First Chapter

[The Wizard]

This is the second chapter of my book. This is telling of the power manifestation of my Solar/Justice deity, Nick Calvino. So, tell me what you think.

Chapter Two

   Nick Calvino waited. The trial was taking forever, a bad sign if he ever saw one. The jury had been out for five hours, and Nick had thought it was a cut and dry case. Guilty, not guilty, the suspense was almost painful. Nick hated it. He just wanted the courthouse doors to open and to hear the words "guilty" on everyone's' lips. Until then he sat in his half dead, gray sedan, sipping coffee and reading the Fellowship of the Ring. It was his favorite book, and it helped to get his mind of the damn trial. It was like this every time he got emotionally invested in a case. He would spend weeks poring over evidence and reviewing witnesses until he caught a suspect. Then, when the court day came and his perp was going to be judged, he could never stand to watch.
   New York City, the Big Apple, was his home, and his kingdom. He'd been born there twenty-nine years ago, and had never been more than thirty miles outside of the city limits. Nick loved NYC, which combined with his love fantasy and its larger than life heroes drove him to the police force. He wanted to protect his city from the bad guys. When he had first decided to become a cop he had thought it would be like living in a Dashiel Hammet story. When he finally did get his badge, he had discovered that police work involved little heroics. Mostly, it was walking and talking, with the occasional bit of bureaucratic nonsense.
   Nick was Italian by descent and it showed in his looks. He had the kind of face usually seen in statues sculpted by Michaelangelo, with the perfectly formed mouth and the strong chin. He had pale blue eyes, which twinkled when he laughed, and golden blonde hair, which was just long enough to get him labeled as either gay or a hippie. His hair lent him a leonine aspect, which was evident in his every movement. He moved stealthily and subtlety, which manifested in an off-putting tendency to appear and disappear when you weren't looking. He was muscular, but his muscle definition meant that even if he didn't exercise he would still have a six-pack. His wardrobe was eclectic, shifting back and forth between three piece suits and Hawaiian shirts and denim shorts. In short, he was an Adonis, and had been nicknamed Golden Boy his first day on the force, later being dubbed Pretty Boy when he became a detective.
   Despite his looks, Nick had never really been much of a ladies man. He had had one or two girlfriends in high school, and a couple woman cops he had drinks with after work, but aside from that he lived the bachelor life. The problem was his work, which he was thoroughly addicted to. He worked lots of overtime, went over case files during breakfast and dinner, and listened to recordings of interrogations when he couldn't sleep, which was often. He was an extreme workaholic, which partly explained why he had earned his detective's shield so quickly. Nick was aware of his over zealous nature, but considered it a strength rather than a problem. Unfortunately, his focus on his work kept leading him into situations like this.
   This case in particular had driven him to new heights of obsession. It was his first serial case, a rapist murderer who had been stalking Coney Island. Dubbed the Demon of Coney Island, the case had awakened Nick's desire to be a hero and fight the villains. He'd gotten the case, as he had responded to the first murder. He had been driving around Coney, having been ordered by the Captain to "get the hell out of the station and leave the case files alone". A call had come in; two beach goers had discovered a woman's body half buried in the beach.
   The girl had been identified as a Ms. Kathleen Parker. She had been strangled, and the killer had buried her in the sand like kids always do. He'd probably even done it during the day, with everyone around. Autopsy reports had said that she had had sex shortly before death. Evidently the killer had known the victims. That had been the first victim, but there were several who came after. All of them were attractive women between the years of twenty and thirty; all blondes, and all of them had had sex, probably with their killer, shortly before being killed. Finally, they had all been dressed either for a night on the town or a trip to the beach, and all of them had been killed on Coney Island.
   From the evidence we had figured out how the killer got to his victims. He probably only knew them as acquaintances, but he would ask them out on a date to Coney, and they said yes. So, the killer and his victim would go to Coney and have a great time, and then our killer would suggest an out-of-the-way place to have sex, someplace where he wouldn't be disturbed. After they finish, the victim is relaxed and doesn't expect her date to suddenly put his hands on her throat and squeeze. She tries to fight, but our killer is in good shape and he keeps her pinned down. Minutes go by, and finally the poor girl has had the last of her life forced out of her.
   Now came the tricky part for the killer. He had to dispose of the body and make sure he can't be tied to it. So, the killer takes off all of his victim's cloths, and stashes them somewhere. He would then put the girl somewhere she wouldn't be found. After his first kill he changed his strategy. Instead of hiding the corpse in plain sight like with Kathleen, he would put her in a black garbage bag and dump her in a random alleyway.
   Nick had fixated on the case. He went whole days without sleep, poring over every detail until finally passing out on his desk. Finally, he had found a link between the victims, whose numbers had risen to six. All of them frequently went to Broadway shows. He got the ticket sales and seats for the shows the victims went to a narrowed it down to the five or so men who had been to all of the shows the girl had been to.
   It was quickly obvious who the killer was as soon as he was brought in for questioning. He was tall, blond haired, handsome, and he radiated a kind of hypnotic charm. His charm made it easy to ignore his eyes. They were green, and expressive. He seemed to be the least likely of the suspects when the brought him in. But then he saw a woman. Before then he had been cordial, polite, and his body language cheerfully proclaimed him to be a man's man. But when he saw Officer McCaffrey, a classic red haired Irish beauty, he suddenly turned into a predator. His eyes had caught hers with a terrifying intensity, and suddenly his friendly "good guy" demeanor had been replaced by a smoldering aura of masculine sexuality. Every guy in the vicinity suddenly got red-faced and uncomfortable looking, while the women, especially McCaffrey, became quite attentive.
   "Hello ma'am." He said, somehow managing to imply a whole hell of lot with two words. McCaffrey was having a hard time focusing.
   At this point Nick had grabbed the killer, Ethan Majors by name, by the collar and dragged him into the interrogation room. He felt triumphant. Nick had caught his man. Now it was only the matter of a DNA test to match Majors' genes to the sperm found in the victims and he would go to prison for life. Simple.
   But, when they'd taken the sick bastard to court, his lawyer had gotten the results for the DNA test thrown out. Someone had screwed up; make a procedural mistake. The principal piece of evidence had been deemed inadmissible. The DNA had even matched. What would have been an easy case suddenly became a circus.
   Nick had sat through the whole thing. He'd seen the endless parade of witnesses, experts, all of the bullcrap that got thrown into any court case. He'd been called to the stand and asked the standard questions; what brought him to the suspect, was the suspect cooperative with the investigation, etcetera.
   By the time he had left the stand, Nick was confident in a conviction. Even without the DNA match, there was enough evidence to get Majors. They had witnesses who saw the victims with a man matching Majors description, ticket stubs from various rides at Coney, all kinds of little things that point to him as the killer. But then of course, Majors came to the stand. There was no predator, no psychopath this time. Even with a woman prosecutor, he was a charming, friendly, and cooperative. He was brilliant, answering every question succinctly and accurately, with the wording and tone turning every query to his favor. He had the jury wrapped around his little finger by the time he left the stand.
   It infuriated Nick how susceptible the jury was to charm. Even the judge liked him. As Majors answered question after question, Nick saw juror after juror make a judgment call. He could see each of them concluding that Majors was a nice guy who couldn't have committed the rape and murder of six women. The Prosecution wasn't blind to it either, and had tried to goad him into making a mistake, to reveal what he really was. Majors kept it cool the entire time. They even had McCaffrey testify to his behavior, but that didn't face Majors or sway the jury's opinions.
   Now, he was sitting in his car, waiting for the disgusting incident to be over. Nick tried to focus on Fellowship, but he kept thinking of the way Majors acted at the station and the way he acted in court. It wasn't justice that was driving this case; it was a silver tongue and gullible minds. They couldn't afford to let Majors go. As soon as he slipped the charges, he would make a run for it, and they'd never catch him.
   Nick grabbed his coffee and took a long drink from it. Another hours passed him by, filed with bitterness and anger. Then, there was a commotion from inside the courthouse, the muffled roar of many feet on marble floors, and voices off of marble walls. The courthouse door opened and a mass of people poured out. There was the shouting of many people, some elated, others angry. Intermixed with this were the yapping voices of reporters talking into their microphones. Nick rolled down his window slowly, half afraid of hearing the results of the trial. The first words he heard stole his breath and knocked the ground out from underneath him. Not Guilty.
   "...Act of Justice..."
   "...Police Witch hunt..."
   "...Lack of evidence..."
   "...Harassment..."
   "...Innocent..."
   "...Demon..."
   "...Not Guilty..."
   Nick couldn't see straight. He couldn't remember being as angry as he was now. His hands were shaking, and all of instincts as a cop and as a human being were screaming for blood. Justice had failed. The system had let another monster slip through it's fingers and go back to filling the streets with blood. Women's blood. Nick hadn't realized how much this case had gotten to him. Maybe it was because the crimes had offended his sense of decency, or because the perpetrator looked so much like him. The reason didn't matter; this travesty couldn't be allowed to stand. Nick yanked his gun from his holster and flicked the safety off. A little voice in his head, one he didn't recognize, whispered encouragements to him.
   Go on. Kill him. You know you want to, and more than that you know it's right. It's real justice. Not this mess of courts and appeals that lets killers go free every day. Real justice is done at sword point, watching the light drain from a criminals eyes as you make the world a little cleaner. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as it should be. So do it. Now. Don't hesitate! You have the power; use it!
   In his rear view mirror Nick could see a golden man staring at him. He had a bow and arrow on his lap and he was looking expectantly at Nick. Nick turned around, but no one was sitting in the back seat. Nick shrugged it off. Must have been seeing things, he reasoned. Turning back to the gun, Nick checked the clip to make sure it was full. He was filled with a certainty of purpose that both elated and terrified him.
   Nick shoved the gun into his coat pocket, and got out of the car. He looked into the crowd, looking for his man. Amidst a yammering horde of rabid journalists stood Majors, his mouth stretched into a triumphantly happy rictus. Standing behind him were three winged women with burning hair and lashes gripped loosely in contrastingly delicate hands. They screamed out encouragements with voices like broken glass. Nick stopped and stared at them, his confidence scattered to the winds. The things howled their frustration and faded into the shadows. Nick pulled out the gun and stared at it.
   "What was I about to do?" He said to himself. A mix of shame and terror flooded him. He sat down on the hood of his car and hastily toggled the safety back on the gun. His hands were still shaking, but now it was from what he had been prepared to do.
   "That's not justice. That's not policing, okay maybe Gestapo policing, but not real police work." He whispered to himself. "Never, ever, do that again. God, you need a vacation if you're getting that close to the edge. And what were those things? I might need a psychiatrist to0. Christ..." He pulled out a packet of gum and unwrapped a piece. Popping it into his mouth, he looked back at Majors. The monster was still talking to the reporters, probably bad mouthing the force in some way. He sighed and put the packet back into his coat pocket, with his gun.
He turned to go back into the car, coming face to face with an Asian woman of indescribable beauty. She wore a kimono of red and white, and like the golden man, she had a bow and quiver in her hands. She stared him in the eyes, disapproval etched into every angelic feature. Nick stared at her open mouthed for a second, taking a moment to fight down his libido before talking.
"Okay, who are you people?" He asked, fixing his eyes onto hers just as steadfastly as she to his. The women didn't say a word, just continued to look at him.
"What do you want with me?" He demanded, beginning to get angry despite himself. The women continued to ignore him.
"For god's sake, what do you want?" He yelled, finally goading the woman to reply. She didn't say anything, just gestured to her left. Nick looked to where she gestured and saw the golden man standing with the women things a couple yards away. The monsters were howling with disturbing glee, striking each other with their lashes, leaving ugly welts on their naked flesh. The golden man ignored them and pulled out his bow. He took one of the arrows out of the quiver on his back and inserted it into the bow. He turned, aimed, and pulled back the bow. Nick looked at where the bow was pointed and saw Majors.
Justice.
Nick ran at Majors. The golden man was too far away, so Nick had to try and get Majors out of the way. He had to protect and serve, even if it was protecting a murdering psycho. Majors turned and saw Nick, his eyes were suddenly filled with fear. Nick screamed for him to get down, but the autumn wind drowned out his voice, rendering it impossible to understand. The crowd around Majors stared at Nick as he charged toward them, their expressions confused.
"Don't you see the guy with the bow, you idiots? Get down!" Nick yelled, but once again the howling wind turned his words into gibberish. It didn't matter; he was only a couple of feet from Majors, who was rooted to the spot, staring fearfully at Nick. Suddenly, Nick heard the twang of the bowstring being released, and there was a bright light, blinding Nick. He stopped and covered his eyes, which were burning from the light's intensity.
A moment stretched into forever, and finally the light faded, except for a bright glow the source of which Nick couldn't identify. He was too busy staring at Majors.
The killer had a hole in his chest, six inches in diameter. It went through his entire body, so that one could look through his chest cavity and see the courthouse behind him, a marble section of which was melting sluggishly. Majors stared down at the wound, all the color gone from his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out but a death rattle. Ethan Majors crumpled, his dead body striking the concrete with a loud thump. No one moved; everything was silent.
Slowly, everyone looked at Nick with a mixture of awe and mortal terror. Nick wanted to say something, to tell them it wasn't him, but when he turned to point at the golden man and his accomplices they were nowhere in sight.
There was still the odd glow that seemed to be coming from somewhere near him. Nick turned around to try and locate the source but there was nothing around him that was emanating the golden light. A scary thought suddenly occurred to Nick, and he looked down at himself. His flesh was now golden, and bright light flowed from out of his skin.
"What's happened to me?" He stared at his gold hands, and tried to think of something to do. The only thing that occurred to him was to get away from here.
"I want to be home." He said without realizing, and there was another flash of blinding light. It faded, and Nick was now standing in his kitchen. He didn't bother to question what happened and stumbled into his living room and sat down on his couch heavily. He put his face in his hands, and tried not to think about what had happened. He struggled to not think of Majors, or how he was killed. But despite all of his efforts, one word echoed through his thoughts until sleep finally took him.
Justice.