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Two
Nox had high expectations but was still pleasantly surprised when Agent Nelson slipped into his lecture. Nelson was quiet as he drove and listened to Nox lay out the details of the other cases. But you could practically hear Nelson’s thoughts racing and Nox suspected he’d already connected the dots and was about to get ahead and take the lead. That’s what Nox had hoped for and it was like feeding tokens or quarters into a slot machine as he relayed details and dates, he was sure something valuable was about to spill out.
“My friend Merlin stuffed this bag with everything we’d need,” he explained as he flipped through folders in the open messenger bag. It was on his lap and Nelson kept sneaking covetous glances at its contents. Nox gave the bag a pat. “Mi casa es su casa. I want you to know everything I know and I don’t have any secrets. Not in here, at least,” he added, winking at Nelson.
After days wasted making phone calls, gathering reports, and begging detectives to take him seriously, Nox finally had real help and was sure that Nelson was the perfect person for the job. His mind was a fast, nimble thing with a heartbeat and a will of its own. So was Nelson’s conscience and that’s why Nox was hoping the FBI would send him.
Unfortunately, Nelson’s self-esteem had been pulverized and he had no will or ambition of his own. He was guided by two simple and unequivocal principles, as far as Nox could tell: Nelson was dedicated to hunting down the truth and he was wired to always do the right and noble thing. He could be flexible when the situation required that of him, but he didn’t enjoy surprises. Nox saw that when he told Ms. Wilder he had a thing for cranky agents and told Nelson they were headed all the way to New Castle.
He was even more taciturn and brooding than Nox had expected, though. He chewed on a grimace as he stared out the windshield, slowly nodding along as he processed names, dates, locations… Every now and then, Nox would receive a muttered observation that added context to the reports or provided the explanation he’d been desperate to receive from law enforcement during his many fruitless phone calls.
“See!” Nox slapped the dashboard of Nelson’s ’61 Continental with one of the files, feeling more optimistic as they grew closer to New Castle. “Merlin and I must have asked dozens of cops what a NamUs was and they just blew us off.”
“They were probably busy and no one wants to hear about covens or cults. Don’t mention cults. Cops hate getting calls about cults. And they probably heard you were a psychic. They fucking hate psychics. Who’s Merlin?”
Nox chuckled fondly as he sat back. “Merlin Oglethorpe. He’s my best friend, and an old family friend.” He cleared his throat suggestively, but Nelson gave him a questioning look. “He’s great and a wizard at research. You’ll meet him soon. You should say no if he asks if you want to see a little magick trick.”
“I don’t mind magic tricks,” Nelson replied, a frown creasing his brow.
Nox’s eyes began to burn from staring at him. “Magick with a k. He’s not an illusionist, he’s a short, horny old witch.”
They called Nelson a lot of names around the Hoover Building, including robot, but Nox thought his new partner was fascinating. He found Nelson’s wariness and curiosity compelling. Most agents and cops were wary but their wariness came with hostility because they distrusted things they didn’t understand. Not Nelson. He was like a hound dog, stubbornly sniffing out facts and searching for answers. He wasn’t afraid of the unknown, but he didn’t have the patience or the capacity for small talk. And his imagination seemed to be the muscle Nelson relied on the least.
“Am I a psychic?” Nox asked, smirking as he flipped through Merlin’s notes on Mila, searching for anything else that might be useful to Nelson. There was a full timeline of all the girls’ abductions in Nox’s study, but so far, Nelson had digested all the pertinent facts. It was just hard to get a read on whether or not Nelson was convinced and on board. Because it seemed rather obvious to Nox that he was, in fact, looking for a cult and in way over his head.
Nox reminded himself that Nelson’s career and confidence had suffered terribly due to his father’s and grandfather’s heroic reputations. You couldn’t hang around the Hoover Building for very long without overhearing gossip about Nelson and he was often the butt of nepotism jokes within the bureau. Which was unfortunate because nobody doubted that Nelson had one of the finest minds in the FBI, but he didn’t give a damn about politics or getting ahead and he was too much of an uptight boy scout to be a “team player.” Nox didn’t sense that Nelson was uptight. He was locked tight and hypervigilant, yet Nelson seemed resigned to his fate and was silently taking the abuse.
“They say you’re a psychic,” Nelson said, his broad shoulder bouncing in its crisp white shirt. Nelson had hung his coat behind his seat so it wouldn’t wrinkle, a perfect throwback to a bygone era when men wore suits to work every day and drank highballs before dinner.
“They also say I’m a vampire,” Nox teased and it was delicious, the way Nelson’s hand shot to his tie to make sure it was tight and straight. “This is a nice car,” he said as his arm stretched along the back of the seat. He tapped Nelson’s shoulder, making him jump and frown at Nox. Those frowns were delicious too and a near-permanent feature.
“It was my grandfather’s. He left it to me.”
“Ah.” Nox nodded, taking a moment to study Nelson.
He felt sorry for the downtrodden young agent as he imagined walking a mile in Nelson’s immaculate Oxfords. What must it be like to drive to work in his grandfather’s legacy, dressed like the ideal agent in a classic black suit with flat-front trousers, and mingle among men and women who idolized his father, but loathed him?
Nelson’s grandfather had been a legend as well, back when the bureau was chasing bootleggers and the mafia, and integrity was an agent’s greatest virtue. The next generation of Nelsons was streetwise and cool under pressure. Nelson’s father and uncle had both gone to the Academy and went on to be famous FBI agents. But it was Nelson’s father who had helped catch some of the ‘80s and ‘90s most notorious serial killers and was the hero of an infamous shootout involving a dangerous biker gang.
The Nelson currently driving Nox to New Castle was a dedicated distillation of his FBI ancestors, but the bureau didn’t know what to do with him. Nelson’s harsh handsomeness and stoic aura had initially piqued Nox’s interest as he was hovering at the Hoover Building. But it was Nelson’s unfortunate and precarious reputation that had convinced Nox that they were destined to work together. With the right case, Nox believed he could help the lost and misunderstood agent make a new name for himself within the bureau.
Nox was also willing to admit that he’d had a touch of a crush on the cranky agent from a distance, but he wasn’t going to let that distract him. He’d hoped for a case that would afford them an opportunity to join forces and rehabilitate both of their images at the FBI. He hadn’t counted on the stakes being so high, though, and would have liked a little more time for them to get acquainted and to earn Nelson’s trust.
“Is it hard to keep something like this running and on the road?” Nox asked, earning another shrug. “You can’t pop into any shop if something breaks and it’s gotta be hard to find parts. The gas has to cost an arm and a leg,” he guessed.
“I do most of the work myself,” Nelson said quietly, making Nox sadder as he pictured this failing steward lovingly changing spark plugs and buffing the original black finish to a shine.
“This was the car, though,” Nox observed as he turned in his seat and admired the cream interior. That was definitely newer but it was in keeping with the car’s iconic clean, streamlined design. “It brought about the end of the fin wars and ushered in the Business Class era. No more clunky chromed-out bumpers and spacecraft-inspired bubbles. This was the car for the suit-and-tie traveler and it was Kennedy’s presidential limo. It’s an executive government agent’s car.”
Nelson nodded, his eyes never leaving the narrowing, winding road. “It was my grandfather’s car,” he repeated. “Everything costs a lot of money to run these days. New cars aren’t made to last more than a few years. Something’s always breaking and you’re financing the next car before you’ve paid off the last one. I’ve never had a car payment and you’ll never see another car like it. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“They certainly don’t,” Nox agreed, watching Nelson out of the corner of his eye as he kept track of the markers on the side of the road. They didn’t make agents or men like him anymore either.
Nelson had steered off the interstate about an hour earlier at the exit for New Castle. The rural mountain town was a little more than a dreary flash outside the Continental’s windows. Main Street took them through two intersections before turning into a winding rural highway. They turned onto an unpaved road several miles outside of New Castle.
“It’s getting dark. Do you think anyone will still be there?” Nox checked his window, squinting at the gnarled branches closing in around them. New Castle was located in the Jefferson National Forest, surrounded by old-growth forests—ancient, nearly untouched woods containing diverse species of plants and trees. Most of the trees outside the car were oak and ash. Many had yet to shed all their greenery before a recent string of icy, late fall storms had left them sagging as overburdened branches threatened to snap under the weight of dead, frosted leaves. The sun was setting and a fog was rolling in, creating a haze around the headlights and making it harder to find the road.
Nelson held up his phone to check the navigation. They were almost driving blind and relying on the little blue dot to lead them to the site. “Someone will be here. I called and the sheriff’s department and the deputy I talked to said they were still waiting on the ME from Roanoke. That was four hours ago and he didn’t seem to think the doc’s arrival was imminent. But someone’s gonna be here most of the night. That whole site will have to be bagged and tagged before it’s cleared.”
