known that, and that further irritated Ben as he started up the engine. Trying not to think about it, Ben turned on the heater, grateful that it only took a moment to warm up, and he pulled out.
His first stop was for an impossibly strong cup of coffee from his favorite drive-through, knowing he was going to need the energy to deal with Mark and Judas that day. He burned several layers off of his tongue taking the first sip, but he started to feel more awake and the last remnants of his hangover were becoming a distant memory.
Throwing on a pair of sunglasses against the harsh mid-morning glare, Ben glanced down at the address on the seat and knew exactly where it was. It wasn’t far, and it was a rather posh new building just north of the downtown area. After having seen Mark’s choices in hotels during their little escapade on the road to find Judas, Ben wasn’t surprised to see Mark insisting on further luxury.
He wondered, as he drove, what sort of tastes he would develop if he wasn’t bound by a paycheck, a job, and the idea of mortality. Mark seemed to have little to no regard for possessions or people, yet he seemed to crave a somewhat luxurious lifestyle. Even his humble apartment at the school was wall to wall books and trinkets. Ben had noticed the high-tech visual aids in the apartment as well, when Mark was pretending to be a blind man.
Laughing to himself for attempting to psychoanalyze a person who claimed to be immortal, Ben instead turned on the radio, nodding along to the blaring sounds of the Rolling Stones as he navigated the narrow San Francisco streets.
The apartment building appeared on the horizon as Ben climbed the last hill towards the newer development area. A lot of the homes in the city, including Ben’s, were small, two-story flats, crammed together like sardines in a can. This, however, was not. It stood at least fifteen stories high, marring the view of the lush, green landscape behind it. There was something else Ben noticed, the moment the building was in view. The entire left side several stories up was black and hollow.
There were police cars all around, and crime scene tape blocking off several areas. The building’s side was charred and black, but no longer smoking, indicating that whatever had happened, had been around twenty-four hours prior.
Ben found a place just a few hundred yards away and parked. Grabbing his badge from the glove box, Ben stepped out and rushed over. The officer on scene had a clipboard and a name Ben didn’t recognize. He flashed his badge to the officer, who immediately stood down.
“What happened here?” Ben asked, looking up at the damage.
“Explosion around four-forty-five PM yesterday,” the young officer, whose badge read Rodriguez, said in a tense voice. “Sorry sir, but there weren’t any reported homicides. Why did they call you in?”
Ben frowned, still looking up at the building. “They didn’t call me in. I have a friend who lives here.” His stomach sank as he realized that this was most likely not an accident.
“What apartment number?” Rodriguez asked.
Ben pulled out Stella’s piece of paper and glanced at it. “Apartment fifteen-oh-seven.” From the look on Rodriguez’s face, Ben knew immediately what apartment had blown. “Any survivors?”
“From what we can tell, there wasn’t anyone in the apartment when it blew,” he replied with a shrug. “The entire floor has been combed, and oddly no one on fourteen or fifteen were home that afternoon.”
Ben frowned. “Who were the responding officers on
His first stop was for an impossibly strong cup of coffee from his favorite drive-through, knowing he was going to need the energy to deal with Mark and Judas that day. He burned several layers off of his tongue taking the first sip, but he started to feel more awake and the last remnants of his hangover were becoming a distant memory.
Throwing on a pair of sunglasses against the harsh mid-morning glare, Ben glanced down at the address on the seat and knew exactly where it was. It wasn’t far, and it was a rather posh new building just north of the downtown area. After having seen Mark’s choices in hotels during their little escapade on the road to find Judas, Ben wasn’t surprised to see Mark insisting on further luxury.
He wondered, as he drove, what sort of tastes he would develop if he wasn’t bound by a paycheck, a job, and the idea of mortality. Mark seemed to have little to no regard for possessions or people, yet he seemed to crave a somewhat luxurious lifestyle. Even his humble apartment at the school was wall to wall books and trinkets. Ben had noticed the high-tech visual aids in the apartment as well, when Mark was pretending to be a blind man.
Laughing to himself for attempting to psychoanalyze a person who claimed to be immortal, Ben instead turned on the radio, nodding along to the blaring sounds of the Rolling Stones as he navigated the narrow San Francisco streets.
The apartment building appeared on the horizon as Ben climbed the last hill towards the newer development area. A lot of the homes in the city, including Ben’s, were small, two-story flats, crammed together like sardines in a can. This, however, was not. It stood at least fifteen stories high, marring the view of the lush, green landscape behind it. There was something else Ben noticed, the moment the building was in view. The entire left side several stories up was black and hollow.
There were police cars all around, and crime scene tape blocking off several areas. The building’s side was charred and black, but no longer smoking, indicating that whatever had happened, had been around twenty-four hours prior.
Ben found a place just a few hundred yards away and parked. Grabbing his badge from the glove box, Ben stepped out and rushed over. The officer on scene had a clipboard and a name Ben didn’t recognize. He flashed his badge to the officer, who immediately stood down.
“What happened here?” Ben asked, looking up at the damage.
“Explosion around four-forty-five PM yesterday,” the young officer, whose badge read Rodriguez, said in a tense voice. “Sorry sir, but there weren’t any reported homicides. Why did they call you in?”
Ben frowned, still looking up at the building. “They didn’t call me in. I have a friend who lives here.” His stomach sank as he realized that this was most likely not an accident.
“What apartment number?” Rodriguez asked.
Ben pulled out Stella’s piece of paper and glanced at it. “Apartment fifteen-oh-seven.” From the look on Rodriguez’s face, Ben knew immediately what apartment had blown. “Any survivors?”
“From what we can tell, there wasn’t anyone in the apartment when it blew,” he replied with a shrug. “The entire floor has been combed, and oddly no one on fourteen or fifteen were home that afternoon.”
Ben frowned. “Who were the responding officers on
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