JOURNAL ENTRY ONE

  

Empty.

That is all I feel at any given moment, on any given day. There is nothing out there in the world for me, with the exception of death. Continually hunted, continually misunderstood. This world is coming to an awakening it cannot even begin to comprehend. They are out there. Not only in the night, but also among us in the daylight. Camouflaged. Hiding within the skin of the living. Using them as hosts to partake in their ploys and whims.

There is a bigger picture. I’ve made mistakes thinking I understood it all. It runs deeper than I imagined, deeper than I could have ever dreamed. How long have they walked the world, manipulating it, controlling every aspect of our lives? Centuries? Since the First Dawn? Birthed with the fall of Heaven’s Star?

Who currently in power is not who they seem? Their grip on our destiny is too tight. We can choose to live as we want, but any opposition to their ideal is crushed. Eliminated. Hunted down and destroyed. That is what I am now viewed as. An opposition to their ideal. A threat.

My own warnings to the people I fought to save, falling on deaf ears. The masses blind to their own herding. Those remotely aware sit on still tongues.

Instead I am repaid with fear and ignorance.

I don’t seek recognition; fame. I’ve already paid my way in blood to show where my loyalties stand in this world. The sacrifices, all for naught.

Mankind has abandoned me. Demonkind hunt me. The dead haunt me.

There is no place to call home anymore, yet I keep going. Why do I continue on? What point is there to this all? Do I fear death so much? No, it isn’t that. These scars upon my my hand and chest are forever proof that not even death will embrace me.

A constant limbo.

There is an end, though. It is there somewhere off in the distance. A pinprick of hope. I can sense it. Feel it in the very center of my core, of my being. Some link connecting me to the realm of obliteration. I name it The Great Emptiness, because I know once it consumes me that is all that will remain. It just has to make its way to me. So I wait, and move. Patient. Silent. My day with death will come again soon enough. This time I will not fight it.

It is all I pray for.

All I know.

DEAD ISN’T DEAD

“The body is in here.”

Brock took the cue and stepped past the door threshold. The bedroom was simple. Unmade bed, sheets thrown every which way. An oak dresser, some drawers opened halfway. Clothes strewn across the span of floor space available. There wasn’t much room, it was a smaller efficiency apartment.

Laying on the floor between the bed and doorway was a young male who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was half-dressed, body twisted slightly with an arm reaching towards the door as though beckoning for the strength to leave his mundane apartment, to die somewhere more worthy, and less embarrassing. More like begging. Definitely begging.

Brock took notice of a man fingering some random possessions on the dresser with a gloved hand. Detective Harris. “Detective Harris.” The man turned and locked eyes with him. Cold and devoid of humor, which matched his expression. He thought the brown in them would soften his gaze ever so slightly, but didn’t. He figured their past interaction may dictate some of the disposition.

“Why so glum, Harris? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me, it’s been so long.”

He didn’t catch Harris’s scoff, but he was certain it was there. “Not long enough, Lorraine. It could never be long enough.”

Brock continued, as though not hearing him. “Been almost a full two years, hasn’t it? Since the attempted Jack the Ripper copycat made his spree along the dock district? What a miserable sap that guy was. Feels like it was yesterday.”

Detective Harris’s gaze shifted to a third individual in the room. “Speaking of which. Imagine my enthusiasm when your pet project barged onto the scene with her ever charming greater-than-thou attitude. Could shrivel a viagra-induced hard-on in a heartbeat.”

A soft, sultry voice pulled both of their attention. “That’s to say I gave you a heartbeat before I knocked you flat on your ass, not caring which direction your prick lands, but secretly hoping down.”

Brock’s partner stood over the body, examining it with her hair dangling down in front of her as she partly bent over to get a better look. She tucked back a portion of her hair behind her right ear and gave him a glance. Those innocent-looking soft, blue eyes. He knew better.

“What do you think, Sasha?”

She flashed him a devious smile. There it was. “What I think is that this is one handsome guy. I’d give him a ride for his money.”

He could sense her anticipation in drawing out a reaction from him. He didn’t give her the satisfaction. He scanned the room some more and replied casually, “I have no doubt. He sure lived a less than glamorous life. I have my concerns about his ability to afford you.”

“True that… perhaps he would have deserved a freebee?”

“Would have?” he heard her give an exasperated sigh. “We are here, because of you, Sasha.” Brock attempted to avoid allowing his slight irritation to bleed into his words. “He’s still here, isn’t he? I need to know we aren’t wasting our time.”

“Right.” Sasha patted the dead man on his bare chest and straightened out. He caught her rolling her eyes at him. “Because we have so many more important things that demand our immediate attention.” He watched her take a step back to better survey the scene. “I definitely could feel the pull of this one as the process was taking place. Considering the distance, I was pretty sure this one was strong enough during Cross Over, almost instantly, whether in control or not. But,” she put her arm up to her forehead, feigning confusing, and finished with a valley-girl impression, “but like, now I’m like, not really sure, like, you know?”

“Sasha…”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s here. Jesus, just try to relax once in a while.”

“When I have time.” Brock ignored his partner’s disdainful mockery. “Speaking of time, time to leave, Mr. Harris. You know I’m not much for audiences.” He didn’t bother looking over at the detective.

“I’ll be outside.”

After the room was cleared, Brock asked, “Where?” Sasha gave a quick gesture, signifying the back corner of the ceiling. “Right, makes sense.” With a casual gait, he approached the body. Hmm, Sasha wasn’t being facetious. The young man was indeed healthy — aside from the dead factor. He definitely took care of himself, at least from outward appearances. Looks could always be deceiving. “Victim’s name?”

“Jordan Schopp.”

“And how aware is he?”

“Aware enough.”

“Alright then.” Brock gave the corpse one last look-over and took a step back. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Sasha moved back and positioned herself in front of the door. “The floor is all yours, Boss.”