"Are you coming?" Jo Martinez's voice punctured through Henry's musings, causing him to look up. The detective was a few paces ahead, halfway through the door of a comic store, and looking at him with a sort of affectionate irritation. He'd been in the building once, back when it was a pub, investigating a battery charge. It'd been a lot different then, free of moss or weeds, and bearing bricks in cheery shades of burnt orange and red. The calk had been neat, clean, and a rough wooden sign stating the tavern's name had dangled from chains hooked in the belly of the overhang. Having only been there once before, Henry couldn't quite remember what it had been called, but he was almost positive that it had the word cardinal in it.
The wooden porch groaned dramatically beneath the two adults feet as they entered the establishment. Henry couldn't help but take notice that the once sturdy oak panel floors had swollen and shifted over time, stripping screws, and breaking in several areas of greatest weakness. He was careful to watch his footing, as to avoid twisting an ankle.
While death was Henry's specialty, they were not currently investigating a homicide; a robbery in the store next door had resulted in the hospitalization of the geriatric owner, and the shops security cameras had been disabled. They were checking the stores on either side to see if one had incriminating security footage, or at least some sort of clue or lead. The one on the right had proved useless, as the store manager was afraid that the government would use cameras to spy on her customers, and therefore, didn't have any installed. They had had left fairly quickly after that.
Whatever the pub had once been called, it was now 'Shay's Crazy Comics', with a subtitle advertising rare comics and collectables, along with recent issues from an assortment of publishers. Henry himself had never been very interested in graphic novels or comic books, although he knew that they were considered highly valuable by some. He'd never truly seen the appeal, but that may just be because he had experienced first hand what it was like to be superhuman. It certainly wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
The man at the counter looked up from the magazine he was reading as they entered, looking slightly surprised at the appearance of the two official looking adults. Jo wasted no time flashing her badge, and the man's eyes widened, putting his hands up as if the detective had just aimed a gun at him.
"Whoa man, I swear I had no idea that those brownies were laced, Ernie didn't say anything about-" He started, but Jo cut him off.
"That's not why were here. The shop next door was robbed, we just need to ask you some questions." The man, whose name tag read GREGORY BISHOP, didn't drop his hands, but some color had returned to his cheeks at the detectives words.
Henry turned away, delving deeper into the store, while Jo questioned the young man, her voice carrying across the room.
"How well do you know Mr. Gardner?" Henry paused to listen, absentmindedly flipping through one of the comic book volumes, as if hoping to find the secrets of their allure hidden somewhere in the pages.
"Uhh, not very well. I mean, sometimes I see him setting up shop in the morning, but we don't really talk. Why?" Jo's response was muffled by the AC as it turned on, blasting Henry with cold, dry air, much to his disgruntlement. While he wished to listen to what Gregory had to say, his attention had been drawn by faint sounds coming from the back of the store. After a moment of consideration, in which he cast a lingering glance at the detective and her quarry, he picked his way over to the rear of the establishment.
On the posterior wall were two doors; the first was propped open, loud music pouring out into a short hallway, which ended with the second door, before turning off, out of sight. With a hint of caution, Henry approached the open door, peaking inside.
The room was small and cramped in the first place, but after jamming in a printer, a desk (with a computer, playing the live security footage), and a filing cabinet, it was claustrophobic. It didn't help that every inch of space was occupied by piles of messy paper work, recently read comic books, and hundreds of sticky notes. The desk around the computer screen was littered with debris, empty cans of soda, and greasy wrappers. The trash itself was overflowing with crumpled up balls of paper, and even more garbage.
In the midst of the chaos was a young women. She was in her late teens or early 20's, with short brown hair that was mostly covered up by a beanie. Her black Doc Martens were propped up on the desk, and she was drinking from a fast food style paper cup, chewing the straw absentmindedly. Her eyes never moved from the screen, but she did stop sucking on her straw long enough to offer a greeting.
"Sup," It took Henry a few extra seconds to respond, failing to hide his distaste for the absolute pig pen quality of the working area. It was fortunate that she wasn't looking.
"My associate and I are hoping to look at your security footage from yesterday." Henry said, voice pleasant. The women continued to watch the screen, seemingly mesmerized by the scene.
"Where's the lady cop?" The women asked, reaching forward to remove a chip from an open bag, camouflaged between two identical empty packages. A paper name tag stuck to the upper left screen of the computer said Hi, you can call me NIKOLA WITOLD. Something about the name seemed.. strange, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Before he could inquire further, however, Henry was distracted by something outside of his peripheral vision. He felt Jo rather than saw her, the ripple of movements released by her steps alerting him to her presence a moment or two before she herself appeared.
"The lady-cop is here, and would like to ask you some questions." Nikola paused, before resuming chewing a chip noisily, taking her time before answering. Jo was clearly growing impatient, but she allowed the women to finish.
"Ask away, Ms. Martinez." Henry wrinkled his brow, surprised. Evidently, so was Jo, because her next question was not case related.
"How do you know my name?" Henry watched Nikola pause for a moment, almost as if realizing she'd slipped up, before continuing, shoulders a little tenser than previously. He made note of this.
"I have my methods. Also, I was in the hospital when Doctor Morgan was being treated for his gunshot wound." He could tell that Jo was skeptical, but the story seemed sound, so she didn't push it. If need be, they could always check the hospital's medical records. While the comment had thrown Jo, she quickly pushed her thoughts and questions away, returning to her default interrogative voice.
"Were you here yesterday?" Henry watched the girl carefully, taking in her casual demeanor, and blatant lack of concern.
"Yep," Nikola drawled, making a popping sound when she enunciated the 'p'.
"Did you see anything out of the ordinary?" Jo was definitely irritated, her voice carrying a trace of strain.
"Nope," The girl replied, either oblivious to the detectives ire, or indifferent. It was hard to tell, especially without getting a good look at her face.
"Nothing? Not a single thing out of place? No sign of commotion?"
"Nada," Nikola said without skipping a beat, sucking forcefully on her straw; it flattened, collapsing in on its self as she attempted to consume the last dregs of her drink, before setting it down on the desk with a resounding finality. Only then did she turn to face the two investigators, resting her left ankle on her right thigh, thus forming a triangle shaped hole in her lap. She interlocked her fingers, leaned back in the spinning chair, and rested the back of her head against her palms. Her expression could only be described as bored, and Henry felt a twinge of dislike in his chest.
"Will that be all?" Her voice held a note of sarcasm, despite the almost honey-sweet quality of her tone. Jo paused waiting a few moments before responding. He suspected that she was trying to discern a reason to take her back to the station.
"We'll need a copy of the footage to do a full diagnostic. Thank you for your assistance." Martinez's tone was curt, and her thank you sounded almost threatening. Nikola smiled nastily in response, looking over at the desk long enough to disconnect a USB cable, and present it to the detective on her open palm. Martinez picked it up, eyes narrowed.
"Glad to be of service." The girl said cheerfully. Martinez offered a last parting warning, before turning and leaving.
"We may have more questions-" The girl interrupted, and Henry forced himself to keep quiet.
"You know where to find me," Nikola waved her hand carelessly, as the detective stalked off, down the hall. Henry began to follow her, before remembering something. He stuck his head around the corner, and the girl looked over, expression mild.
"You have a very interesting name," He said awkwardly, not really sure how to pursue his inquiry. She raised a brow, and for a moment, it almost looked like she was smirking at him.
"It's German." Without waiting to see if Henry was done, she spun back around, propping her feet up, and began reaching for the bag of chips. Henry lingered a moment, before slipping back into the hall, jogging to catch up with Jo as she stormed out towards the parking lot. He shot the man at the cash register an apologetic smile, and a hasty 'good day', before disappearing out the door.
"I need some coffee." Jo growled, closing her car door a little harder than strictly necessary. Henry didn't argue.
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It was 2 in the morning, and Henry couldn't sleep. The good doctor had been wrestling with his thoughts for nearly three hours, and but he wasn't able to shake the feeling of unease that had lingered since entering the comic store. Something didn't fit, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure it out. For a man who knew so much, and had lived so long, this was extremely frustrating.
Eventually, Henry gave up. He threw back his covers, quietly brewed a cup of tea, and commenced researching. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, just that he'd know it when he found it. Fortunately for his sanity, this did not take long. He had sifted through a handful of of ancient, dusty textbooks and aged, musty journals, when he strayed across an old copy of Mein Kampf. It was written entirely in German, one of the many languages Henry had leared to speak during his two centuries of life, and that was what sparked his memory.
Nikola had said her name was German... German for what? Drawing upon his comprehension of the language, he looked around, grabbing a piece of parchment, and an ink pen. It wasn't the type of writing utensil he preferred, but Abe had left it on his desk, and he didn't have the time or patience to look for an alternative. Quickly, he scribbled down the strange women's name, frowning with concentration. Nikola was a German variant of Nichole, that was easy enough. But Witold? It wasn't directly German, more of a transition word for the Lithuanian name Vytautus, which meant...
Henry's temperature plummeted, feeling as if all the water in his blood had frozen into intricate fractals. Fear bore its fearsome head in his chest, as recognition wove a phantom ache into his stomach. He looked down at the paper. Below the words Nikola Witold he had written the rough translation.
Nichole Chase. His breath was coming in quick gasps, as he shakily flattened the scrap of paper out, drawing a line through Nichole, and writing the final translation. Nikki Chase.
"The name is Chase," Images of a black clad female figure intermixed with agonizing pain, and a quiet voice whispering to him quietly as he bled to death on the Golden Gate Bridge. Alongside these recent memories, older ones surged, scrambling up the staircase of time and back into his thoughts. Memories of a female soldier he'd encountered during the First World War. He'd treated her bullet wounds, discovering her identity in the process. She'd convinced him not to give her away, and he had agreed, albeit reluctantly. He'd deeply regretted the decision; her platoon had been ambushed a few days later. There had been no survivors, and her body had never been recovered.
Maybe there was a reason for that.
Henry didn't sleep a wink that night, and in the morning, when he returned to the comic store, the mysterious women had disappeared, along with her accumulation of trash. The register man, Gregory, swore up and down that he was the only one staffing the store that day, and he'd ended up leaving with even more questions than before.
It appeared that Adam and himself were not the only immortals in New York.