Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 08.
A horrible feeling

Be a homicide detective was always an obvious goal for Cole Sear. That was, after all, the perfect way in which he could fulfill the purpose that had led him to join the police force from the start. This achievement reached him relatively quickly, becoming one of the youngest elements to get it. A lot of it was thanks to his hard work, of course; but it would be quite stubborn of him to pretend that it was not also due to his unique abilities which gave him an advantage over other competitors.

If he had learned anything during those years he was leading, not only as a homicide detective but as part of the Philadelphia Police Department itself, it is that almost all criminals, not to mention people in general, had the instinct to run away ; or, failing that, attack at the first sign of danger. This behavior was very characteristic of animals; the one that was not so was the desire to attack, torture, and murder their peers for no reason, beyond wanting to do so, or a selfish and twisted search for pleasure and emotion.

Strangely, he had realized that those with this behavior were, in fact, less likely to flee. As he saw it, the violent and ruthless killers, even within their twisted way of seeing the world, were smart enough to understand that what they did was wrong; for other people, not for themselves. And although several of them could not fully digest all the implications of it, they used to accept with remarkable tranquility the fact that they were discovered and even celebrated about it.

Andrew Stuart, the son of a bitch who was chasing on foot at the time in the center, was not one of them. This coward, as soon as he understood why two officers had shown up at his appliance store looking specifically for him, threw a shelf to them and ran out terrified by the boarding area. Cole's partner, Tommy, went to the car, while Cole decided to run after the suspect. Although of course, to call him suspect for Cole was a mere formality; he already knew that he was guilty, and enough.

It was a little before 6 pm; the sidewalks were somewhat crowded, as several people had recently left their jobs. To Andrew, this seemed to matter very little to him, as did not matter to him the life of the innocent women who trusted him when they got into his vehicle during the dawns, in search of somebody that took them safely to home. He pushed everyone without the slightest hesitation to break through, even knocking them to the ground if necessary. A part of Cole wanted to behave himself that way, as long as he could reach that bastard as soon as possible. But, for better or for worse, he was a law enforcement officer, so he just went as far as he could, while announcing himself shouting: "Police! Off to the side!" That seemed to be enough most of the time for people to stand aside, between surprised and frightened.

He would not let him escape in any way. Not after everything he had done, and everything he had to pay for. Cole would catch him, and put him in the darkest and most humid cell he could find, but not before beating him as God commands.

Andrew turned out to have enough stamina and condition, but Cole also had it. It took him three blocks, but he finally managed to tack and throw Andrew to the ground. Both rolled; Andrew hit his forehead against the sidewalk, and it opened in a long wound. Still stunned with his forehead bleeding, he got back to his feet, and without thinking, he threw a punch at Cole. The detective dodged him by a few millimeters, but Andrew kept trying.

And there was the second common behavior: attack in a desperate way, fed by anger.

People surrounded them, but all were limited to watching the show. During the first punches, Cole only covered or dodged, but just when he saw the opportunity, he hit a straight right on his jaw, which made Andrew stumble back awkwardly. Cole could have taken out his gun and forced him with that threat to throw himself to the ground, but he did not do that. He felt a lot of satisfaction, more than he would admit, in being able to advance that beating he had thought of right now and with his fists.

Andrew was not as helpless as he looked. In their exchange of punches, he managed to give Cole a pair, of which the second almost knocked him down, but he remained standing.

Cole could see out of the corner of his eye how Tommy arrived and parked his beige Cadillac on one side of the sidewalk. Then he got off, with his gun in hand, but remained in that place, doubtful whether to intervene or not.

"Do you want help, friend?"

"No, thanks," Cole said, just before ducking to avoid an Andrew hook. "I have everything under control."

At first glance, it did not seem that this statement was right, but in the end, the detective managed to shoot the suspect behind a strong hook to the face, which made him turn on himself, fall flat on the floor, and stay there. Once there, Cole stood over him and placed the handcuffs on him, perhaps applying a little more force than required.

"Andrew Stuart," he began with a vengeance as he handcuffed him, "you're under arrest for the murder of Rebecca Snyder, and five other women whom I will name you shortly, I promise."

He lifted him and then pulled him violently towards the car.

"This is stupid!" Andrew exclaimed furiously; his face bloodied and bruised. "Based on what you are doing it?"

"Based on what?" Murmured Cole, apparently furious at the mere idea that he questioned such a thing. "How about six corpses buried in the same corner of the forest, all with enough of your DNA to send you to a death sentence individually?"

Andrew's expression filled with astonishment and amazement suddenly, trying to look at his captor over his shoulder as his firm grip allowed him.

"That, without mention the word of a witness" the detective added sharply, already being right next to the car.

"Witness?" Andrew exclaimed as if he did not know the meaning of that word. "What witness?"

"Rebecca Snyder, asshole."

"What?"

Before giving him enough time even to digest that strange response, the officer placed his hand on his head and lowered it suddenly intending to put him in the backseat. However, in the process he smashed his forehead against the top frame of the door, causing him to become even more disoriented than he already was.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did it hurt? My carelessness."

Cole pushed it into the car almost pushing it, and slammed the door hard behind him. The people, by then, had already begun to retire.

"Well done, Sear," Tommy said, almost scolding. "Do you think that enough time has passed since your last slap of ears for police abuse?"

"You saw it yourself, he fought it hard," Cole said, shrugging nonchalantly. "You will back me up, will not you?"

He added a wink of complicity behind his words, to which the other cop quietly sighed.

"While I can, my friend."

Tommy was ten years older than him, with a mustache of a somewhat old—fashioned style. In theory, he was supposed to be his senior, in charge of teaching him and taking care that he did everything according to the rules and procedure. In practice, Tommy turned out to be quite condescending with it. Although he was not so old, he seemed to share many of the old guard's thoughts, in which it was considered understandable, and even advisable, that they should treat the criminals as necessary. The difference between Cole and him is that Tommy most of the time he only thought about it, while Cole applied it to every opportunity.

The reason for Cole's actions, however, was not due to an attachment to old ways. While many of the homicide policemen saw everything in a rather cold way, without getting involved in a personal way and without seeing the victims as more than just corpses (something that was quite recurrent mentioned on the academy), Cole had a completely different perspective of each case. That perspective led him to get a vision on the matter that none of his colleagues could match.

That was, precisely, his happy advantage although many would see it as the opposite.

Tommy went to the other side of the car and headed for the driver's seat. However, Cole did not go to his respective place.

"Can you get ahead to take this idiot and process him?"

His partner turned to see him, somewhat confused by such a request.

"Sure. But, where are you going?"

"I have to take care of another business."

"Business? What business?"

Cole did not say anything. He just smiled and tilted his head a little to one side. That was enough to be understood.

"Ah, a business of that class?"

Again, he did not respond with words.

"I'll see you in a little while." Cole pointed out and then started back up the street. "Don't miss that bastard."

"Of course not. Tonight, he will sleep in the shadows."

Tommy climbed into the car, turned on it, and then drove in the opposite direction.

— — — —

Once the adrenaline and emotion of the fight subsided, Cole began to feel the heat of the blows received in the face, and also of the hits provided by knuckles. Definitely, he was not in the best condition to go on a date, if that was the case. He would have to put ice on that wounds when he got home, and clean his knuckles with alcohol. But he did not care; to a certain extent, he was already used to it.

His destination was not very far. A few meters ahead of the scene of his fight, he entered a narrow, somewhat hidden alley. There was nothing in that space, beyond some trash cans and a fire escape stairs on the side of the left building.

He looked around, making sure there was no one, not inside the alley, as if outside. He took out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. He put one in his mouth and lit it. From the first breath, he was already feeling more relaxed, and the pain eased.

He remained standing in that place, just waiting. The person who had gone to see was already there; he knew that. He could feel it in all his bones. It was a sensation between pain and tickling; hard to describe, and more to imagine.

A slight cold air snorted, touching his face delicately. Beneath his suit, his skin bristled. He released a thick puff of smoke into the air, and then turned to the side, further down the alley.

And there she was: Rebecca Snyder, with coppery hair in a tangle, and her face pale, except for the blows that had left brown and purple spots that stood out remarkably. Her long neck was marked by the prints of long and thick fingers that had left furrows on her skin when pressed with excessive force; the fingers of the same fists that a few minutes ago were trying to hit him. Her blouse was torn, leaving one of her breasts exposed, and her skirt lifted. Her thighs were stained with blood, drawing thin threads that ran down his legs to almost reaching her ankles.

Her sight was lost, set somewhere on the dirty floor of the alley. Her arms fell to the sides without the slightest force in them.

Cole, more than feeling scared or disturbed by such an image, every time he saw her he could only feel tremendous anger. If he could, he would have killed that bastard right there, and possibly he would have won a medal with it; not in that life, but maybe in the next. But he was a policeman, and he had to behave as such. He had joined the force precisely to help people like Rebecca, but even so, he must continue to follow the rules of the living.

He threw his cigarette barely started on the floor, and stepped on it with his toe. He kept his distance, waiting for Rebecca to turn to see him, but she did not. She kept looking at the floor, as if that ball of paper near her feet, moving slightly from side to side just a few centimeters by the wind, was something exciting.

"It's over, Rebecca," he informed her after a while, very softly in her voice. "I caught him. He will pay for what he did to you and the others. And he won't hurt someone else again."

She continued without reacting as if his words were distant murmurs in the wind that were not addressed to her.

Cole approached cautiously; the closer he came, the colder the air became. He raised his right hand intending to place it on his shoulder, but at the last moment decided not to.

"You can rest now. I will take care of everything else."

Then it followed a few seconds of complete silence and calm. Even the sounds of the street, the walk of people, the noise of the cars, everything seemed to have vanished.

Suddenly, Rebecca began to raise her face slowly and to turn it in the same way towards him. Her blue eyes, in those reddish and absent-minded moments, rested on the detective, to which he responded only with a modest smile.

"Thank you..." the woman whispered slowly, but still her voice resounded loudly in Cole's head like an echo.

Silence comes next, another breath of cold air, and then... nothing. The noise of the street and people returned, the usual heat returned little by little, and Rebecca Snyder disappeared without a trace. It would be the last time Cole would see her, or that was at least what Cole expected.

Already at that point, he did not remember when it had started. In his almost thirty years, looking back, it seemed as if it had always been like this: to be able to see and talk to the dead. What he did remember clearly was the moment in which he decided what use to give to such a singular quality. When instead of running away from that girl who had been poisoned by her mother, agreed to listen to her and prevent the same thing happening with his sister. He learned that way the spirits that came to him, for the most part, they did not intend to hurt him but fed by their own confusion and fears. They saw him as a beam of light that could help them, and he decided that within his faculties, he would try to be one.

Of course, not all the ghosts that came to him did it with good intentions. But over time, he managed to control even more his skills including understanding that they had much higher qualities than he had expected as a child. These qualities could help keep such entities away, or even invoke them if required.

But of course, Cole did not achieve all that alone; if so, he would possibly remain as the child hiding behind his blankets, in a false attempt to protect himself from beings he did not understand. But thanks in particular to two people, he managed to take the right steps. The first of them, surprisingly, was another ghost, and he was who encouraged him to no longer be so afraid of them. Cole knew the second person when he was about to enter adolescence; when the apparitions became much more frequent and much more dangerous.

That person, precisely, was about to call him.

Cole left the alley with the clear intention of lighting another cigarette. He had just placed it on his lips when he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pants. He hurried to get it out and saw displayed on the screen an unregistered number. But, besides that, it started with the code of another state.

He tried to remember which city the code belonged to, but it did not come to his head quickly, and the phone kept ringing. His immediate decision was to answer. It was not uncommon for people of unknown number to call him since he often distributed his presentation card among people he felt might need it. However, what was a little more unusual, was that these types of calls would come from outside the city... except for a particular case, which was the one that came to mind just after responding.

"Detective Sear," he answered firmly, as his years of police had accustomed him.

"Good fight, Detective Sear," he heard a woman's voice on the other end of the line pronounce; a very, very recognizable woman's voice. "Have you ever considered a career in boxing?"

A broad smile of emotion crossed Cole's lips.

"Eleven? What a surprise!"

He heard a small, modest giggle from the other side.

"That didn't sound sincere."

"Because it is not, I'm not really surprised. Were you spying on me? You won't be calling me just to scold me for the fight, will you?"

"Actually, it was a coincidence. And I'm sure that guy deserved that facial rearrangement."

"I guarantee you that he deserved that and more."

Again, some friendly giggles from both. Cole started walking along the sidewalk towards the headquarters, having the phone at every moment against his ear."

Jane Wheeler, Eleven for friends, ran a Foundation dedicated primarily to helping children like him. With her guidance, he learned to understand how to use better his skills; or, as she called it, his "Shining."

"I'm sorry to bother you so suddenly," Eleven murmured, once the initial greetings had passed, "but I need to ask you a favor."

"For you, I do whatever, you know it," Cole said to answer immediately. He did not work regularly at the Foundation, but he was always open to doing so as soon as the opportunity presented itself. "Any other Foundation child is frightened by incomprehensible phenomena for the rest of your assistants?"

"Something like that. But I suspect that it could be a case closer to the other type of phenomena that you tend to see."

Cole's right eyebrow arched with intrigue.

"Other type?"

"You know, those who are not precisely ghosts."

That single clarification was quite clear to him; he did not say it in words, but his silence indicated this to his interlocutor. Also, that made something more worrying about the reason for her call.

"It is a girl who has skills and behaviors that are quite worrying, in many ways. I assigned the case to Matilda Honey, one of my most trusted and committed collaborators. I think you've never had the opportunity to meet her before."

To Cole, the name did not come to mind; he would definitely remember someone whose last name was "Honey." It lent itself so easily to a couple of jokes that it could even be considered a boring challenge.

Eleven continued.

"She's a woman quite capable of anything, and I say it almost literally. However, she doesn't have the kind of experience you have with cases like this."

Cole thought a little about everything he had heard. Much of his attention had been left behind in the conversation.

"What do you think it is, Eleven?" He questioned with notorious seriousness in his tone.

Eleven took a couple of seconds before answering.

"I don't know for sure. It's more like a feeling; a horrible feeling."

"It's better not to take your feelings lightly, especially if they are horrible. What do you need me to do?"

"Originally I intended to ask you if you could take care of it, but Matilda expressed very strongly her refusal to leave the case. Even so, I would feel calmer if you saw this kid and gave your opinion to Matilda about her. And, if you can, support her in the following steps to follow."

"Sure, there's no problem. When should I be there?"

Eleven stammered, confused by the unexpected response.

"But I still don't give you all the details of the case. I haven't even told you where you should go..."

"Hey, I said I'd do anything for you," the detective interrupted firmly, "so I don't need any more details. Also, I just closed a complicated case, and I could use a short vacation. Just give me a few days to finish the paperwork, and see what dates I have to appear in court."

"You're all charming, Cole," the woman murmured with a warm tone. "Then we will be in contact to talk more calmly about the case."

"Sure, you always know where to find me."

Being about to cut, Eleven stopped him.

"Ah, one more thing, Cole. Try to be... careful with Matilda. You've never met anyone like her before."

"Why do you say that?" He asked, intrigued. "Does Miss Honey have two heads or can she blow up mine?"

"Unmistakably, she doesn't have two heads. About the other thing..." Eleven left the words in the air, leaving Cole a bit confused. "I think you two will get along, after a while. I leave you to finish your paperwork. We talk this night."

"Sure. Say hello to Mike by me."

When he cut off the communication, Cole stopped for a moment to meditate, standing there on the sidewalk. He sounded pretty sure a few moments ago on the phone, but actually, he was not so much.

He moved a little closer to a bench, and let himself fall into it. He took out his cell phone again and started dialing a number. On the other side, the person attended by the third beep.

"Father Michael," he said enthusiastically, though solemnly. "Do you have time to receive me later...? No, nothing terrible especially. It's just... a horrible feeling."

— — — —

After several days of meetings and agreements, Ann Thorn, with maiden name Rutledge, decided to take a night off on her business trip in Los Angeles and go to the Opera. And what better companion for a night like that than his beloved nephew, Damien? After all, those same meetings and agreements they had also occupied him; although not as much as she expected.

Damien was reluctant at first, but in the end, he hesitantly agreed. They both get ready right on time, and they climbed into the limo with Billy to take them to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. That trip, however, was a little silent.

Ann was a woman who was already forty—five years old, elegant and very good looking. She had long curly black hair that fell loose on her shoulders that night. She had put on a long black evening dress, with bare shoulders, and matching high heels. She was also retouching her lips with an intense red that stood out in her white face. She was, in a few words, a stunning woman, one of those who each year they live, they look even better.

"The critics had spoken very well about this opera," Ann commented just after finishing painting her lips. "Let's hope it's worth it."

"Yes, I'm sure you want to see it for the good reviews," said the boy beside her, with marked sarcasm.

Damien wore a suit of black coat and pants, a dark gray shirt, and a red tie with diagonal white lines. While his aunt did her thing with her lips, while both were sitting in the back seat of the limousine, he boringly checked his cell phone. There was a significant distance between them, which could hardly have been accidental.

Ann was the second wife of his uncle Richard, the older brother of his father. When he orphaned at a very young age, he remained in Richard and Ann custody. Time later, his uncle died in an accident when he was twelve, and since then he was in the care of Ann as his legal guardian.

But of course, much of that was lies, or at least almost nobody knew all the details about how his parents and uncle died, or who Ann Rutledge really was, or the purpose and means by which she had come to Damien's life.

"Occasional public appearances are sometimes necessary," Ann pointed out. "I thought I taught you that."

She then kept her mirror and lipstick, and immediately afterward she glanced at her companion.

"That tie suits you very well. You should use it more often."

"It works when I want to disguise myself as a clown," replied the boy with reluctantly.

His attitude was quite negative, and although Ann tried to hide her annoyance, it was indeed hard not to feel assaulted by her tone. That state had already lasted a couple of months. And although at times it seemed that everything was improving, abruptly they returned to the starting point.

The limousine approached its destination by North Grand Avenue.

"Leave us here, Billy," Ann pointed out, indicating the long stairs that led to the plaza of Los Angeles Music Center. The driver stepped aside, despite the red line, and both got out. First Damien, and then Ann, who had to get out without the help of her young escort, who still did not take his eyes off of his cell phone.

In any other similar case, that attitude would be a clear example of how deteriorated the current youth were. But that boy was not any young man, and his attitude toward her was due to more than youthful apathy.

On the sidewalk, there were many people, but from their position, they could notice that there was still more up in the square; all of them waiting for it to be time for the event to start.

The limo pulled away, and they both started walking toward the stairs. However, a voice behind them stopped them.

"Mrs. Thorn," said a tongue—in—cheek voice behind her, making the woman in black turn around quickly, and Damien did the same. Approaching by the sidewalk was a man of medium height, with a half—grown beard, striped shirt, jacket, and gray pants. And, perhaps most striking, a press badge hanging from the left pocket of his jacket. "You are Ann Thorn of Thorn Industries, right?"

Ann smiled gently, as she could. There were several reporters in the vicinity, some much more recognizable than others, even without distinctive badges on their chests. But that one, in particular, did not seem to be a show reporter. Also, Ann did not believe that many show reporters could recognize her so quickly on the street.

"If you want to know my opinion about the performance, you'll have to wait until after the end, boy," she said politely, and somewhat mockingly, and immediately set out to follow her progress; Damien followed her in silence.

"I'm not a show reporter, Mrs. Thorn," the reporter hurried to explain, creating some personal pride in Ann when she saw that she had been right. "I was waiting for you precisely. Can you give me just a second?"

"I don't have much time," Ann explained, as the three of them climbed the stairs. "The first call will be at any time. Besides, how did you know I would be here anyway?"

"With all due respect, but the CEO of a business consortium as big as Thorn Industries can hardly go unnoticed; especially if she comes with the young heir."

The man's attention focused on the boy who was walking beside the elegant woman. This one, when he felt his eyes, looked at him equally over his shoulder with his deep and cold blue eyes. The expression of the boy came to cause a slight jump on the reporter, for no reason.

"Damien Thorn, right?" He extended his hand in greeting, once they reached the bottom of the stairs. However, Damien did not return the address in any way.

"I'll get ahead of you, Aunt Ann," he said brusquely, and then walked away to the building on his own.

Ann looked at him for a few seconds, between surprised and annoyed; the latter was not sure if it was to his young nephew, or to the impertinent reporter who was bothering them.

"It will be quick," she heard the man say at her side with the same tongue—in—cheek voice as before, which did not do much to lessen her bad mood. "I just want to know your opinion about the rumors that hover in the financial sector, about your visit to Los Angeles is due to the possible purchase of Winston Motors by Thorn Industries."

From his position, the reporter could not see her face; and if he could see it, he might have thought twice before harassing her with such questions. Her inside boiled with the desire to take his stupid head and crashed it to the ground again and again until in her hands there were only bunches of flesh and bone. Unfortunately, that would be quite disturbing to the public relations of the company. So, instead of opting for that option, she decided to turn to him and smile normally.

"If I had something to say about it, why do you think I would tell you, dear? Especially if I consider that anything I say, or doesn't say, would cause a disturbance on Wall Street in the morning."

"You said it yourself," the reporter stressed, confident in his voice. "Sometimes refusing to deny a statement says much more than affirming it."

Surely he had felt brilliant for having done such a cunning observation. Ann continued smiling, but the option of the head and the ground seemed more and more tempting to her.

"If you didn't come for that, why don't you tell me what is the real reason for your stay in Los Angeles? That could calm rumors and riots, don't you think?"

"Tonight, I only come to spend a nice time with my beloved nephew. And you're spoiling me." Ann straightened her comment, giving him a pair of friendly pats on his cheek. "You can write that if you wish. About Winston Motors..." She paused thoughtfully, tilted his head to the side, and then smiled confidently again. "No comment."

After saying that she began to move quickly to the auditorium, and even being him behind her, she could feel his proud smile, and how he took out his cell phone and called someone.

She could guess how he would take his refusal to deny as an affirmation. She could see the tomorrow business section of a local newspaper, with a new without stating anything directly, but between the lines would inform to the world that Thorn Industries would absorb Winston Motors, and even give some predictions and theories of what that purchase could bring to the future. The shares of Winston Motors would start to rise, and those of Thorn Industries might drop a few points, but it won't be something out of the ordinary.

But in the end, everything would be just reverend nonsense. Of course, the president of Winston Motors and she already had an alliance, and of course, they had seen her leave and enter their building several times throughout that week and a half. But this alliance was many things, but not commercial; not in the conventional sense that inept reporters like that understood, at least. The principal heads of Winston Motors were part of Them; followers of the same cause, allies in matters that were much deeper and more complex than a business purchase, or any other idea that the mundane mind of that individual could conceive.

But there was no point in continuing to think about it; there were more relevant issues that still worried her.

Already inside the auditorium, an usher did her the favor of guiding her to their private box, in which her companion was already seated; again, with his attention on the cell phone. Ann wondered if he really was seeing something interesting or if he was just doing it to annoy her.

She decided not to show her annoyance, and instead just smiled and sat in the chair next to him. There had been too many fake smiles for an afternoon. The stage was on the right side of the auditorium, and the position was more than adequate to contemplate it entirely without problems. The seats had been provided by their friends of Winston Motors.

"The view is perfect, don't you think?" Commented the woman in black, but did not receive an answer; at least not immediately, although it was not as such an answer to her question.

"Was really a coincidence that we met that reporter?" The boy questioned with annoyance, without taking his eyes off the screen.

"What do you think?" Ann answered with an air of mystery. Actually, it had been a coincidence, but she considered a good idea to make him feel that she had some control over any situation. She just hoped he would not try to get in her head to verify it. "It would be good if you stopped shying away from the public eye like you have been doing these last months."

"I agreed to come with you here, or not? And it wasn't by of the good reviews. Also, I've been busy with other things to focus, more important than public relations."

"That's what I heard," Ann murmured with weariness in his tone. "Do you think it's the best thing for your image to be walking around in those places?"

Damien smiled, amused at the subtle questioning. Only that moment he finally turned off his cell phone and put it in his pocket.

"Of course you know it," he said. "I was wondering when you were going to mention it."

A few days ago, Damien had asked Billy to take him to a neighborhood on the south of the city, to look for a person. That neighborhood, however, was one of "those places" to which Ann referred so contemptuously.

"Don't get involved in my business. I know what I'm doing."

"And if someone had recognized you?"

"Someone like who? The councilors and the police sergeants who pass by there every two days?"

"It was not necessary for you to go yourself. You could have asked any of your men to take care of that... business for you."

"You mean your men; yours and Lyons."

Ann turned to see him directly, stunned by such comment.

"Of course not. You know that any of the members of the Brotherhood would do anything for you. Including us."

Damien smiled again amused.

"You will forgive me if I put myself some skeptical of that affirmation."

There was a small silence, in which the echo of the footsteps and the murmurs of the people who were accommodating in their places resounded. The second call occurred during that time.

"What do you expect to get together with these girls?" The woman in black questioned, abruptly.

"I still don't know exactly. But I'm sure it will be an enlightening experience."

"You expect too much from these worldly and low beings," Ann exclaimed with might in her voice. "These girls are not worthy of you, beyond prostration at your feet. All beings in this despicable world, even those who think they are special, are nothing but insects before you. Don't try to find your peers among them, when you are so above all of us..."

"Leave that already, will you, Ann?" He interrupted her violently, giving her a furtive look of anger. "I'm not in the mood for your nonsense."

Ann's breath cut as soon as he rested his gaze on her. Those eyes no longer reflected the boy's usual coolness and tranquility, but a genuine and deep rage; of that which, if it were a little bigger, would have had a disastrous effect on her person.

Damien turned back to the stage, and crossed his legs, adopting a posture that seemed to indicate that he was the only person in that box; or, at least, the only one that interested him, even if it was a whim.

Ann lowered her gaze thoughtful and subjugated. She had not been aware until then of the dire situation between the two. Everything had started just a few months ago, after that stupid Economy Congress in New Hampshire. A single moment of carelessness, just a moment of not paying attention to everything that surrounded him, to everything that could be a potential danger, and everything ruined. Before, she was confident about it, sure that eventually it would pass and would be something unimportant. However, everything seemed to indicate that it would not be like that. It was not something that he would forget easily and could bring horrible consequences.

Everything she had done and sacrificed for the greater good, for the rebirth of a new era, at risk of being thrown away by the intervention of a young idiot girl who did not know with who she was playing.

"If I have done something to offend you, my lord, you know I will do anything to regain your trust." She raised her hand then, intending to place it on top of his. "Anything..."

Before she could even touch his white skin, the boy quickly removed his hand from his back, as if that possible contact provoked disgust on him. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, with the same feeling he had just moments ago. He sat up straight in his chair and turned back to the stage.

Ann lowered her eyes, resigned. The third call came a little later, and the rest of the night fell in silent.

END OF CHAPTER 08

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

—The character of Cole Sear is based on the child protagonist of the film Sixth Sense of 1999, having at this time already around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years, in contrast to the nine he had in that film. The events of the film are respected as they are shown in it, without any change at the moment. The skills of Cole, however, will have some evolution compared to what we saw in the film, which later chapters will explain.

—The character of Ann that appeared in this chapter is based and inspired by the combination of two characters. Her role and relationship with Damien are based on Ann Thorn from the movie Damien: Omen II of 1978, while his image and personality are based on Ann Rutledge from the television series Damien of 2016, although both characters were never specified as the same. The main difference is that here it will be considered something younger so that it is more in line with current Damien's age. In addition to this, several of the events of Damien: Omen II will be taken and will adapt to the story, but in the case of the outcome that the character had at the end of that film, it will be changed.