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upstairs to the office, leave my stuff by my computer, and return for it later.
The elevator doors slid open on the third floor. All lights had been extinguished. The
hallway had become a dark tunnel. I exited warily and made my way on silent feet
through the murky gloom. At the farthest end of the corridor I reached the office door.
Benny, Cormac, and I the original Team Darkwing had been "hired," if that's the
right word for being given the choice to work for the U.S. government or be killed, at
the same time. We had each been assigned a tiny office and a computer. We had been
issued genuine government IDs stating that we worked for the Department of the
Interior. We received a biweekly paycheck. We even had a TSP, the government's
pension plan. But we had never been issued keys to "our" office.
I expected the door to be locked. It was. I pulled out the set of lock picks that lay
among my other important 'stuff' in the bottom of the well worn Louis Vuitton leather
backpack I carried everywhere.
With practiced movements I fiddled with the old lock. It was a lead pipe cinch. Seconds
later the doorknob turned easily.
I stepped into the shadowy conference room, the one we had left just minutes earlier.
Looking bleak and deserted, it was illuminated only by the weak light of the city leaking
through the tall windows.
"J?" I called out. "You still here?"
No one answered.
I walked past the conference table where we had lately been sitting and opened the
door into the small side room that served as my office. Bare of any personal items,
since I had never brought any here, my desk sat forlornly in the space. I looked at it,
feeling a little puzzled. The computer that had been on the desk was gone. Then I
mentally shrugged. I figured that since I never used it, it had been removed. I pulled
out the desk chair and stowed my shopping bags way under the desk, out of sight. The
cleaning staff vacuuming the floors might see them, but I doubted it. Why would they
bother to clean my office when I was never there to get it dirty?
I went back into the conference room. It dawned on me that it too looked emptier
than it usually did. I glanced around. The old card table with the coffeemaker and
Styrofoam cups that usually sat in one corner was gone. Had it been there earlier? I
couldn't say for sure.
I was about to leave and catch up with the others when a thought popped into my
mind and I stopped. Why not? I reasoned as I made a U turn and headed for J's office. I
figured I'd snoop a little. Maybe I'd find out something about him. Like his name.
I knocked on the door first. No one answered. I tried the knob. It was unlocked. Good. I
didn't have to break and enter.
"J?" I called out again as I pushed it open.
No answer.
I strode in, planning to search the drawers of his desk. I halted in my tracks. With
windows on each side of the triangular shaped room letting in the light from the
street, the interior was clearly visible. But I couldn't believe what I saw. I blinked.
There was no desk. No chair. No wastebasket. None of the furnishings I had seen the
last time I was there remained. In fact, there was nothing in the room. Nothing at all.
Chapter 5
"Know thyself."
Socrates
Back on the street I pondered what I had discovered. Did J leave the building by some
secret route? Or was he still there, on another floor, with others unknown to us? After
all, someone or more likely a whole crew of technicians must have scurried into the
office after our departure, removing any sign that ABC Media was occupied and
erasing any evidence that we Darkwings existed. Our entire enterprise was all smoke
and mirrors lies and deceptions. I should have expected no less.
I smiled with no joy at the contradictions of my existence. I was not to trust Darius,
according to J, but I certainly could not trust J. I could not trust my own mother. I
wanted to trust my fellow Darkwings, but putting any faith at all in Rogue, at least, was
beyond me. My best option was to trust no one.
Out here in the open my nerves jangled, and my fight or flight reflex had me wound
tighter than a clock. As I was a creature of the night, it was not the lateness of the hour
that disturbed me. It was the fact that I had been targeted, but by whom I didn't know.
My encounter with the vampire hunter had affected me more deeply than I wanted to
admit.
I could not blame the Roman Catholic Church and its sinister minions in Opus Dei for
hunting vampires. They saw us as creatures of darkness, aligned with the devil. In truth
I was a demon only metaphorically. My sole connection to Lucifer was my guess that
we vampires were perhaps dark angels cast out of heaven, just as that fallen archangel
had been. But I knew I was a monster a thing phantasmagoric and terrifying.
Yet many creatures who walk this earth are monsters. Most are human; a very few are
not. I was not. I believed, however, that I had a right to exist. Although I was inhuman,
I did possess a heart. And I did have a soul, even if it was one deeply stained and
terribly defiled.
I shook my head at the irony of my life. It is easy for those born good to be good. For
me, transformed into a vampire, a thing innately bad, it was difficult. Yet I strove to be
principled. I tried for goodness, despite my nature. You must believe me: I tried. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]