Kelly Gay - The Better Part of Darkness

“No, thanks.” I sat on the leather chair and waited for him to lean over the arm of the couch, open the small fridge, and grab a can of soda for himself. Granted, the reason for coming was to talk about me, but I found myself asking, “Who’s the Adonai on the table?”

Mott popped the tab and the can hissed. “His name is Llyran.”

“And is Llyran volunteering to be your lab rat?” Nosy question, but I had to ask. Something felt very wrong about the situation.

“Llyran is a Level Ten felon, Detective. It was either this or execution under Federation Law. He chose this.”

His words stunned me into silence. A Level Ten felon was as bad as they came. Serial killer. Beyond help, beyond reformation, and unable to live a life sentence among others because he’d kill whoever came close enough. Stunned didn’t even begin to cover it. Looks were deceiving, and I was the first person who should know that.

Our ancestors may have thought Elysia was heaven, but in reality it didn’t come close to our pristine ideals and beliefs. It was a world just as diverse as our own. And just like Earth and Charbydon, Elysia had its good and its evil, and all the gray matter in between. But, damn, it was hard to get past the looks sometimes. It was easier to believe a goblin like Auggie was evil than an angelic-looking being like Llyran.

“What are you using him for?” I still didn’t like the fact that the man I’d held in such high regard was using another living being for science.

“Well,” Titus said, leaning forward, eager to talk shop. “As you know, the nobility from both dimensions are the most powerful, the hardest to defeat. The Nitro-guns and Hefties I created for law enforcement do nothing but stun them for a moment, even on high settings. With Llyran, I’m searching for a way to neutralize his power. In essence, to make him like us long enough, I’m hoping, to catch and detain. The hard part is identifying the genes that give him his power and then creating a viable weapon capable of attacking or subduing those genes. So far we’ve been successful at large force field containment, which is how Llyran was caught, but out in the field, as you know, a serviceable, easy-to-use weapon will make all the difference.”

I was suitably impressed. Without Titus Mott and his inventions, we’d never have a fighting chance. Of course, if it hadn’t been for his meddling and eventual discovery of Elysia and Charbydon, the off-worlders never would’ve come out of the woodwork and into mainstream society. At least he was trying to make up for it now.

“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you,” I finally said.

He dipped his head in agreement and then took a long drink of his soda. “So what brings you to my lab, Detective?”

Here it comes.

I drew in a deep breath. “Actually—” Just breathe. It’s no big deal. “I was hoping you could tell me about that night.” Goose bumps lifted the hairs on my arms. “The night I died.”

Thank God. I’d gotten the words out. The small of my back grew hot. I resisted the urge to rub my arms and instead focused on Mott. I was a detective, after all. Part of my job was to study body language, and it was hell of a lot easier to focus on him and forget about my own haywire reactions.

His elbows settled on his knees, which touched the edge of the coffee table. He tapped two fingers on the table. “Wow.”

I bristled. “Wow, what?”

After a thoughtful pause, he said, “After all these months, I didn’t think … just a surprise, that’s all.” He scratched his stubble, studying me with candid, scientific thoroughness. “Well, you’re looking none the worse for wear.”

“Thanks.” I think. I studied him, too, intrigued by the contrasts. Maturity and purpose burned in his eyes, but the rest of him appeared casual and slightly offbeat. He bit his cheek, thinking.

“How about you tell me if there’s something specific you’d like to know. Oh, hold on; let me turn on my recorder.” He jumped up, brought back a small voice recorder, and placed it on the coffee table.

“Um, I—”

He settled into the cushions, his entire face illuminated with anticipation. I could easily picture him rubbing his hands together in mad scientist glee. “Among other things, I’ve been researching out-of-body experiences, dying, and resurrection. You don’t mind, do you?”

Yeah, I did, but he seemed so excited about hearing what I had to say. “No, it’s fine.”

“Terrific.” He pushed the record button. “Ready when you are.”

The nerves returned thanks to that little black box on the table. Mott wasn’t what I’d expected, and the Adonai across the room was still staring. I tried to ignore it and get over my fear of talking about that night, but it was harder than I thought.

Maybe I should have taken that drink after all. My mouth had gone bone dry. Oh, for God’s sake, Charlie, just do it. Deep breath a-a-a-nd go …

“I’ve been having nightmares ever since you brought me back,” I forced out in one breath. “I thought it was just a dream, but I’m beginning to wonder whether some of it actually happened that night, after I died.”

“Like a repressed memory.”

“Right. Do you remember anyone else being in the room with you when you were there?”

“You think someone else was there?”

“You tell me.”

He sat back and shrugged. “There were lots of people. In and out. Doctors, nurses. Your partner. I couldn’t possibly remember them all.”

“But you were left alone with me, when they all gave up. It was just you. You kept trying.” He nodded. “And no one came in then, during that time?”

“Charlie.” He shifted to look at me squarely, his knee bumping into mine. “Often those who experience near-death see people—loved ones, beings they describe as angels or even God. Is that what you saw?”

“No, it was more like the devil,” I muttered, frustrated. “Sorry.” I rubbed my face with both hands and let out a tired exhale. “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore. I thought I saw someone earlier tonight who looked like the man in my dream. I don’t know. Maybe it was just a close resemblance, or maybe I’d seen him before the near-death.”

Mott’s hand on my knee brought the direction of my thoughts back to him. “Trauma leaves all manner of scars, some unseen.” He lifted his comforting hand, leaving a cold spot where warmth had just been. Inventor’s hands; stained with ink and covered in cuts, scratches, and calluses, both old and new. “How have you been feeling physically since then?”

“Exhausted. I wake and feel like I’ve been up all night working.”

“Anything else?” he asked in a tone that tried too hard to be casual.

I straightened in the chair. “Why?”

“Often, in the cases I’ve studied so far, residual effects can linger on a person. Psychic energy. An awakening of sorts. Your brush with death, assuming you had a near-death experience—which by all accounts you seem to be saying you had—could’ve caused you to come back with a new awareness, added intuition, a stronger sixth sense … things like that.”

Made sense, I guess. Who was I to say it wasn’t possible? Hell, obviously, I’d come back with something . Something akin to a war inside me. Something that gave me the strength to kill one minute and the ability to heal the next.

“Are you experiencing a greater psychic awareness?”

Did he mean was I more intuitive, could I sense people’s emotions more easily than before? “Yes. But there are other things. I’m stronger. I heal faster than normal.” I thought of the green flash I saw briefly around Aaron in The Bath House. “I think I’m starting to see auras or flashes of color around people … I know. I’ve lost my mind, right?”