killer had a height advantage of maybe three or four inches. The victim was five feet seven with his head attached, that'd make the killer about six, maybe six-one, six-two. We've found skin particles and hair at the scene but we're not finished tracing them back to their owners; the cleaners in this place are pretty good, they didn't miss much, but we've traced all but two of the samples back to previous guests," Toby said, gradually slowing his speech to a mumble. "I don't think either of them are gonna help though."
"Why not?" asked Rhodes, narrowing his eyes on the fat scientist.
"Oh, I dunno. Just a hunch I guess."
"Right. Let me know when you find out about those samples, I'm gonna go look at the security footage again."
* * *
February 23rd 2010
The sign, in an old gothic print, read "Belladonna's Collectibles" yet Dakari didn't need to spend long in the store to realise that his trip to The Potteries Shopping Centre may have been in vain. The store smelt of some sort of woody incense and was completely vacant, save for himself and the woman reading a newspaper behind the counter. The shelves were lined with odd trinkets; mostly shite, Anathkash surmised as he picked up a skull candleholder with a blunt in its mouth and a cannabis leaf stamped on its head. He replaced the item and continued his amble, still not quite sure as to what this visit would achieve. The dusty articles looked to be worthless monetarily and of no use mystically.
I'm totally wasting my time here.
"Young man," the woman said without looking up, "is there something in particular you're in need of?"
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. What do I say?
The newspaper rustled as it was folded up and placed on the counter. "I see. You have a problem and you're not sure that there's anything that can be done about it. Right?"
"You, uh, you could say," Dakari muttered.
"Mmm-hm. Come here so I can see you. You're on my blind side."
Blind side? He did as he was asked, despite his scepticism. As he drew nearer he saw what the woman was talking about when she said he was on her 'blind side'. Her right eye's iris was a faded yellow-grey colour and, no doubt, completely without sight. He couldn't see her pupil at all. He looked away and tried not to stare, instead his eyes scanned the end of the shop he was walking into.
The shop was poorly laid-out and shoplifters must cause nightmares for this woman as the high shelves behind him left zero visibility for CCTV. The area near the counter had several waist-height tables clumped in a very movement-restrictive group, each was covered with more... well... crap.
The woman that addressed Dakari looked at him carefully. He observed that she must've been no more than thirty years old, despite the premature streak of grey in her otherwise midnight-black hair. Her clothes were unusual to say the least; she wore a dress of varying shades of deep purple, low-cut but loose-fitting, and an array of rings on her fingers, all with stones of various colours. Her wrists were similarly decorated - the left wrapped with a paisley bandanna and fishbone bracelets on top, the right with a single oversized bracelet that looked to be made of copper. Dakari found her oddly attractive, even with that curiously cloudy eye. She stood up slowly, both hands resting on top of the cash register, her good eye on Dakari.
"I have a feeling that I can help you," she said plainly.
"What makes you think I need help?"
"You have a... haunted look about you."
His eyes narrowed on the woman. "Uh... what do you mean?"
She laughed out loud.
"What?!" he demanded.
"So much scepticism!" she chuckled. "My name is Shyana."
"Dakari."
"A pleasure, Anathkash."
Alarm bells rang in the young man's head. "How did you know that?"
The smile faded from Shyana's face. "You are quite the enigma, Anathkash. You're hard to read."
"You expect me to believe that you're reading my mind?" he asked incredulously. "Are you serious?"
"No, you got me," she said in a flat tone, "I actually read the name tag on your jacket."
He looked for the tag, then sighed and looked back at Shyana. There wasn't one. "Right."
"You're twenty-three."
"Good guess."
"Size nine shoes."
"Nice try, they're size ten."
"Oh, I forgot. You bought them in America so the size there would be ten. You bought them from the Good Feet Store in Albany three years ago, if that's any help."
Although he refused to believe, Dakari was stumped. She was right of course, and he knew that no matter how determined he was not to acknowledge that she was reading his mind like a Spot the Dog book, even if she claimed it wasn't that easy, she knew it as well as he did.
"Good," she said, sounding suitably satisfied, "I'm glad that 'disbelief' nonsense is over with. I'll try not to pry, that'd be rude, but you must forgive me if I pick up on a thing or two. Some of your thoughts are very discreet and I have to look for them. Others are like writing it on a flag and waving it in my face..."
She tugged the front of her dress up a little. Dakari's eyes widened.
"Don't worry about it."
Dakari didn't know where to put his face. Well... he had an idea but dared not think it. "I... uh, right. Sorry."
"My fault, I suppose. So, you're here for a reason - tell me what that is. And don't tell me you're here for ornaments or essential oils or I'll go through that brain of yours with a fine-tooth comb!"
Dakari's horrified expression incited another burst of laughter from the woman.
"I'm only joking, love. I knew there was something important before you even came in. It's seven at night, I usually close at five. What's wrong?"
The young wrestler frowned. "I saw a ghost."
"When?"
"Two days ago. In Portsmouth."
"Portsmouth? Oh, the wrestling, silly me."
"Hey, you said--"
"Flags in my face, remember?" she interrupted.
"Yeah, right. Um, so it visited me in my hotel room. I saw its reflection in the window but when I looked behind me it was, er, gone," Dakari explained. "I heard it laugh."
Shyana's relaxed aura disappeared when he mentioned the laughter. Her eyes hardened on Dakari who recoiled from the look as though she'd struck him. "What did it look like?" she asked.
"I dunno. Black. And it had a hat."
"Have you seen it since?"
"No."
"Good," she muttered, sitting back down and rummaging in a drawer beneath the counter. "It might be grounded in Portsmouth."
"I hope so."
She disappeared under the counter entirely, her voice muffled. "Me too. How long are you in Stoke?"
"I don't know. It's the last show of the tour so I'm free after Sunday."
Shyana emerged holding a card. She held it out for Dakari. "Take this, and promise you'll call me if you see it again."
He took the card. "I will," he said, looking at it. "Tarot readings?"
"Yeah," the psychic drawled. "Keeps the punters coming, y'know?"
* * *
As the troubled young man left the store, Shyana sat back down behind the counter and sighed, brushing loose hair from her face.
"Why do the haunted ones always come to me?" she moaned.
From the shadows at the back of the store emerged a man. He was little more than a dark shape, clad head to foot in black. Long black hair emphasised his pale complexion, his purely white eyes settled on the back of Shyana's head. "Why didn't you tell him?"
"About the shade?" she asked without turning around. "He doesn't need to know that it's following him, he's nervous enough. It can't hurt him, it doesn't have the power."
"And if you're wrong?
Shyana shrugged. "How often am I wrong?"
The pale man rolled his eyes but said nothing.
"Less of that," the psychic chided. "He'll be fine."
"I hope you're right, Vindicator."
