Delberations, Daemonfic
By all accounts, the day was gorgeous. Blue skies, a gentle breeze. None of the humidity that sometimes came with these perfect conditions and none of the harsh sunrays that came with the deteriorating ozone layer. This was the sort of day that you moved to San Diego for god help you.
And it was killing Kurt Rogers that he wasn’t out in it.
He was relaxed to be sure, easy enough to do. Risa watched the world from the crest of hair at the top of his head.
A marathon of “Rock of Love”
He was more focused on the love in the room, namely Sally Marks sitting with her emperor penguin on her lap, stroking his feathers and seemingly engrossed in the action. Kirk’s daemon Lazarus was licking a fat looking pig with what appeared to be a pleased expression.
“…Ugh.” The flesh looked too much like Miranda-apparently somewhere engrossed in one of Peter Ludlow’s books, “That’s gotta be nasty.”
“It’s a beautiful expression of their love for each other.” Sally said dreamily, “…I mean-y’know, as real as love can be on a TV show.”
“It’s shit.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Why.” Kurt waved a hand in the direction of the idiot box, “Would any daemon pick someone at random to do that to? I mean-even in-this kind of takes the fun out of the whole finding your one true love thing. You know Kimiko? Remember the last episode?”
“That was sad, Her daemon solidifying on the show.” Sally shrugged, “But that’s what producers want.”
“Drama. Too bad real life’s got far more drama then reality TV.” He changed the channel.
Risa sighed-buzzing off his head to land on his hand, “…How’d you sleep?”
Sally blinked, “How’d I sleep?”
He nodded. She leaned back in her chair, the penguin hopping out of her arms to sit on the floor beside the plush purple cushioning, “…Okay. Reasonably-given that there’s some kind of madman out to kill us. I’m beginning to see why people try to worm their way out of Jury Duty.”
He laughed, “…That bad?”
“. And then when we found out about Mr. Baker…”
Kurt shook his head. Finding out that they had a celebrity along for the ride had killed whatever sanity these people had. He saw it in the floral room, his restaurant, and all the time. Famous people, people with a “name” would walk in, daemons proud beside them and be reduced to a side show-a spectacle. No wonder most celebrities were jerks.
But Baker (excuse me, Ludlow) actually seemed reasonably okay with it. He hadn’t expected the goose.
The goose was bizarre. When asked about it, Baker had laughed, “My wife’s daemon substituted in for mine. Reese is a good dog.”
He wished he could get someone to sub for him. He stroked one of Risa’s wings gently and stared with covetous eyes at Harvey. The penguin looked soft and cuddly.
Or hell, nine times out of ten Marilyn had her hands wrapped in that cheetah’s fur. That was a sign of weakness, clinging to your daemon like a security blanket. He hadn’t seen the cheetah change however so he’d been forced to revise his opinion. You were supposed to be happy with what you got.
He stroked Risa’s wing again. She was so small her voice couldn’t be heard-anywhere but in his own mind.
[I love you too Kurt.]
[It’s not you Risa, it’s me…]
[And me if you think about it. I mean, I had a hand in it too, I’m sorry, this felt right to me dammit. And I’m bigger then most actual fireflies! People see me-It’s not like you’re some …some freak without a daemon…]
Their conversations were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Sally rose first. She tugged at her jeans before unlocking the door and staring, “…George…”
Marley was acting more and more like the police dog she’d once been. They were put two to a room (Sally and Marilyn were in the room next to his.) George had ventured out for food-which meant going to the court officers assigned to protect them for nourishment.
“Tacos and Burritos from a local eatery.”
“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” Marley said, “They think they’ve got him.”
Sally and Kurt exchanged glances, “…Really?”
“…On the border. Trying to flee the country. Spotted his coat at one of the checkpoints. Isn’t going to do him a damn bit of good. They confiscated his passport for the trial.”
It was common knowledge that you couldn’t get into Mexico without a passport nowadays. Kurt frowned, hesitating as Sally moved in on the bags of food, “…Wouldn’t he know that?”
Sally looked up, taco in hand, “Know what?”
“That you can’t get into Mexico without a passport. Wouldn’t he know that? Wouldn’t his picture be everywhere?”
“This guy was special ops.” George said. He sat on one of the beds, “I knew a bunch of Special Ops guys in the Army…Freaky shit. Disappear and reappear without thinking about it. That was what made me realize why his daemon got me so spooked back at the courthouse.”
Sally chewed thoughtfully as Kurt nodded, “Go on.”
“…She had that distant look right? Glazed. Glassy. The other daemons looked exactly like that. He was special ops, probably saw some hard action. I was thinking we ask about his war record.”
“…Past stuff can’t be admitted.” Kurt said, “Right?”
Sally looked confused, “…His war record?”
“If he was enlisted he’d have a list of all the stuff he did-or at least the stuff they can tell us about.” George nodded, “His record might lead to why he did what he did.”
“He did what he did because he’s a nut.” Sally said bluntly, “ a psychotic nut. Why do we need more reasons then that?”
“…Nothing is what it seems kid.” George was holding an open hot sauce container. His gaze turned grim, looking into the red as if the color held all the reason and purpose in the universe, “…Especially in situations like this.”
Silence filled the room. The breeze outside in the open window seemed colder, chillier-straight from the artic waves even now washing up on shore and frightening happy children and carefree surfers.
Kurt swallowed, “…Pass the…pass the Guacamole.”
Throwing the police off the trail had been cake.
Easier then cake. He wasn’t going back, not when it wasn’t his fault. Not when what they’d done to him was something that he was positive-absolutely positive-they could reverse. No, he wouldn’t go back.
The surest way to do that was to get rid of the man he was watching.
Watching, even now as he enjoyed the comforts of the resort. Feigning class, he raised his hands as the Elkhound exchanged words with a Doberman pincher beside her. They parted ways over a glass of wine and the metaphorical kiss shared by all who thought they were masters of the universe.
Now. Now.
He hefted his snake.
Now. Move now, move quickly. He climbed onto the elevator after the man.
Roger was in his element. His wife was fine, the kids were complaining that they hadn’t been allowed to go with him but the important thing was that they understood. Clarissa was taking them to Disneyland.
Betty wagged her tail, “…Wish we were going.”
“I don’t.” Ugh, the crowds and the noise, the stink of too many people in one place, “…Bite your tongue.”
The order and the movement brought the Elkhound’s gaze to the figure’s shoes, “…Roger…”
“…Not now.” Roger was checking his PDA, “I’m on line with the restaurant.” There was some kind of problem with the stove.
“…Roger!”
“What is it Bet-“ The long tail of a snake, a massive anaconda twitched from beside the man’s shoe. Roger felt his stomach go cold as the PDA fell to the floor, “…Oh…”
Oh. Oh!
They didn’t have time to scream as Corporal Richardson reached over, hands around Roger’s throat.
---------
BRUCE sat in his hotel room trying to sort through the facts of the case. Leslie sat opposite from him, watching him work. Occasionally her gaze would lift from the papers, intrigued.
“…Such detail?”
“Detail’s what’s needed.” He was coming to rely on Leslie. She reminded him of the agents in charge he’d worked with on numerous occasions, “…Figure out what his motive is.”
“He’s in trouble and he’s running. What motive do we need other then that?”
“We need to think about why he’d run.” Isis said. She looked to Leslie, focusing instead on Malachi on her shoulder, “…It’s difficult for him to.”
“It’s not in his nature.”
“That’s right.” Bruce held up the coroner’s report, “…Now, when a human being commits a violent act? The daemons are disturbed. Look at this police report…”
“Ice cold.” Leslie read the folder, dropping it back onto the pile, “What’s the point?”
“It’s documented.” Bruce’s voice was calm. He leaned back on the couch, breathing deep as he looked at the photos, “When Ted Bundy committed a crime? He had to restrain his own daemon. Souls that kill don’t like to do it. It’s against human nature, our most innate nature.”
“…So you’re saying that when we kill we’re actually going against nature.”
“In theory. The point is, it’s an outward sign of inward distress.” Bruce nodded, “…He had no distress.”
“Maybe he’s just cool under pressure.” Leslie said, “I could use a guy like that.”
“No, It’s more then that. Officers got the creeps being around him. We all did during the trial. How the hell could he affect all of us? I’d be anxious to talk to the Defense Attorney’s daemon about it.”
“Maybe you can ask that DA about it when he comes back.” Leslie looked him up and down, “You don’t look like a cop.”
“Technically I’m not.”
“You’re a profiler. Like Mulder or that guy on Millennium. That how you know all this? Why do it?”
Bruce tented his fingers under his chin, looking at Isis, “…When I was a kid I was kidnapped. This man, this guy’s name was Wagner. He took kids-boys-and did things to them.”
Leslie had frozen, going almost silent.
“…This is all in my autobiography. Don’t look so shocked. I spent three hours with him and came out wanting to know what made him tic. My dad was a shrink, it came naturally to me.” He sighed, “…So I started studying. I got the chance to interview him later in prison.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said…” Isis’s voice was clear, “That people do what they do not because they have to. There’s no secret reason. He did it because he wanted to because it was what was best for him.
Leslie opened her mouth to reply when the door rattled.
It rattled again shortly after that, frantic pounding. Something roared outside the door, “…Marilyn…”
They both rose, Leslie standing instinctively behind him as Bruce opened the door, “…Mari-“
“It’s Roger!”
That was when it hit them both that her front was covered in gore. It oozed off her white T-shirt-robot red and blue and black and stick, “…Roger-He’s-“
She buried her hands in the cheetah’s neck, collapsing into the big cat. It fell to him to look up at them, eyes locked with theirs in mute appeal, “He’s dead!”