He stared down into the cup's mouth once again, finding the wispy coffee somehow softer on the eyes instead of his friend's intense gaze. It had been a couple of months since they'd last seen each other. He regretted the distance that grew between them.
"The job is yours, if you'll take it. You should be paid for all the times I consult you on cases, 'ya know?"
He knew that. The job paid a living wage, one he needed if he wanted to continue living in his quaint apartment; working at a pub didn't exactly pay rent. He also knew that he was not half bad at the job, but perhaps that was the problem.
There was a certain darkness that followed around cops in this town-this country-especially the inspectors who worked with homicide cases. Murder was a Catholic mortal sin, and people who chose to shroud themselves in it don't make for good party guests. "Stab City" was a nickname Limerick couldn't chase down with just one pint of beer.
Allen looked at the angry face in the bottom of his cup, the coffee grounds now giving him a demonic scowl.
"I'll have to think on it," he replied absently, almost as if he was more intrigued by the devilish glare than the conservation.
"You always say that! Come on, I'll buy you another whiskey coffee!"
Lavi glanced around the empty bar suspiciously. "I can't share the details, but we have a nasty case unraveling. We could use your unique intuition!"
"Intuition," Allen muttered. "What a word for it."
"Please? Oh, please, oh please, oh please-"
Allen threw his hands up in mock defeat, knowing that if he didn't stop Lavi now, the begging would continue all night (and for a couple of days after if need be). "Alright! I give in! Tell me more about the case. And, I'll take you up on that coffee. While we're at it, does this place serve food this late?"
"I was worried you'd say that," Lavi whined as he pulled out his wallet and a folder labeled Classified. Allen's mind began to wander again, past the moonlit bar, past the dark river outside. Back to the day his so called "intuition" originated; the day his apartment burnt to the ground.
It all started in a shoddy apartment complex: a step above a cardboard box, but subpar to the cheapest room at any seedy motel. The building was on the outskirts of a tiny little town that was just barely a stain on the map. Ireland was already considered a stain on any map, if you asked the landlady: she was a Scot, you see. (Allen and his roommate pretended to have great aunties from Scotland to even get the rooms in the first place).
They lived together on the top floor of a building that was actively defending its heritage with overgrown ivy, chipping brick, and faulty radiator heaters. Whenever they brought up the heaters to the landlady, she'd tell them to go dig up some peat, "what the good ol' Scots' used to keep warm!", and then ask for the rent a week early. Allen told her to hold the dirt and that rent would come as soon as the radiators were fixed (he still didn't understand how people in this century used bog scum to keep warm when electricity was well underway).
She didn't enjoy this.
Excluding the peat, there was one heater within the three-room apartment. The rust peeled off of the monster like chapped lips, and it chose when it wanted to work and when it wanted to leak. But for the somewhat affordable price, his roommate and he merely cranked it up during the cold Ireland winter and cocooned within jackets and blankets to make up for what the heater could not.
They lived well together; Nea, his roommate, had almost all the same likes and dislikes. He marked everything in the fridge with his own name, as did Allen. Most months they paid rent on time. They even shared woes from work and the occasional drink. It was a friendship made out of necessity, but they both enjoyed each others' company.
Everything went well for days, weeks, even months.
It was December 25th when he woke with lungs full of black smoke and arid heat.
It was December 25th when the building turned into a burning carcass.
When it collapsed.
When it trapped everyone inside with the eager flames, hungry brick lips, and smoky hands to squeeze the life out of lungs.
It was December 25th when the triage team of emergency responders marked nearly every tenant with a black tag.
To be fair, the building was so far from up to code that everyone was doomed the moment they paid rent. He still remembered the unique smell of so many household objects burning. He couldn't forget the smell of human flesh burning, either. He remembered the first voice he heard in the wake of a disaster.
"Anyone alive in here?"
The ceiling had collapsed in on Allen near the start of the fire, he remembered, and he still wasn't sure how he was lucid enough to respond with a pitiful cough.
"Someone alive in 'ere? Shit, Pam, you owe me five bucks!"
Someone else answered, obviously annoyed. "Sure, whatever. Let's get this debris off of him. Check his respiratory rate."
"Nea?" He whispered hoarsely.
"Definitely a possible spinal injury, but the chief isn't gonna care if we break procedure in this hell. Let's just pull him 'outta 'ere."
"Hey, can 'ya stand? Anything feel broke?"
Allen nodded, although unsure, and the woman helped him to his feet.
"My roommate, he's still in there!" Allen cried out as loudly as his parched throat would allow.
"We're doing our best to evacuate the survivors. Please try to remain calm." "He's still in there," Allen repeated while choking on the black air, tears attempting to put out the fire.
"I'll send someone looking after we get you out. Which room is he in?"
That was the last thing he remembered from the building. His body shut down, crashing and collapsing like the foundation of the building they shared together until it fell into pure ebony.
He woke up in a hospital bed, the dull beeping of the machines reminding him that he was alive. Sitting across from him was his only friend, besides Nea, in this town. Yet, he couldn't imagine how Lavi had could have possibly found out-
"We got a call at the station about a fire down a ways, and I recognized the name of the street. When I got there to check it out for myself, nothing was left of the place except ashes. Figured I'd wait here until you woke up," Lavi said, answering Allen's unspoken question.
His throat felt burnt and blistered, and upon closer inspection he realized that his entire left arm was bandaged and covered. He lifted up the bandages a little and recoiled at the sight, almost vomiting in disgust. This body couldn't belong to him, this charred flesh and unsightly appearance and-
"You're pretty busted up," Lavi said with a nervous laugh, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. "But alive, unlike most of the others in the building."
"Nea," Allen finally forced out through chapped lips. "Where is he? Did he make it out? The last thing I can remember is falling asleep on the couch together, watching T.V. Is he here?"
"Your roommate? All the patients from that fire were taken here, so he's probably around here somewhere. Want me to go and find his room number?" Allen nodded, and then went into a coughing spell. "It's Campbell. That's his last name."
"Be back in a flash. Put in a good word with your nurse for me," Lavi said with a wink. Allen rolled his eyes.
Lavi made his way down to the lobby and met a charming receptionist. Her hair was wound in a tight bun, so tight he worried for his scalp, but her eyes were soft when she looked up from her computer.
"May I know what room Nea Campbell is staying in? He's one of the patients from the fire last night and his roommate is worried sick," Lavi said while resting his elbows on the counter, smiling bewitchingly at the lady.
"Only family is allowed to request that information," she stated while trying to keep her eyes anywhere but on his.
Lavi pouted childishly. "Is that so? My friend is just so worried..."
"...But if it's for his roommate," she watched Lavi's face light up, "I guess it couldn't hurt to look."
"Thanks so much. You're a doll," Lavi said with another pleasant smile.
She smiled back with a rosy blush before popping a piece of bubblegum as she flipped through the forms, eventually looking up with a confused expression.
"I'm afraid that no "Nea Campbell' checked in last night. There aren't any records for him at this hospital. Are you sure he wasn't taken to a different one?"
"I'm with the guarda, see, so I work directly with the Emergency Response team. I'm positive all of the victims were all taken here," Lavi added, "and there weren't enough survivors to need an extra hospital."
"Well," she shrugged, "he's not on our forms. Are you sure he was in the building that night?"
"Allen-I mean, his roommate, was convinced he was."
"Well, then," she stopped and lowered her voice, "are you sure he wasn't in one of those body bags?"
Lavi hadn't considered this, nor was he prepared to tell Allen such horrible news.
"Then again, if he was in the same area your friend was, he should've lived too, right? There are some EMT's still hanging around from last night in the break room down the hall. Wouldn't hurt to ask them."
"Ya can ask me," a thick Scottish voice said from behind him. "It was my building, 'fterall."
She was old but spritely, with fraying, ginger hair and was leaning on her cane with a grave darkness beneath her eyes.
"Do you know Allen Walker? I think he lived in Apartment 9 or 10, top floor?"
"Allen? Of course I knew 'im," her face grew funny, "he was a strange lad. Paying for a double room apartment for just one person? I could never understand 'im. He would hand me exactly half his rent, then come back a quarter later with the other 'alf, actin' like he hadn't walked in just moments before. And-"
"Are you saying Allen didn't have a roommate?"
"No," she said slowly. "He was the only one up there. Sometimes I'd come visit him; he seemed like the lonely type, ya know? The weather around here can send folks into a real sadness. I did hear him talking to another a lot, though. I figured it was to his cat. Strange fellow, though, keeping two closets in separate rooms, even marking food with someone else's name. 'Thought he had a partner for a while. But no one came to visit the lad, 'cept for you once or twice."
"Aha," Lavi started, letting out a nervous, spiteful laugh. "Haha."
The old woman and the desk attendant shared a worried look.
"And I'm supposed to tell him he imagined a roommate?"
"I doubt it was just imagination. Someone else was living with him, but just-" she tapped the side of her temple, "-up there, instead of out here." She began to limp away, using her cane to support her weight.
"Wait, I do have a few more questions for you," Lavi said, remembering that he had an actual job to do. Her building was the reason all these people were dead, after all.
Technically he was off the clock, but getting a statement before this woman disappeared would make the assistant commissioner happy. But what came out of her mouth next was so strange that Lavi let her walk out the door, never to be seen again.
"Many say that Ireland is so blessed, beautiful, so untainted by foul men," the old woman replied while heading for the door, giving Lavi one last look. "But the darkness in this land cannot be quenched, conquered, snuffed out. There are 'a many evils in this world that you must run from; that 'ya must admire for their beauty, their blessing, their purity in the same way that 'ya worship the light."
"If you don't, you'll be swallowed 'hole."
"I'll give it my best shot," Allen finally replied cheerily. "I can't promise to be of any help, though."
"That's the spirit! Sort of!" Lavi replied, slurring the last half.
The owner eventually shooed them out, since it was long past closing and they had no more money to spend.
"Ah, I miss this," Lavi mumbled, still smiling as they headed out of the pub and into the streets.
Allen carefully followed his friend's poor footing, making sure Lavi didn't spill out onto the moon-bathed streets. They made their way over to a bridge, made of impressive stone with four lifelike angel statues on each corner of the bridge. The angels usually made him feel safe, as if this was a tiny sanctuary. But today, he felt restless. Watched, even.
"It's cold as BALLS out here tonight, ain't it? Summer, my ass," Lavi howled.
The angels, with their perfectly sinister sculpted faces bathed in moonlight, threw malevolent glances at him. A singular cloud floated past the moon, and suddenly he could see the evil within the statues; the sharp black shadows and hollow eyes bore into him. He'd been so focused on the angels he forgot Lavi.
"This! I miss THIS!" Lavi shouted, nearly throwing himself over the side of the bridge once they'd begun crossing it.
"Okay, okay," Allen pulled him back from his near death in the freezing Abbey River, but still laughed at the spectacle they were making.
"What do you miss?"
"Look, at the moonlight on the water. It's like we're at the North Pole."
"That doesn't answer my question, Lavi."
"Look!" He pointed with drunken excitement at the river they stood above.
It was a cloudless night, and the shards of moonlight looked like polar ice floes on the indigo swell. A swan suddenly came from beneath them and broke apart the thinner ice with quick sweeps of its tail.
"That there's an Irish Polar Bear," Lavi whispered while pointing, "better not get too close or you'll lose a finger!" Allen started laughing, confident it was the alcohol that suddenly made Lavi's jokes funny, and held onto the bridge for support in fear he might keel over. Suddenly a flash went off in his face.
"I miss this." Allen wiped his eyes and let out a few more giggles before looking up. Lavi had his phone open to the camera app, showing an unflattering picture he'd just taken of Allen, cheeks red from laughing to hard with a big grin on his face.
"We used to be," Lavi latticed his own hands for emphasis, "close, before the fire. God, the fucking fire. Now I just ask you for help on cases and it's- it's bloody terrible! I miss getting kicked out of bars, if that makes any sense. I want us to be friends again, you know?"
Allen smiled and held out his gloved hand. "Friends again?"
"Friends."
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
He lazily swiped at the end table until the alarm clock stopped screaming at him, and pulled at the blanket. God, he was freezing, and, God, did his head hurt from drinking too much last night. The blanket didn't budge. He pulled again. Nothing.
"Stop hogging it you evil, evil little demon," Allen grumbled while using his sleepy strength to free the slightest corner of the covers.
"Mmmph." The other rolled over and Allen lost all the blanket left to his name.
He sat up and slammed his hands down on the sheets. "Are you serious, Nea? No, you can't be serious. You're inside my head, you can't even get cold! You're a torturer sent from Satan himself, an evil fairy with fangs and-"
Nea lifted his head out from the blanket and gave a sleepy, wry smile. "You're in a great mood this morning, lovely. And I'm here, it's cold, and if you dislike me so much, then send me away!"
"I would ship you to the recesses of Antarctica if possible," Allen muttered as he got up. "I would ship you to a deserted island, a sinkhole in the middle of the desert-"
"Sinkholes aren't found in the desert," Nea corrected, standing up while wearing the blanket as a cape.
"Besides, you need me, Allen. I'm your intuition, your guide; how could you help Lavi without this blanket thief?"
"Shoot!" Allen knew he was forgetting something. He was supposed to meet Lavi today to go over the case details, and by looking at the clock, he had fifteen minutes before he was totally late. He tried to put on his shirt quickly, not wanting to see the scarred flesh and angry scarlet hues. Next came his gloves, which hid the rest of the open skin.
It was strange how such little pieces of fabric gave him such security.
Nea was pouting now that Allen had been rude and ignored him for several minutes as he hurried to get dressed. "You couldn't have solved any of your last cases without my abilities. Really Allen, you're so mean to me when all I do is help!"
Allen rubbed his temples. "Yes, yes, you're wonderful. Fantastic. Now remember what I said about talking to me in public?"
"I think you said," Nea tapped his finger on his lips and pretended to be lost in thought, "sarcastic comments are great, and you love hearing my voice."
With a heavy sigh, Allen grabbed his phone and headed out the door. This was his life: living with a phantom that he had no memory of picking up. After the fire, he saw a therapist. And another. And another. Once they considered having him committed to an institution for observation, he decided it was time to try something else.
He researched the building for any hint of paranormal, but there was no answer there. Nea refused to answer any of his questions, and only left him more frustrated. The taxi outside beeped, shaking him out of his daze. He climbed in the back seat and shut the door, relieved to find he was alone with the driver.
"Shall we?" Nea said brightly, appearing beside him. He was talking a mile a minute. "I sure hope the case is about a serial killer. We haven't had much action lately, but this town just screams murder to me. Are you not excited? I'm excited."
It had been a nice few seconds.