DAMIEN KNEW IT HAD TO BE IMPORTANT WHEN A POLICE OFFICER SHOWED UP at his door. He opened it after he heard the bell ring, after stumbling from the couch where he'd dozed off to the utility room, gazing out with confusion.
"Yeah?" he asked simply, rubbing his eyes.
The cop who'd rung the bell he didn't recognize; the one behind him he did. "Officer Brown," he called, and the policeman put a hand to the brim of his hat. "What's this about?"
"There's been an incident," Officer Brown replied, before the other cop could get a word in. "Jones was thinking maybe you should know about it."
Damien's eyes widened. "Jones? Wow, it must be important."
Brown didn't even offer a smile, as he usually did when the perpetual conflict between Damien and the Michigan State Police force was brought up. Damien frowned. It was then that he realized that this must not only be important, but bad as well. Really bad.
"Just what is it?" he ventured.
"We think maybe you should come down to the station," Officer Brown said, cocking his head towards his squad car. "To clear things up."
"Sure," Damien said, exiting the house and shutting the door behind him, in a daze. The cool air chilled his arms and he rubbed them, suddenly remembering that it was mid-October and he didn't even have a jacket on. But now wasn't the time to bother; both the cops were already getting back in their car, and he climbed in his Lamborghini, slamming the door and starting it up, pulling out of the driveway after them.
When he got there after them he noticed his uncle's, Father Damien's, car there as well; he frowned even more as he followed them up the steps leading into the Michigan State Police Station. Something must be very wrong. He could feel it in the back of his neck, as he always did when something was wrong. He followed the two policemen into the station, the door swinging shut behind them.
Inside the back room were Officer Jones, a detective he remembered dimly from about six years ago, a state trooper, and his uncle; he didn't like any of the looks they gave him. His uncle didn't even look at him at all; instead he just stood next to the table, one foot up on a chair, his head in his hands. Damien's shoulders tensed.
"What is it?" he asked. Nobody said anything. "Did something happen? Uncle? Are you all right?"
His uncle lifted his head and forced a totally unconvincing smile. He looked very tired. "Yes, I'm all right," he assured him. "It's just--maybe the police had better explain." He put his head down again.
Damien turned to Officer Jones and the detective. "Hi," the detective said. "Maybe you don't remember me. I'm Detective James Mulroy--"
"Yeah, I remember you," Damien interrupted. "You were with us Halloween. Six years ago. But why are you here now? What's going on?"
"You're not going to like this very much," Officer Jones said, a little warily. He knew of Damien's temper.
Damien turned to him; he could feel his frown deepening even more, and wasn't sure how much further it could go. "Not going to like what? If somebody would just tell me something--!"
"I'm sure you remember the Cheboygan murders that entered the news about ten years ago," a voice said from off to the side. Damien's shoulder's [sic] hunched up defensively, and he felt his throat go dry. That voice was very familiar, and for a split second he found himself wondering just how he could be hearing it from inside a police station. He whirled around, only to find the state trooper staring at him; for the first time he got a good look at him, and the face he recognized as well. The trooper's icy blue eyes bored into his. Damien felt his knees turning to water.
"This is Trooper Broderick," Officer Jones said, rather needlessly.
Damien started forward, barely noticing him. He stopped when he was only a few inches away from the trooper, almost nose-to-nose. They stared at each other for several minutes.
"Broderick?" Damien finally managed, in a very faint voice. The trooper's eyes never wavered.
"I suppose I should explain a little," Mulroy's voice came from out of a cold blue haze.
"Yes, you should," Damien replied, barely hearing his own voice.
Detective Mulroy stepped forward; the trooper looked down at him (he was rather tall) and the hold was broken. Damien shook his head and read the trooper's nametag. BRODERICK, all right. This was no joke, or else it was a very, very good one.
"Damien, this is State Trooper Broderick Broderick," Mulroy introduced. "B, this is Da--"
"I believe we've already been introduced," Trooper Broderick replied.
Mulroy shrugged. "Okay." He backed out.
Damien only stared at him a few minutes more. "What relation?" he asked.
Trooper Broderick looked back at him, and a wry smile made its way up his face. Damien had to force himself not to shudder. Even the smile was the same. "That obvious, is it? But since you asked, I should say uncle."
Damien let his breath out; he felt his own uncle's hand placed upon his shoulder, and he shook his head, rubbing his eyes again. "I should apologize," he said, his voice flat. "But I never knew Luther Broderick had an uncle. For a moment I thought you were him. And you should know how well the two of us get along."
The trooper smiled again, this time more self-deprecating than wry. He obviously didn't like the relation himself. "Don't get me wrong," he said, and in it was a pardon. Damien's shoulders untensed. "I value a family name. But when you've got a nephew like mine, sometimes you wish you could change it for good."
Damien nodded; on first hearing the trooper's voice, he'd been reminded of Luther Broderick, his "archenemy" (the term sounded funny and stereotyped, but there was nothing else he could think of). Luther had murdered his sister. And tried to kill him. And did Lord knew what other hideous things within his hideous cult, Scorpio. Damien's memories of being forced into the cult were very faint now, and he didn't wish to bring them back up. [Note--this refers to events in the unfinished novel Deprogrammer; there was a little bit of it written, somewhere, I believe, but not any of the important stuff.] Instead he just shook his head again.
"The resemblance is very strong," he said finally. "You have to forgive me for mistaking you for him. I was wondering what he'd be doing here, of all places."
"Just to put your fears to rest," Trooper Broderick said, and he picked up a glass of water that had been standing upon the table. Damien watched as he took it and poured it over his hand, a third, strange smile upon his face. He felt relieved at the sight of the water trickling over Broderick's fingers and spilling onto the table, even if the others in the room just looked annoyed.
"You may not know it," Mulroy explained, as he grabbed a paper towel and made to dry off the table, "but B here just about wrote the book on Scorpio. The profile, at least."
Trooper Broderick snorted, now looking a little angry, as if he'd been poked at. "If you can call seven pages a profile. There's just not much to be said." [Note--I am actually the one who wrote the profile! Hopefully I'll locate it again sometime.]
Damien looked from Broderick to the detective, and back again. "Wait a minute," he said. "You still haven't told me what this is all about. It's Scorpio again, isn't it? Well, what've they done this time? They aren't killing animals again, are they?"
"Anything but," Broderick replied, gazing at him evenly. Damien stared back. "I was hoping my statement about the murders ten years ago would spark something."
A very long silence. Damien felt is heart sinking deeper and deeper down in his ankles.
"Oh, no," he whispered, his voice going with it. "You don't mean..."
He didn't even bother to finish; the trooper's gaze said it all.
He felt his knees start to go out again; luckily his uncle took the chair and pushed it behind him before he could fall down, and he slumped down into it, all the while staring the trooper in the eyes. "Not again," he said weakly, and bent forward, his own hands going up to cover his face.
Yes, again, that little voice in the back of his head said, and though he wished it to shut up, he knew, with a terrible sinking feeling, that it was right.
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