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Chapter 6: Section 2

Well, Beck can be wrong at times, just like everyone else can, because the universe did in fact provide. As we exited the large gates closing off Maya's property, I spotted an unfamiliar face that apparently spotted me in return, because as soon as I tried to look away, said face came speeding towards me with three accomplices close behind. They wore black suits with black ties and sported black sunglasses too, so needless to say, they weren't any friends of mine. I try to stay away from anybody that looks like bad news from the moment you see them. We were surrounded pretty quick as one of the men started reading us our rights, thus leading me to believe that they were cops of some sort. Well, as per usual, I was wrong. Just as Beck and I were being handcuffed, a face that I did recognize came strolling out from behind a wall, a face that I didn't want to see any time soon. That face belonged to Thomas Norton, the man spearheading a secretive little government office known only as Section 2. Much like the hush-hush branches of the FBI and CIA that nobody talks about (mostly because those who talk about them are the same as those who 'disappear', Section 2 was yet another unheard of branch that dealt with crimes, rumors, hoaxes, and conspiracies of the magical nature. Oh, and they're also secretly a part of the Conclave too, though the United States government may not know that little fact. If Beck and I were getting abducted by Section 2, then the whole 'reading us our rights' bit was just a cover that they were using in case anyone happened to be watching at the time. They didn't need to read us our rights as United States citizens; not when they were planing to judge us by their own standards and execute us through the use of their own methods.

You know, sometimes I wish the universe would listen a little better before providing.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Dominic Michael Christopher, it's been some long since we last locked eyes." Norton snidely, sarcastically spat. "You'll be coming with us now. We need to have us a little talk. If not for business, then for old time's sake."

"Norton, I'd hoped you'd died or something, but damn, here you are being the same ass you've always been!" I replied, the sharp words made sharper by the fake smile and enthusiastic tone of my voice.

So yeah, that was a bad idea, a really bad idea, but seeing Norton's ugly mug always pissed me off. Trust me, I didn't really have a choice, the words just kind of flew out of me. In return, one of his men held me there while he nailed me in the stomach a couple of times. It's our way of greeting each other, really. You see, Norton and I had a bit of a history between us as rivals, and not the friendly kind. I, a freelance magician and amateur paranormal investigator, had stuck my nose into some of Section 2's affairs more than once, often ending up working on the same cases and projects as they did. Sometimes, if I was really unlucky, I'd even end up investigating a crime scene that Norton was personally securing and processing. He hated how I answered to no one; no great magi in the sky, no higher power that held my career in the palm of its hand. He hated how I could accept any job that I wanted, finish the job, and then not have to report my results to anyone but my own filing cabinet. Most of all, he hated the fact that I didn't recognize or respect his nonexistent authority and jurisdiction. In short, he hated everything about me.

"You know, there's a law or something that's supposed to stop you from assaulting minors." I smirked as I caught my breath. "But I'm guessing you're not much for laws, am I right?"

He hit me again.

"Sorry, Champ, but although I answer to Uncle Sam, I also answer to a much higher power." Shot back Norton in reply. "The Ancient ranks just a bit higher on the list than a mere President or Prime Minister, and he's ordered me to capture a certain brow-nosing young man. And besides, you've mucked around as a detective or whatever for long enough already. Two years, was it? It's about damn time I got you out of my hair."

I grinned and responded, "Yeah, well your Ancient can suck my~

I didn't get a chance to finish verbalizing my thought before another fist came rocketing into my already squishy guts, making them even squishier. Salah would be jealous.

"You won't be such a smart-ass once I get you to the station." He growled, slugging me yet again. Norton may look old, 50 something maybe, but he's a magi with some real experience on his side. Trust me, he doesn't punch like an old man.

"Station?" I moaned between gasps for air. "When did they agree to put the circus and a bunch of its clowns in charge of the magic 'round here, huh?"

Another mistake. Man, I'm on fire today.

Norton nailed me in the back of the head this time, which hurt considerably more than the stomach shots, though was followed only by a stinging sensation and not several minutes of wheezing. Yeah, I weigh the pros and cons of my injuries. I didn't black out, like in the movies; I wasn't that lucky. No, Norton's goons tossed me into back of a jet black car and proceeded to toss Beck in as well, whom I had motioned to stay quiet from the beginning. Might as well draw all of their wrath toward myself and spare her the rage, right? I know, my plans are top notch aren't they? They gunned the engine and sped off into the distance, making sure to place us behind tinted windows that blocked the view from the inside and out. Great. They'd caught us AND we had no idea as to where we were being taken. Not as though it mattered much, seeing as how the ride was only several minutes long, soon followed by the two of us being drug out of the car and into a drab looking office building. Beck and I were then forced to sit down in what looked like a lobby; the secretary at the front desk having been escorted out of the room upon our arrival.

"Welcome to your new home, Dominic." Norton sneered. "I've wanted to place you on the roster here for a long, long time."

"Why, pray tell, would you want me here, hmmm?" I questioned, insulting him in too many ways to count with as few words as possible.

Yeah, I was hit some more. It hurt.

"You hit like a diseased little girl." I laughed whilst being hit.

And so the hitting continued. It hurt a little worse; mainly my feelings.

"That's it!" Norton yelled, scoring a direct hit to my forehead, which by the way, sucks really bad to be hit in apparently. "I was going to question the girl first, but to Hell with it! Take the fucking funnyman to the interrogation room and make sure he gets nice and situated, because he's going to be staying there until I get EVERY LAST THING out of him that I either want or need!"

"See ya there, Nort." I smirked; spitting out a small faucet's worth of blood.

Bad idea. A boot to the chin came this time, which by the way, hurt more than everything else combined. Once again, I wasn't knocked out, but I will say that the last shot did make me a little dizzy. Two underlings then picked me up by my arms and started to drag me off, finally making Beck snap and lose her cool. She jumped up, spun around in a pirouette fashion, and kicked one of Norton's thugs in the side of the head, sending him tumbling down. Norton reacted to this by pulling his gun, of all things, a move that made even Beck stand perfectly, silently still.

"It's alright, Beck, they're just gonna have a little chat with me, okay?" I said calmly, knowing full well that I would soon be having the most violent 'chat' in history. "Just sit back down and shut the Hell up."

"...Whatever." She growled under her breath, slowly resuming her seat.

I suppose I could have tried to pull some stunt or another as they placed me in the 'Negotiations Room', which was so hilariously misnamed that I almost forgot that laughing uncontrollably would have only pissed Norton off even more. Sadly, men of all shapes and sizes surrounded me, men that I knew were probably more versed in the ways of the arcane than I. Oh sure, I could have made a smoke cloud or started a fire in the building, but with my arms cuffed behind my back and guns at every goon's disposal, I'd rather not try to tempt fate on that level; I'm not that stupid..., usually.

"Dominic, let's make this short." Norton said with a grin as he placed a tape recorder down next to me and had it start recording. "I'd like to know if you were the one behind the poltergeist incident back at the Daniels' home some two weeks ago. Won't you tell me?"

"Pfft..., ha ha ha ha!" I laughed. I couldn't help it; he'd just asked an amazingly stupid question. "Are you kidding? What, am I on some hidden camera show or something? Where's Ashton, 'cuz I have to hand it to him!"

Yup, you guessed it. That's when the unnecessary hitting and beating began again. I swear, some men only know how to use violence to get their point across. Not that I didn't get the point, mind you, I was just making a point of my own.

"How about you answer the damn question or I televise your execution?!" He roared as he punched me, his veins throbbing from anger on his forehead.

"Look, Norton, pal, I'm sorry for laughing, but that was an entirely stupid question." I exclaimed. "I was there, at the scene, trying to fight the thing off and almost died doing it! Hell, I'm the one who reported it to the Firebrand!"

"Answer the question, damn it!" He roared louder, slamming his hands on the table.

"No, dumb-ass, of course I didn't make that thing!" I shouted, tired of playing games. "Why the Hell would I create a creature like that then try to kill it?! Where would I even get the kind of knowledge to do something like that?!"

"There's no proof on file to state that you haven't dabbled in necromancy!" Norton replied.

"Oh, and I guess that anyone who dabbles in necromancy for five minutes can whip up a fucking poltergeist!" I yelled angrily. "That makes perfect sense; completely logical; can't argue with that!"

"And I guess it was a coincidence that you just happened to show up at the industrial district where that abomination was sighted as well?!" he hollered, backhanding me across the face.

I ignored his pathetic attempt at reprimanding me and continued.

"What?!" I trumpeted. "First of all, how do you even know about that; I never saw any fishy false federal agents snooping around?! And second of all, if I created it, then why would I kill it?! Finally, let's not forget that there's still way too much necromantic knowledge needed to force the Scarlet Undeath upon someone, way more than I could ever fathom!"

Norton balled his fist an threw it at my eye, but I jerked backwards and forced him to miss, which only angered him more. He shouted, "You can try to hide it, buttercup, but I have evidence and witnesses placing you at both crime scenes! C'mon, kid, what do you take me for; a complete fucking moron?! How many other spell-slinging, shape-shifting teenagers are there in this city?! Necromancy is the common factor, and you're the common link, so I just used my common sense and followed the trail of breadcrumbs back to you!"

"Well, then I suppose you shouldn't be following breadcrumbs, should you?!" I hollered, squirming in my seat for even the slightest bit of freedom. "I thought that real investigators like yourself only followed the hard facts and set-in-stone clues, but apparently I was wrong!"

"It was a figure of speech, you little fuck!" Norton replied, grabbing a stapler, opening it, then slamming it down onto my injured/discolored hand.

I'd estimate the pain to have shot through my hand's nerves and up to my brain at about 70 jillion miles an hour, there being staples stuck deep in my skin and all. I held back the scream, a sound that the sick bastard probably wanted to hear, and chose to relay my feelings with words instead.

"You've always been a complete asshole, Norton, but I never pegged you to be a complete idiot too! That just seemed too much, given your position in the Conclave!" I barked, kicking my feet, though they were tied to my chair. "I just refused to believe that the magi would give work to a totally weak link in the chain like that!"

"Is that right, boy?! Well if I'm an idiot, then explain to me why I've already got a confession from one of your accomplices?!" He questioned with a sharp smirk. "A mimic by the name of Ezekiel Witherspoon already ratted you out and labeled you as the prime suspect!"

I hesitated, if only for a split second.

"That's absurd!" I snapped back, beginning to fumble my words from all of the bruises on my face. "You guys just tortured him and interrogated him until he said what you wanted him to say! Zeke's a good guy, a straight shooter, but he isn't the toughest guy around, so I'm sure he'd bend and break after a few trips to the dunking tank!"

"Say what you want, but we already have his confession on tape, cassette, CD, and DVD, and it lists you as the mastermind behind the whole shebang!" He laughed hysterically. "You're not getting out of this, not by a long shot!"

"Get away with what?!" I roared in anger. "Norton, you sick fuck, are you trying to set me up?! Whatever bullshit falsified evidence you have, it'll never hold up, never!"

"Take him to his friend's cell." He hissed, waving his hand towards the door. "We'll give him some brainstorming time with his buddy accomplice and see if he changes his tune."

Two thugs took me by each arm again and drug me off, kick and screaming and making one Hell of a ruckus, pitching me into a dank holding cell along with another barely visible detainee. I rubbed my battered head as I crawled to my feet, managing a strong middle finger just as the guards closed the doors. My cell looked just like one of the stereotypical holding cells shown in most movies, all the required commodities provided: disgustingly dirty toilet, cement walls engraved with past prisoners' names, lumpy mattresses stuffed with gravel and styrofoam peanuts, and even some unlit ceiling lights protected by bulletproof glass. A low, raspy moan from the vicinity of the darkened floor caught me off guard, startling me as it tried to form syllables and words. I knelt down and carefully flipped a limply lying body over, catching a glimpse of a not-so-friendly face. It was Zeke, and it looked as though he'd spent a few more minutes in the interrogation room than I had.

"I was trying to sleep, dammit..." He groaned, spitting some congealed blood from his mouth as he pushed himself up off of the floor. "I was halfway to dreamland before you showed up..."

"Oh God, Zeke, don't fucking scare me like that." I sighed, sitting down on the ground next to him. "You can't make groaning or moaning sounds on the floor, man, not with me being thrown in here thinking that they nearly killed you. You just can't; it isn't cool."

"Sorry." He sarcastically replied. "Didn't mean to startle you while I was trying to sleep on the cold, damp floor of my grime ridden prison cell."

We both locked eyes for a moment and then laughed. We laughed hard.

"I really thought that they might have killed you, Zeke." I said, still laughing. "I hope they didn't hurt you too bad when they were trying to get you to falsify that information about me. Really. If it would have shut them up and made them leave you alone, I wouldn‘t have cared if you‘d have told them that I was a convicted sex offender."

"Bah, they just smacked me around a little and broke an arm." He replied, laughing hysterically as well. With both of us still laughing, we probably looked insane. We weren't insane; we were afraid. "But it wasn't the pain that made me start talking, honest to God; they just started threatening people I knew and started listing the names of other people that they could 'question' instead of me... Your sister and father were on their list of names..."

"What did you tell them?" I asked, interested in what crimes were now on my Section 2 record.

Zeke huffed and puffed for a second, evidence of some possible damage to his ribs and chest, then said, "I just told them whatever I thought it was that they wanted to hear. I told them anything; anything I could as long as it got their minds off of interrogating anybody else, especially anybody that I knew. I was just so damn certain that if they didn't get what they wanted out of me, that they'd start trying out the names on that list of theirs, and I just didn't have it in me to take responsibility for those people getting hurt too."

"I called you a ‘good guy' and a ‘straight shooter' earlier when I was being shown some of the local hospitality." I snickered, patting him on the shoulder. "I didn't know at the time exactly how right I was."

Everything Zeke had just said sounded disturbingly similar to what a turncoat might say once they were forced to face the person that they just betrayed. That being said, it also sounded like the cheesy, goody-two-shoes kind of bullshit that an inherently self-sacrificing person might say when forced to pick between one friend's safety and the safety of a dozen others. Plus, it didn't hurt his moral image to know that he was a horrible liar too. Yeah, as much as I wanted someone to blame, I knew that that someone wasn't Zeke.

"Did they really break your arm?" I tested, just to see if he was stretching the truth.

"Yeah..." He responded with a twisted frown, rolling his eyes. "They hit it with an aluminum bat a few times and now I can't feel it below the elbow..."

Using his shoulder, Zeke struggled to make his busted arm do something, but it just dangled uselessly to one side instead. I guess it had other plans or something.

"I'm sorry, man." I said quietly; staring at the floor. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gotten thrown into this situation."

"Oh, shut the fuck up." Smirked my faux-monster friend; poking and nudging his arm with a forked thumb.

"Will you stop that?!" I snapped; pointing at his broken limb as he poked at it. "Look, we know that it's not going to do anything; you don't have to play with it!"

Well, I have to hand it to 'em, throwing me in here and giving me a good look at my friend's sustained physical and emotional injuries was a well planned move on Norton's part. Seeing this really did make me want to confess to whatever crime it was that they had up their collective dirty sleeves. Certainly not green sleeves. Giving in and confessing would probably spare Beck from an hour or two in the interrogation room as well, though I can't say much for what would happen to the three of us afterward. Admitting to these bastard's lies would most likely end in our executions, whereas keeping my lips shut would guarantee us more 'friendly chats' and more pain. What wonderful options, eh? Get hurt and die later, or just simply die.

"When it rains, it pours..." I sighed heavily.