"You've got a lot of nerve, man," the vampire said to the trench coated, dark haired man that stood before him. "No one breaks into my den and kills my friends and lives to tell the tale."
"Well," the dark haired man told the creature of the night. "Being as how I just killed six of your so-called friends, I don't see where you are in any position to do anything about it."
The vampire growled at the man, intending to scare him, and was shocked at how unnerved the man was. "What do want? It seems that if you wanted to kill me then you would have by now."
"You're smart for a vampire," the man complimented. "My name is Damien Thatcher."
"Oh, I've heard of you," the vampire growled. "You're the self proclaimed protector of New Roanoke. You've been operating here for a few years but lately it seems like you have a vendetta against us undead folk."
Damien smiled. "And informed. It seems that I wasn't mistaken in choosing you for an informant, Packard."
"What?" Packard spat. "What the hell makes you think I would be a traitor to my kind?"
Damien looked the vampire over. Packard was tall, stocky, and dressed like a low-rent drug dealer. His face was crusted with dirt and blood and he smelled like he hadn't had a bath in a year. "I'll pay you."
"Their all a bunch of low life bloodsuckers anyway," Packard quickly said. "How much we talking?" Damien's smile grew wider. "We'll discuss the terms of service later. I'll contact you when I need you. Until then keep your eyes and ears open."
Damien turned to leave the abandoned building. "Oh, and one other thing: Should you betray my trust in any way," he paused for effect. "I'll personally drive a very large stake through your heart."
Montoya walked into a large room filled with computers. There were no windows, just a few vents for the air to circulate and a constant hum of electronics and the air conditioner used to maintain the temperature of the room. Several large mainframe towers stood three-by-three along the north end of the wall. Various circuit boards and displays lined the rest of the room with one very large control desk in the center. A large monitor sat atop of the desk and in front of it sat a young man.
Montoya could see that Nathaniel Workman, called "Network" by his friends, was very tired. He had removed his glasses and set them aside which is something he only did when he was either agitated or near asleep. He rested his narrow face in his hands for so long that Montoya was sure he was asleep, then he raised his head and ran one hand through his neatly styled blond hair.
"Long day?" Montoya asked as she slowly approached, not sure if she should bother her new friend.
Network looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her. "Montoya," he said. "I didn't hear you come in. Yes, it's been a very long day." He laughed and turned back to the monitor in front of him. He typed a few more things into a keyboard, then turned his attention back to Montoya. "I've been working on a program for this Japanese software developer. It's a bunch of boring babble, but believe me when I say that it's not the easiest program I've written."
"Sounds interesting, actually," Montoya said. "I think its great that you still take an interest in doing projects personally when you have a whole corporation of employees that could do it for you."
Network laughed. "Actually it's just one building, hardly a corporation. And I got lucky when I was starting out and nailed a great job from an overseas developer that really paved the way. But still, modesty aside, I love my work, and, not that I don't trust my employees, but I head the team of the most critical projects. That way I can be sure that if there is any screw- ups that it was my fault and not one of my employees. I'm real bad at discipline."
The two laughed, Montoya a little harder than she actually felt, then the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Network tapped his fingers on the desk for a few moments while Montoya looked around.
"So where's Damien?" she finally asked, not sure what else to say. "I haven't seen him all day." "Oh, he's out running an errand," Network answered. "He should be back in a few. We're supposed to meet in a few hours if you want to be around. Making some new contacts in the 'underworld'."
Montoya was taken aback by the statement. She understood when Damien brought her to New Roanoke that he worked in a sort of team of paranormal investigators, of a sort, and she even had a few such encounters in Cleveland that almost killed her. She knew that Network funded Damien's "excursions" and had himself lost family to the things she once thought of as "storybook". But she had no taste for it and although being offered several times to join the group that comprised of Damien and Network, she wanted to stay as far from that world as possible.
"I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I just...can't."
Network looked disappointed, but he smiled anyway. "It's okay. And I promise I am still trying to figure out what your "condition" is. We'll figure it out soon so you can go back to having a normal life, Montoya. Don't worry."
Montoya smiled back at him. She knew he liked her. He wasn't so bad looking himself, but he was still connected to a life that she didn't want any part of. It was too bad because all the way around he was a great guy. He was nice, funny, intelligent, rich beyond all belief. And he was a gentleman without being overbearing or arrogant.
"You'll get to it when you get a chance, Nathaniel," she said, using his real name over his nickname. She preferred it over his nickname, and she took pleasure in the little smile he would flash every time she said it. "You have a business to run among other things. And I honestly don't see where you have a personal life with all you do around here and with Damien."
"Yes, well," Network looked at the keyboard in front of him and out his glasses on his face.
Montoya cringed knowing that she just offended her new friend. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean..."
Network let out a quiet laugh. "It's okay. You're right. I am a workaholic."
"Well," Montoya said, dragging the word out to full effect. "That's sort of why I'm here."
"Oh?" A confused look crossed Network's face.
"Yeah. Um, I sort of want to talk to you about something and I was thinking that since I have been here for two weeks and still haven't gone out to see the town that maybe you could take me out tonight and show me New Roanoke and I could talk to you about it."
Montoya was pleased with the huge smile that grew on Network's face. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "Um, I mean, sure. I would be delighted."
Montoya giggled. "Great! It's a date then. Why don't you pick me up at my room after you and Damien are done with your meeting?"
Network stood up with Montoya and walked with her towards the door. "Sure, sure." he said, obviously excited. "We'll say about eight o'clock then?"
Montoya said, "Sounds great, Nathaniel. Tell Damien I said hi."
Network watched Montoya walked down the hall. When she turned the corner he closed the door behind him and walked back to the computer desk. "A date," he said. "I am so the man!"
"That'll be six dollars even," the vendor told Damien as he handed him a hotdog. Damien paid the man, then turned and headed into the tall building that proudly displayed "Croaton Computers, INC." on the front in huge letters that could be seen from several blocks away.
On the outside, the building looked like the standard warehouse style that many companies go for, but on the inside it was much more complex. The top three floors consisted of Croaton Computers business end with all the offices and most of the employees being found there. The basement, however, consisted of several apartments and Network's "White Room" where he worked on several projects, both for Croaton Computers and for Damien. Network, of course, had an expensive apartment on the other side of town, but Damien couldn't blame him. It was probably nice for his friend to have someplace to go relax the two or three times a year he actually left work.
Damien passed through the glass double doors and waved at Rick who was training a new hire at the security desk. Rick had been head of the security department since Croaton Computers moved into the building 5 years ago and he was damn good at his job. Of course, they didn't exactly have much to worry about anyway. Network was just always paranoid about someone stealing his programs and using them for whatever purpose so he hired Rick to head a security department for him. Damien waved as he passed and headed for the elevators.
Network made sure to include plans for a back door to the apartments when he had the building remodeled for his company, and that door was accessed through an abandoned building across the street. He had always had plans to renovate that building into apartments and then to remodel the apartments in the basement into something else, but he never gave it much more thought than that. He owned the building and that was sufficient for him. The door into the apartment area of Croaton Computers was thick steel that had to be opened by keycard and voice match password, each one different for each person, before the door would unlock. So far only three people had access to this door: Network, Damien, and Montoya. Damien hated bothering with it so he used the front door whenever possible. The elevators were relatively quick and Damien was soon standing at the entrance to Network's "White Room". Before his brother was killed by the monstrosity known as The Shadowed Man, a monstrosity he, in fact, created, Damien Thatcher was carefree and fun loving, rarely serious except for when it came to "work", and had been known on occasion to raise his brother's ire with his antics. Now all that seemed to have faded. He was still fun loving and a hint of the old Damien still came out, but for the most part he was more like his brother Damon was: serious and grim. So when he walked into the White Room and saw his best friend, whom he lovingly nicknamed Network back when they were kids in High School, prancing about and singing a bad rendition of The Beatles's "All You Need Is Love", only one thing could come to mind.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Network jumped at Damien's voice. He spun around to face his friend with an awkward grin on his now red face. He adjusted his glasses as he said, "Um, well, you see..."
"Forget it," Damien snapped. "I don't want to know. Everything went okay with Packard. He's going to be our unofficial informant for the time being."
Network quickly changed to his "business mode". "And you still think we can trust this vampire?"
"If not, I'll just kill him. But I think its safe to say that he is going to ok. Besides, I never bought into that whole 'a vampire is just a demon who takes over your body when you die' thing. They show way to much emotion and are too similar to a darker version of their former selves to be such mindless monsters."
"So you've said," Network sighed, remembering when Damien first had that epiphany. They had just finished taking down a head vampire who used to be an army general and Damien started rambling about some text he found in one of his books. It was a common belief that a vampire was just a human body where the demon took over after the soul left. But the one thing that never set well with Damien was that after they adjusted, each vampire retained all the memories and feelings they once had as humans. His theory was that the darkness in each person rose and took over, thus the "demon" that everybody has inside was the demon commonly believed to be the vampyric. How accurate this theory was Network didn't know. It certainly held some weight, but then there were the Angelus and Darlas of the world that were just out-and-out monsters.
"Yeah," Damien's voice broke Network's concentration. "So do I want to ask why you were dancing about just a moment ago?"
Network smiled. "Montoya wants me to show her around our city tonight."
"Oh," Damien said, shrugging off the excitement in his friends voice. "And everything is quiet in New Roanoke tonight?"
The smile left Network's face. He turned to his monitor and went to a local News site. "Everything seems to be-oh. Oh no!"
Damien walked over to his friend and read over his shoulder. " 'Renee Granger, a small press author known for her novels on paranormal occurrences throughout the world, was found murdered in her room at the New Roanoke Motel early this morning.' Well, guess she found what she was looking for."
Network spun around, a grim look on his face. "What? How can you be so crass?"
"Does it say anything else about her murder?" Damien ignored Network's question.
"Um, well, her door was broken almost literally off the hinges, it seems, and her body was pretty much splattered across the room from the force of the assailants blows. No witnesses. But apparently she was on the phone with 911 and the operator heard a unearthly growl over the line."
Damien checked his wristwatch. "Have fun on your date tonight," he said as he turned to leave the White Room.
"What? You sure you don't want me to stay and help?"
"No. I can handle it, whatever it is. Montoya needs to get out, anyway."
"But-"
"And so do you," Damien looked back over his shoulder. "I'll be fine, Nate. Have fun tonight."
Network watched as Damien walked out. He looked at the clock on his computer. He had almost an hour before he had to pick up Montoya. "Well," he said to himself. "Guess I can go see my apartment for a bit."
Montoya sat on the couch that came with the apartment. It was nice of Network to have it fully furnished, and he even made sure to have her closet filled with clothes that she liked. She insisted that he didn't have to but since she left everything in Cleveland, she pretty arrived in New Roanoke empty handed. It took no effort on Damien's part to convince his friend to help her out, and he had given her his credit card and recommended her to the best shops in New Roanoke. That was the only time she had gotten out of the apartment since she got off the bus.
You know he's in love with you, right?
No, he's not. He likes me, but that's it.
Right. Planning on inviting him in after your date tonight?
Of course not!
Then what's the point of this little excursion from your fortress of solitude?
I have to ask him something.
Oh, right. That! I bet he can find something for you.
Is that all you think about?
It's all you think about.
Not true.
Really? When was the last time?
...
That's what I thought. Face it, girlfriend. You're nothing without me. I'm the side that gets to have fun. I can tell you when the last time was for me. And it wasn't that long ago. Let me take over and I'll guarantee you get to have some fun, too.
No! You're too dangerous. Until we can figure out this little "problem" you aren't getting out again.
Sure, girlfriend. Just keep telling yourself that. As soon as they need your help they'll pull me out like last time. I'm stronger than you, Montoya. You gave me a name, remember? You call me The Pull.
I can control you.
Sure, honey. Just keep telling yourself that. We'll see what happens tonight, won't we?
The knocking on the door woke Montoya from her trance. She looked at the time. It was a little past eight. The hour had flown by and she still wasn't ready. She raced to the door and opened it just a crack. Network was standing there, dressed in casual clothing that looked almost formal on him compared to the t-shirts and jeans he normally wore.
"Hello," he said as he held up a bouquet of roses for her. "Thought we would start this night off officially."
"Oh," Montoya looked shocked. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I must have dozed off there. I'm still not ready."
"Oh," he looked a little disappointed. "Well, if you're tired we can do this tomorrow or something."
"No," Montoya smiled. "I just need ten minutes more and then I'll be set. You want to wait inside?"
Montoya was relieved at the smile on Network's face. "Sure," he said and she opened the door for him. He walked in and she offered him something to drink while he waited.
"No, thank-you, Montoya," he refused. "Oh, these are for you."
Montoya took the flowers and walked into the kitchen. She fetched a vase and put some water in it, followed by the flowers. Network sat on the couch and flipped through a magazine that was on her coffee table.
"So are you finding everything okay, Montoya? Do you need anything else?"
"Actually I do, but we'll talk about that later. I'm going to go get ready, so make yourself at home since you, well, own this place anyway." She laughed. "I'll be a moment."
"No hurry," Network said. "I can wait."
The New Roanoke Motel was vacant of police by the time Damien arrived. Room 110 was blocked off with police tape, answering the question of where the murder had taken place. The shattered door had been boarded together and sealed up so that no one could tamper with the crime scene. Damien didn't give it much thought as he pulled the police tape down and kicked the door open. He knew he would be gone long before anybody else arrived to bother him.
The room was a mess with blood everywhere. Damien was pretty sure the coroner's office had gathered up all the pieces of Ms. Renee Granger and taken them to the morgue for autopsy. But that wasn't why Damien was here.
Damien looked around for any sign of what demon (cause it most certainly was a demon) had committed the crime. Any thing would help: hair, skin, saliva. Network had a pretty thorough database that he gathered over the years from various websites and some books Damien had found. But it seemed that the coroner's office was a little too good at their job this time and had cleaned up the motel more than he would have expected.
Damien cursed to himself, then stepped out of the room and looked around. He doubt the concierge had heard anything, but then maybe he was too scared of being labeled a nutcase to tell the police. He started to walk towards the motel office when he heard a loud step behind him.
The step was too loud to be human, so Damien quickly thought up a stunning spell he had memorized and spun around to face whatever was behind him. He wasn't prepared for what was there, however, and the spell he thought up was suddenly lost to him.
Standing before him, having just stepped out from the shadows behind the motel, was a demon indeed, but not one of flesh and blood. Rather this demon was over seven feet tall with a metal body. The head was shaped more like a helmet with two panels that looked like eyes. Three slits- two about three inches in length, the third about five-ran vertically where the mouth should be. Its right arm was bulkier than the left and Damien assumed it housed some sort of weaponry. The torso was about three feet in width with several wires connecting to its appendages. Several bulky components jutted from the mechanical creature in an almost grotesque fashion. Each movement the monstrosity made was accompanied by a mechanical whine and Damien wondered why he hadn't heard it before.
"What the hell are you?" Damien nearly whispered.
"Hello," emitted a hollow voice from the creature. "I am Paul."
"Well," the dark haired man told the creature of the night. "Being as how I just killed six of your so-called friends, I don't see where you are in any position to do anything about it."
The vampire growled at the man, intending to scare him, and was shocked at how unnerved the man was. "What do want? It seems that if you wanted to kill me then you would have by now."
"You're smart for a vampire," the man complimented. "My name is Damien Thatcher."
"Oh, I've heard of you," the vampire growled. "You're the self proclaimed protector of New Roanoke. You've been operating here for a few years but lately it seems like you have a vendetta against us undead folk."
Damien smiled. "And informed. It seems that I wasn't mistaken in choosing you for an informant, Packard."
"What?" Packard spat. "What the hell makes you think I would be a traitor to my kind?"
Damien looked the vampire over. Packard was tall, stocky, and dressed like a low-rent drug dealer. His face was crusted with dirt and blood and he smelled like he hadn't had a bath in a year. "I'll pay you."
"Their all a bunch of low life bloodsuckers anyway," Packard quickly said. "How much we talking?" Damien's smile grew wider. "We'll discuss the terms of service later. I'll contact you when I need you. Until then keep your eyes and ears open."
Damien turned to leave the abandoned building. "Oh, and one other thing: Should you betray my trust in any way," he paused for effect. "I'll personally drive a very large stake through your heart."
Montoya walked into a large room filled with computers. There were no windows, just a few vents for the air to circulate and a constant hum of electronics and the air conditioner used to maintain the temperature of the room. Several large mainframe towers stood three-by-three along the north end of the wall. Various circuit boards and displays lined the rest of the room with one very large control desk in the center. A large monitor sat atop of the desk and in front of it sat a young man.
Montoya could see that Nathaniel Workman, called "Network" by his friends, was very tired. He had removed his glasses and set them aside which is something he only did when he was either agitated or near asleep. He rested his narrow face in his hands for so long that Montoya was sure he was asleep, then he raised his head and ran one hand through his neatly styled blond hair.
"Long day?" Montoya asked as she slowly approached, not sure if she should bother her new friend.
Network looked back over his shoulder and smiled at her. "Montoya," he said. "I didn't hear you come in. Yes, it's been a very long day." He laughed and turned back to the monitor in front of him. He typed a few more things into a keyboard, then turned his attention back to Montoya. "I've been working on a program for this Japanese software developer. It's a bunch of boring babble, but believe me when I say that it's not the easiest program I've written."
"Sounds interesting, actually," Montoya said. "I think its great that you still take an interest in doing projects personally when you have a whole corporation of employees that could do it for you."
Network laughed. "Actually it's just one building, hardly a corporation. And I got lucky when I was starting out and nailed a great job from an overseas developer that really paved the way. But still, modesty aside, I love my work, and, not that I don't trust my employees, but I head the team of the most critical projects. That way I can be sure that if there is any screw- ups that it was my fault and not one of my employees. I'm real bad at discipline."
The two laughed, Montoya a little harder than she actually felt, then the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Network tapped his fingers on the desk for a few moments while Montoya looked around.
"So where's Damien?" she finally asked, not sure what else to say. "I haven't seen him all day." "Oh, he's out running an errand," Network answered. "He should be back in a few. We're supposed to meet in a few hours if you want to be around. Making some new contacts in the 'underworld'."
Montoya was taken aback by the statement. She understood when Damien brought her to New Roanoke that he worked in a sort of team of paranormal investigators, of a sort, and she even had a few such encounters in Cleveland that almost killed her. She knew that Network funded Damien's "excursions" and had himself lost family to the things she once thought of as "storybook". But she had no taste for it and although being offered several times to join the group that comprised of Damien and Network, she wanted to stay as far from that world as possible.
"I'm sorry," she shook her head. "I just...can't."
Network looked disappointed, but he smiled anyway. "It's okay. And I promise I am still trying to figure out what your "condition" is. We'll figure it out soon so you can go back to having a normal life, Montoya. Don't worry."
Montoya smiled back at him. She knew he liked her. He wasn't so bad looking himself, but he was still connected to a life that she didn't want any part of. It was too bad because all the way around he was a great guy. He was nice, funny, intelligent, rich beyond all belief. And he was a gentleman without being overbearing or arrogant.
"You'll get to it when you get a chance, Nathaniel," she said, using his real name over his nickname. She preferred it over his nickname, and she took pleasure in the little smile he would flash every time she said it. "You have a business to run among other things. And I honestly don't see where you have a personal life with all you do around here and with Damien."
"Yes, well," Network looked at the keyboard in front of him and out his glasses on his face.
Montoya cringed knowing that she just offended her new friend. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean..."
Network let out a quiet laugh. "It's okay. You're right. I am a workaholic."
"Well," Montoya said, dragging the word out to full effect. "That's sort of why I'm here."
"Oh?" A confused look crossed Network's face.
"Yeah. Um, I sort of want to talk to you about something and I was thinking that since I have been here for two weeks and still haven't gone out to see the town that maybe you could take me out tonight and show me New Roanoke and I could talk to you about it."
Montoya was pleased with the huge smile that grew on Network's face. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "Um, I mean, sure. I would be delighted."
Montoya giggled. "Great! It's a date then. Why don't you pick me up at my room after you and Damien are done with your meeting?"
Network stood up with Montoya and walked with her towards the door. "Sure, sure." he said, obviously excited. "We'll say about eight o'clock then?"
Montoya said, "Sounds great, Nathaniel. Tell Damien I said hi."
Network watched Montoya walked down the hall. When she turned the corner he closed the door behind him and walked back to the computer desk. "A date," he said. "I am so the man!"
"That'll be six dollars even," the vendor told Damien as he handed him a hotdog. Damien paid the man, then turned and headed into the tall building that proudly displayed "Croaton Computers, INC." on the front in huge letters that could be seen from several blocks away.
On the outside, the building looked like the standard warehouse style that many companies go for, but on the inside it was much more complex. The top three floors consisted of Croaton Computers business end with all the offices and most of the employees being found there. The basement, however, consisted of several apartments and Network's "White Room" where he worked on several projects, both for Croaton Computers and for Damien. Network, of course, had an expensive apartment on the other side of town, but Damien couldn't blame him. It was probably nice for his friend to have someplace to go relax the two or three times a year he actually left work.
Damien passed through the glass double doors and waved at Rick who was training a new hire at the security desk. Rick had been head of the security department since Croaton Computers moved into the building 5 years ago and he was damn good at his job. Of course, they didn't exactly have much to worry about anyway. Network was just always paranoid about someone stealing his programs and using them for whatever purpose so he hired Rick to head a security department for him. Damien waved as he passed and headed for the elevators.
Network made sure to include plans for a back door to the apartments when he had the building remodeled for his company, and that door was accessed through an abandoned building across the street. He had always had plans to renovate that building into apartments and then to remodel the apartments in the basement into something else, but he never gave it much more thought than that. He owned the building and that was sufficient for him. The door into the apartment area of Croaton Computers was thick steel that had to be opened by keycard and voice match password, each one different for each person, before the door would unlock. So far only three people had access to this door: Network, Damien, and Montoya. Damien hated bothering with it so he used the front door whenever possible. The elevators were relatively quick and Damien was soon standing at the entrance to Network's "White Room". Before his brother was killed by the monstrosity known as The Shadowed Man, a monstrosity he, in fact, created, Damien Thatcher was carefree and fun loving, rarely serious except for when it came to "work", and had been known on occasion to raise his brother's ire with his antics. Now all that seemed to have faded. He was still fun loving and a hint of the old Damien still came out, but for the most part he was more like his brother Damon was: serious and grim. So when he walked into the White Room and saw his best friend, whom he lovingly nicknamed Network back when they were kids in High School, prancing about and singing a bad rendition of The Beatles's "All You Need Is Love", only one thing could come to mind.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Network jumped at Damien's voice. He spun around to face his friend with an awkward grin on his now red face. He adjusted his glasses as he said, "Um, well, you see..."
"Forget it," Damien snapped. "I don't want to know. Everything went okay with Packard. He's going to be our unofficial informant for the time being."
Network quickly changed to his "business mode". "And you still think we can trust this vampire?"
"If not, I'll just kill him. But I think its safe to say that he is going to ok. Besides, I never bought into that whole 'a vampire is just a demon who takes over your body when you die' thing. They show way to much emotion and are too similar to a darker version of their former selves to be such mindless monsters."
"So you've said," Network sighed, remembering when Damien first had that epiphany. They had just finished taking down a head vampire who used to be an army general and Damien started rambling about some text he found in one of his books. It was a common belief that a vampire was just a human body where the demon took over after the soul left. But the one thing that never set well with Damien was that after they adjusted, each vampire retained all the memories and feelings they once had as humans. His theory was that the darkness in each person rose and took over, thus the "demon" that everybody has inside was the demon commonly believed to be the vampyric. How accurate this theory was Network didn't know. It certainly held some weight, but then there were the Angelus and Darlas of the world that were just out-and-out monsters.
"Yeah," Damien's voice broke Network's concentration. "So do I want to ask why you were dancing about just a moment ago?"
Network smiled. "Montoya wants me to show her around our city tonight."
"Oh," Damien said, shrugging off the excitement in his friends voice. "And everything is quiet in New Roanoke tonight?"
The smile left Network's face. He turned to his monitor and went to a local News site. "Everything seems to be-oh. Oh no!"
Damien walked over to his friend and read over his shoulder. " 'Renee Granger, a small press author known for her novels on paranormal occurrences throughout the world, was found murdered in her room at the New Roanoke Motel early this morning.' Well, guess she found what she was looking for."
Network spun around, a grim look on his face. "What? How can you be so crass?"
"Does it say anything else about her murder?" Damien ignored Network's question.
"Um, well, her door was broken almost literally off the hinges, it seems, and her body was pretty much splattered across the room from the force of the assailants blows. No witnesses. But apparently she was on the phone with 911 and the operator heard a unearthly growl over the line."
Damien checked his wristwatch. "Have fun on your date tonight," he said as he turned to leave the White Room.
"What? You sure you don't want me to stay and help?"
"No. I can handle it, whatever it is. Montoya needs to get out, anyway."
"But-"
"And so do you," Damien looked back over his shoulder. "I'll be fine, Nate. Have fun tonight."
Network watched as Damien walked out. He looked at the clock on his computer. He had almost an hour before he had to pick up Montoya. "Well," he said to himself. "Guess I can go see my apartment for a bit."
Montoya sat on the couch that came with the apartment. It was nice of Network to have it fully furnished, and he even made sure to have her closet filled with clothes that she liked. She insisted that he didn't have to but since she left everything in Cleveland, she pretty arrived in New Roanoke empty handed. It took no effort on Damien's part to convince his friend to help her out, and he had given her his credit card and recommended her to the best shops in New Roanoke. That was the only time she had gotten out of the apartment since she got off the bus.
You know he's in love with you, right?
No, he's not. He likes me, but that's it.
Right. Planning on inviting him in after your date tonight?
Of course not!
Then what's the point of this little excursion from your fortress of solitude?
I have to ask him something.
Oh, right. That! I bet he can find something for you.
Is that all you think about?
It's all you think about.
Not true.
Really? When was the last time?
...
That's what I thought. Face it, girlfriend. You're nothing without me. I'm the side that gets to have fun. I can tell you when the last time was for me. And it wasn't that long ago. Let me take over and I'll guarantee you get to have some fun, too.
No! You're too dangerous. Until we can figure out this little "problem" you aren't getting out again.
Sure, girlfriend. Just keep telling yourself that. As soon as they need your help they'll pull me out like last time. I'm stronger than you, Montoya. You gave me a name, remember? You call me The Pull.
I can control you.
Sure, honey. Just keep telling yourself that. We'll see what happens tonight, won't we?
The knocking on the door woke Montoya from her trance. She looked at the time. It was a little past eight. The hour had flown by and she still wasn't ready. She raced to the door and opened it just a crack. Network was standing there, dressed in casual clothing that looked almost formal on him compared to the t-shirts and jeans he normally wore.
"Hello," he said as he held up a bouquet of roses for her. "Thought we would start this night off officially."
"Oh," Montoya looked shocked. "I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I must have dozed off there. I'm still not ready."
"Oh," he looked a little disappointed. "Well, if you're tired we can do this tomorrow or something."
"No," Montoya smiled. "I just need ten minutes more and then I'll be set. You want to wait inside?"
Montoya was relieved at the smile on Network's face. "Sure," he said and she opened the door for him. He walked in and she offered him something to drink while he waited.
"No, thank-you, Montoya," he refused. "Oh, these are for you."
Montoya took the flowers and walked into the kitchen. She fetched a vase and put some water in it, followed by the flowers. Network sat on the couch and flipped through a magazine that was on her coffee table.
"So are you finding everything okay, Montoya? Do you need anything else?"
"Actually I do, but we'll talk about that later. I'm going to go get ready, so make yourself at home since you, well, own this place anyway." She laughed. "I'll be a moment."
"No hurry," Network said. "I can wait."
The New Roanoke Motel was vacant of police by the time Damien arrived. Room 110 was blocked off with police tape, answering the question of where the murder had taken place. The shattered door had been boarded together and sealed up so that no one could tamper with the crime scene. Damien didn't give it much thought as he pulled the police tape down and kicked the door open. He knew he would be gone long before anybody else arrived to bother him.
The room was a mess with blood everywhere. Damien was pretty sure the coroner's office had gathered up all the pieces of Ms. Renee Granger and taken them to the morgue for autopsy. But that wasn't why Damien was here.
Damien looked around for any sign of what demon (cause it most certainly was a demon) had committed the crime. Any thing would help: hair, skin, saliva. Network had a pretty thorough database that he gathered over the years from various websites and some books Damien had found. But it seemed that the coroner's office was a little too good at their job this time and had cleaned up the motel more than he would have expected.
Damien cursed to himself, then stepped out of the room and looked around. He doubt the concierge had heard anything, but then maybe he was too scared of being labeled a nutcase to tell the police. He started to walk towards the motel office when he heard a loud step behind him.
The step was too loud to be human, so Damien quickly thought up a stunning spell he had memorized and spun around to face whatever was behind him. He wasn't prepared for what was there, however, and the spell he thought up was suddenly lost to him.
Standing before him, having just stepped out from the shadows behind the motel, was a demon indeed, but not one of flesh and blood. Rather this demon was over seven feet tall with a metal body. The head was shaped more like a helmet with two panels that looked like eyes. Three slits- two about three inches in length, the third about five-ran vertically where the mouth should be. Its right arm was bulkier than the left and Damien assumed it housed some sort of weaponry. The torso was about three feet in width with several wires connecting to its appendages. Several bulky components jutted from the mechanical creature in an almost grotesque fashion. Each movement the monstrosity made was accompanied by a mechanical whine and Damien wondered why he hadn't heard it before.
"What the hell are you?" Damien nearly whispered.
"Hello," emitted a hollow voice from the creature. "I am Paul."