Ch 4: Interrogating the Boogieman

I am writing to you today from Asakusa, Tokyo, Japan. My adventures have brought me to this big, bright, beautiful city, and my new novel continues. For those just tuning in, or who are keeping up, our detectives have caught the real-life kidnapper boogie-man and are determined to get a confession out of it.  (want to learn more about my adventures in Australia and Japan? Check out my blog on niume.com)

DUN DUN.
Burgundy Monster Force Police Headquarters
2:34 AM

Ollie stared at the thing sitting across from him in the interrogation cell. The four brick walls and metal table had never felt so small.

The monster was made for the dark, but it was more grotesque in the light. With black, scaled skin half-covering the red ridges echoing its bones, it looked like the skeleton of a demon covered in a deadly snake’s skin. Ollie had interrogated humans, vamps, even giants and green-skinned goblins, but nothing like the monster in front of him. It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t have existed.

The word incubus shouldn’t have meant anything to him. It didn’t to most people. But Ollie knew these monsters. They weren’t just ghosts, didn’t just haunt people, didn’t just drive them from their homes, drive them out of their minds. They did that and more. Nightghosts of lechery, an incubus preyed on one women—sometimes more—and haunted her incessantly, raping her, terrorizing her, turning dreams into nightmares again and again.

Sometimes at night, like his own haunting, the scene came back to Ollie; two small, sheeted lumps of children, dead in their bed, the room painted in their blood; the husband facedown on the bedroom floor in a glistening red swamp; the frail, dead wife curled up in the marital bed with a hole in her head, a pistol in one hand and a note in the other—“I had to stop him.”

“Him” wasn’t the husband. From her diary, Ollie and his then-partner, Norman Lestwinger, found the real perpetrator; pages and pages over months and months describing a malignant ghost haunting her sleep, turning her against her husband and her kids, driving her mad. An incubus.

An incubus was responsible for the family murder-suicide, there was no doubt of that. But how could they catch a creature that only hunted in nightmares? With no leads, no spells, no further clues of any kind, the police, detectives, even the Holy Office had no solution. The monster got away, free to haunt and hunt more women.

In front of him, Ollie glared into the monster’s bottomless black eyes. He didn’t know how, but this one was real, solid, not some kind of phantasm. Kids. This one hunts kids. He ground his teeth together. You’re gonna burn, you bastard.

El tossed the folder she’d been pretending to read on the metal table. “This doesn’t look good for you, Dis.” She shook her head. Given an incubi’s predatory lust for women, El agreed to play the soft role, try and be the thing’s friend. She put on a hell of a good act, but Ollie still noticed, around the strained edges of her nonchalance, that she wanted to strangle the beast.

“That’s your name, right?” She tilted her head, regarding the creature with feigned interest. “That’s what the kids said they called you. D. Dis.” She waited for a response, but the black-and-red-faced thing just stared at the scratched steel table. “They said you look after them. Is that true?”

No response. It might as well have been a hideous statute. The interrogation had gone on and on like that. El buddied up to it, flirted with it, even—nothing. Ollie intimidated, threatened—nothing. It was silent.

The burns still stood out on its face, a trail of blistered bubbles, proving it either couldn’t heal itself like a vamp could or couldn’t heal UV damage. Ollie wanted to tear its disgusting skin off.

“I know what you are,” Ollie said darkly. He felt El’s glance without looking. He’d gone off their script. Enough fucking games. “You’re an incubus.”

It’s oil-black eyes flickered. Only its lids and the smear of shine in its eyes told Ollie its gaze moved.

“Yeah. I know you. I’ve hunted your kind before. You rape women. But not you, specifically.” He paused, feeling his lips curl. “You rape children.”

Its gaze stayed on the table.

“Those kids are going to tell us what you did to them,” El said. She took up his tactic with ease. Ollie loved how well she knew him. She knew by his voice what angle he was playing. “Once they realize they’re safe, that you can’t hurt them anymore, they’ll tell us what happened.” She even managed to sound sorry for it.

“Then, you’re going to prison, Dis.” Ollie glared, but it wouldn’t look at him. “You know what vamps, giants, humans and pretty much everything with a conscience have in common? They hate pedophiles. They kill pedophiles. Worse than kill them.”

“That’s true,” El grimly agreed. “I’ve seen that. Do you know how child sex offenders survive prison, Dis? They make deals. Deals that include separation from general pop. And we can do that for you.”

They both waited, letting the offer sink in. But the monster didn’t speak.

“Which one did you do first? Did you do the girls? An incubus likes girls, right?” Ollie paused. He wanted to spit into its eyes. “Did the teenager get too old? Violet, right? You didn’t like to fuck her anymore?”

The steel handcuffs screeched against the metal table as the creature lunged at him, long fingers tipped with inch-long claws reaching for his throat. The chains welded underneath the table strained, but Ollie didn’t move. Seeing its spiny teeth bared, its eyes narrow, Ollie gave a sly grin.

Swallowing the snarl, the monster exhaled and lowered its hands. It looked away.

“So that’s what happened, huh?” Ollie folded his arms over his chest. “Did you use her to get Ruby?”

The beast returned to motionless silence.

“Did you fuck her too?”

No response.

Ollie scowled. Answer me, you little bitch. “The older one, Violet—she kinda likes it, doesn’t she?”

The monster’s glare flashed to him, black like the hollow barrel of a gun. Ollie drew a quick breath. “You shut your mouth,” it said through clenched teeth.  

That’s its sore spot. The older girl. Ollie exhaled slowly, hoping the creature didn’t notice. “Yeah, she’s pretty, huh? I can see why you like her.”

“Don’t talk about Violet.” The claws appeared again, dagger tips balanced on the edge of the table, forearms pulling against the steel cuffs.

“So how do you do it? Do you do it while she sleeps or while she’s awake? Or both?”

A deep growl, like a Rottweiler, rose from its chest.

“She says she loves you.” Ollie gave a snide laugh. “I bet she does.”

Handcuffed to the bottom of the table, the incubus had just enough slack to grab the edge. Four claws on each hand sank through the steel with a sound like a guillotine. It looked up at Ollie over a snarl. “Don’t—talk—about Violet.”

Ollie blinked, trying not to look at the monster’s claws submersed in the steel. Can this thing snap those cuffs? He waved a hand, struggling to maintain indifference. “She’s your girl, huh? Keep her just for yourself?”

“I have never touched her. I never would, you fucking pig.”

With its lips curled back, eyes black slits in its red skull face, Ollie was glad to see he finally had the thing’s attention.

“Ok, then, educate me, Dis. What does an incubus want with two pre-teens and an eight-year-old? An eight-year-old you were caught in bed with, by the way.”

“I would never hurt them.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Either unable to hold the friendly act any longer or realizing it wasn’t working, El surrendered to disdain. “Rapists never think they’re hurting anyone. That’s how you love them, right?”

“No. I never touched them. Never.”

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “Can you explain why you were in bed with a kidnapped eight-year-old, then?”

Silence. The monster pulled its fingers from the table, leaving eight narrow cuts in the steel.

“Dis, if you don’t tell us what happened, we can’t help you,” El said and waited.

“If you weren’t molesting her, tell me what you were doing, then,” Ollie said. And waited.

Nothing.

Ollie bit his lip. Two dead children and the crumpled note in the dead mother’s hand flashed through his head. I had to stop him.

Jumping up, Ollie threw his fists on the table. “Do you think you’re getting out of here? You’re not! You can sing or you can sit there, either way you’re going to fry, you sick son of a bitch!”

For a moment, everything was still.

“I’m not,” the creature said quietly.

Ollie’s glower flared, his anger boiling to a dangerous rim. “What did you say?” Don’t test me, you fuck.

“An incubus. I’m not. You’re wrong.”

Ollie sat back down, exhaling through his teeth. He leaned back, crossing his arms. “Oh, really?”

It just stared at the table.

“You’re just a human at the wrong painting party, right?” El said and looked at Ollie. “What do you think, Ollie, Halloween costume gone wrong?”

“I’m half-incubus,” it said.

Ollie snorted. “Ok, I’ll bite. So, what, your dad get busy with a succubus? That’s a fun family dinner.”

“Succubi only produce other incubi and succubi, idiot,” the creature snapped. “Just as human women produce other humans. Or—almost humans.”

Ollie leaned back, shaking his head. “So?”

The monster’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck, you cops really are stupid. Do I have to spell it out for you? My mother was haunted by an incubus. She had a tainted child.”

Ollie ran his tongue behind his teeth, frowning. “Uh-huh, yeah, I got that part. What I don’t get is how you expect me to believe that horseshit. There has never been a report of a ‘half-incubus’ being born, ever.”

“And no true incubus has ever been seen in the flesh,” it argued. “That’s because they can’t exist in your world, they live in the Darkness, the nightmare realm. Why do you think you’ve never caught one? And how many have been reported? Hundreds. Thousands.”

Ollie gestured to the monster. “Yet, here you are. In the flesh.”

“I’m not a true incubus.”

“Well, then, where are all the other half-incubi?”

 “Do you think a mother wants anyone to know they had a child that looks like me?” The monster pointed its black claws at itself. “If they are ever born, the mothers drown them, suffocate them, burn them. And no cop would prosecute a mother who did, or get justice for the spawn of an incubus.”

Ollie snorted. “Ok, yeah, that’s probably true, you are eight kinds of ugly.” He waved a hand. “So why are you special? How’d you survive?”

“My mother hated me, but she was not a murderer. And I’m not special. There are others like me. Half breeds. We stay hidden.”

Ollie wasn’t convinced. “If I knew a woman who had a kid that looked like you, I think I’d fucking notice.”

The creature’s eyes fell. “Not if she kept it locked in a basement.” Its long hands flexed and impossibly thin wrists, as thin as bone, pulled against the handcuffs.

“Is that what happened? She locked you in a basement?”

It didn’t answer.

“That’s a sad story, Dis.” Ollie cocked his head. “Is that why you prey on children?”

It looked up, eyes narrow. “The incubus ruined my mother’s life, destroyed her soul, drove her insane, I watched it happen. I would never do what it did, not to anyone.”

Ollie threw up his hands. “Well then, help me out, because I’m having trouble putting this together. What were you doing with the kids?”

“Nothing,” it said, reaching with open hands.

Ollie pointed a finger. “No, not nothing, not fucking nothing, or they’d still be in their homes. So, I’ll ask you again—what are you doing with them?”

The monster shook its head and Ollie read exasperation on its skull face. He didn’t like it—the thing shouldn’t have been able to express anything. “What’s the point in telling you?” it said. “You won’t believe me.”

“Probably not. But, hey,” he shrugged “look at where you are. What have you got to lose?”

The creature turned away, looking at the wall. “They came to you first,” it said quietly. “Parents. Teachers. Cops. And you returned them to their abusers. I protect them.”

Ollie studied the creature. “What are you talking about?”

“The people that hit them. Violated them. Humiliated them. Other humans did those things. You look around for a monster to blame—look in the fucking mirror. Where were you when they asked for help?” It looked back, eyes flashing like black daggers, and its quiet voice turned to a snarl. “Nowhere. You never gave a shit about the child hiding in the basement.”

Ollie took a breath. “You know, with a face like yours, a history of abuse won’t win sympathy with a jury.”

“I wasn’t talking about me.”

Ollie’s gaze drifted across the table, dark in thought. “These kids were abused, so you kidnapped them to save them, is that what you’re telling me?” He looked back up. “Ok, fine. Why would you do that? What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why bother?”

The creature shook its head, outrage glowing on its disfigured face. “Why bother? Why bother? Because I know what it’s like to sit in the dark. I know what it’s like to fear your parents, to wake up every day and wonder if today is the day they’ll kill you. I know what it’s like to know that no one is coming to help you, no one cares.” Leaning in, its claws screeched down the table. “Why did I bother? Because I starved in a basement for fourteen years. So I knew you wouldn’t bother.”

Detectives Vs Boogieman Chapt 2

Hello again. Back for more, eh? Or in for the first time? Don't worry, we're not in too deep yet. Writing today from Townsville, Australia and my recent adventures climbing up mountains and swimming with sharks have relit the writing flame. This is the second installment of Law and Order meets Harry Potter, detectives Ollie and El tracking a Boogieman. (More interested in Australian adventures? Check out my other blog)

DUHN DUHN!

1:34 AM

134 Franklin Street, Burgundy

Two weeks worth of stake-outs and they were no closer to figuring out what the hell the creature haunting 134 Franklin Street was. Nor were they able to figure out who the other two children were—there were too many missing, kidnapped or simply lost children in police files to identify them.

Ollie did know, however, that little red-headed Ruby had been kidnapped almost a year ago from her bed. The missing child report detailed that the window was open when her mother came into the room the next morning. Local detectives determined the kidnapper could have climbed the tree outside, lifted the window and snatched the little girl from her bed, all without waking anyone in the house or alerting neighbors, but probably didn’t. Police turned to suspects within the family; an estranged step-brother, an overly helpful family friend, a close uncle. The investigation yielded nothing. The eight-year-old had vanished.

 But the local cops never considered the kidnapper was a dark magic monster.

Ollie stared at the house through night-vision binoculars, this time looking at the back. The small back yard was fenced and tall trees grappling together overhead mostly covered the space, along with a good view of the windows. Between the branches Ollie glimpsed dark curtains, or perhaps blankets, over the windows. In one corner, meager yellow light shined through.

“They’re up,” he muttered.

Next to him, El tilted her binoculars up. “Upstairs?”

“Yeah.”

They watched the house. “It’s late,” El said. “Kids shouldn’t be up.”

Ollie chewed on his lip. “Nope.” He tried not to think of what was happening in that yellow light.

He knew a number of monsters preyed on children. Humans were one of them, some said the most common group, but Ollie couldn’t figure it that way. Vampires also hunted—and kept—children. Some vampires even kept them relatively well, Ollie knew, keeping them fed and clothed—though always at a price. He remembered a case last year started by a nurse who called Monster Force when the same child kept coming in to the office, treated for anemia again and again. The boy, crisscrossed in red bite marks, swore the vampire that kept him loved him. Ollie might’ve assumed the creature on 134 Franklin Street was a similar vampire degenerate—and part of him still suspected it was—but vamps didn’t vanish into darkness the way this monster did. Vamps, some vamps, had the power to disappear, among other magic, but they used it carefully, deliberately. This thing, it folded into the shadows like it belonged there. 

He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was certain it wasn’t a ghost.  It has to be some sort of devil. There were plenty of those. Though civilized society kept a better watch over their children than they had when child-eating monsters roved, unabated, there were still plenty of the sinister creatures left. Russian agents caught and killed the infamous Baba Yaga as recently as 1986. Wisconsin police captured Kinderfedder in 1991. Both had kidnapped, terrorized and eaten children for decades, perhaps longer, and used black magic to evade police. The real number of their victims would never be known. If the Franklin Street monster was a child-eater—and Ollie and El could connect it to other disappearances—it would be the biggest case of their career.

How long have you preyed on kids, you son of a bitch? 

The light turned out and darkness filled the space again. Ollie lowered the binoculars.

This time, you won’t get away.

2:20 PM

Monster Force Headquarters, Downtown Burgundy

El made the preliminary report to deliver to Monster Force Captain Rane Reeves and Ollie—wondering how he got stuck with the unfortunate job—made the information report to deliver to the Monster Force white magician, Senior Agent and Mind Reader Saphim Serk. In Ollie’s opinion, he’d already had to deal with the new Senior Agent too much on their last assignment; taking down the degenerate vamp who murdered his vampire Father, his Father’s fiancé and three cops, all in the name of a jealous rage and vampire supremacy. Saphim had been helpful enough—he was, after all, the one who actually uncovered where the sadistic vamp holed up. Though Ollie noticed no one else in the precinct made any mention of that fact. Saphim was also an insufferable know-it-all, an icy, encyclopedia of a man that seemed to enjoy his own intelligence and little else. In his first few weeks after taking over for Agent Lor, Saphim certainly hadn’t made any friends.

The other cops surely didn’t overlook the black magic scars on the man’s face either. Ollie certainly hadn’t. How a white magician had scars commonly displayed on dark magicians, Ollie didn’t know—it was forbidden for a white magician to practice black magic and they didn’t graduate the Holy Office if there was any suspicion they were practicing on both sides. Saphim didn’t explain how he got the long, thin scars carved under his eyes and no one asked, but Ollie had a feeling it played a part in the other cops’—men and women who dedicated their lives to taking down criminals who practiced dark magic—disapproval. 

                With the report finished, including a detailed play-by-play of everything they saw from the subject during the stake-out, as well as pictures snapped of the kids as they left and re-entered the house on Franklin Street, Ollie rose from his desk on the edge of the bullpen. To his right, El typed away on the report to the Captain, not looking up. Comprised of about a half-dozen specialized Monster Force detectives, top cops that proved themselves against dark magic monsters, most of the desks were quiet now, leaving only three other cops typing up similar reports. The office was usually quiet—Monster Force cops didn’t catch vamps, giants, half-breeds, undead and dark magicians sitting down.

                Captain Reeves’s office, the door ajar with the barrel-chested, bearded Captain studying his computer behind his desk, was less than five steps from Ollie’s desk, a proximity that indicated Ollie and El were either the Captain’s best team, or the one he had to keep the closest eye on. Ollie never was sure which it was.

                Taking a left down the hall, report in hand, Ollie made his way towards Lor’s old office, now Saphim’s. The two could not have been less alike. A large, sad man with a sloping belly and a guilty demeanor that spoke of too many mind reading sessions with Burgundy’s most vicious criminals, Lor was easy to talk to, if a bit depressing. Saphim, a short, skeletal man with an abrupt manner and cold eyes, had been an Agent and a Reader longer than Lor had, but his less-than-personable attitude had caused four reassignments from other departments already. Ollie had a feeling he wouldn’t last long in Monster Force Burgundy either.

                Ollie knocked on wood door, hanging open about a half-inch, and pushed it. “Hey.”  Agent Saphim had been in the precinct over three months now and Ollie expected to see the bare-bones wood shelves and brick walls of his office lightened. Five books lined one shelf under the window on the far wall. The brick wall to the right was bare. The off-white wall behind the desk supported two diplomas in wood frames and a framed, signed Mind Reader’s Blood Contract, all in a neat column. Papers sat in two wire bins—IN and OUT—and the thin, pale man sat behind the scarred wood desk. No family photos anywhere, no grim, cop-wise guillotine or a jiggly hoola gal on the desk. Like Saphim, the room was void of personality. 

                “Yes?” Saphim didn’t look up from his laptop, the white light washing his colorless Mind Reader’s eyes and the twin scars cutting his nose and cheeks underneath. Mind Reader magic had turned his pale face into an ink drawing, thin black outlines around his white irises, black tattoos of magic glyphs wreathing his eyes and curling around his temples. Ollie suspected, besides giving him the power to read minds, the marks warned other people what he was capable of. Mind Readers needed a warrant to read a subject’s mind—technically—but Ollie wasn’t sure they always followed the rules. The small group of men and women certified by the Holy Office to use magic abided their own rules.

                “The kidnapping case in Shady Grove. It looks like a haunting, definitely some kind of black magic.” Ollie waited a moment. Saphim didn’t look up. “I don’t think it’s a ghost, though.”

                White eyes still fixed on the screen, Saphim pointed to the IN bin to his right.

                Ollie eyed the IN pile. “El is making the report to Reeves right now.”.

                “I’ll get to it.”

                Ollie frowned, unwilling to surrender his case to IN purgatory, but not knowing what else to say. He stood in front of the desk.

                With a slow blink, Saphim looked up. “I’ll get to it, Detective. You’re not the only cop in Monster Force, but I am the only Agent.”

                Ollie extended the papers. “Would you just look at it? Tell me if it’s a ghost or not.”

                Expelling a quiet sigh, Saphim took the report. He didn’t lean back as his white eyes ran down the pages, he sat upright, like a teacher was about to whip him with a ruler. “Dreamwalking.” He kept reading. “Patterns. Location haunting. Disappearing.” He finished and looked up. “Possession, fire starting, stalking, loitering, written or verbal threats, cursing, any of that?”

                Ollie shook his head. “No, not that we know of.”

                Saphim paused, staring at him. He blinked and, when he handed the papers back, Ollie felt like he’d turned in a report written in crayon. “I need more than that.” He turned back to the computer.

                “What about his relation with the kids?”

                “I can’t tell.”

                “What if he’s possessing the kids?”

                “Then he’ll likely kill them eventually, or they’ll kill each other.”

                Ollie shook his head at the man’s mechanical tone. “What? How?”

                “I need more information, Detective. There’s no point in speculating.”

                Ollie drew a breath, pulling in thinning patience. “I can’t get any more information. He comes to the house, he leaves the house. The kids come, they leave. I need to get in the house to get more information, but I need to know what this thing is to get a warrant to get into the house.”

                “That is not my job.”

                Laying both hands on the desk, Ollie leaned close to the Agent. Saphim met his eyes, unimpressed. “What about if he kills them? Or they kill each other? Is it your job then?”

                “No. That will be your job. To figure out what happened and give me the information that I need to figure out what the subject is, and what spells we need to find it, detain it, and get evidence to convict it.”

                Frown tightening, Ollie stood there, locking eyes with him.

                After a moment, Saphim waved a hand. “The kids were definitely kidnapped, what more do you need? Three minors and some kind of black magic creature, that’s enough for a warrant.”

                “Could it be a child-eater?”

                The boredom in his eyes slid back under a glint of surprise. Or perhaps intrigue. His gaze drifted, thinking. “It could be. Three is a lot to keep for a child-eater though. It’s usually one at a time, sometimes two.”

                “But it happens.”

                “It happens, but when it keeps two they’re usually related, and if it keeps three it keeps more.”

                “What about Baba Yaga?”

                Saphim shook his head. “Baba Yaga was a special case. She kept three, sometimes more, but she killed them quickly. Well, regularly. And they weren’t walking around freely, not like what you described here.”

                “So it’s not a child-eater.” Ollie felt relief tinged with disappointment. And guilt for being disappointed.

                “Unlikely. For one thing, he would’ve killed the older two already. Child-eaters generally don’t keep them after ten or twelve years old.”

                “What about a vampire? A captor-type.”

                “You’re talking about a gardener-type, and that is possible.”

                “A gardener-type?”

                “The captor brings victims to his or her lair, feeds on them, then kills them. The gardener lures victims to him or her, generally children, and entices them to stay in some way, usually offering them companionship, protection, food, something to that effect. The gardener vampire keeps them, nurturing their trust or whatever holds the child to them, and feeds on them, asking for their blood and silence in return.”

                Ollie nodded. Just like the boy last year. “Gruesome name. Why do they call it a ‘gardener?’”

                Saphim paused. “You can pick from a garden over and over.”

                “Oh.” Swallowing, Ollie shook away the image of red marks, like dog bites, made by vampire jaws on a little boy’s arms. “So, it could be a gardener-type vamp?”

                “It could. But most vampires don’t display the sort of black magic you described.”

                “Right, that’s what I thought too. What does?”

                Saphim tilted his head, as if peering through a library of bookshelves in his brain. Ollie suppressed a smile. The Reader wasn’t as hard to crack as he’d first thought. An appeal to his knowledge was enough to get past the prickish, impatient façade.

                “Phantoms do. Wraiths do.” He paused. “Demons do. And dark magicians.”

                Ollie forced himself to look into the man’s eyes, not at the scars on his face. “What’s your best guess?”

                Saphim put up his hands and pressed his fingertips lightly together. “Best guess? If it were a woman, I’d say a wraith, the spirit of a lonely mother. That’s not uncommon, maternal desire often drives wraiths. Paternal desire, though? Very rare.” He thought about it. His gaze slid to the corner of his eyes. “It sounds like a phantom.”

                “How’s that different from a ghost?”

                “It is a ghost. It’s a malevolent ghost, though with more complex behavior than a standard haunter. Phantoms are thought to feed on humans, vulnerable humans, somehow clinging to them, though not possessing them.”

                Ollie’s eyebrows scrunched. “‘Thought to?’”

                “Little is known about phantoms. It’s a relatively newly defined apparition sub-species.”

                “Ok. Why would a phantom cling to three kids?”

                “I don’t know, Ollie.” Saphim glanced at the computer. “I need more information.”

                “All right, all right.” Not about to press the man past what good graces he’d somehow dug up, Ollie put up his hands. “Last thing; where do phantoms come from? Why do they appear?”

                That tell-tale moment of silence cut through Saphim’s cool logic. “As I said, little is known for certain, but it is believed that phantoms are driven by negative intents. Strong negative intents.”

                Ollie shook his head. “What do you mean, like they were summoned?”

                “No. It’s a… Phantoms are reformations of cruel or particularly brutal humans. Serial killers. Torturers. Child-beaters. Whatever they did in life, whatever caused them to do what they did, death didn’t bring them any peace. So they come back.”

                Running his tongue behind his teeth, Ollie nodded slowly. “You think it’s a phantom?”

                “It sounds like a phantom.”

                “But why would they stay? The kids?”

                That silence again. Not a thinking silence, but hesitation. Worry. “Maybe they can’t get away.”

                Taking a breath, Ollie nodded again. “Ok. Thanks.” He turned, report in hand.

                “Detective?”

                He turned back.

                Saphim gestured to the IN basket.

                “That’s all I needed.”

                “I said I’d get to it, I will.”

                “You just did.”

                One eyebrow slid down over his tattoos and scars, annoyed. “Then why bother with the report?”

                They say I have to. He half-shrugged. “Records.”

                The unconvinced boredom in the Reader’s face resumed. “Uh-huh.” He turned back to the computer. “Next time, just schedule a meeting. I’ll have a spell do the records. Save us both the time.”

                “Ok. Sure.” Why didn’t Lor do that? He turned to go, but stopped at the door. “Agent? Saphim?”

                His white eyes pulled away from the computer, silent.

                “Thank you. For taking the time.” He bit his lip, struggling with his next words. “You know your stuff.”

                With a blink, the glare softened. He didn’t respond.

                “All right.” Ollie tapped on the door. “I’ll see you later.”

                “Ollie?”

                He stopped. “Yeah?”

                “A phantom is just my best guess. It could be a lot of things,” he admitted. “But it definitely dreamwalks. If it sees you, it will come after you.”

                “Oh.” He frowned a bit, uncertain. So would every other criminal. “Ok. Yeah, got it.”

                “Ollie.”

                He turned again. “Yeah?”

                “A phantom can kill you in your sleep. Any decent dreamwalker can.”

                Eyebrows rising to the ceiling, the word was slow to leave his mouth. “Oh.”

                “Take Ambisom. No dreams. Tell El too.”

                “Ok. Yeah, I will. Definitely.” He hesitated. “Um, anything else I should know?”

                “Not on this.”

                “Ok. See you later.” As he paced down the hall, before he returned to his desk, a thought struck him. He wasn’t going to tell me that, was he?