Chapter 57: 3.6 – Detective Jacobin Castan

Detective Jacobin Castan

 

Detective Jacobin Castan draped his right hand out the window of Lt. Hall’s two-seater coupe with a cigarette stick between his fingers. “LT, you sure you’re okay with me smoking?” He lightly tapped the tip of his cigarette and watched as the wind carried the ashes away. “Nice ride you got here. Would be sad if the smell of smoke sticks everywhere.”

“You look like you need it.” Lt. Hall drummed on the wheel waiting for the traffic light to turn from red to green. “How many years has it been?”

“Since when?”

“Since you last smoked?”

“Four years. Or is it five? ‘Bout half a year after my fiancée, Sharmaine, called off our planned wedding and left me, so five. After that, I decided to clean up my act and do my best to get the gold badge.” He placed the cigarette between his lips and inhaled. “Didn’t you see that picture of me when I was on patrol?”

“The picture Linette passed around a couple of months ago? I didn’t get to see it. I do recall Mulberry and Adams nearly pissed their pants laughing at it.”

“I got way out of shape when Sharmaine went with that…guy. Let myself go. Very different from the toned, hunky, piece of ass I am right now.”

Lt. Hall let out an amused grunt.

“Lost weight, stopped drinking. I even went to church for a couple of years…All kinds of churches.” Castan paused as a helicopter passed over them. He stuck his head out of the window to check its markings. “BID,” he said.

Lt. Hall only grunted again in response, expressing his disinterest.

Castan wondered what the BID agent, that guy named Matt, and Lt. Hall talked about last Saturday. He knew it was connected with the raid at the Eve club that night and all the hell that followed after. Was that Matt person still alive? However, he sensed this wasn’t the time for that conversation. He continued with the safe topic of his life. “I still do drink sometimes. Only during occasions. Church? Not anymore.”

“Well, I hope this doesn’t become a habit of yours,” Lt. Hall said.

“Going to church?”

That made Lt. Hall crack a smile. “This smoking. You know my stance on that. But I do understand, the stressful situation—”

“It’s not that LT. I’m fine. Not fine physically.” He paused for another smoke. It also gave him time to push down the memories of the collapsing building that was nearly his grave. “But mentally…I’m fine. I don’t have PTSD—or I think I don’t. I have to be honest, I did wake up in the middle of the night at the hospital, sweating, thinking the world was caving in on me again. That was only one time. Nothing since then.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

“Why are you smoking then?”

“I didn’t smoke again because of the stress of what happened. It’s more to, uh, symbolize a restart of life?”

“Restart?”

“I know this sounds cheesy, but when I smoked my last stick five years ago, I promised myself that after I finished, it'll be the start of my new life.” Castan held up the cigarette he was currently smoking. “And after this, it will, again, be another start of my new life.”

“I see,” Lt. Hall said.

“It’s not even me deciding this. Fate decided I get to live.” He took another huff, held the smoke in his mouth, and exhaled through his nose. “I already threw away the rest of the pack. Just this one for me. And I’m done again.”

“That’s good, that’s good,” Lt. Hall repeated as if on auto-pilot. Both of them stayed silent as they cruised through Romeo Drive. There was a moment Castan thought Lt. Hall was about to say something, but it just turned into a cough. Everything was quiet again.

Only inside the car. The street was busy and noisy as if there was a holiday shopping sale.

This road that was usually plagued by heavy traffic on most days, being one of the more famous shopping streets in the city, was impossibly more crowded today. It wasn’t even the weekends. Not just here. Castan noticed the city seemed busier, more people than usual were out on the streets.

He expected people would stay in their homes if they didn’t have anything important to do, but the opposite happened. This was an interesting reaction to the two-day lockdown the city ordered. There was a certain uneasiness over the city. Going out…He wasn’t a psychologist, but Castan surmised this behavior was due to people overcompensating their desire to go back to a sense of normalcy.

He could relate to that. There was an uneasiness even in the car.

Castan noticed Lt. Hall kept on clenching and unclenching his jaws, his cheeks constantly moving. He must have plenty on his mind. The lieutenant was a stoic and brooding person, but a good conversationalist if the situation called for it. He could easily put witnesses and suspects at ease. If they’re stressed at the station, he knew what to say to break the tension. He didn’t like dead air even if he himself didn’t talk much. When they, he and Castan, went on random investigations on the Mark and Marc brothers—off duty and in secret, of course—the lieutenant always had tales to fill the long hours they staked out locations.

Deciding it was his duty to start small talk, Castan said, “You didn’t have to drive me to work, LT.”

Lt. Hall said, “You’re not going to drive with that injury.”

“A smashed arm,” Castan said, struggling to lift his left arm encased in a cast, cradled by a sling attached to his shoulder, “a couple of ribs and my left femur also broken. I know I’m not going to drive any time soon. But that’s what cabs are for.”

“Just consider this a public service from your friendly, neighborhood police officer. How are you managing?”

“Going down the stairs is a darned chore. The elevator at my apartment still isn’t fixed.”

“Getting used to crutches?”

Castan turned his head to check the crutches he stowed in the back. “Needs practice. First time I ever had a foot injury. Not even a sprain when I was a kid.”

“How much did those cost?”

“The crutches? I borrowed those from Linette. I was going to buy a pair, but her brother has an old pair so she offered them. You know her brother? The military guy?”

“I’ve seen him.”

“Doctor said I’ll be able to walk normally within four months. Three, if I respond well to physical therapy. Just stay out of trouble, she said.”

“That’s good news. Stay out of trouble? You know you could stay home—”

“I didn’t even need a steel bar in my leg,” Castan said. He didn’t want the conversation to go that way. Linette already tried to convince him to take some time off. But he wouldn’t. His eyes started to water. And it wasn’t from the smoke. He flicked the cigarette outside. He sniffed, swallowed his saliva, and blinked his eyes several times to drive away the gathering tears. “Doctor said I was also lucky I didn’t injure any internal organs even though I have broken ribs.”

His littering didn’t escape Lt. Hall’s notice. “That’s an offense with a fine. Can also be community service picking up trash for up to eight hours. You're also not wearing a seatbelt—”

“I don’t know…I don’t know how I got out of there alive,” Castan said, not listening to Lt. Hall. His voice, barely a whisper, was nearly drowned by the gentle hum of the air conditioning. If he spoke any louder, he was sure his voice would crack. He stared at his shaking right hand while he clenched his left hand in the cast. “My injuries…they’re nothing compared to the others. As if I only had a car crash… or a bad fall down the stairs. You wouldn’t even think I was there when the fucking earth was overturned. We were there inside a building at the edge of the crater. When I saw the pictures of the scene…other buildings next to the one we were searching…all were swallowed by the earth.

“Four of us in that team. Five, counting the guy from the BID. Can’t recall his name. Then the earth just fucking decided to flip itself. I…I don’t know how I got away with just this. Jimenez lost his right arm and his legs were squashed under a concrete pillar. When I was at the hospital, they amputated one of his legs. And Linette told me when she came over with the crutches that they also had to amputate Jimenez’s other leg."

"Castan..."

“Just this morning, they found Marshall’s body. I immediately called his mom to…uh…you know, extend my condolences. I didn’t know what to say if she asked me why I survived but her son didn’t. Thinking back now, why the hell would she ask me that? But when I called her, I dreaded getting asked that question. Because I was also asking myself that question. And Patel? Patel’s still missing. Still missing under all that rubble.

“And that BID agent…damn it, I forgot his name. He introduced himself to us, but I can’t fucking remember his name, goddammit. He died right beside me. I should’ve remembered his name. The ceiling collapsed… a huge slab fell down and he pushed me at the last second. If I was a few inches to the left, I would’ve also died. And here’s another thing. Not only did he push me to safety, but he also fell on top of my hand, essentially saving my hand. Sure, I got a broken left arm, but he cushioned the impact of the concrete—”

Lt. Hall placed his hand on Castan’s shoulder.

Castan jerked up and looked around, confused. “The road?” he dumbly said, only to realize the lieutenant parked the car beside the curb in the middle of his rant. He was so engrossed he didn’t notice.

“It’s good you let it all out,” Lt. Hall said. “To protect and to serve…We’re all prepared to put our lives on the line—”

“But not like this. Death and injury are occupational hazards. As Marshall would say, a perk of the job. A negative perk. Getting shot while chasing a suspect… But not like this…I’m sure the guys at Anti-Adumbrae unit don’t think getting nuked was—”

“You wasted your last cigarette stick.”

“I guess I did.”

“Since you’re done with your last cigarette, it’s the start of your next life. It’s a new start for the entire LEPD; we lost so many of our brave officers. Let us not forget what we’re fighting for.”

Castan wanted to ask Lt. Hall what he knew of the operation. They were briefed with the same information that the media was now telling the people. Illegal traders of Adumbrae parts. That wasn’t true. This was somehow connected with the Mark and Marcy brothers, and he knew they were doing experiments and also hiding Adumbrae in this city. This must be related to that Matt person.

Would LT answer him if he asked? Or was it confidential?

“Castan,” Lt. Hall said. He started the car and went back on the road.

“Sir?”

“You asked why I offered to drive you to work. It’s the small things. We need to help each other now more than ever.”

Castan nodded.

“Find out the name of that agent from the Bureau who was with you. Call his family. Offer help, whatever you can. It'll make you feel better.”

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“I will do that.”

Lt. Hall turned left to Maplewood Road instead of continuing to the highway. “A small detour,” he said in answer to Castan’s puzzled expression. “Let’s go to Danny’s. Pastrami to brighten your day, our day.”

 

---

 

“Detective, I’m not sure if this is insensitive to say,” mumbled the aging Danny, the owner namesake of the restaurant, behind his white, bushy mustache, “but I sure am glad to see you alive and kicking, even in your current state.”

“I’m glad I’m alive too,” Castan somberly said.

Danny wrapped their usual order, pastrami sandwiches piled so high with meat they could barely fit it in their mouths, a hint of mustard, and a side of coleslaw. “This is a trying time for the city.”

“Yes, sir, it is. It really is.”

“Yet, those bastards are out there partying after the lockdown, as if there’s something to celebrate about.”

“Got lots of orders?”

“Yep.”

Frantic honking out on the street made them both look outside. “That Jeremiah?” Danny gave the paper bag with their order to Castan. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It sure doesn’t.” He grabbed their order and rushed back to Lt. Hall’s car. Right as he opened the door, police chatter filled the air. “What’s going on?” he asked as he got inside.

[Multiple victims! We have multiple victims—]

[Squad 430 to 3024 17^th Street. Possible Adumbrae. Do not engage as per protocol.]

[402, uh, we’re here. We don’t see it. Checking the casualties.]

[406, we’re north of Serenade Bazaar. Witnesses say it’s inside.]

[Copy, 406. Do not engage. CEU en route, ten minutes.]

[Need EMS. This is 402 moving on to the corner of Serenade and 17^th. Need EMS, officer down.]

[Rescue coming.]

Lt. Hall expertly backed out on the street. He didn’t need to tell Castan where they were going. “It’s an Adumbrae. They initially encrypted the frequencies, but someone high must’ve realized that could mess up the coordination of everyone.”

“Good call,” Castan said. And he meant that. They finally decided to drop their stupid cover story in favor of coordination and saving as many people as possible. Even the media listening in to police scanners could help save lives. It was not as if this was a manhunt and the suspect might also listen in to evade arrest. Everyone needed to step up and protect this city.

“We’re lucky that the BID is already here.”

“Or unlucky that they needed to be here.”

[Next squad, block 18^th and Serenade, all the way up. 16^th too.]

[521, nearing 16^th. Will do.]

[We need to start evacuating people. Crowd forming outside of Serenade Bazaar.]

Officers were speaking over each other, sometimes not even identifying themselves. There was panic since it had been a long time since the LEPD encountered a Manifested Adumbrae. The LEPD also lost officers in last Saturday’s raid, and most precincts hadn’t yet dealt with the chaos that caused.

They were nowhere near Serenade Bazaar; they weren’t needed there. But both of them were in silent agreement that they should go and help in any way they could.

Reports noted only the Adumbrae’s physical strength and monstrous appearance. There was no mention of paranormal abilities. It also didn’t seem to be in control of itself. Dispatch said the initial assessment was an SBM, a Spontaneous Breach Manifestation, possibly Level 1 or 2.

Castan and Lt. Hall tried to make sense of what was happening. From what they could piece together, it showed up somewhere near the edge of the quarantined zone and started to go on a killing spree. They weren’t sure how many were the casualties, but there were officers included. And based on the initial reports of the officers on the scene, there were more dead than injured.

At the moment, the Adumbrae was inside Serenade Bazaar. A perimeter was established.

According to dispatch, the Combat Exoskeleton Unit of the LEPD had just arrived on the scene. No word from the BID if they were sending people over. Most of them were inside the quarantined zone, near the middle of the crater of the explosion, doing whatever secret shit they did. The CEU sent in combat drones while waiting for BID communication.

“Why are they still not sending the heavies in?” If the initial categorization was correct, the CEU should be able to handle this no problem. “They’re wasting time!”

“Calm down.”

The chatter went dead. Something must’ve happened for the signal to be locked.

After several minutes of anxious silence, it came back on.

[On the roof, eyes on the roof. A woman. She may need assistance—]

[Holy hell! She jumped to the next building.]

[A second Adumbrae! All units that woman is a confirmed second Adumbrae.]

Both of them looked at each other. “What the hell?” Castan said. “Now there’s two of them?”

“This is getting worse,” Lt. Hall said.

They listened as the updates kept coming on the movements of the female Adumbrae. She leaped from building to building with extreme speed.

“Hang on,” Castan said. “Serenity Building II?”

“Aren’t we near there?” Lt. Hall slowed down.

“This is Building IV." Castan poked his head out of the window to look at the street signs and names of the buildings. "So, uh, it should be next to this—”

CRASH! The roof of the car collapsed on them. Castan, on instinct, opened the door on his side and managed to tumble to the street. He saw Lt. Hall’s head pressed on the steering wheel by the depressed car roof. There was blood. “LT!” His broken ribs and leg nearly paralyzed him as he quickly tried to stand without crutches. He dropped back down to the ground, groaning, his eyes blurry from the pain. Then he noticed what fell on top of the car.

A woman wearing red.

Fuckin’ hell…She fit the description of the second Adumbrae.

Castan whipped out his pistol and aimed the best he could from his position lying on the street, focusing through all the pain. The Adumbrae noticed him. “Eat this, you bitch!” It jumped on him. BLAM! BLAM! He managed to get two shots off before the Adumbrae bit his gun, munching the metal into pieces like it was as soft as bread.

This is it.

I never thought I'll go out this way.

The Adumbrae examined herself.

Castan hit her right arm and left thigh. Too bad he wasn’t able to hit her head. The gunshot wounds were already healing.

It walked over to him.

He closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate. He couldn’t stand up. And he wasn’t going to pathetically crawl if he was going to get killed anyway. No! I should open my eyes. He did, staring straight into the demonic eyes of the Adumbrae.

It stepped on his broken leg, breaking his cast into pieces.

“Argh!” He screamed. Was it going to play with him before killing him?

Next, the Adumbrae grasped his right hand, pulling him up. She squeezed…squeezed until he heard the crunch of his bones. “Arghhh! Just kill me already!”

The Adumbrae released him. He crumpled on the pavement, barely conscious.

Castan forced himself to look up, to face death.

But the Adumbrae wasn’t there anymore.

She just left…

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