Kelly Gay - The Better Part of Darkness

She was crying, saying she couldn’t lose me, not again, and not after Connor.

Our brother. My twin.

A senseless act of violence when we were teens, and he was gone.

He was the reason I went into law enforcement, to protect my family, to keep assholes and killers off the streets of my hometown. Bryn had been fourteen when Connor’s car was hijacked with him inside. Two black crafters jacked up on meth had held a gun to his head and made him drive out to Piedmont Park, get out of the car, and beg for his life on his hands and knees. They taped it with a handheld recorder. And then they executed him, took his car, and made it all the way to Vegas, where they bragged to the wrong person about what they’d done.

I’d felt it the moment Connor died. The feeling has never left me.

Bryn’s rambling continued, but I didn’t hear her words, just the sound of her aching, choked voice. Thinking of Connor cleansed the mud from my brain and hardened my soul. He had made me strong, and I wasn’t about to start crumbling now.

I lifted my head and stood with Bryn’s help just as police and paramedics arrived.

“Charlie,” she whispered. “You’re healing.”

“What?”

She stared at me oddly. I could barely see her through the swollen skin around my eyes. “The cuts on your face, they’re healing.”

I touched the split lip, the movement of my arm painful. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. “Are you doing it?” I struggled to ask.

“No, it’s not me. It’s you.”

“It’s not me.” No, it couldn’t have been me. I didn’t have powers like Bryn. And I was okay with that. I had my own kind of magic. It was called a Nitro-gun, a 9mm SIG Sauer, and a Hefty (a Taser-like High Frequency Tag capable of disabling or destroying the sound-sensitive Elysians). That was all the conjuring I needed.

Hank raced down the sidewalk, his face contorted with fear. He skidded to a stop beside us, his breath coming out fast and heavy. Hard, dark sapphire orbs replaced the vibrant blue sparkle of his eyes; they had changed as they always did with any kind of heightened emotion. There was only one other time I’d seen him this distraught. Eight months ago. When I was dying. When he hovered over me in the dark alley between Mercy and Solomon Streets, willing me to live, calling for backup over and over again until his voice broke and praying to a God he had never had much faith in, making every promise in the book if only I’d survive.

“Damn it, Charlie. Are you okay? Did the medics check you out? God, you’re a mess.”

“I’m fine.”

He briefly examined the chaos of the scene. His jaw started to twitch. Never a good sign. He propped both hands on his hips, his voice clipped and tight when he spoke. “You did this?”

Feeling stronger, I picked up my firearm slowly, ignoring the pain, and slid it into the holster under my left arm. “I got one round off,” I said, not meeting his intense gaze. “The other two, guess I just got lucky.” I warned Bryn with my look to be quiet. “They may look strong, but they don’t know how to fight dirty.” It was lame, I knew, but what else could I say? That a weird surge of strength had possessed me and allowed me to kill two jinn with my bare hands? Yeah, right. Even I didn’t believe it. There had to be some other explanation.

Hank dragged his fingers through his hair, looking from the bodies to me and then back again. “You had better hope none of these guys were from the local jinn tribe …”

I couldn’t entertain the thought of jinn retribution. Not right now. Instead, I walked away, passing the paramedics as they placed the bodies in bags, to the officer on the scene to give him my statement.

About a half hour later, Hank and Bryn walked, or rather stalked, me to my car.

“I can’t believe you came down here alone,” Hank muttered, finally breaking the silence.

I’d seen it coming. “I come down here alone all the time. So do you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to wait for your partner. I’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now.”

Oh, hell no. He wasn’t about to make me feel guilty about this. I grabbed his arm, standing toe-to-toe with him. “I did learn my lesson, Hank. I was already down here getting Bryn to babysit. And you and I both talk to Auggie, to get the scoop, whenever we’re here. Alone or not. I didn’t attack the jinn or go after them. They jumped me . So get the hell off my back.”

Enough of this crap. I left them both standing in the plaza, went to my car, and then peeled away from the curb.

My entire body shook like a mini-earthquake as I drove to Station One. Aftershock. I managed to find a parking space in the back, near the dumpster where no one would see my car. Adrenaline still coursed through my veins, making me feel like some kind of junkie who needed a fix.

What did you do, Charlie? The question kept repeating over and over as I rummaged through the glove box for napkins, found a handful, and then began scrubbing the blood from my face, neck, and hands. The better question to ask myself was: how did you?

I yanked down the mirror, stunned by the red-and-black blood-streaked face staring back at me. I didn’t recognize this person—gaunt, wide-eyed, and scared shitless. Everyone said Bryn and I bore a close resemblance, though my hair was more on the brown side than auburn, but looking in the mirror I saw no resemblance to anyone human at all.

I could be an extra from Night of the Living Dead.

The scent of blood, iron, and tar filled the car, and as soon as I noticed, my stomach curdled and a cold sweat broke through my achy skin. Unable to hold it in, I opened the car door and puked on the concrete. Twice.

My lungs couldn’t fill fast enough with air and it took several seconds for my breathing to return to normal. Once it did, I grabbed the keys, ignored the shaky legs, and hurried into the back of the brick building, heading up the back stairs to the showers.

I didn’t allow myself to think or feel the hollow ache in my stomach, just went straight to my locker, undressed, grabbed my toiletries, and stepped into the shower.

Hot water stung my skin, almost too hot, but it had to be that way. I needed to be clean. Bloody water and thick suds pooled like pink cotton candy at my feet, sliding off my hair and skin as I scrubbed and shampooed until, finally, the water ran clear.

It had all gone so wrong. And Auggie. Poor, harmless Auggie was dead, and I should’ve been dead, too.

Again.

Ever since that night eight months ago, I’d hardly gotten into an altercation of any kind while on the job. Sure, we had runners, ducked a few punches, and exchanged fire a few times, but nothing like this. I had told myself the last time, when I woke in the hospital alive and saw Emma’s pale face: I’d never take another chance. Even if it meant letting a crook go.

So why had I wanted to fight? I’d purposefully invited an ass-kicking. I could have run, just as Auggie urged me to, yet I hadn’t.

Lately, I didn’t know who the hell I was anymore.

Screw this. I should just retire to a desk job. It was the right thing to do and the only option if I wanted to raise my child and be a good mom. She needed me to be there for her. She needed that kind of stability in her life. Not someone who might never come back from her shift.

My palms flattened on the shower wall. I let my head fall low between my shoulder blades. My throat closed, and my chest hurt, but it was the right decision. It had to be.

After I stepped out of the shower and dried off, I inspected my naked body in the long mirror. Bryn had been right. Somehow, I’d healed. I closed my eyes tightly and shook the cobwebs from my mind. When I opened them again, nothing had changed. It was almost too much for one day. A sharp laugh escaped me, sounding awfully demented in the quiet of the locker room.