FUTURE PERFECT
CHAPTER 2
"Who!?" Cole thundered. His voice echoed through the halls and tunnels of the underworld, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. "Who did this? Who dared go against my orders?"
"N-n-no one, Sir," stuttered the first guard.
Blue light flashed through the tunnel. It enveloped the guard and he shrieked as the fire consumed him.
Cole turned to the second guard. "I asked a question. Who is responsible?" His voice had taken on a dead calm quality that left the guard, a big, muscled demon, quaking in his boots.
"Gry s-spoke the truth," he said. "It was an accident. A bus--"
"A bus!?" Cole exploded again, losing his composure. "Are you trying to tell me that the San Francisco Muni is responsible for the death of a Charmed witch and the destruction of the Power of Three?"
"Y-yes, Mr. Turner." The guard backed away and raised his hands. "Please don't kill me. It is the truth."
Cole realized another fireball was shimmering in his right hand.
"Perhaps it was the witch's time." Refan stood behind him in the entrance to his chamber. "The Charmed Ones--"
Cole released the fireball. "I told you not to mention them." He watched the flames for a moment before he turned back to the cowering second guard.
"What's your name?"
"B-Baryor, Lord."
"Well, Baryor, I don't believe you are telling the truth. Someone is responsible. And I will find them. Now leave me be."
The guard scurried away, as fast as a big demon could scurry. Cole watched him go, already regretting not having called another fireball to kill the guard. If nothing else, it would have eased some of the pain that held his heart in a crushing vise. An accident, they said. Could it be true?
No, Cole decided as he marched back into his chamber and resumed his pacing. "Someone's responsible. And I'll find them."
* * *
It was as if the ground fell away beneath Piper's feet while she listened to Darryl. Somehow, she didn't think his words made much sense. She thought she heard 'bus' and 'drunk driver' and 'Phoebe'.
"No..." She heard an anguished moan coming from far away. "No..." It took her several seconds to realize that the strange, pinched voice she heard through the roar in her ears was her own.
"I'm sorry, Piper." Darryl sounded like he had a bad cold. "The doctors say there's nothing anyone could have done. She died instantly."
Piper backed away on leaden feet, staring at the policeman as if he were a three-headed demon. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. When the back of her knees connected with a wicker chair, her legs buckled so she fell into it with a thud. It creaked ominously beneath the sudden weight.
"Piper!" Paige came running from the kitchen. "Darryl? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"
Darryl repeated his terrible story in muted tones. Piper barely heard him. All she could think about was that Phoebe was dead. She had lost another sister. And this time there would be no magical deus ex machina, no last minute rescue, and no whitelighter healing that could bring her back.
The soft tinkle of chimes announced Leo's arrival. One look at his face told Piper he already knew. Of course he knew. He was tuned in to all his charges; he would have known the second Phoebe died.
"Piper..." He opened his arms.
At last the sob that had lodged itself in her throat and locked up her voice escaped. Another desperate sob followed. And another. Soon she found herself clinging to Leo as if she feared drowning in the tears that were streaming down her face. Another warm body pressed against her back, arms encircling her round waist. Paige. Paige was hurting too.
Piper turned away from Leo and wrapped her arms around her youngest sister.
Together, they cried for the sister lost to them.
* * *
The more Cole hollered and threatened and killed the beings of the underworld, the less answers he received. Even after he slaughtered his entire board of directors, setting his work back at least six months, the tale didn't change. Everyone told him the same thing. It was an accident. Not a single demon was responsible. In the end Cole was forced to admit that perhaps Refan had been correct after all. It had been Phoebe's time to die.
"You could send someone back in time to prevent it," Argus, Refan's successor, suggested.
Cole shook his head. "No. That will only delay matters. The Angel of Death is neither good nor evil. When he wants someone, there's nothing anyone can do to stop him. Not even me."
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at life's grim sense of irony. Phoebe Halliwell, witch, Charmed One, former Queen of the Underworld, had died when she was run over by a bus. He couldn't help but feel that such a mundane death tarnished her memory.
"What did you say that bus driver's name was?"
"Johnson, Sir. Stanley Johnson." Argus pushed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his dark robe as he answered Cole's questions.
"And Mr. Johnson lives in the apartment over the body shop on Columbia Street?"
Argus nodded. "Yes. That's where he moved after his wife died in a fire, three months ago."
"Hmm." Cole stroked his chin. "Tell anyone that wants to see me to come back tomorrow. I have some personal business to attend to."
"Of course, Mr. Turner."
* * *
The smell hit him as soon as Cole entered the dark room on the second floor. The place reeked of mildew, old booze, and motor oil from the shop below. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Who...Whoorru?"
Cole turned in the direction of the voice. The floorboard creaked beneath his weight.
Huddled on the sofa sat a smallish man with sagging shoulders. Strands of unwashed hair hung around his face and round glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He pushed them up while he squinted at Cole with red-rimmed eyes.
"Stanley Johnson?" Cole asked.
The man nodded. "Who wansano?"
The smell of cheap liquor that came from the man in waves made Cole feel sick to his stomach. So this was the pathetic drunk who was responsible for Phoebe's death.
"My name is Cole Turner," he said carefully, his voice filled with the kind of quiet command that left powerful demons wetting their pants. "You took something from me, Stanley."
Stanley sat up a little straighter. "I didn't no s-such thing! I'm no thief."
"Sorry, Stanley, you're wrong. You see, you took my wife away from me. Ran her over with your bus. Her name was Phoebe. She was my life. I'd say it's only fair I take from you what you took from me, don't you?" Cole held up his right hand and called on his power.
"Wife? The pretty girl that died was your wife?" Stanley's face crumpled. "My wife's dead too. You can't take her. I miss her so much." A fat tear trickled down a stubbled face and he brushed at it with the back of his hand.
Cole clenched his jaw. He stood motionless, the blue orb rotating silently above his hand, his arm poised to strike.
"Oh hell."
He threw the fireball.
The heat of the fire singed the stubble on Stanley's cheeks. He let out a squeak and flung up his hands. The bolt struck the bottles on the sidetable next to the couch, shattering them. Glass splinters and liquor fanned out in a wide circle.
"Oww!" Stanley howled when the glass struck his hands.
Cole forced back a sob. "You killed Phoebe, Stanley. Her blood is on your hands. I came to take your life in repayment for Phoebe's, but I changed my mind. I'll let you live with the knowledge that you took hers." He leaned closer, putting his face inches away from Stanley's. He could smell the alcohol on the man's breath. "Don't you ever dare touch a bottle again. Or I will be back. And then I will kill you. Painfully. You understand me?"
Fear filtered through the alcohol vapors that clouded Stanley's mind and he cringed back from Cole's anger. He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Please, don't hurt me."
Cole straightened. "I'll be watching. Remember that."
TBC
CHAPTER 2
"Who!?" Cole thundered. His voice echoed through the halls and tunnels of the underworld, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. "Who did this? Who dared go against my orders?"
"N-n-no one, Sir," stuttered the first guard.
Blue light flashed through the tunnel. It enveloped the guard and he shrieked as the fire consumed him.
Cole turned to the second guard. "I asked a question. Who is responsible?" His voice had taken on a dead calm quality that left the guard, a big, muscled demon, quaking in his boots.
"Gry s-spoke the truth," he said. "It was an accident. A bus--"
"A bus!?" Cole exploded again, losing his composure. "Are you trying to tell me that the San Francisco Muni is responsible for the death of a Charmed witch and the destruction of the Power of Three?"
"Y-yes, Mr. Turner." The guard backed away and raised his hands. "Please don't kill me. It is the truth."
Cole realized another fireball was shimmering in his right hand.
"Perhaps it was the witch's time." Refan stood behind him in the entrance to his chamber. "The Charmed Ones--"
Cole released the fireball. "I told you not to mention them." He watched the flames for a moment before he turned back to the cowering second guard.
"What's your name?"
"B-Baryor, Lord."
"Well, Baryor, I don't believe you are telling the truth. Someone is responsible. And I will find them. Now leave me be."
The guard scurried away, as fast as a big demon could scurry. Cole watched him go, already regretting not having called another fireball to kill the guard. If nothing else, it would have eased some of the pain that held his heart in a crushing vise. An accident, they said. Could it be true?
No, Cole decided as he marched back into his chamber and resumed his pacing. "Someone's responsible. And I'll find them."
* * *
It was as if the ground fell away beneath Piper's feet while she listened to Darryl. Somehow, she didn't think his words made much sense. She thought she heard 'bus' and 'drunk driver' and 'Phoebe'.
"No..." She heard an anguished moan coming from far away. "No..." It took her several seconds to realize that the strange, pinched voice she heard through the roar in her ears was her own.
"I'm sorry, Piper." Darryl sounded like he had a bad cold. "The doctors say there's nothing anyone could have done. She died instantly."
Piper backed away on leaden feet, staring at the policeman as if he were a three-headed demon. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. When the back of her knees connected with a wicker chair, her legs buckled so she fell into it with a thud. It creaked ominously beneath the sudden weight.
"Piper!" Paige came running from the kitchen. "Darryl? What are you doing here? What's wrong?"
Darryl repeated his terrible story in muted tones. Piper barely heard him. All she could think about was that Phoebe was dead. She had lost another sister. And this time there would be no magical deus ex machina, no last minute rescue, and no whitelighter healing that could bring her back.
The soft tinkle of chimes announced Leo's arrival. One look at his face told Piper he already knew. Of course he knew. He was tuned in to all his charges; he would have known the second Phoebe died.
"Piper..." He opened his arms.
At last the sob that had lodged itself in her throat and locked up her voice escaped. Another desperate sob followed. And another. Soon she found herself clinging to Leo as if she feared drowning in the tears that were streaming down her face. Another warm body pressed against her back, arms encircling her round waist. Paige. Paige was hurting too.
Piper turned away from Leo and wrapped her arms around her youngest sister.
Together, they cried for the sister lost to them.
* * *
The more Cole hollered and threatened and killed the beings of the underworld, the less answers he received. Even after he slaughtered his entire board of directors, setting his work back at least six months, the tale didn't change. Everyone told him the same thing. It was an accident. Not a single demon was responsible. In the end Cole was forced to admit that perhaps Refan had been correct after all. It had been Phoebe's time to die.
"You could send someone back in time to prevent it," Argus, Refan's successor, suggested.
Cole shook his head. "No. That will only delay matters. The Angel of Death is neither good nor evil. When he wants someone, there's nothing anyone can do to stop him. Not even me."
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at life's grim sense of irony. Phoebe Halliwell, witch, Charmed One, former Queen of the Underworld, had died when she was run over by a bus. He couldn't help but feel that such a mundane death tarnished her memory.
"What did you say that bus driver's name was?"
"Johnson, Sir. Stanley Johnson." Argus pushed his hands into the opposite sleeves of his dark robe as he answered Cole's questions.
"And Mr. Johnson lives in the apartment over the body shop on Columbia Street?"
Argus nodded. "Yes. That's where he moved after his wife died in a fire, three months ago."
"Hmm." Cole stroked his chin. "Tell anyone that wants to see me to come back tomorrow. I have some personal business to attend to."
"Of course, Mr. Turner."
* * *
The smell hit him as soon as Cole entered the dark room on the second floor. The place reeked of mildew, old booze, and motor oil from the shop below. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Who...Whoorru?"
Cole turned in the direction of the voice. The floorboard creaked beneath his weight.
Huddled on the sofa sat a smallish man with sagging shoulders. Strands of unwashed hair hung around his face and round glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He pushed them up while he squinted at Cole with red-rimmed eyes.
"Stanley Johnson?" Cole asked.
The man nodded. "Who wansano?"
The smell of cheap liquor that came from the man in waves made Cole feel sick to his stomach. So this was the pathetic drunk who was responsible for Phoebe's death.
"My name is Cole Turner," he said carefully, his voice filled with the kind of quiet command that left powerful demons wetting their pants. "You took something from me, Stanley."
Stanley sat up a little straighter. "I didn't no s-such thing! I'm no thief."
"Sorry, Stanley, you're wrong. You see, you took my wife away from me. Ran her over with your bus. Her name was Phoebe. She was my life. I'd say it's only fair I take from you what you took from me, don't you?" Cole held up his right hand and called on his power.
"Wife? The pretty girl that died was your wife?" Stanley's face crumpled. "My wife's dead too. You can't take her. I miss her so much." A fat tear trickled down a stubbled face and he brushed at it with the back of his hand.
Cole clenched his jaw. He stood motionless, the blue orb rotating silently above his hand, his arm poised to strike.
"Oh hell."
He threw the fireball.
The heat of the fire singed the stubble on Stanley's cheeks. He let out a squeak and flung up his hands. The bolt struck the bottles on the sidetable next to the couch, shattering them. Glass splinters and liquor fanned out in a wide circle.
"Oww!" Stanley howled when the glass struck his hands.
Cole forced back a sob. "You killed Phoebe, Stanley. Her blood is on your hands. I came to take your life in repayment for Phoebe's, but I changed my mind. I'll let you live with the knowledge that you took hers." He leaned closer, putting his face inches away from Stanley's. He could smell the alcohol on the man's breath. "Don't you ever dare touch a bottle again. Or I will be back. And then I will kill you. Painfully. You understand me?"
Fear filtered through the alcohol vapors that clouded Stanley's mind and he cringed back from Cole's anger. He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Please, don't hurt me."
Cole straightened. "I'll be watching. Remember that."
TBC