Page 15

Chapter fifteen

A quick text from Bob revealed the notification to the family had not been done. The meeting with the city officials had thrown off his schedule. This left Bartholomew with having to do the horrible deed two days in a row. As he sat in Lexi outside a two-story home on Country-hill Road on the Arkansas side, he wondered what made him agree to do this.

Oh yeah, I was trying to make Angela feel part of the family again, Bartholomew reminded himself. That was a dumb move on my part.

The adrenaline that had motivated him earlier in the day was gone. Maybe it was dressing in his professional clothes that had done it. Either way, his palms were sweating even with the AC blasting on him.

For a being that is not supposed to sweat under any conditions, I’m doing it a lot lately.

He needed to focus on getting a hold of himself. Nobody wanted to receive bad news from a nervous wreck.

Knock.

The tap on the passenger side window made him jump. He really needed to get his head in the moment, or someone would knock him off. Bartholomew lowered the window.

“Bart,” a Union Station informer said. “Shorty sent me to be your backup.”

Bartholomew couldn’t see his face but recognized the voice of Triplet-2. The man leaned against the car with his back towards Bartholomew like there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

“Thanks,” Bartholomew replied. “Going in. Let me know if you see anything suspicious in the neighborhood.”

“On it.” Triplet-2 moved slowly away, dragging his left leg.

In the last few months, the Triplets had added physical disabilities to their undercover gear when on duty. They noticed most humans never paid attention to their faces if they had a limp or deformity. If anything, they avoided the sight of them at all costs. When asked about the individual, rarely could anyone describe them. It was like they made themselves invisible in plain sight.

Triplet-2 dropped a can on the street, a signal Bartholomew recognized as all clear. He couldn’t wait any longer now that his backup had arrived. Shorty had declared the situation too suspicious for anyone to be alone in the city. Bartholomew had laughed, not to his face, of course. Shorty would have poked his eyes out.

Of all the members of Union Station, after Isis, he was the most dangerous. Except everyone still saw him as the baby of the group. Bartholomew had mixed feelings about the status. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for people to see him differently. To acknowledge the truth, that he had been remade and wasn’t human anymore. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t ready for any of that.

Maybe a compromise. Maybe they could see me as a young adult.

But Isis had busted that bubble for him. While she recognized he was a lethal adult with superpowers, he was always going to be her little brother. Bartholomew just needed to accept the truth.

Truth is, you have a job to do. Suck it up.

Bartholomew adjusted his vest and stepped out of Lexi. Constantine had laughed at him, saying he looked like a tan version of Bob. Considering all his formal clothes were in his dirty laundry basket, baby-Bob would need to do. He didn’t mind; he admired how well-dressed Bob was.

He slammed the door shut and marched to the front door. Stalling now was just ridiculous. Bartholomew wasn’t sure how this house still had manicured lawns when everyone around them had dead grass for the fall. The green was in such disagreements with all the neighbors.

The front door opened before he could ring the doorbell. A large woman, over six feet tall and probably three hundred pounds of solid muscle, stared back at Bartholomew. It was the first time in years Bartholomew felt small, even thought he was over six feet tall himself.

“You found him,” the woman muttered in a soft voice that didn’t belong to the large body.

“I’m sorry, what?” Bartholomew struggled to make sense of the sentence.

“My son,” she drawled. “That’s why you are here. I reported him missing last week.”

Bartholomew pulled his cell out and found his notes. “Ma’am, is your son Chance Rodgers?”

“Oh Gods, no!” She dropped to the ground as tears rushed down her cheeks.

Helpless, Bartholomew kneeled with her, holding her hand.

“He’s dead, right?”

“I’m so sorry, but yes.”

The sobs overtook the woman, and her entire body shook with the pain. Bartholomew was lost and stayed with her, holding space for her. There was nothing he could say to make her pain any less. It was the same pain that he had seen in Isis when he appeared next to her after Death brought him back. An emptiness that takes over the soul. He rubbed his hands down her back, letting her cry.

From across the street, Bartholomew could see Triplet-2 with his head bowed. Everyone understood loss and pain. Even the street felt like it was holding its breath for her. Giving her time to empty herself of tears. No parent should ever bury a child. That was the rule.

It took several long minutes before the mother could gain her composure. “When can I see him?” she asked hoarsely.

“He is at the Station now,” Bartholomew replied. “Can I help you inside?”

The mother nodded, and Bartholomew raised her to her feet. It was probably a good thing he was the one who came. Bartholomew doubted even Bob, with his extra strength, would have been able to move her. Carefully, Bartholomew brought her into the house.

The living room was lavishly decorated. Large leather couches sat in a comfortable but professional style. A large mahogany coffee table lay in the center, with a crystal bowl. Family photos decorated the foyer and Bartholomew understood the need for the large space. The Rodgers were pretty large people. His report stated they were werewolves. He wondered if they were mixed with giants as well.

Setting the mother gently on the large sectional, Bartholomew took a seat next to her. The mother dropped her head on the armrest and cried. Her suffering was raw, and Bartholomew struggled to not cry with her.

“Did he suffer?” she asked between sobs.

“He definitely did not go suffering, I can guarantee that,” Bartholomew answered truthfully.

That made the mother stop crying and raised her head to face the young Reaper. “But you are The Reaper.”

Bartholomew wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement, so he merely nodded.

“My son has been missing for over four days,” she told him. “You are telling me he wasn’t tortured or mutilated?”

Bartholomew swallowed trying to find the right words to explain to a mother the state they found her son.

“Well,” he started. “He didn’t have any torture marks, as far as we could tell. Unless he was allergic to lipstick and biting.”

The mother’s expression went blank, and Bartholomew shrugged.

“Ma’am, I really don’t know how to say this,” he admitted.

“Please, just the truth.”

“We don’t know what happened to him,” Bartholomew informed her. “We found his body last night at Ferguson Park tied to a tree.”

“And he wasn’t tortured?” she asked.

“Well . . .” Bartholomew paused and prepared to say the rest as quickly as possible. “We found him naked, but he had a full erection with a smile on his face. I’m pretty sure your definition of torture and what happened were not the same.”

Bartholomew exhaled and leaned back on the couch.

“Are you serious?” the mother asked. “He died during sex?”

Bartholomew made a half gesture with his hands and waited.

“That’s insane,” said the mother. “You are going to find out what happened to my son.”

“That’s why I’m here, ma’am,” answered Bartholomew, relieved he didn’t have to describe anything else to a mother about their son’s last sex adventure. “We would like to conduct an autopsy on him. Would you give us permission?”

“Absolutely,” she said patiently. “I bet it was those assholes from the Coleman clan. They did it.”

“They did what?” asked Bartholomew. “Was your son dating someone from the Coleman clan?”

“My god has my soul, never!” She held her chest with her hands like she had been stabbed.

“Then why did you think they did it?”

“They are losing ground and afraid we will take over.” The mother stood from the couch and paced the living room. “But taking my youngest is a declaration of war.”

“War? Hold on!” Bartholomew jumped to his feet. “Let’s not jump to conclusions now. We really don’t know what happened. There is no need to go fighting anyone.”

“Why? Are you on their side?” Rage radiated off her body and Bartholomew could see the signs of the shift coming.

Pulling his small cylinder rod from his back pocket, Bartholomew engaged the mechanism with his thumb. In three breaths, the cylinder transferred to his six-foot-tall scythe. At the same time, Bartholomew unleashed his own power, slamming it against the mother. He didn’t want to hurt her, but a reminder of who was the true alpha in the room was necessary.

The mother stumbled back. She was strong, but Bartholomew was death itself. Silver eyes glowed down on the woman, and she dropped to the ground.

“Do not test me, woman,” Bartholomew said with a voice that was deeper than his own. “You will not win this battle.”

Covering her face, she cried again. “Reaper, please. No!”

The fear on her face hit Bartholomew in the gut, but not enough to drop his powers or his scythe.

“Let me remind you, woman, that this is Haven, and it is neutral ground. If a war starts in our domain, we will wipe three generations off the face of this planet, regardless of whose side started it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Reaper.” The mother was on her knees, bowed down to him.

The act made Bartholomew’s stomach turn. He retracted his scythe and placed it back in his pants. Hoping he wouldn’t regret it, he lowered his power and bent down next to the mother. She flinched, but Bartholomew didn’t back away. Slowly, he raised her back to her feet and onto the couch.

“We will find out what happened to your son, and justice will be done,” he told her in his normal voice. “But do nothing you will regret or force our hand. I do not make empty threats.”

“It makes little sense,” she whispered.

“Now we are both in agreement,” he told her. “Can you tell me when the last time was you saw your son?”

“We have lunch every Friday, but he never made it,” she said. “He moved on his own to Ashdown last year, but he is still a mama’s boy. I knew something was wrong when he didn’t call me back. But it wasn’t until last night when I felt it. My son had left this world.”

Bartholomew had heard of mothers knowing when their children passed but had never met one. It was a strange phenomenon. She was positive she knew when he died.

“Did your son do drugs, by any chance?”

“Absolutely not.” She sat up on the couch. “The pack has strict rules against any of those human drugs or enhancers.”

“Really?” It was the first time Bartholomew had heard that.

“Let’s just say human drugs and many shifters don’t mix. Some can cause paralysis or even death.”

“Does everyone know that?”

“Older shifters should, but the young are hard-headed and sometimes don’t listen.” She glanced at Bartholomew. “Why?”

“We are just ruling things out,” he replied. “You can contact the Station and make an appointment with our doctor to see the body. She can accommodate your schedule.”

“You promise he didn’t suffer?”

“Yes,” Bartholomew replied. “Death escorted his soul to his final destination. He was at peace and very well guarded until the end.”

“Thank you.”

“We will be in touch.” Bartholomew nodded to the mother and marched himself out of the house.

He didn’t fear turning his back on her. They both knew he was stronger and faster than she was. Bartholomew had delivered a hard blow. She was looking for someone to blame. Closing the door behind him, he strolled toward the Lexus. Triplet-2 was sitting on the hood, hand inside his coat. When he saw Bartholomew, he released the gun he was holding and took a long breath.

“Bart my man, are you okay?” Triplet-2 said, jumping off the car.

“You know you are my boy, but if you scratched my car, I’m going to beat you,” Bartholomew told him, inspecting the hood of his car.

“Oh please,” said Triplet-2, staring at Bartholomew. “You are not even a car kind of guy. Seriously, what happened? I felt your powers ripple down the street. Every person who was in the neighborhood either fled or locked themselves in their house.”

“Things got a bit intense in there,” was all Bartholomew told him.

“A bit?” Triplet-2 glanced around the street. “There is not an animal in sight for at least a mile. If I wasn’t part of the crew, I would have bounced with the rest.”

“I might have gone to the extreme.” Bartholomew scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “Just needed to make sure she knew who was in charge and I didn’t want to hurt her. But why didn’t you flee?”

“It was weird.” Triplet-2 adjusted his holster. “It was like your power pulled me towards the house.”

“Interesting.” Bartholomew smiled. “Good to know.”

“What?”

“That if I’m ever in trouble and unleashed my powers, anyone from our team in the proximity would come to me.”

“Now that is a pretty handy trick.” Triplet-2 nodded in approval.

“Especially with Isis,” Bartholomew added. “If you felt my power, it means if Isis is in trouble, the team will sense her as well. Just in case I’m not nearby to help her.”

“Now that’s a blessing right there,” Triplet-2 said. “Cause we all know Isis is a magnet for trouble.”

“Amen to that.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Do we have any more people in this location?” Bartholomew scanned the area.

“Not this close.” Triplet-2 pulled out his phone. “I can move a few if we need it.”

“I need you to monitor who comes and goes from this house. Also, find out who the members of this pack are.”

“Got it.” Triplet-2 took a few notes down. “What am I looking for?”

“Stopping a pack war before it starts.”

Triplet-2 stopped typing and glanced at Bartholomew.

“The mother thinks the Coleman clan was the one who kidnapped her son. I didn’t even know he was missing. I don’t like this at all.”

“This is not good at all.”

“Get eyes on all the clan leaders. We need to figure out what is really happening.” Bartholomew unlocked Lexi.

“Bart, out of curiosity, what happens if a war breaks out in Haven?”

“We kill them all, let God sort them out.” Bartholomew quoted the old 82 nd Airborne mantra.

“Brutal, but effective,” said Triplet-2.

“Tell me about it. Let’s make sure we don’t have to.”

Triplet-2 saluted, and Bartholomew climbed into his vehicle. He leaned back and realized for the first time that Triplet-2 had saluted him the same way he did Isis and Bob. Not out of fear, but respect. Maybe the team didn’t see him as a kid.

Maybe the only one who sees me as a kid is me.

It took him a minute to adjust his mind to the new information. Bartholomew was no longer a kid, but a leader of Reapers Inc., and it was time he embraced it. It didn’t mean he had to act any differently, he just didn’t need to be ashamed of what he was.

“If Isis can be a Reaper, so can I!”

Taking a long look in the rear-view mirror, he saw the image of the young boy he was five years ago at his death and the one staring at him now. Slowly, he found the images merging. He wasn’t two different people anymore. It was like he had broken in a new pair of shoes and now they fit just right. Bartholomew felt complete.