Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

‘No.’

Nelson flipped open a plastic folder. ‘Okay, let’s review. This afternoon we responded to a nine-one-one on Delancey. Blood leaking through a light fitting into the apartment below. We found two deceased — one white male, one Chinese-American female. Look familiar?’

He tossed Church a handful of crime-scene photographs. The bodies were in such a gruesome state that Church gave them only half a glance before handing them back. ‘I don’t know these people. I’ve never been to that apartment. I didn’t kill them. Categoric enough for you?’

‘Take another look. You’ll see that the bodies are missing several organs. Let me draw your attention to the close-up of the male torso. You see the jagged edges of the wounds? The crime lab tells me those are teeth marks.’

‘I’m sorry for these people, but I had nothing to do with their deaths.’

Nelson glanced at his partner. ‘Detective Brinks?’

Tombstone threw another file on the table. ‘Crime scene number two. Partially eaten victim in a Dumpster at the back of the Happy Chicken fast-food joint on Houston. Time of death around ten p.m. About a half-hour before we picked you up.’

‘We were in McSorley’s half an hour before. There were witnesses.’

‘We got witnesses, too, haven’t we, Detective Nelson? Ours don’t lie or have random memory failure.’

Nelson opened his laptop and spun it towards Church. Grainy CCTV footage played out above a time-code. Three people feasted on a body next to a Dumpster. One by one they glanced up at the camera. It was unmistakably Shavi, Tom and Church.

‘It’s a fake!’

Nelson shook his head firmly. ‘The digital signature holds up. Anything you want to tell us now?’

Church wrestled with the images he’d just been shown. Some kind of set-up by the spider-controlled elements of the NYPD? Why go to so much trouble?

‘We’ll get you a lawyer,’ Nelson began.

‘No point. There won’t be time.’

Nelson and Tombstone exchanged worried glances. ‘You’ve got something else planned? Bomb?’

‘I’m not a terrorist, either.’

‘No, you’re a freedom fighter.’ Nelson was uneasy now. ‘Let’s get the Homeland Security guys.’

Church only had to wait in the holding cell for ten minutes before the uniformed police officer watching him left quietly. The Homeland Security representative entered a moment later sporting a government-issue haircut and the kind of focused but frozen expression that always reminded Church of an Action Man doll.

‘Where is he?’ Church said.

The Action Man shifted uncomfortably.

‘He’s preparing another theatrical entrance, isn’t he?’

A fearful, fixed look grew in the Action Man’s eyes. Church had seen it before when the victim’s mind was in conflict with the controlling spider.

‘Oh, stop tormenting him.’

The Libertarian sauntered in. He was still wearing sunglasses to hide his red eyes, but this time his outfit was a smart charcoal suit and a white shirt. ‘I thought a formal approach would be appropriate in these circumstances, don’t you agree? Good for funerals, too.’

Church shivered involuntarily, bleak horror overcoming him as he looked the Libertarian up and down, seeing for the first time the familiar body language, the gait, the bone structure. ‘How did I get to be you?’ he said, sickened.

The Libertarian was mildly surprised. ‘Oh, a revelation. I never thought you’d see it myself. Convinced you’re the big, big hero — you could never believe you were working towards becoming something like me.’ He held Church’s stare for a long moment, enjoying what he saw there, then turned to the Homeland Security representative. ‘Get out, Oakes. You irritate me. Go and urinate in the coffee or something.’

Sweating, Oakes left.

The Libertarian sighed. ‘Alone again, me and my shadow. I have to say, you’ll have much more fun as me than you’ve ever had as yourself. All that pain from the woman who spurns your feelings for your arch-rival. And poor Niamh — all those years as a love-sick puppy and you not even noticing. She’s a wild woman in bed. You really missed out there.’

‘At least I know you can’t kill me.’

‘A little pain never hurt anyone, though. But business first. I have to ask — what has possessed you? Killing and eating people? Not that I don’t admire the artistry, and not that you won’t be doing it on a regular basis very shortly, but … somewhat out of character, shall we say?’

‘Very funny.’

‘What do you mean?’ The Libertarian looked honestly puzzled.

‘Slight overkill. The terrorist charge was enough to keep me locked up till you get what you want.’

‘You’re suggesting I had something to do with this?’

‘You didn’t?’

‘I saw the recording …’ The Libertarian paused, annoyed. ‘Now, who would be playing games at this late stage in the proceedings?’

Church registered an odd note in the Libertarian’s tone. ‘Proceedings?’

The Libertarian smiled.

‘You’ve been manipulating events.’

‘I learned a great deal from the Tuatha De Danann when I was you. This is all about alchemy. You need to be shaped by events so you can transmute into the gold that is me.’

The Libertarian was consciously echoing Hal’s words of guidance; both sides trying to see him transformed so he could be a force for either Light or Dark.

‘Of course, it’s not all about that. I have to ensure you don’t end up with the two Keys. That would be very bad. Thankfully, that terminal failure Veitch already has his hands on one of them.’

‘If only you knew where the other was,’ Church taunted.

‘Enjoy your stay. I hear the New York Police can be quite rough with terrorists. Oh, and cannibalistic serial killers.’

He waved flamboyantly and left, but there was an uneasiness behind the gesture that both pleased and troubled Church.

Church was being led out of his cell for another round of questioning when a loud crashing of glass was followed by a thunderous cacophony punctuated by shouts. His escort ran Church into the open-plan detectives’ office only to be brought up sharp by a whirlwind of black wings. The Morvren had burst through one window and were flocking around the room in a dense mass. Detectives pressed themselves against the floor to avoid beaks and talons.

In the birds’ movements, Church once again saw strange patterns take shape, but this time they remained enigmatic; yet some single intelligence was clearly directing them.

Amidst the chaos, Church glimpsed a figure flitting across the office, barely more than a shadow, and though it approximated a human shape there was something avian about it, too. It disappeared into the mass of feathers, and a moment later the Morvren funnelled out through the shattered window into the night.

‘What in the name of Alfred Hitchcock was that all about?’ Tombstone levered his huge frame upright.

‘I tell you, it’s the pollution,’ someone said. ‘Gets into the rain, birds drink it, this is what you get.’

Nelson brushed himself down, then coolly summoned Church over. ‘Homeland Security handed you back to us. Lucky you.’

‘Hey! What’s going on?’ Brow furrowed, Tombstone stared at his laptop. Nelson joined him, and for several minutes they pored over whatever was on-screen, casting occasional glances towards Church. Finally, they brought the computer over and ran the CCTV footage from the back of the fast-food restaurant. Church, Shavi and Tom were no longer there. Instead, a man with wild, black hair was hunched over the body. When he was done he loped away without showing his face.