Edward Lee - Incubi

The silence in the wake of the shout felt thick as wet cement. Larrel Olsher and Randy averted their eyes to the floor. Noyle remained standing stiffly, hands behind his back. He was smiling.

“And there’s another disturbing matter,” Gentzel went on after the pause. “Lieutenant Noyle?”

Noyle stepped forward. “Clearly, your conduct in general is bad enough, and it only proves to disservice your own professional integrity, and the integrity of the department in general. I’ve never witnessed such irresponsibility on the part of a rank officer, not in all my time on the department.”

Jack could bear no more of this. “All your time ?” he objected. “What’s that, about six months? I’ve been on this department for ten years, kid. I was busting dope dealers when you were still playing with G.I. Joes. And in case you haven’t noticed, I outrank you.”

But Noyle went on, cold as stone. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Captain, Internal Affairs operates under the direct authority of the county executive’s office. When we hear things within the department, we investigate. That’s our job. And we’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Okay, sure,” Jack said. His only tactic was to beat this punk to the punch. “I went a little batty after the Longford case, and I’ve had a few personal problems, and sometimes I drink a little too much, but I’ve never consumed alcohol on duty.”

“Were you drunk last night, Captain?”

Jack didn’t answer.

“Were you drunk two nights ago?”

The motherfucker put watchdogs on me , Jack realized.

“On those two nights did you drink liquor in the Undercroft Tavern?”

“Yeah, I drank liquor,” Jack admitted. “I’m pretty sure that Prohibition was repealed a couple of years ago.”

“Did you not in fact drink to the point of complete inebriation, Captain? Isn’t it true that you drank so much that you lost consciousness at the bar and had to be physically carried out?”

Jack was seething. It was all spelled out for him now, so there was no reason to restrain himself. “You suck-face little fairy. You put tails on me.”

“It’s my job to investigate the public behavior of any officer whose professional reliability is in question. Based on its documentation, Internal Affairs is satisfied that you have a serious alcohol-abuse problem, and it has been recommended to the commissioner’s office that you submit yourself to the county alcohol-rehabilitation program, posthaste.”

Posthaste , Jack thought. Only a pussy would use a world like “posthaste .” Suddenly he felt his entire career in the hands of this prim, anal-retentive little brownnose. “I will,” he said.

“Additionally, it has been recommended that you be suspended from active duty, with pay, until you have successfully completed said program. Please know that you have the right to contest IAD’s recommendations. I would strongly advise against that, though.”

“Please, don’t take me off the Triangle case,” Jack said.

“Do you have a hearing problem too, Captain?” Gentzel asked. “You are suspended from all investigative operations as of now. Whether you consent or not, you’re off the Triangle case.”

“Please, sir. Suspend me later, I’ll do the rehab thing later. I just need a little more time. I’m really close.”

“Captain, the only thing you’re really close to that I can see are insubordination charges and a mental breakdown. It would be derelict for us to allow an unstable alcoholic to remain in charge of a critical homicide investigation. You’ve expended valuable time and money, yet have produced no positive results. I’m reassigning the case to Lieutenant Eliot, who will work under the direct supervision of Lieutenant Noyle.”

Jack was aghast. “ Noyle? You’ve got to be shitting me, sir! He’s an IAD buttprobe, he’s not a cop ! You can’t let this stuffed punk take charge of a ritual murder investigation!”

“That’s enough, Jack,” Larrel Olsher advised.

“No, it’s not enough!”

“Lieutenant Noyle is a competent investigator,” Gentzel said.

“He’s a candyass creamcake who couldn’t investigate the back of his own hand!” Jack yelled. Randy was grabbing him, trying to nudge him toward the door. Noyle’s stiff posture and irreducible smile highlighted his triumph. As Randy edged Jack into the hall, Jack continued to shout, “He’ll run this case into the ground, Gentzel! He’ll fuck it up so bad you’ll never catch these guys!”

The door slammed. Randy held Jack off. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t talk to a deputy comm like that.”

“Fuck him,” Jack said. He shook loose. “And that asshole Noyle, fuck him double.” His rage, like a puff of smoke, suddenly reverted to a physical weight of defeat.

“Forget it, man,” Randy offered. “You did your best.”

“Then I guess my best isn’t good enough.”

“Quit feeling sorry for yourself, and let me tell you something, as a friend. Those two shitheads in there are right about one thing. You got some serious problems, and if you don’t start taking care of them, you’ll be through as a cop.”

I already am , he thought slowly. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and left the station.

I’ve failed , he thought. Myself, and everyone.

V oices. Words.

White light like mist oozed through black like onyx.

Was she dreaming?

Transposition — You are not yet ready to transpose. — Imagine your passion. Which are you, Veronica? Real or fake? — Let the image transpose… Tainted-tainted-tainted…

Veronica roused. Aw, God . She’d fallen asleep at her work desk. Her mouth and eyes felt sealed shut; they opened stickily. She’d worked all day and all night, hadn’t she? Again she could not remember at first. After Khoronos’ guidance in the room of mirrors, she’d worked until 4:30 a.m. and had fallen asleep.

What strange dreams, if they’d been dreams at all. They’d been more like fragments of dreams tossed haphazardly into her head. Transposition. Awake or asleep, the word haunted her. Though she believed she understood its artistic meaning now, she couldn’t escape the suspicion that more of its meaning lay hidden, and that Khoronos wanted it that way. Why should she think such a thing, though? Khoronos had revived her, had given her a creative vision she hadn’t thought herself capable of. In three days she’d developed more as an artist than she had in the last three years.

Then the final mutterings of the dream idled back. Tainted-tainted-tainted. She is tainted. Who had Khoronos been talking about? Who was tainted?

Did he mean me?

She hadn’t dreamed of the burning man, though. Perhaps the vision had completed itself in the mirrored room, had shown itself fully, leaving her to paint it without distraction.

She rubbed her eyes, stood up . I’m a mess , she thought. She was flecked, spotted, and smudged with paint. She reeked of linseed oil. When she glanced down at her work, her breath froze.

The background was done. Every detail of the dreamscape lay before her on the tight, primed canvas. The grotto’s pits and rabbets, the rough curvature of its black rock walls. Each pointillistic feature melded to convey the background’s subterraneous dimension. Veronica could feel the transcension of the colors, and the image of the bottomless infinitude.

She’d never delved into such techniques before, utilizing impressionistic strokes and devices to communicate an expressionistic vision, an intercourse of opposites. Yet here she had used those opposites…perfectly.