A constant, irritating ringing drew me from the peace of sleep. I reached an arm out to grasp at it, but found that whatever devil-designed machine was making the noise was out of reach. Despite three more attempts, the source of the noise was still out of reach, and the room was too dark to see how far away it was.
Attempting to kick my legs out to stand resulted in nothing, as I quickly came to the realization that I did not have legs at the moment. Looking down I saw a number of gelatin-like spheres, my arm protruding from under one. With the recognition that I was not human-shaped, I sighed and began to reform, closing my eyes as a generally-human body appeared in the place of what was once a blob of dark, semi-metallic mass with an arm.
The room swayed as I moved off of the couch, dust highlighted by sunlight shining through a thin curtain. Stained wallpaper, cheap carpet, and the smell of alcohol colored every sense brown. The sunlight hurt my eyes and I had a strong headache. Beeping still sounded through the room, making the situation worse. I attempted to step towards the noise, though I curiously found myself moving in a diagonal direction towards the floor rather than forward. Pain served as an indicator that it was time to get back to sleep, but the damnable machine kept ringing, serving as a reason for the opposite.
Leaning on the couch I had slept on, I knocked over a bottle and stood. It went on and on, never stopping to care about me. Whoever I was. Whatever I was. I didn't think most animals could go from being blobs to being person-shaped. Maybe pufferfish, but they're just one blob, and they're not person-shaped. The entertainment of that thought didn't change my irritation.I picked up the bottle and threw it in the general direction of the noise. The bottle shattered, and for a moment I thought I stopped hearing the noise, replaced by the breaking of glass, but then the beeps continued.
Earth was a cruel and uncaring place. Beep. That's where I was, I was on Earth. Beep. And I was a human. Beep. And because of that both cruel and uncaring nature of Earth I had to suffer. Beep. How could something be cruel while not caring? Beep. That didn't make sense. Beep. I tried to carry on the train of thought but couldn't. Beep. The tracks were blocked. Beep. By the noise. By the beep. Stumbling forward to what I now recognized as an answering machine, it gave a final beep as the last recorded message played. "Two-One-Ninety-Two," an unfamiliar voice gave out the numbers as clearly as possible, though the audio quality was grainy and did its best to make the words unintelligible, "Salvatore Street, get down here."
Thankfully, blissfully, the noise stopped. I fell back to the floor, and dozed for some time, but I couldn't fully fall asleep. I was awake now, I was in pain now, and I had to listen to that voice. Whoever's voice it was. They didn't have any distinctive accent, I think. No, that's not true, they had an American accent. I didn't think it was distinctive because I was an American. Slowly, the bits and bobs of who I was tried to come back, but they seemed to be stopped by something. I stood again.
Before I followed the voice's directions, it was probably a good idea to try to remember who I was. Everything was still out of kilter, and nausea began to overcome me as I looked around the apartment. I felt like throwing up, and stumbled into a door I instinctively recognized as a bathroom. When I moved to the toilet, I realized that despite my overwhelming desire, I was incapable of throwing up. Grasping my face, I felt a beak in place of a mouth. Standing to look at the mirror, I was greeted with a familiar sight. My face was the same dark, shiny material as the rest of my body, and extended into point, a closed beak, without a mouth, or any other distinctive features. Despite a lack of eyes or nostrils, all of my senses appeared to be intact. I had what appeared to be a cloak, though given it was the same material as the rest of my body I wasn't sure if it counted as clothing. I reached a clawed hand out to the mirror and observed This was the form I defaulted to, it seemed.
Quirks which allowed for shapeshifting were not all too uncommon, in the grand scheme of things, though most had some unique function. I could shapeshift instantaneously when unobserved, I recalled as I closed my metaphorical eyes. When I opened them the beak had a seam, which I opened revealing a rough approximation of a mouth. An exit formed, I quickly fell back to my prior plan of throwing up my non-existent guts. I had no digestive tract, and evidently all that I threw up was the alcohol I had consumed the night prior. Letting it sit still in a hollow blob all night was, perhaps unsurprisingly to someone less intoxicated, a bad idea.
Standing again, I realized that I still had to leave for what was, presumably, work. I stood tall and only tripped a small amount as I headed to the door. Presumably, after expelling all of the un-absorbed alcohol inside of me, I would be ready for what the day had in store. It's not as if I drank it, if I had been drunk the night prior, which seemed to be the case, it was merely from having it in a hollow chasm in the space equivalent to where a stomach would be. I looked down and realized there was an eviction notice on the welcome mat. The resolve to go to 'presumably work' increased greatly at that sight. Despite not recalling my name, or the specific details of my occupation, I could recall how to get where I was told to go. The layout of Newmount was clear in my mind, and I closed my eyes.
Shapeshifting instantaneously seemed to carry the unique quirk of being able to teleport. It's not as if I was limited to standing still, simply reaching my body out, as long as the way I took was unobserved, let me move. Shapeshifting a leg away and a new one forward, shrinking it to fit through a window, bringing the rest of the body in after, it was not really teleportation in that sense, more so shapeshifting to walk. But it was over instantly time-wise, so the difference is only of mild importance, I simply willed myself into an alley on Salvatore Street and was there. Regardless of mental impairments, the process seemed instinctive.
The air blowing through the alley nipped at myself, chilling my body. Oddly, despite my simulacrum of clothing being my body as well, it warmed me. My quirk was comforting to me, its function familiar, even if just that morning I had lost all sense of familiarity for a good while. Stepping out towards the sidewalk I saw two police cars parked on the street, in front of a building that I could tell was my destination. What I could only describe as the most stereotypical detective possible was staring at me. He was wearing a tan trench coat and fedora, a scowl drawn on his chiseled face. A name flashed through my mind. Ace. His eyes darted back down his phone as he pressed it. As I approached I recognized his voice from the answering machine. "Thirty minutes late," he said, "on the dot."
I stared at him, unmoving. I tried to think of a response, but given I was not sure what I was late to, I failed. "Probably a good idea to be here on time, before the Chief decides we don't need to contract an underground hero when the money could be added to his salary," he said. With that memory began to come back, and I realized it was probably good I had already thrown up. I was an underground hero, contracted to work for the police. Normally a hero makes their money dealing with companies and merchandising, sadly underground heroes were defined by not doing that. Had to make money somehow. I probably wasn't suited to being a teacher.
"Body's down the stairs, we've already started bagging it, but you might as well still come on down," he said while taking a cigarette out of his pocket. With that he walked down the stairs in front of the building, beckoning me to follow him as he lit it. He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and I stepped into something somehow worse than what I had expected.
The room was orange, lit by a single hanging bulb in the middle of the room. No windows cast light down from the street, and the wooden ceiling, floor, and walls made the whole place seem like a blank canvas, all a single texture waiting to be filled in. Police meandered about, carefully stepping around rust-red lines which painted the room, spreading out like branches from a tree, roots leading from the door's entrance to the body. Her arms and legs were spread out, in a Savasana pose. The lines continued across her limbs—
I wished I was able to throw up again, but evidently my mouth had sealed off again after shifting into the alley. Even if it hadn't, there wasn't anything left inside of me. I looked over to Ace. I approached the body, following the careful steps of officers in order to avoid disturbing the lines moving along the floor. A coroner would get the full picture of it later, but until then it was good to have at least a sketch of what had happened. Ace probably had one, but it was good to get a view with my own vision.
Bruises around the wrists and ankles implied that she had been tied up when she was cut, but there was no rope to be seen. It seemed like the center of the limbs, along with the torso were all torn straight through. The cuts were clean, continuing in straight lines, too straight, likely a quirk. Theoretically someone could just have used a knife if they were exceedingly careful. Beyond that, the lines of maybe-blood were drawn circling the body, but it did not seem to pool below it. The head looked untouched. I stepped away, back towards Ace who had stayed near the room's entrance.
"This isn't like the other ones," I said.
"No shit," he took a drag from his cigarette. I stared at him crossly, though he probably didn't see any distinctive shift. Not like I have facial features to examine.
"So we've got to deal with an incompetent mob and… this," I gestured vaguely to the ground, not turning to look at it. I'd seen worse, but if I didn't have to I'd rather not see more. "City's gone to shit," Ace spoke with a cough, "this part of it, at least."
"We got details on the victim yet?"
"Maria Marlone, twenty-three, new in town, family's up in Ohio, she was working at the bar the floor above us, lived in an apartment across the street. Not much else."
"Already check it out?"
"I was waiting on you. Just in case, safety's sake."
Ace was quirkless. Normally that wouldn't matter much, if you're a cop or detective the main separation from heroes, besides the brand deals, was quirk usage. Life or death scenarios you can use one, sure, so normally it didn't come up too much, but Ace had a tendency to ask for help just in case. If there was ever a time he actually needed my help, I wasn't aware of it, but he was cautious by nature. As an underground hero I got a contract set up with the Newmount department, figuring it was the best way to make money in heroics. I'd been working with him since then, two years ago. Any grogginess I'd had from the morning had worn away.
"Let's motor, then."
We retraced our steps back up into the street, I moved a small amount quicker than he did, and I found that his description of her home could not be closer to the truth. While we went to a crosswalk to avoid jaywalking, it was in fact directly on the other side of the street from the murder scene. Stepping inside I followed him as he made a beeline for the staircase. Three floors up and a dozen rooms down the hall, he stopped.
"You got keys to the apartment?" I asked. He looked at me, squinting his eyes, "If I was wanting to go get keys I wouldn't have waited for you."
"Nice to not need to go around asking for things, or a warrant, yeah?"
"Be nicer if my reason to not need a warrant didn't show up half an hour late on a Thursday."
It was Thursday? Damn. Despite being fully awake, and my memory being nearly fully repaired from the morning, some things still eluded me. Like why I was drinking on a Wednesday night. Regardless, Ace looked down the hall away from me, waiting on me to open the door.
Appearing on the other side of the door, I reached out to the knob and unlocked it, then to the door chain. After pulling the door inwards, I stepped to the side and glanced across the apartment as Ace stepped into the doorway and did the same. My immediate thought was that the apartment was far nicer than my own. It was tidy, with a comfortable tan color scheme, nothing was out of place, and it certainly didn't look like it would give any hints as to why the inhabitant was dead across the street.
"So, you got a reason for being late?" Ace asked without looking, he was doing a cursory inspection of the walls. No photos or other such knick-knacks. Maybe more in another room, but this was just meant to be a small check-in before it was visited more officially. Heroes had different laws, after all. Controversial though they may be. "No idea."
"You have no idea?"
"To be honest I didn't remember who I was for a good… sixteen minutes?" when I said that he looked back at me with some sense of pity.
"Date with that guy go poorly, then?"
I looked around the room and crossed my arms, trying to recall anything from the night prior. By this time I knew who I was, what I did for a living, and generally everything one would consider important for day-to-day activities. But regardless of that, last night, or maybe all of last week, was an enigma to me. Looking back to Ace, I replied simply, "What date?"
"I dunno, did you have a date?" he replied with a small, smug smile. Why was he smug? That didn't even make any sense. Probably. There was no reason to be smug. They were investigating a murder. Not that this sense of humor to detract from the situation was uncalled for, it was rather common among investigative folks as far as I was aware. But, given I only really knew one person who I would consider an investigative folk, that might be a biased viewpoint.
"Don't think there's anything here we'll see from a quick visit, we may as well head back to the scene, bring the papers in and all," I said, uncrossing my arms and starting towards the door. "You can bring the papers in, you were late after all. Besides, you can teleport, can't you?" he said, shooing me away from over his shoulder while he leaned down to observe a small rip in the wallpaper.
"I can't bring things with me, Ace, 's not how that works."
"Your costume goes with you, sure it is pal," he replied, still waving his arm to bid me leave, "besides, you're the cult-killer expert, yeah?"
Given his repeated gestures I could infer, like a kinesics professional, that he probably wanted me to get on with it. The fact that my costume was in fact just my body, and the fact that I had only been put on a few cult cases, were unimportant. This is because the little-known concepts of sarcasm and hyperbole hold sway in verbal communication, both of which were on full display in my conversation with Ace.
I figured I may as well get on with it, and closed my eyes to re-appear outside of the murder scene's door. If there had been anyone sitting around staring at it I wouldn't have been able to get there, but most pedestrians were probably avoiding the building with police cars in front of it. Opening the door I saw that the body was bagged. I had wanted to get one last look at the lines around the room. The body did seem to be subject to excessive sanguination, but not to the degree that whoever committed the murder could draw it along the room. That in combination with the lack of a puddle below the body would imply that they were likely killed somewhere else, the blood being decorative in nature. So I had been incorrect in calling it a murder scene. Even if it wasn't the woman's blood, it certainly didn't look like paint.
The lines continued halfway up the walls, at which point then turned and went horizontal, light waves in them creating the outline of a pool. Likely done by a group, depending on how old all of this was. It would have been hard to sneak multiple paint cans under a bar and not have it be noticed for multiple nights. This entire room seemed to be a cellar for the bar upstairs. Heading back up to the street, I looked at the name of the bar. Salvatore Beer Business. Horrible name.
With that, I went to obtain the appropriate files from the location, and began making my way to the precinct. Normally I wouldn't walk, but being forced to carry the documents forced my hands, or, legs. Ace was probably still inspecting the apartment, however, and would likely continue to study the scene in more detail while I brought in the initial documents and began looking into everything online.
As I walked through the city I thought about last night. Or, more accurately, I thought about my lack of thought about it. My current, highly-responsible self would never get drunk on a weeknight to the point of waking up with short-term memory loss. Presumably. Then again, if the eviction notice was anything to go by, I may currently be on an incalculably long sobriety streak by staying this aware since morning.
That statement was quickly proven to be the most damning thing I could have said, as I nearly bumped into a bald, black T-shirt-wearing fellow who was rushing out of a building to my right. However I quickly realized that they were not stopping despite the potential for oncoming traffic, and moved to grab their shoulder and pull them back, dropping a number of files in the process.
"S-sorry… I, uh, bumped into you, that's on me, sorry," she said in a small tone as she leaned down to pick up the files and handed them to me, before continuing, "I've got to go."
And with that she walked down the sidewalk, opposite of the direction in which I was headed. After briefly checking to ensure no papers were lost, I continued towards my destination.
I worked at Ace's desk, simply due to not having my own. We were, unofficially, partnered. While I was on-call for the entire police department, and would often have them on-call for in the event that I needed them, I wasn't officially part of the department. In some states underground heroes would get funding directly from the government, but that didn't happen in Tennessee, so I was grateful for the chance to have a contract with the police.
It was effectively still just being paid by the government more indirectly to do what I would do anyway, but with extra paperwork. I was mostly put to use in investigations. As it turns out having the ability to get anywhere which is unobserved is a very useful one for that role. I had played that part for the past twelve years of my life, but now I was more settled in one place.
After logging some information on the case, double-checking to ensure that everything Ace said was correct, I began to look into… Salvatore Beer Business. The name still rang around in my mind. It was horrible. Whoever named it had better have had a good reason for something like that. Bad names stuck with me, they brought back bad memories. Bad names with bad memories. Bad, all around, the word was being repeated too much, which was bad. So, when I looked at the screen in front of me and saw the bar owner's name, I was unnecessarily annoyed.
"Bad Varlington. What the fuck?" I said under my breath. The bar's owner was fifty-three, bald, and lived fairly nearby. Not that it would have mattered if they lived far away. Seemed like a stand-up citizen, name-aside. Checking in with her boss would probably be the best thing to do, since unfortunately 'young woman who's new in town' isn't much in the way of narrowing down potential suspects. The scene itself pointed to this being cult-like activity, and was distinctive from a recent string of suspicious circumstances which were less… decorative, in nature.
Logging out of the computer and leaving a note on Ace's desk, I decided to pay a visit to Mr. Varlington. The bar hadn't been open when I was there, and I hadn't been there particularly early. If nothing else, it would be good to see who was close to the victim. I closed my eyes, only to find that I couldn't use my quirk. Opening them, I turned around to see an officer staring at me.
"What?" I asked, standing up from the chair.
"Weren't you down at Chisel's last night?" she asked, tilting her head and crossing her arms.
I had no idea what she was talking about. Whether it was a good or… not-good thing, whether I actually was or wasn't, and whether or not I should lie about it. Instead of facing potential consequences for actions I did not remember, I decided that reaping what one sows is for fools. Instead, dodging the harvest, I closed my eyes and waited for her to blink, before appearing on the street which supposedly held the Varlington residence.
Very professional of me. I'd answer the question I had been asked when I knew what the answer was. Until then, I had a job to do. That's the line of thought I used to justify my immaturity to myself, at least. What was I, thirty, and running around like a child? Whatever, deal with it later, the time came for professionalism. I walked as I thought, and found myself at the appropriate address. Mimicking tightening a tie, though I lacked one, I stepped towards the suburban home's door.
Knocking once, then twice, then trying the doorbell, then knocking a third time, resulted in no answer. Peering through the window I saw that the lights were on. Concerning. Deciding that the time for niceties had passed, I slipped through the cracks of the door. Gross breaches of privacy seemed in-style for the day. Legal ones, of course. Legal ones.
It was a rather nice home for a single man, nothing wrong with that of course, but it came to mind as I walked from room to room. Calling out his name every time I would enter one, each time I had a faint hope that he would answer, however this hope was never acted on. Coming finally to the second floor bedroom, my search had concluded. The home had no basement or attic, but even if there was one it was unlikely that he would be there. Looking at a nice, analogue clock in his bedroom, I saw that it was around 5:30. How time flies when searching for a potential conspirator and/or victim.
Onwards, then, to figure out where Mr. Varlington was. And, closing my eyes, I found myself behind Ace, who sat at his desk. No one was staring at his back, and I had a rather strong mental image of the layout of the building, so I could will myself into specific places rather easily, as opposed to places I'd never actually seen.
"Find anything new?" I asked, staring over his shoulder at his computer's screen. He was, remarkably, only marginally startled by my appearance behind him. I suppose he'd gotten used to my sudden appearances. He turned to face me.
"She had received a threatening written letter from one Shane W. Obber a few nights ago, name isn't real, written in cursive. Tried tracking it back but we couldn't find whoever shipped it. Got some more paperwork set up, and sent some people to check on the family. You?"
"Her boss wasn't home, lights were on though. Came by here to use the computer to find out if Mr. Varlington had family around here."
Ace looked back to the computer, and began to do the appropriate searches for me. "You considered getting a library card?" he asked, halfway joking. "I can't even carry a phone, Ace," I responded, quarterway joking.
"Nearest is 1074 Albacore Lane," he spoke the numbers much faster than he had that morning on the phone. Understandably so. "Girlfriend," he continued. The wondrous ability of the internet to wreak havoc on privacy had not been undone by the advent of quirks, but rather had been expanded. Generally speaking a bad thing, but in some circumstances rather useful.
"So, what was that with Lisa?" he asked, however when the name provoked no reaction he continued, "the person who asked you about Chisel's?"
"I'll be frank, Ace, I don't remember what I was doing last night, or what a 'Chisel's' is," I made air quotes to emphasize just how little I know what a 'Chisel's' was. Then I made more in my mind, emphasizing it to myself as well. Ace sighed loudly.
"I've known you for what, two years, and you've not gone all stereotypical alcoholic private investigator in that time, so don't start now," he pinched his nose, "you're a hero, not a 1930s detective."
The irony of who was saying that was not lost on me. But, it was true, and so I didn't comment on it. "I'll check it out, then come back here," I said.
"I've got a date tonight, just leave a note here unless it's urgent, if it is, you've got my number."
So he was on a date, tonight, and I might've been on a date the night prior. Dates all around. What was today's date? I should check later. I knew it was a Thursday. Not much else. It was chilly outside, that had to count for something. It didn't matter, I knew where the street was. I had memorized the city's and its suburbs' layout at… some point. It was difficult to recall then. But knowing when I had memorized it was unimportant compared to knowing that I had memorized it. The more rural areas in the mountains surrounding the city were largely unknown to me.
The street looked roughly the same as the one Mr. Varlington had lived in, as most suburbs tend to, but I hadn't paid much attention to Mr. Varlington's street when I went there. I had been thinking about other things at the time. Trees lined the sidewalks, and a separation between directions in the middle of the road. Few had leaves, and those that were there were brown. The street ran straight in the direction that the sun had moved through the day, though it was hard to tell as the sun was lightly covered by clouds.
1074 Albacore Lane. So his girlfriend also had a fairly large suburban home? I suppose housing had increased greatly in the eighty or so years since quirks became commonplace. Easier for new construction when people could get the resources for cheap from someone who duplicated things, or some such. Made me reconsider my own housing situation, however. I'd get enough in the mail to deal with the eviction notice, but the fact I had somehow not already paid was concerning. Had I received the money and just not paid rent? The fact I couldn't recall was concerning. I had thought I remembered a fair bit, and I did know at least enough about my job and all to not consider myself an amnesiac, but the seemingly sudden and random gaps in my mind were worrying.
"Hello? Who are you?" a woman asked from the house's front door, cracking it open a small amount. Oh, I had been standing in front of her house. Staring straight ahead. For a fair chunk of time. That was… not an ideal introduction.
I could only see her hand poking through the door, but I didn't particularly care to look her in the eyes for this conversation. "I'm with the police," specifying that I worked with the police was easier than trying to say I was a hero that they'd never heard of, I'd learned. From somewhere.
"Can I see your badge?" she asked. Damn, maybe it wasn't easier than trying to say I was a hero they'd never heard of. Maybe the last person I'd asked had just been gullible. Here goes nothing.
"I don't have one," I began, but I quickly took a step forward and continued before she shut the door, "I have a few questions for you about Mr. Varlington."
With that, she re-opened the door to the same degree, "What do you want with Baddie?"
"That's your pet-name?" I muttered under my breath, fast and quiet enough that neither my mind nor her ears received the message. "Simply put I need to talk with him about a case, nothing too serious, but he wasn't at home or at work. Now, normally I'd just give it a few days, but as this is relatively urgent, I'd appreciate you pointing me in any direction you can."
She took a few moments to collect herself before speaking. "He texted me this morning and said he was going to go on vacation for a couple of days, he invited me to a fancy hotel in the city, he said he got a membership at this club, Bright Night I think he said it was. Now, I can't just take off-work like that, so I decided to stay out in the suburbs."
"You don't work in the city?" I asked, taking a step back now that I had begun the conversation. I also mulled over the club's name. I didn't know that they had memberships now. Back in my twenties I spent a lot of time there. I say "twenties" like I wasn't barely thirty. My birthday had been… somewhat recent, I believed. Probably.
"With all due respect Mr. Birdman, it isn't your business where I work."
I squinted mildly, but decided she had a fair enough point. Still, it was suspicious that Mr. Varlington would just so happen to head on vacation on a random Thursday, the same day a body was found under his bar. With the victim being his employee. "Just let me know if he calls or anything, miss," I gave her my number, and after ensuring she had it, bid her adieu.
It was just starting to get dark. If he was headed to the club, it would likely be around now, or sometime soon. Fifty-three and going to a club in his free time. Hopefully I could find him before the day passed, his involvement was almost certain in my mind.