Soul Sucker
Perp Walk

John Miller’s POV

Aspen, Colorado

Wednesday, December 7, 2022

One more night, and I’d be caught up with the coursework.

Everyone was shocked to see me back in class on Tuesday afternoon. One of the women at my table was taking notes on her laptop and emailed them to me for study, plus the instructor gave me a copy of her presentation. I’d caught up on the material that night, but the exercises still awaited me. Tonight I’d finish the work I was behind on, plus study today’s material. Becoming a Certified Fraud Examiner wasn’t easy, but it was a necessary part of my professional development.

I’d been trading text messages and phone calls with Terry and Mary throughout the day. Mary still thought she should be here for me, but it wasn’t necessary. The flights would have cost her thousands to find me too busy to spend quality time with her. “Maybe we can get away together this weekend,” I promised her over lunch. “You, me, a resort with a hot tub and room service?”

“I’d be soaking in one now if I’d come to see you,” she complained.

“The point is to have us in there together,” I replied. “I love you, Mary. I’ll be home soon, and you’ll see I’m doing just fine.”

Terry gave me an update on what was going on in New York. “The protests are building, and we’ve got a dozen people marching outside the entrance to our building right now,” he told me. “There is a bigger crowd outside your apartment. You’ll need to be careful when you go home.”

Yay. I forced myself to concentrate on the classes, not the stuff I couldn’t control. On our last afternoon break, I got a text from my lawyer. A search warrant is being executed on your apartment right now. I just got notified and am heading over.

Great. Well, there was nothing for them to find. The New York Police Department still had the Glock I’d used at the pizza place; I was carrying my backup compact model on this trip. Even if they got into my safe, there was nothing illegal there. I was more concerned that the investigation was moving forward despite the clear video evidence of the defense of others. Should I be worried?

His response came a minute later. You never know with this guy.

Meanwhile, the publicity around my case was causing people in my class to choose sides. I noticed a few that stayed away, and the accusing glances were getting tiresome. I ate in the hotel restaurant with Samuel instead of my room, which was a mistake. People were taking cellphone photos of me and sharing them on social media. As we finished our meal, we were accosted by a few youths. Naturally, one recorded the ambush for social media while the others yelled at me and accused me of being a racist and a murderer. “Go home,” I told them as hotel security intervened.

“This shit is getting out of hand,” I told Samuel as we rode the elevator to our rooms. I kept the television on low while I studied, and the case against me was lead news again. There was video of officers and detectives carrying boxes of material from my apartment to a police van while the protestors chanted “LOCK HIM UP” in the background. It wasn’t long before the hotel confrontation showed with a caption of “Embattled Former Cop Hiding Out in Aspen” underneath.

Now I was ‘embattled?’ Wonderful.

I called Mary to say goodnight, and she insisted I stay at her place when I returned home. “Walking through those protestors will cause more trouble for you.”

“They are at my work, too,” I objected.

“Terry will let you work from home for a while. I insist.” She was right and would bring me home from the airport Friday night.

Thursday was even worse, with the news coverage obsessed with me and whether I’d face criminal charges. A local television news station was set up outside the hotel, hoping for my statement. I wasn’t going near them, but that didn’t mean people in my class weren’t speaking out. I tuned it out as best I could and focused on preparing for tomorrow’s exam.

Only thirty minutes remained in the class when one of the instructors stepped into the room and tapped me on the shoulder. Every eye watched as I walked outside with him. “Terry Callahan needs to speak to you immediately,” he told me.

I walked into an empty conference room and dialed his number. “What’s going on, boss?”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you, but I can’t stop it. John, you’ve been suspended with pay, effective immediately. Take your first flight to New York, and do not come to work tomorrow.”

“What about the certification? I’ll be done by noon tomorrow!”

“You can’t perform any official duties, including training, while on suspension. I’ve informed the instructors that we are withdrawing you from the course.”

“Jesus, Terry! They’re suspending me over a righteous shoot?”

He let out a breath. “They are suspending you in the company’s best interests, John. You’re toxic right now, and we don’t need protestors and news crews outside our building all day. It’s bad for our reputation and business.”

“So they’re tossing me aside?”

“With pay. It’s a free vacation, so stay the hell out of sight until this blows over. Stay with Mary, hell, stay with me and Cathy, but you wouldn’t believe the press coverage of this.”

This sucked. “You know I’ll have to talk to my lawyer.”

“I can’t stop you, but you won’t get far. It’s a paid suspension, so you will have a tough time proving a violation of employment law. I got more of an education in the boardroom about that stuff than I ever wanted to hear.” I bet. “Go pack your stuff and come home, John.”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t what I planned for tonight. “I need to let Mary know.”

“Let me do that,” Terry said. “It’s my responsibility, and I’d rather she hear it directly from me. Text me your flight info once you have it, and I’ll pass it along.”

“Fine.” I returned to my room and got on my computer, changing to an earlier flight home before packing my bag.

Samuel stopped by as I was zipping it up, and I told him the news. “That sucks,” he said. He stuck his hand out and shook mine. “You’re going to beat this, then we’ll get together for lunch and laugh about it,” he promised.

I dropped the car off at the rental place and took the shuttle to the airport. I could tell people recognized me as I walked to the counter to check my firearm for the flight. As a retired LEO, I could take it on board as long as I filed the paperwork. I flew through the TSA line and hadn’t long to wait before settling in the business class seat. I texted Mary before I had to go into airplane mode, then settled in for the flight.

I found out that Manhattan Life blocked my access to their servers in the hotel room, so I couldn’t do work if I wanted to. “Nothing but time for this now,” I said to myself. I pulled up the scan I’d made of the journal after I’d brought it home. The pages were faded and brittle, and I didn’t want to risk further damage or loss by carrying it on the trip. I’d skimmed through the material while scanning it, but reading the journal front to back was a revelation.

My great-great-grandfather was a badass in a world I didn’t think existed.

Two hours into the read, I got to his description of a case involving the mysterious deaths of a rich man in Boston. When meeting his widow, he described his encounter with a demon possessing a beautiful young woman. He had ‘the sight,’ the ability to see the monster inside, but only if he touched the person. My blood ran cold as I read the description of what he saw at that moment before he passed out.

It was the same demon I’d seen when I touched Ingrid’s hand.

Ingrid Anderson was a succubus, a sexually-charged demon who fed on men’s souls. What he knew about them terrified me more than the description of her appearance. The demon allowed the physical ‘skin’ to take the form of any female she chose. In this case, she ‘became’ another servant girl and escaped during the confusion caused by his brief unconsciousness.

The image of this succubus had been terrifying enough to knock my brain into la-la land for hours when I touched her. She had the same long red hair with bent horns rising from her skull, red eyes, bat-like black wings with claws, and a long, sinous tail with a barb combined with a body built for sin.

My ancestor and his priest searched for weeks and never found the succubus. The ‘widow’ was never seen again, and the killings stopped. I skimmed through the rest of the journal, hoping for more, but he never ran into this particular demon again.

I was reeling from the information and shut my laptop down as we descended. As soon as we were on the ground, I texted Mary that I’d arrived. She replied that she and Heather would pick me up outside baggage claim. I had a smile on my face as I thanked the flight attendants and walked off the plane.

That lasted until I exited the tunnel into the terminal. Five uniformed NYPD officers quickly surrounded me as a detective held his shield before me. “John Miller?” I nodded. “You are under arrest for the murder of DeWayne Thompson.” The NYPD officers swarmed me as the television cameras rolled.

“I’m carrying, right hip,” I informed them. One of the officers removed my Baby Glock while the others handcuffed me and patted me down. They put my possessions in a box and put it on a cart. I didn’t ride or get taken to a private terminal area; that would be too nice. The officers walked me through the entire terminal as my arrest went live on national news. Some shouted support, while others were less charitable.

“Call my lawyer,” was all I got to say to Mary before being put in the back of a squad car and driven off.

It was an even bigger circus at the Manhattan precinct where they brought me. Probably a dozen news crews were there to see me walk in, wearing a bulletproof vest for my ‘safety.’ It was too late for court, so I spent the night in lockup in my jailhouse orange jumpsuit before my transport to Riker’s Island.

Thanks to the offense and my status as a former Boston detective, I went to solitary for my protection. The officers and guards gave me private support while ensuring I knew this was all driven from above. The DA wanted to mollify his base, and a visible arrest would do that.

I met with my lawyer just before my arraignment on Friday afternoon. “This is bullshit, but you know that,” he started. “The District Attorney filed a criminal complaint based on his investigation. They’ve hit you with three charges, leading with First Degree Manslaughter.”

“They are saying I killed him intentionally?”

“Yes. The complaint charges that you intended to kill the victim when you fired your weapon resulting in his death. It’s a Class B violent penalty with a maximum sentence of 25 years.” Jesus. “They also included charges of reckless endangerment by firing your pistol in a crowded restaurant and unlawful firearm discharge.”

I shook my head. “They are grasping at straws,” I said.

“Probably. There isn’t a lot of detail in the complaint, but it does start a clock for us. They have to submit all evidence to me within three weeks of today. They must also take this to a Grand Jury to get an indictment before we go to trial. The DA hopes that if either jury clears you of the manslaughter, they make up for it with a conviction on a lesser count. You can never tell what a jury will do, John.”

He was right. I attended my arraignment on video from prison. I entered a not-guilty plea, the trial was set for April, and the lawyers started arguing bail. The prosecution asked for no bail as I was a flight risk, but we settled on $250,000 bail and an ankle monitor.

The worst part was that I couldn’t leave New York to see Mary and Heather.

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