RE: National NaNoWriMo Doing Month!
11-09-2012, 11:37 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-10-2012, 04:14 AM by Solaris.)
SaHNoWriMo: Chapter Two
Authors: Solaris - Schazer/NTA - Agent - Dragon Fogel - Crowstone - Slorange
5054 Words
TOTAL WORD COUNT: 10,254
In other news, while I would like to go next, I have to get ready to go to my dads sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo if someone wants to go go for it
Authors: Solaris - Schazer/NTA - Agent - Dragon Fogel - Crowstone - Slorange
5054 Words
Show Content
SpoilerWhen Harrison Haddenson Hanson woke up, he saw a white light and felt the familiar, bumpy feeling of grey “cushions”. For a moment, he wished that he was back at the apartment, failing to do his job and being beaten up by a doll.
“I see that ~someone~ is finally awake. Keep still, or else you might get hurt Mistah H.”
That would have been a lot better, but instead he was stuck in the infirmary, looking at into the eyes of his least favorite nurse in the history of everything, silly pose and all. “Look Arch, while I would just love to sit around and have some chats, I need to go and find out what happened, so would you please cut the act and tell me what I need to know.”
Arch the nurse was, in a word, odd. His little coat had a number of pins and doo-dads, his medium cut hair had various streaks of color on top of his brown strands, and he was standing with one hand on his hip and the other holding a clipboard. Arch rolled his eyes, pouted, and moved back into a posture more befitting of a professional. “Well, you aren’t fun today.”
“Maybe that has to do with losing my partner and the wish granter.” Hanson thought back to the incident at the apartment, his partner flying off just as he blacked out and then he scowled. The agent tried to get up from the uncomfortable cot only to grunt in pain.
“I said to keep still didn’t I?” Arch sighed, “Anyway, the poisons should be out of your system in a few minutes. They told me to keep you here and that it would be taken care of. You can go home as soon as we are done.” Arch paused for a bit and then added, “Which we both already know you won’t do.”
Wishfinders, Dream Chasers, whichever name you used, nothing changed the fact that they tended to be on the stubborn side, which led to good things, bad things, and predictable things.
“Nah, I think I’m going home, if it is going to be taken care of no sense in making a bigger deal out of it than it should. I’m sure that Tyson or Ys or whoever will handle it, right?”
However, sometimes it wasn’t just stubbornness that gave way to predictability. He didn’t exactly like what he was about to do, but sometimes people had to be pushed to do what they were supposed to, and in this line of work, that meant not letting an injury, or in this case, a lot of poison be the end of your work day. An injured agent was better than no agent, his superiors had said. It was all very ingenious, having them go and work when they honestly shouldn’t, by making them go on a cliche vigilante investigation.
Oh well, here we go Arch. “Actually, if you must know, they’ve put Zembra on the case.”
Harrison regretfully shot up from his cot and then painfully dropped back down. After he stopped wincing in pain and took a few deep breaths, he managed to speak, “ZEMBRA?”
Arch rolled his eyes once more, pretty expectant of what would come next.
“Of all people they send Zembra? REALLY?”
“Well if you have such a problem with it you can go and try to get on to the case yourself in about...” He looked at his watch, “Two minutes. But, really, you should go home.”
“No! I’m not going home as long as Zembra is doing what I should have done in the first place!”
“Alright then, if you insist.” Arch lowered the clipboard onto the table beside the cot, “As soon as you have the muster to stand up, sign that form and go see the front, they’ll put you through Zembra and let you recklessly go find your partner.”
Arch stepped out to let Harrison stew in his newfound drive. It was always the same, he thought. One way or another, they’ll go and do it. Guaranteed. He sighed, “Oh well, at least I have the solace of knowing that amidst all this chaos, something isn’t changing.”
-----
Harrison couldn’t be bothered running around head office trying to chase Zembra down mid-detox, so it was nice of her to wait around outside reception.
“Hello, Mr. Hanson,” she chirped, desisting with the swinging of her legs off the edge of the seat. Harrison wasn’t sure where to begin, but Zembra did that to him. Not good with kids.
“Zembra-”
“Will you tie my shoes for me?”
Was she screwing with him? The nasty little smirk seemed to drop as quickly as he noticed it. Zem- Miss Aswang, Harrison figured it best to correct himself as she raised an untied sneaker; Zembra might’ve murmured a demure little “please” in there somewhere. Harrison sighed, seeing little point in arguing, and crouched at the Chaser’s feet.
“Aren’t you supposed to be twelve, not six?” Harrison growled, picking at the existing snarl. “Find a more believable reason if you need to whisper to me.”
“And you should find a check for that sass if you’re so desperate for a favour for me, Hanson.” The tone of Zembra’s voice still registered as childish, but the words were all wrong, like that childish voice read off a gratuitously miscast script.
Harrison suppressed a shudder; glanced up. Zembra was all pre-teen smiles again, proffering the other foot. Harrison took it.
Zembra Aswang wore her impetuous wishes of the past more openly than most. She didn’t look a day over twelve, and hadn’t done for the past thirty-odd years. Exactly how long ago she’d made the wish was anyone’s guess, though the Chasers had all offered congratulations for twenty-five years in the business just last year. If you asked her, she’d either blurt an earnest “I am twelve years old,” or warn you it was rude to ask a woman her age - it would simply depend on how badly Zembra wanted to mess with you.
“You’re not taking me off this mission, Hanson. Dispatcher doesn’t care it’s your partner-”
“He’s only interested in the malevolent. I get it.” Harrison punctuated the point with a too-enthusiastic jerk on the laces. Zembra raised an eyebrow, but waited in silence until Hanson stood up again. She sprung from the seat, rocking on her heels experimentally.
“They aren’t,” Zembra finally said, grabbing her backpack and enlisting Harrison’s help, without asking, to shrug it on. “D said you’re meant to help Tyson with that thing from eight o’clock, but Tyson’ll be fine. Y’know how these things work out.”
“I thought you worked alone?”
‘Yeah, but D says I could be travelling. Having a guardian with me makes that easier.”
Harrison must’ve pulled a face, because Zembra patted him reassuringly on the forearm. “Don’t worry, I know you’re bad with kids. You won’t even have to go anywhere near the malevolent once I’ve tracked it down.”
She patted down her coat pockets; fished out a car key and placed it in Harrison’s hand, squeezing briefly. “If it’s still got Lawra, I’m your best bet to find her.”
Harrison didn’t miss the implication - if the doll had done the malevolent equivalent of leaving her dying in a ditch, that wasn’t Aswang’s problem. She’d survived twenty-five years as a Wishfinder by not ending up in situations like Harrison had managed. Lost a few colleagues who didn’t share her sensibilities, if rumours held true.
Zembra was already heading out, raising her hood against the occasional gumdrop which persisted down. She jiggled at the door of the company car, glaring back to the front doors. “Haaaaaanson, hurry up!”
---
Connie cut the engine; took a deep breath. She had been driving for hours, trying her best to ignore the occasional inexplicable urge to veer over into the oncoming traffic. She was tired, and the jangle of keys on her keyring as she yanked it from the car reminded her of something unpleasant. She could feel the presence of forces beyond trying to gently shove the unpleasant memories out of sight, which was in itself a worse feeling than the sourceless unease.
She had no idea where she was; barely recognised the logo of whichever roadside diner whose carpark she’d rolled into. Without much recourse and even less direction in her life right now, Connie finished kneading her temples and got out of the car.
TARAS ON 22
buzzed falteringly overhead in neon lights, a shooting star flickering in and out of existence with a barely-audible tk-tk-tk. It gave Connie a headache, though really the whole idea of walking into a diner gave her a headache.Things happened in diners. Revelations. Soul-searching. Rampant, immediately-regrettable warping of reality through the power of instant gratification. Connie didn’t really feel in the mood, but her fuel gauge had blinked end-of-the-road red and she needed coffee if she was going to reflect on her situation anyway.
The diner wasn’t bustling, but it hadn’t done much else so far to subvert Connie’s expectations anyway. Attractive, bored-looking thing at the counter. A man with wings, sitting up at said counter and looking to just finish his burger in peace. Pair tidily dressed in leather, the helmets on the table marked them as the owners of the motorbikes outside. The only likely candidate for Tara herself was whoever was ignoring the No Smoking sign at the door. They were hunkered in a corner, behind a cigarette haze and a newspaper with a masthead Connie recognised.
“Welcome to Tara’s,” intoned the waitress (her breast pocket introduced her as Deborah). “Coffee?”
“Y-yeah, thanks.” Wingman to her right glanced over, as though expecting her to gawp or stare or somehow start a fight. He returned to his meal once Connie opted to stare into her coffee instead. She took a swig, and immediately felt much more clear-headed. When had she last eaten, again? Deborah indulged her request for a menu with an admirably delicate touch of antipathy, which showed itself a bit better when Connie asked why “eggs” had been crossed out of the menu every time they showed up.
“Tara can’t do eggs,” the winged gentleman failed to explain, partially due to the obtuseness of his comment but more thanks to the mouthful of burger.
“Not since some damned fool thought he could wish his poultry farm out of dire financial straits,” grumbled whatever was behind the newspaper. “I swear, the world just gets harder for sane folk when fools think wishing their problems away helps anyone but themselves!”
Connie couldn’t help but have her attention drawn to a comment like that, but her chance to ask questions was punctuated with an explosive sigh in her right ear.
“Oh, you cut that out, Marlon. You know I don’t mind you and your wings!”
“Because I’m probably half your damn business, you uppity Wishproof,” huffed the winged fellow. Deborah, meanwhile, had tidied up after the bikers and swung by next to Connie.
“Order the steak and chips,” was Deborah’s quiet advice. “Tara cooks the steaks, and those two can’t argue while she’s in the kitchen.”
“Well, they don’t seem too bad-”
“I hear. This. Every. Week. Do me a favour.”
Connie had never actually met a Wishproof before, though she supposed it’d be a harder life in the city. For every inconvenience like the candy rain this morning, there was some other inconsequential little advancement that had come around through someone’s judicious wishing. She’d considered taking it up herself, until deciding the whole thing was a bit disingenuous for her liking. Not to mention, final. Weren’t most wishes like that though, when it came down to it?
“Yeah, ok. Steak and chips, thanks.”
Deborah still had to wait a few spectacularly unwitty repartees between Tara and Marlon before she could get a word in edgeways. Tara heaved herself from the corner booth, rolling up her sleeves and even saving a genial smile for Connie.
“We’ll settle this later,” she growled to the birdman. Marlon made a rude gesture as Tara left.
-----
With the roads still being cleared of confectionery, traffic was criminally slow; the Dream Chasers were a kilometer and half an hour down the freeway when Zembra spoke up again. “Hey, Hanson.”
Harrison tensed, fighting the urge to pull the SUV over and bail. “Aswang,” he began perfunctorily - but when the atmosphere in the car dropped another few degrees, his temper compensated accordingly. “What?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you not to shout at kids, Hanson? You could traumatize them.” The patronizing tone had no place in a twelve-year-old’s voice, even if said twelve-year-old had been both patronizing and twelve for at least the last twenty. “And you don’t call every kid you meet by their last name, do you?”
He gritted his teeth. Zembra was right, of course. It just felt wrong to return fire to the innocent visage she wore, even when one knew she was anything but. Even so, he couldn’t resist a barb. “British boarding schools seem to manage it just fine. They also caned their pupils, if you want to give that a try.”
The angelic eyes narrowed, creating an unsettlingly adult expression on a child’s face. “Hansoonnnn....” The flute of a voice had warning bells strapped to it.
“I know, I know. Lawra’s my responsibility. Yours is the malignancy.”
“Malevolent. D’s particular about terminology.”
“I’m just here to help transport my precious dear niece, Zembra, who’s only twelve and one month and about three fucking decades-”
“Oooooh, Hanson! You used a bad word. Naughty, naughty.”
That was Zembra for you. You never knew when she was playing on your emotions or your bloody parental instincts, until it was too late. She ran through partners faster than the rest of the Wishfinders could in a year, and this was a demographic consisting of people to whom the concept of getting along would parse like a colorless green idea sleeping furiously. Harrison ‘Not Good With Kids’ Hanson, Zembra ‘Forever Young’ Aswang - just about the exemplar of a match made in hell.
Which was probably the whole point. Or not. Harrison cursed the Dispatcher under his breath.
“I heard that, you know.”
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. “What do you want, Zembra?”
“Ice cream!”
It took all of Harrison’s self-control not to scream.
---
Connie turned to the diner window as the roar of an SUV wafted in from the traffic outside, as did a few other customers. Deborah, pouring coffee into Connie’s cup, didn’t even look up. “Another one’a them rich nuts sick of waiting in traffic, no doubt.” Deftly, the waitress placed a metal pitcher of cream next to the cup, with ‘100% wish-free’ crudely stenciled onto it. “He’ll waltz in here and try to stiff us for the bill.”
To her right, Marlon swallowed the last bite of his burger. “That ain’t like you, Debbie. You’re usually all for tips.” He yawned and stretched, momentarily flaring the wings folded behind him.
“Shit, don’t do that, Marlon. Tara’ll have my grill if she slips on feathers she can’t see.”
“It ain’t my fault! Besides, she’s the Wishproof, she’s the one who should be careful!”
“Just don’t, Marlon.”
Connie watched the exchange with interest, and drank her coffee. The coffee helped a lot. It took her mind off the uneasy feeling at the back of her mind that somewhere, she’d forgotten something...something important. Then again, she was in a diner, having coffee, trying to sort out her brain while it rained outside. Other people got into these situations to forget.
She noticed the SUV had parked. Stepping out were...a man in casuals and a hard hat, and -oh! An adorable little girl!
She took another swig of coffee. She’d always wanted a little girl.
---
“I’ve got no leads, Hanson,” Zembra said through her sundae. A little drop of chocolate syrup crept down the side of the glass and settled on the cheap plastic of the booth table. They’d picked the booth in the corner, and every so often another customer would sneak a glance over at them. “Also, that waitress is giving us the stinkeye.”
Hanson spared a peek at the rest of the diner. “It’ll be all right. But why bring us both out here? Why didn’t you tell me this when we were in the city?”
“Haaanson, there are ears,” she paused to take a bite of ice cream, and finished muffledly, “efferywhere!” Swallow. “And you aren’t even supposed to be on this case! You’re supposed to be with Tyson on finding mister eight-o-clock, not looking for Lawra!”
He raised his hands in concession. “Fine. I know Chris isn’t supposed to be my priority right now. But she’s...I feel responsible, you know?”
“Save it.” It was still disconcerting, the power she wielded with her youth. “D can listen in on us in the car, and it’s better for all of us if they don’t know we’re collaborating on this case.” She leaned in close, resting her elbows on the table, and it struck Harrison how fluid her movements were. Normal children were ungainly, clumsy, still growing used to their bodies, but Zembra had had years to perfect the control of her own.
“Zembra, when this is over, I’m never working with you again.”
“Pleased to hear it, Hanson. Now tell me about the malevolent. Everything you remember about this morning.”
-----
Harrison told her everything. The rain of candy that had started it all, the little girl, everything he knew about the doll. And also about the snakes.
Zembra frowned as she finished her ice cream. Finally, she spoke up.
“This Susan Jane Rainbow or whatever, she’s no ordinary malevolent,” she mused.
“What do you mean? She’s more powerful?”
“Well, kinda... But not that much. It’s not any of the things she did, though, not in themselves. Using humans as a source for her powers, granting wishes, manipulating emotions, even reforming after her head was torn off... I’ve seen all of those before.”
“So what makes you think she’s so special?”
“She’s patient. Your average regenerating malevolent, if their owner’s smart enough to break them but not smart enough to realize it takes more to finish them off... They don’t wait quietly for twenty years. They look for revenge, usually by finding another host. We hear about an attack after a week or two.”
“Maybe it took her a while to grow a new head?” Harrison asked.
“Could be. Maybe someone found her in a junkyard, fixed her up... or she drew on them for power and fixed herself. Then she ended up with the girl. Still, usually parasitic malevolents shrivel up after a month or so if nobody’s there to take power from. And even if it took her a while to come back, she’d probably go straight for revenge...”
“Yeah, like getting her new ‘best friend’ to make wishes that would get the Wishfinder agent who tore her head off involved.”
“That’s a point. But how would she know Chris was an agent? Or that she’d be the one to show up? No matter how you look at it, this doll’s the most dangerous malevolent on record.”
That got Harrison thinking.
“Let’s work backwards about this. Say she did know Chris was an agent. And she knew which part of town she was assigned to. Then she’d try to get to a kid in that part of town... maybe she jumps around a bit from victim to victim, maybe she tries to get the family she’s with to move. That’s something we can try to check up on.”
“See if the family moved there after they got the doll, huh? Well, I could check that, but I don’t see how it gets us any closer to finding our malevolent.”
“Maybe we can retrace her steps. Figure out how she got from Chris to this kid. See if there’s any stops in between she might want to revisit. It’s a longshot, but it might give us a lead.”
“Don’t say ‘us’, Hanson,” Zembra scolded. “It’s my case, that means that as far as HQ is concerned, any investigations I need their files for is mine. You have nothing to do with it.”
“Whatever,” Harrison grumbled. He hated kids, and kids who were over thirty were even worse. “But you’ll look into it, right?”
“Yeah. And while I do, you’d better get back to finding Mister Eight O’Clock. Don’t go investigating on your own; if you get new ideas, you tell me. If D finds out we’re collaborating on a case we’re not supposed to, it’ll go better for us both if you’re not hands-on about it.”
“She’s my partner,” Harrison said bluntly. “I’m not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for you to get her back.”
“Fine, then I’m just going to officially say that I don’t want you interfering in my case, and if you do I’m not going to take the fall for what you did poking around.”
“In other words, unofficially you don’t give a damn.”
“Watch your language, Mr. Hanson!” Zembra said, looking as innocent as she could.
“I can’t take any more of this act. You know what to look into, you got a phone, you can get your own ride. I’m getting back to the case.”
“Which case? The one you’re supposed to be on?”
“This is exactly what I mean.”
He walked out. Zembra laughed, and took her phone out as she watched the SUV drove off.
Then the lights went out. Before Zembra could dial, she had fallen unconscious.
---
Connie smiled as she glanced into the backseat. That adorable little girl was asleep.
“I wonder what I’ll call you,” she said, still smiling. “I guess I’ll just have to think of something by the time we get home.”
-----
“BEEGA CHU LA WEEKA NANANANA BEEGA CHU LA WEEKA NA,” Connie’s cell phone screamed before she picked it up. “Hello there! Who is this?”
“Hey! This is Zembra! How are you doing, Connie?”
“Hello! I’m doing wonderfully, darling! I’m just heading back from the adoption center right now!”
“I’m so happy for you! Have you named her yet?”
“No, I was just thinking about that. What do you think of Delia?”
“I like it,” said the child in the backseat.
Connie looked cheerfully into the rearview mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry did I wake you up? Um, alright, I’ll call you Delia from now on. Delia! ”
“Your phone is really loud,” Delia commented.
Connie returned to her phone, “So how have you been? Have you picked up any interested cases yet?”
There was no answer for a few moments. “Yes!” Zembra suddenly replied, “It was raining candy earlier today. We confiscated the doll the girl wished on. It’s pretty nice, and we’ve removed its wishing properties. Do you want to give it to Delia?”
“Sure! That sounds great! Delia, would you like a doll?”
“Er, no thanks,” said Delia, trembling.
“Sorry, Zembra, she doesn’t want it.”
There was no answer. Click! went the other line. “Oh. I’m not sure if she heard me, Delia.”
“Um.... that’s okay...” Delia whimpered. Delia unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door and tumbled out of the car.
“DELIA!” shrieked Connie, before she turned into the side of the road and flipped over the cliff.
---------
Zembra hung up the phone. Excellent! There was only one more loose end to take care of. She added a final line to the report she was typing up. “Casualties: Agent Hanson and Agent Lawra.”
Time to make it fact.
She grabbed her coat and her gun, and stepped out of the door.
-----
“Delia” stood at the top of the cliff for a while, watching as the car smashed against the rocks a few times before ultimately coming to rest in a crumpled heap several hundred feet below. A small part of her was disappointed that it didn’t burst into flames, that they never burst into flames, but she’d seen enough crashes and “accidents” to know that real life was much less flashy, if more deadly, than movies. She watched for several more minutes to make sure Connie wouldn’t claw her way free of the wreckage; if she couldn’t manage that, then it was pretty safe to assume she wouldn’t inconveniently survive and turn up to make trouble later. Nobody should be coming this way any time soon, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t notice the car so far off the road and so far down. She’d die of exposure or her injuries before anyone could rescue her.
Having been satisfied of Connie’s fate, the girl at the top of the cliff smiled a joyless little smile and began walking away. It’d be a while before she could make it back to civilization, so it was best to get a move on. As she made her unhurried way along the quiet interstate, she pulled out a pink cellphone plastered with a number of charms even she would probably admit were playing up the cutesy a little much and dialed.
A brisk female voice picked up. “Hello?”
“She’s dead. Car crash on the freeway. Rolled down three hundred feet, probably crushed before she even impacted.” The crisp, matter-of-fact tone was intensely disturbing coming from the mouth of a little girl, even setting aside the subject matter.
“You checked the body?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you want to muster the resources we both know you don’t have and airlift me in some pitons and rope, I’ll just scamper right down there and take her pulse.”
There was a brief pause before she added “Or you could always wish them to me.”
The girl laughed, but the woman on the other end of the line didn’t. “I need to know if Connie is dead or not, and I need you to give me that information. How you do it is up to you.”
“Look, if she’s not dead, she’s dying. And even if not, she’ll be out of the way for as long as we need. Longer, even. I’ve got other things to see to, I can’t afford to lose an entire night double-checking what I already know. Unless you think it’s better that the rest of my work goes unfinished?”
There was another, longer pause. “You have your autonomy. Just remember that if you’re incorrect, it will be you who suffers the repercussions.”
“Yeah, well, I feel like my record speaks for itself. What about Hanson and Lawra?”
“It’s being taken care of.”
“Good, because I’ve got a lot of walking to do before–” she blinked, then looked at her phone and scowled. “Well! Goodbye to you too, then.”
She pocketed it and continued strolling along, quietly whistling snatches from cartoon theme songs as the inferno roared behind her. Well, as she imagined the inferno roaring behind her. She was a professional, sure, but it would still be nice if cars had the decency to explode properly. Nobody could criticize for indulging in a few harmless flights of fancy now and again. Heck, it was practically expected of her! After all, she was just a precious little girl, full of wonder and light and with an imagination as big as... as... as something adorable.
Ah, screw it. Nobody was around, why put on the act?
The whistling faltered and was eventually replaced by quiet, self-satisfied humming. Damn, it felt good to be a gangster.
---
It was always a little frustrating working with the girl, but she got results. No sense letting a little professional tension taint an operation that was otherwise going perfectly so far. Even if she could be a little snot when she wanted to be. “Wish them to me”, indeed. What was a crack like that supposed to accomplish? The woman huffed a little to herself internally, but if she showed her annoyance outwardly, it was only in a possibly-imagined flaring of her nostrils. She was all grace and elegance and cool detachment, just as she always was.
She pulled the coat tighter around herself and looked down as she stepped in a puddle of half-melted chocolate. Ugh. She stooped over and pulled a gumdrop off that had been impaled by of one of her heels, then wiped the disgusting mass of cocoa and caramel off with a handkerchief. This is exactly the problem, she told herself for the thousandth time in the past months.
The handkerchief was given a sad look before ultimately being discarded. Her hands slipped back into her pockets, and one thumb ran up the comforting grip of her custom-built, wood-handled little automatic friend. It was reliable, predictable, grounded in science, and always helped calm her down when her hackles started to rise at the stupidity of wishes and the people that made them. She gave it an affectionate little squeeze as wove through the crowd; at least the rain had started long enough ago that only the most determined or most obese children were still out scrounging for candy in the gutters. It made getting around that little bit easier while the streets were still blocked by drifts of taffy and gumballs.
She gave the gun one last little stroke as she thought of the task ahead of her. It was a pity that Lawra and Hansen would have to die, but they’d been tainted. They’d be another casualty of her private crusade, and one more reason it had to succeed at all costs. It was comforting to reflect on how close she had gotten to the final stages of the plan in the face of the black deeds she was about to perform. The end was so close she could practically taste it through the sugary haze the city had been left in. When she’d finished, they’d have thanked her if they’d still been alive to see it.
It will be a beautiful world, she thought, sparing a glance at the distasteful bubble-gum pink stormclouds that were even now dispersing. A world without wishes.
“I see that ~someone~ is finally awake. Keep still, or else you might get hurt Mistah H.”
That would have been a lot better, but instead he was stuck in the infirmary, looking at into the eyes of his least favorite nurse in the history of everything, silly pose and all. “Look Arch, while I would just love to sit around and have some chats, I need to go and find out what happened, so would you please cut the act and tell me what I need to know.”
Arch the nurse was, in a word, odd. His little coat had a number of pins and doo-dads, his medium cut hair had various streaks of color on top of his brown strands, and he was standing with one hand on his hip and the other holding a clipboard. Arch rolled his eyes, pouted, and moved back into a posture more befitting of a professional. “Well, you aren’t fun today.”
“Maybe that has to do with losing my partner and the wish granter.” Hanson thought back to the incident at the apartment, his partner flying off just as he blacked out and then he scowled. The agent tried to get up from the uncomfortable cot only to grunt in pain.
“I said to keep still didn’t I?” Arch sighed, “Anyway, the poisons should be out of your system in a few minutes. They told me to keep you here and that it would be taken care of. You can go home as soon as we are done.” Arch paused for a bit and then added, “Which we both already know you won’t do.”
Wishfinders, Dream Chasers, whichever name you used, nothing changed the fact that they tended to be on the stubborn side, which led to good things, bad things, and predictable things.
“Nah, I think I’m going home, if it is going to be taken care of no sense in making a bigger deal out of it than it should. I’m sure that Tyson or Ys or whoever will handle it, right?”
However, sometimes it wasn’t just stubbornness that gave way to predictability. He didn’t exactly like what he was about to do, but sometimes people had to be pushed to do what they were supposed to, and in this line of work, that meant not letting an injury, or in this case, a lot of poison be the end of your work day. An injured agent was better than no agent, his superiors had said. It was all very ingenious, having them go and work when they honestly shouldn’t, by making them go on a cliche vigilante investigation.
Oh well, here we go Arch. “Actually, if you must know, they’ve put Zembra on the case.”
Harrison regretfully shot up from his cot and then painfully dropped back down. After he stopped wincing in pain and took a few deep breaths, he managed to speak, “ZEMBRA?”
Arch rolled his eyes once more, pretty expectant of what would come next.
“Of all people they send Zembra? REALLY?”
“Well if you have such a problem with it you can go and try to get on to the case yourself in about...” He looked at his watch, “Two minutes. But, really, you should go home.”
“No! I’m not going home as long as Zembra is doing what I should have done in the first place!”
“Alright then, if you insist.” Arch lowered the clipboard onto the table beside the cot, “As soon as you have the muster to stand up, sign that form and go see the front, they’ll put you through Zembra and let you recklessly go find your partner.”
Arch stepped out to let Harrison stew in his newfound drive. It was always the same, he thought. One way or another, they’ll go and do it. Guaranteed. He sighed, “Oh well, at least I have the solace of knowing that amidst all this chaos, something isn’t changing.”
-----
Harrison couldn’t be bothered running around head office trying to chase Zembra down mid-detox, so it was nice of her to wait around outside reception.
“Hello, Mr. Hanson,” she chirped, desisting with the swinging of her legs off the edge of the seat. Harrison wasn’t sure where to begin, but Zembra did that to him. Not good with kids.
“Zembra-”
“Will you tie my shoes for me?”
Was she screwing with him? The nasty little smirk seemed to drop as quickly as he noticed it. Zem- Miss Aswang, Harrison figured it best to correct himself as she raised an untied sneaker; Zembra might’ve murmured a demure little “please” in there somewhere. Harrison sighed, seeing little point in arguing, and crouched at the Chaser’s feet.
“Aren’t you supposed to be twelve, not six?” Harrison growled, picking at the existing snarl. “Find a more believable reason if you need to whisper to me.”
“And you should find a check for that sass if you’re so desperate for a favour for me, Hanson.” The tone of Zembra’s voice still registered as childish, but the words were all wrong, like that childish voice read off a gratuitously miscast script.
Harrison suppressed a shudder; glanced up. Zembra was all pre-teen smiles again, proffering the other foot. Harrison took it.
Zembra Aswang wore her impetuous wishes of the past more openly than most. She didn’t look a day over twelve, and hadn’t done for the past thirty-odd years. Exactly how long ago she’d made the wish was anyone’s guess, though the Chasers had all offered congratulations for twenty-five years in the business just last year. If you asked her, she’d either blurt an earnest “I am twelve years old,” or warn you it was rude to ask a woman her age - it would simply depend on how badly Zembra wanted to mess with you.
“You’re not taking me off this mission, Hanson. Dispatcher doesn’t care it’s your partner-”
“He’s only interested in the malevolent. I get it.” Harrison punctuated the point with a too-enthusiastic jerk on the laces. Zembra raised an eyebrow, but waited in silence until Hanson stood up again. She sprung from the seat, rocking on her heels experimentally.
“They aren’t,” Zembra finally said, grabbing her backpack and enlisting Harrison’s help, without asking, to shrug it on. “D said you’re meant to help Tyson with that thing from eight o’clock, but Tyson’ll be fine. Y’know how these things work out.”
“I thought you worked alone?”
‘Yeah, but D says I could be travelling. Having a guardian with me makes that easier.”
Harrison must’ve pulled a face, because Zembra patted him reassuringly on the forearm. “Don’t worry, I know you’re bad with kids. You won’t even have to go anywhere near the malevolent once I’ve tracked it down.”
She patted down her coat pockets; fished out a car key and placed it in Harrison’s hand, squeezing briefly. “If it’s still got Lawra, I’m your best bet to find her.”
Harrison didn’t miss the implication - if the doll had done the malevolent equivalent of leaving her dying in a ditch, that wasn’t Aswang’s problem. She’d survived twenty-five years as a Wishfinder by not ending up in situations like Harrison had managed. Lost a few colleagues who didn’t share her sensibilities, if rumours held true.
Zembra was already heading out, raising her hood against the occasional gumdrop which persisted down. She jiggled at the door of the company car, glaring back to the front doors. “Haaaaaanson, hurry up!”
---
Connie cut the engine; took a deep breath. She had been driving for hours, trying her best to ignore the occasional inexplicable urge to veer over into the oncoming traffic. She was tired, and the jangle of keys on her keyring as she yanked it from the car reminded her of something unpleasant. She could feel the presence of forces beyond trying to gently shove the unpleasant memories out of sight, which was in itself a worse feeling than the sourceless unease.
She had no idea where she was; barely recognised the logo of whichever roadside diner whose carpark she’d rolled into. Without much recourse and even less direction in her life right now, Connie finished kneading her temples and got out of the car.
TARAS ON 22
buzzed falteringly overhead in neon lights, a shooting star flickering in and out of existence with a barely-audible tk-tk-tk. It gave Connie a headache, though really the whole idea of walking into a diner gave her a headache.Things happened in diners. Revelations. Soul-searching. Rampant, immediately-regrettable warping of reality through the power of instant gratification. Connie didn’t really feel in the mood, but her fuel gauge had blinked end-of-the-road red and she needed coffee if she was going to reflect on her situation anyway.
The diner wasn’t bustling, but it hadn’t done much else so far to subvert Connie’s expectations anyway. Attractive, bored-looking thing at the counter. A man with wings, sitting up at said counter and looking to just finish his burger in peace. Pair tidily dressed in leather, the helmets on the table marked them as the owners of the motorbikes outside. The only likely candidate for Tara herself was whoever was ignoring the No Smoking sign at the door. They were hunkered in a corner, behind a cigarette haze and a newspaper with a masthead Connie recognised.
“Welcome to Tara’s,” intoned the waitress (her breast pocket introduced her as Deborah). “Coffee?”
“Y-yeah, thanks.” Wingman to her right glanced over, as though expecting her to gawp or stare or somehow start a fight. He returned to his meal once Connie opted to stare into her coffee instead. She took a swig, and immediately felt much more clear-headed. When had she last eaten, again? Deborah indulged her request for a menu with an admirably delicate touch of antipathy, which showed itself a bit better when Connie asked why “eggs” had been crossed out of the menu every time they showed up.
“Tara can’t do eggs,” the winged gentleman failed to explain, partially due to the obtuseness of his comment but more thanks to the mouthful of burger.
“Not since some damned fool thought he could wish his poultry farm out of dire financial straits,” grumbled whatever was behind the newspaper. “I swear, the world just gets harder for sane folk when fools think wishing their problems away helps anyone but themselves!”
Connie couldn’t help but have her attention drawn to a comment like that, but her chance to ask questions was punctuated with an explosive sigh in her right ear.
“Oh, you cut that out, Marlon. You know I don’t mind you and your wings!”
“Because I’m probably half your damn business, you uppity Wishproof,” huffed the winged fellow. Deborah, meanwhile, had tidied up after the bikers and swung by next to Connie.
“Order the steak and chips,” was Deborah’s quiet advice. “Tara cooks the steaks, and those two can’t argue while she’s in the kitchen.”
“Well, they don’t seem too bad-”
“I hear. This. Every. Week. Do me a favour.”
Connie had never actually met a Wishproof before, though she supposed it’d be a harder life in the city. For every inconvenience like the candy rain this morning, there was some other inconsequential little advancement that had come around through someone’s judicious wishing. She’d considered taking it up herself, until deciding the whole thing was a bit disingenuous for her liking. Not to mention, final. Weren’t most wishes like that though, when it came down to it?
“Yeah, ok. Steak and chips, thanks.”
Deborah still had to wait a few spectacularly unwitty repartees between Tara and Marlon before she could get a word in edgeways. Tara heaved herself from the corner booth, rolling up her sleeves and even saving a genial smile for Connie.
“We’ll settle this later,” she growled to the birdman. Marlon made a rude gesture as Tara left.
-----
With the roads still being cleared of confectionery, traffic was criminally slow; the Dream Chasers were a kilometer and half an hour down the freeway when Zembra spoke up again. “Hey, Hanson.”
Harrison tensed, fighting the urge to pull the SUV over and bail. “Aswang,” he began perfunctorily - but when the atmosphere in the car dropped another few degrees, his temper compensated accordingly. “What?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you not to shout at kids, Hanson? You could traumatize them.” The patronizing tone had no place in a twelve-year-old’s voice, even if said twelve-year-old had been both patronizing and twelve for at least the last twenty. “And you don’t call every kid you meet by their last name, do you?”
He gritted his teeth. Zembra was right, of course. It just felt wrong to return fire to the innocent visage she wore, even when one knew she was anything but. Even so, he couldn’t resist a barb. “British boarding schools seem to manage it just fine. They also caned their pupils, if you want to give that a try.”
The angelic eyes narrowed, creating an unsettlingly adult expression on a child’s face. “Hansoonnnn....” The flute of a voice had warning bells strapped to it.
“I know, I know. Lawra’s my responsibility. Yours is the malignancy.”
“Malevolent. D’s particular about terminology.”
“I’m just here to help transport my precious dear niece, Zembra, who’s only twelve and one month and about three fucking decades-”
“Oooooh, Hanson! You used a bad word. Naughty, naughty.”
That was Zembra for you. You never knew when she was playing on your emotions or your bloody parental instincts, until it was too late. She ran through partners faster than the rest of the Wishfinders could in a year, and this was a demographic consisting of people to whom the concept of getting along would parse like a colorless green idea sleeping furiously. Harrison ‘Not Good With Kids’ Hanson, Zembra ‘Forever Young’ Aswang - just about the exemplar of a match made in hell.
Which was probably the whole point. Or not. Harrison cursed the Dispatcher under his breath.
“I heard that, you know.”
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. “What do you want, Zembra?”
“Ice cream!”
It took all of Harrison’s self-control not to scream.
---
Connie turned to the diner window as the roar of an SUV wafted in from the traffic outside, as did a few other customers. Deborah, pouring coffee into Connie’s cup, didn’t even look up. “Another one’a them rich nuts sick of waiting in traffic, no doubt.” Deftly, the waitress placed a metal pitcher of cream next to the cup, with ‘100% wish-free’ crudely stenciled onto it. “He’ll waltz in here and try to stiff us for the bill.”
To her right, Marlon swallowed the last bite of his burger. “That ain’t like you, Debbie. You’re usually all for tips.” He yawned and stretched, momentarily flaring the wings folded behind him.
“Shit, don’t do that, Marlon. Tara’ll have my grill if she slips on feathers she can’t see.”
“It ain’t my fault! Besides, she’s the Wishproof, she’s the one who should be careful!”
“Just don’t, Marlon.”
Connie watched the exchange with interest, and drank her coffee. The coffee helped a lot. It took her mind off the uneasy feeling at the back of her mind that somewhere, she’d forgotten something...something important. Then again, she was in a diner, having coffee, trying to sort out her brain while it rained outside. Other people got into these situations to forget.
She noticed the SUV had parked. Stepping out were...a man in casuals and a hard hat, and -oh! An adorable little girl!
She took another swig of coffee. She’d always wanted a little girl.
---
“I’ve got no leads, Hanson,” Zembra said through her sundae. A little drop of chocolate syrup crept down the side of the glass and settled on the cheap plastic of the booth table. They’d picked the booth in the corner, and every so often another customer would sneak a glance over at them. “Also, that waitress is giving us the stinkeye.”
Hanson spared a peek at the rest of the diner. “It’ll be all right. But why bring us both out here? Why didn’t you tell me this when we were in the city?”
“Haaanson, there are ears,” she paused to take a bite of ice cream, and finished muffledly, “efferywhere!” Swallow. “And you aren’t even supposed to be on this case! You’re supposed to be with Tyson on finding mister eight-o-clock, not looking for Lawra!”
He raised his hands in concession. “Fine. I know Chris isn’t supposed to be my priority right now. But she’s...I feel responsible, you know?”
“Save it.” It was still disconcerting, the power she wielded with her youth. “D can listen in on us in the car, and it’s better for all of us if they don’t know we’re collaborating on this case.” She leaned in close, resting her elbows on the table, and it struck Harrison how fluid her movements were. Normal children were ungainly, clumsy, still growing used to their bodies, but Zembra had had years to perfect the control of her own.
“Zembra, when this is over, I’m never working with you again.”
“Pleased to hear it, Hanson. Now tell me about the malevolent. Everything you remember about this morning.”
-----
Harrison told her everything. The rain of candy that had started it all, the little girl, everything he knew about the doll. And also about the snakes.
Zembra frowned as she finished her ice cream. Finally, she spoke up.
“This Susan Jane Rainbow or whatever, she’s no ordinary malevolent,” she mused.
“What do you mean? She’s more powerful?”
“Well, kinda... But not that much. It’s not any of the things she did, though, not in themselves. Using humans as a source for her powers, granting wishes, manipulating emotions, even reforming after her head was torn off... I’ve seen all of those before.”
“So what makes you think she’s so special?”
“She’s patient. Your average regenerating malevolent, if their owner’s smart enough to break them but not smart enough to realize it takes more to finish them off... They don’t wait quietly for twenty years. They look for revenge, usually by finding another host. We hear about an attack after a week or two.”
“Maybe it took her a while to grow a new head?” Harrison asked.
“Could be. Maybe someone found her in a junkyard, fixed her up... or she drew on them for power and fixed herself. Then she ended up with the girl. Still, usually parasitic malevolents shrivel up after a month or so if nobody’s there to take power from. And even if it took her a while to come back, she’d probably go straight for revenge...”
“Yeah, like getting her new ‘best friend’ to make wishes that would get the Wishfinder agent who tore her head off involved.”
“That’s a point. But how would she know Chris was an agent? Or that she’d be the one to show up? No matter how you look at it, this doll’s the most dangerous malevolent on record.”
That got Harrison thinking.
“Let’s work backwards about this. Say she did know Chris was an agent. And she knew which part of town she was assigned to. Then she’d try to get to a kid in that part of town... maybe she jumps around a bit from victim to victim, maybe she tries to get the family she’s with to move. That’s something we can try to check up on.”
“See if the family moved there after they got the doll, huh? Well, I could check that, but I don’t see how it gets us any closer to finding our malevolent.”
“Maybe we can retrace her steps. Figure out how she got from Chris to this kid. See if there’s any stops in between she might want to revisit. It’s a longshot, but it might give us a lead.”
“Don’t say ‘us’, Hanson,” Zembra scolded. “It’s my case, that means that as far as HQ is concerned, any investigations I need their files for is mine. You have nothing to do with it.”
“Whatever,” Harrison grumbled. He hated kids, and kids who were over thirty were even worse. “But you’ll look into it, right?”
“Yeah. And while I do, you’d better get back to finding Mister Eight O’Clock. Don’t go investigating on your own; if you get new ideas, you tell me. If D finds out we’re collaborating on a case we’re not supposed to, it’ll go better for us both if you’re not hands-on about it.”
“She’s my partner,” Harrison said bluntly. “I’m not going to sit back and twiddle my thumbs while I wait for you to get her back.”
“Fine, then I’m just going to officially say that I don’t want you interfering in my case, and if you do I’m not going to take the fall for what you did poking around.”
“In other words, unofficially you don’t give a damn.”
“Watch your language, Mr. Hanson!” Zembra said, looking as innocent as she could.
“I can’t take any more of this act. You know what to look into, you got a phone, you can get your own ride. I’m getting back to the case.”
“Which case? The one you’re supposed to be on?”
“This is exactly what I mean.”
He walked out. Zembra laughed, and took her phone out as she watched the SUV drove off.
Then the lights went out. Before Zembra could dial, she had fallen unconscious.
---
Connie smiled as she glanced into the backseat. That adorable little girl was asleep.
“I wonder what I’ll call you,” she said, still smiling. “I guess I’ll just have to think of something by the time we get home.”
-----
“BEEGA CHU LA WEEKA NANANANA BEEGA CHU LA WEEKA NA,” Connie’s cell phone screamed before she picked it up. “Hello there! Who is this?”
“Hey! This is Zembra! How are you doing, Connie?”
“Hello! I’m doing wonderfully, darling! I’m just heading back from the adoption center right now!”
“I’m so happy for you! Have you named her yet?”
“No, I was just thinking about that. What do you think of Delia?”
“I like it,” said the child in the backseat.
Connie looked cheerfully into the rearview mirror. “Oh, I’m sorry did I wake you up? Um, alright, I’ll call you Delia from now on. Delia! ”
“Your phone is really loud,” Delia commented.
Connie returned to her phone, “So how have you been? Have you picked up any interested cases yet?”
There was no answer for a few moments. “Yes!” Zembra suddenly replied, “It was raining candy earlier today. We confiscated the doll the girl wished on. It’s pretty nice, and we’ve removed its wishing properties. Do you want to give it to Delia?”
“Sure! That sounds great! Delia, would you like a doll?”
“Er, no thanks,” said Delia, trembling.
“Sorry, Zembra, she doesn’t want it.”
There was no answer. Click! went the other line. “Oh. I’m not sure if she heard me, Delia.”
“Um.... that’s okay...” Delia whimpered. Delia unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door and tumbled out of the car.
“DELIA!” shrieked Connie, before she turned into the side of the road and flipped over the cliff.
---------
Zembra hung up the phone. Excellent! There was only one more loose end to take care of. She added a final line to the report she was typing up. “Casualties: Agent Hanson and Agent Lawra.”
Time to make it fact.
She grabbed her coat and her gun, and stepped out of the door.
-----
“Delia” stood at the top of the cliff for a while, watching as the car smashed against the rocks a few times before ultimately coming to rest in a crumpled heap several hundred feet below. A small part of her was disappointed that it didn’t burst into flames, that they never burst into flames, but she’d seen enough crashes and “accidents” to know that real life was much less flashy, if more deadly, than movies. She watched for several more minutes to make sure Connie wouldn’t claw her way free of the wreckage; if she couldn’t manage that, then it was pretty safe to assume she wouldn’t inconveniently survive and turn up to make trouble later. Nobody should be coming this way any time soon, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t notice the car so far off the road and so far down. She’d die of exposure or her injuries before anyone could rescue her.
Having been satisfied of Connie’s fate, the girl at the top of the cliff smiled a joyless little smile and began walking away. It’d be a while before she could make it back to civilization, so it was best to get a move on. As she made her unhurried way along the quiet interstate, she pulled out a pink cellphone plastered with a number of charms even she would probably admit were playing up the cutesy a little much and dialed.
A brisk female voice picked up. “Hello?”
“She’s dead. Car crash on the freeway. Rolled down three hundred feet, probably crushed before she even impacted.” The crisp, matter-of-fact tone was intensely disturbing coming from the mouth of a little girl, even setting aside the subject matter.
“You checked the body?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you want to muster the resources we both know you don’t have and airlift me in some pitons and rope, I’ll just scamper right down there and take her pulse.”
There was a brief pause before she added “Or you could always wish them to me.”
The girl laughed, but the woman on the other end of the line didn’t. “I need to know if Connie is dead or not, and I need you to give me that information. How you do it is up to you.”
“Look, if she’s not dead, she’s dying. And even if not, she’ll be out of the way for as long as we need. Longer, even. I’ve got other things to see to, I can’t afford to lose an entire night double-checking what I already know. Unless you think it’s better that the rest of my work goes unfinished?”
There was another, longer pause. “You have your autonomy. Just remember that if you’re incorrect, it will be you who suffers the repercussions.”
“Yeah, well, I feel like my record speaks for itself. What about Hanson and Lawra?”
“It’s being taken care of.”
“Good, because I’ve got a lot of walking to do before–” she blinked, then looked at her phone and scowled. “Well! Goodbye to you too, then.”
She pocketed it and continued strolling along, quietly whistling snatches from cartoon theme songs as the inferno roared behind her. Well, as she imagined the inferno roaring behind her. She was a professional, sure, but it would still be nice if cars had the decency to explode properly. Nobody could criticize for indulging in a few harmless flights of fancy now and again. Heck, it was practically expected of her! After all, she was just a precious little girl, full of wonder and light and with an imagination as big as... as... as something adorable.
Ah, screw it. Nobody was around, why put on the act?
The whistling faltered and was eventually replaced by quiet, self-satisfied humming. Damn, it felt good to be a gangster.
---
It was always a little frustrating working with the girl, but she got results. No sense letting a little professional tension taint an operation that was otherwise going perfectly so far. Even if she could be a little snot when she wanted to be. “Wish them to me”, indeed. What was a crack like that supposed to accomplish? The woman huffed a little to herself internally, but if she showed her annoyance outwardly, it was only in a possibly-imagined flaring of her nostrils. She was all grace and elegance and cool detachment, just as she always was.
She pulled the coat tighter around herself and looked down as she stepped in a puddle of half-melted chocolate. Ugh. She stooped over and pulled a gumdrop off that had been impaled by of one of her heels, then wiped the disgusting mass of cocoa and caramel off with a handkerchief. This is exactly the problem, she told herself for the thousandth time in the past months.
The handkerchief was given a sad look before ultimately being discarded. Her hands slipped back into her pockets, and one thumb ran up the comforting grip of her custom-built, wood-handled little automatic friend. It was reliable, predictable, grounded in science, and always helped calm her down when her hackles started to rise at the stupidity of wishes and the people that made them. She gave it an affectionate little squeeze as wove through the crowd; at least the rain had started long enough ago that only the most determined or most obese children were still out scrounging for candy in the gutters. It made getting around that little bit easier while the streets were still blocked by drifts of taffy and gumballs.
She gave the gun one last little stroke as she thought of the task ahead of her. It was a pity that Lawra and Hansen would have to die, but they’d been tainted. They’d be another casualty of her private crusade, and one more reason it had to succeed at all costs. It was comforting to reflect on how close she had gotten to the final stages of the plan in the face of the black deeds she was about to perform. The end was so close she could practically taste it through the sugary haze the city had been left in. When she’d finished, they’d have thanked her if they’d still been alive to see it.
It will be a beautiful world, she thought, sparing a glance at the distasteful bubble-gum pink stormclouds that were even now dispersing. A world without wishes.
In other news, while I would like to go next, I have to get ready to go to my dads sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo if someone wants to go go for it