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“Yes, I do find that curious,” he says. “Every gang in this city was vandalized on the night of the club shooting, and every gang buried at least one man. Except for you. You had two men at the club during the shooting, and you lost no one.”
“Are you accusing me of keeping my men alive?” I laugh hollowly. “I didn’t realize that was a crime.”
“Why did you murder those men?” he screams in my face.
His tactics won’t work on me. Besides the fact that I’m innocent, this is hardly the first time I’ve been questioned by the police. They could waterboard me and I wouldn’t crack. I’ve done nothing wrong, and he knows it.
“I haven’t murdered anyone,” I tell him calmly. “I have not ordered my men to murder. Furthermore, your head is stuck so far up your own ass, you don’t realize the gangs are not to blame for the violence in this city.”
It’s his turn to laugh, and he does for a long time. “That’s the best joke I’ve heard all year,” he says, catching his breath. “And who exactly is to blame, then?”
“Perhaps your corrupt office,” I suggest. “Or the powerful elite who think they can control the fate of this city with their money. I bet you’re in their pocket. You could haul every gang member to jail and you’d realize we are not the problem.”
“Enough!” he shouts, and I see I’ve gotten to him. He’s losing his shit because he knows I’m right.
“Ward,” another man shouts, entering the room. He’s clearly a more senior officer as his uniform is more decorated. “What have I told you about getting agitated with the witness? Take a lap.”
Ward grumbles as he walks out of the room, purposely bumping into the other officer as he goes.
“The man is obviously unhinged,” I tell the officer with a smirk. “Are you sure he’s the kind of man who should be representing NOLA’s finest?”
“Don’t do yourself any favors,” he says sarcastically. “Keep talking shit about my men. I’d love to know your thoughts on the type of men running my department.”
I realize this man is the new police chief, recently installed after we exposed Anderson’s corruption. This man is tough on crime, especially gang violence, but he has no water to hold. I explain to him, as I did to the junior pig, that we aren’t responsible for the violence.
“I believe you,” he says, “but that doesn’t make you innocent. Your hands are covered in blood, Mr. Pocus, and they always will be. Maybe it isn’t the blood of the Cuatro Locos gang, but one day you will have to atone for your sins.”
My stomach churns and my inner beast claws at my throat. This man needs to get away from me and soon.
“Have you found anything on my men?” I ask as calmly as I can. “Have you found any reason to continue your search, or have you realized you’re chasing your own ass?”
“You’re clean,” he admits. “For now. But we’re keeping a close eye on your organization.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” I growl back.
I wait for the police to leave, watching closely to ensure they take nothing with them. They’ve found no evidence of wrongdoing, and they aren’t entitled to take any of our belongings. Snake watches them with slitted eyes as they pack up the work they were doing on his computers. Thankfully, he has a failsafe on each device to wipe them for such an occasion.
When they’re finally gone, I tell the men to get back to sleep. I’m too angry to do anything else, nor do I have any desire to call church tonight. We’ve been through enough. I storm up to my room and let the beast free, reveling in the feeling of being free. This is long overdue.
As I start to fall back asleep, I feel a familiar tingling on the edges of my brain. I’m sucked into the first vision I’ve had in weeks. All I can see is Hex’s face, and I sense danger. There’s nothing else, only darkness and the feeling of being trapped.
My visions have been like this since my encounter with Edward last year. They’re hazier and make much less sense. There’s no narrative or rhyme or reason. I see glimpses and feel emotions that don’t belong to me. The overwhelming emotion from this vision is fear.
I sit up in bed, sensing Tory stirring next to me.
“Did you just have a vision?” she asks, excitedly. She knows how difficult they’ve been for me.
“I did,” I confirm. “But I don’t understand.”
She sits up and turns to me, crossing her legs as she faces me. She indicates I should do the same, so I mirror her pose. She grabs my hand and leads me through a breathing meditation, helping me to focus my thoughts.
“Now tell me about the vision,” she prompts gently. “Even if there are glimpses, tell me what you saw.”
“I just saw Hex,” I tell her. “And darkness. There was so much darkness surrounding him.”
She squeezes my hands encouragingly, giving me the freedom to either continue or stop there. I can’t say for sure if I have anything else to tell her, except the overwhelming fear I felt.
“He’s terrified,” I tell her. “He’s walking into a trap he can’t get out of, and he can’t be reached. What do we do?”
