"Because I'm a Psychic."

A Blank Division Story

Dom Silvers held his hand to his stomach, blood dripping from between his fingers and staining his fingers. He didn’t dare remove the spike from the wound, knowing full well that it was lodged in between his floating ribs. He held his USP .45 in his free hand, pointing it at anything that moved. His head was on a swivel as he watched for Owen Winston and the twisted son of a bitch that made this mess. He would be lucky if the building didn’t collapse, luckier if he found Owen alive, and even luckier if he shot his perp, whatever it was.

“Oi! Owen!” he screamed in between coughs. “Where are you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement, quick and fluid. It wasn’t Owen; it had to be whatever brought the building down. Dom threw his arm in the direction of the movement, but saw nothing beyond the bent girders and broken concrete and tile. He turned back, hesitant to lower his gun. He barely remembered seeing the quake as it happened. He remembered seeing a large bone spike being forced into his stomach by a man covered in blood. His eyes were red where sclera once was, tears of blood flowing as waterfalls down his cheeks. The irises were black, blending perfectly into his pupils. His teeth were completely removed, but despite this, blood was not flowing from it. Bones were protruding from his skin, constantly tearing his flesh.

He was in the late stages of a transformation that he had only seen once before, when he was in the SAS and Owen was in the Army’s Criminal Investigation Services’ Abominable Crimes Unit. It was the same thing that killed Owen’s fiancée, Helena. It was a virus. It tore apart the brain, caused rapid growth of bone tissue, as well as immense pain. But this was the first time they had seen a person infected with it retain their intelligence while they were in the late stages of infection.

He felt the rubble below his feet shift just before he heard a cough. He instinctively pointed his gun down at the movement, lowering it when he recognized the face: Andrew Westbrook. His head was cut open just above both of his eyebrows, accentuating one of the worry lines he had worn for the past hour. One of his crystal blue eyes was swollen shut, but the other pierced out at Dom’s growing sideways smirk. “Would you put that thing away and help me out here, boss?” Andrew asked half joking. He had started pushing the rubble off of himself when Dom stepped on him. Fortunately for him, he was pinned under a couch, the cushioned top of it barely pressing against his hip, and holding the weight of the rubble.

Dom lifted the couch as much as he could. It was just enough for Andrew to crawl out and examine his injuries. His left knee was twisted, but not broken. When he tried to set just a little of his weight on it, he screamed and fell hard to the ground, scraping his arms on the rubble in front of him. He picked himself back up and grabbed a bent piece of rebar to use as a cane. Dom eyed the rebar up and down, approving the improvisation skills that Andrew had hid from him for the better part of a year. “Right,” he started, looking around the rest of the rubble. “ ‘Ave you seen Owen, mate?”

Andrew bit his lip, tasting blood in his mouth for the first time. Thank God we have O Negative blood, he thought. We’d all be fucked if we didn’t. The virus needed to be carried through the body by the A and B antigens, which he, Dom, and Owen lacked. That was part of the reason they were assigned this case from the FBI’s Blank Division. The other major factor was that Dom and Owen had dealt with the virus before. It was doubtful, though, that they dealt with it in this way; a man becoming infected and bringing an entire building down on top of them.

Andrew slowly shook his head. “I hadn’t seen him since he left the room. He told us that something was wrong. Son of a bitch knew.”

Dom snickered despite himself. “He is a psychic,” he replied. Andrew waved it off with both his hand and a laugh. Dom laughed as well, even if it hurt him. The spike in his stomach was starting to annoy him as the adrenaline wore down.

Andrew started limping over the rubble, Dom following him. They may have been skeptics, but Owen, psychic or not, was part of their team. They started to call out for him again, turning anytime they saw any movement. Sometimes it was just rubble starting to fall from above; while others there was nothing to be seen. It was these moments that made them both nervous. It was very possible that the infected man was still in the building, trying to find his way out. If that happened, the virus would spread, and all hell would break loose.

It wasn’t until they reached the other side of the building that they saw movement that stayed constant. It was Owen, limping through a hallway, coughing. Other than the limp and a trail of blood tracing an outline around his arm, he looked no worse for wear. When he stopped coughing, he saw Andrew and Dom, and lifted his right arm in the air, thumb pressed hard against his middle finger, ready to snap. All he needed to do was get in sync with their beta waves in order to hypnotize them.

Dom held out the hand not holding the gun. “Owen! It’s us!” He watched as Owen studied them a bit further, lowering his hand. A sigh was visible to both Andrew and Dom, as was Owen suddenly slouching and holding his ribs under his brown leather jacket.

Andrew was the first to notice that Owen had also been propping himself against the wall, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He had taken his bleeding arm out of the jacket to do this, leaving a trail that he could follow back if he got lost. Clever, Andrew thought.

Owen waved at them with his good arm. “About fucking time you got here!” His voice was as ragged the tattered black jeans we was wearing. His black shirt was ripped around the left sleeve, which was seemingly split open like an egg shell in a microwave. Wherever he was, he still got hit with the falling debris, meaning that the damage to the building extended further than they initially thought. Dom thought the quake only collapsed the wing that they were in. This wasn’t part of the virus. The realization that over took Dom must have hit Andrew as well.

Bloody plonker was right! Dom thought. “So this thing is a bloody demon possessin’ a man who is infected?” he screamed the words, the witnessing of the extensive devastation over taking his relief that Owen was alive.

Andrew cocked his head towards Dom, suppressing a smile. “He’s glad to see you, too,” he said with biting sarcasm as subtle as a flashing orange light in the midnight sky.

Owen waved it off. “Yes, it is.” He stopped in an attempt to catch his breath. “The virus weakened his will… he was already… oppressed when he came to us…” He held out a hand to stop Dom from coming to his aid. “I was… running. Blood loss… not that bad.” He moved from the wall and turned his bleeding arm towards them. It was scrapped up deep, but nothing that would not heal over time. Compared to the rest of the injuries among Dom and Andrew, Owen was of the least importance.

“You do realize that, possessed or not, he can’t leave the area, right?” Andrew asked them both. His slight under bite was becoming more prominent, a sign of intense thought.

Owen and Dom both shot an annoyed glance in Andrew’s direction. “No, really? I thought it’d be good if he got some fresh air,” Owen remarked. The sarcasm masked his fear, emphasizing his annoyance of the whole situation. He knew more than both Andrew and Dom how catastrophic this event could be in the long run. A demonically possessed infected person could sustain more physical damage before finally being taken out. The primitive nature of the infected without the possession virtually gives them the resilience of a man hopped up on PCP. A possessed infected would have over twice of that.

That wasn’t what concerned Owen, though. What concerned him was that the demon didn’t want to leave. It possessed the infected man, Dr. Walter Ford, to lure him. The demons had wanted to possess people with preternatural abilities since the Shift, an event that increased the amount of so-called “psychics.” Owen was what they called a pranic, or psychic, vampire, and could absorb psychic energy from other gifted people. This granted him an easy way to learn other abilities, like his hypnotism, but had a side effect of not being able to be controlled. If he had gotten possessed (again), he could be nearly unstoppable.

His ability, though, allowed him to see into Dr. Ford’s thoughts, which ended up being the thoughts of a demon. “It’s not trying to leave,” he explained. “It wanted me here, and that’s why it possessed Dr. Ford after he accidentally infected himself.”

Dom shook his head. “You’ve got to be taking the piss!” His smirk had faded to a fearful snarl. “’Ow come ev’ry fucking demon wants to get inside you? You’ve had that bloody Mr. Slumber try to kill you last year, yeah? The Morrigan now, Vine, Andras, Abalam, the Nephilim… What’s this fucking thing, then?”

“Furtur,” Owen replied. “That’s not the point, though, Dom. Yeah, we’ve had a rough year with pretty much every demon wanting to take control of every psychic during the Shift, but we also got the Blank Division started. We’ve lost a few agents, but fuck if we aren’t trained to do this. You, me, Andrew… shit we’ve survived a lot of shit this year. We survived this fucking earthquake that a demon caused. We can stop it.”

Andrew nodded. “Yeah, boss. He’s right. This is nothing new considering what we’ve all seen over the past year.”

“All right,” Dom agreed. “All right, fine. What do we need to do, Owen?”

“Stay right where we are.”

Dom and Andrew exchanged confused glances. “We do what now?” Andrew asked.

Dom sighed and looked at them both. “Stay right here. There are three of us--.”

“And a nasty fucking demon that stabbed me in the fucking stomach, Owen!” Dom shouted. While he was starting to become pale but the adrenaline was taking over again. This was a mixed blessing, giving him enough energy to stay awake, but also increasing his heart rate, raising his blood pressure and blood flow. “We need to find it and stop it right now if we’re going to keep the bloody virus contained!”

“Which we will be able to do if we stay right here. We lure Dr. Ford here, while we’re in this triangular formation, and we can keep him contained,” Owen explained. “He wants to get to me; he has to get in the triangle. Furtur cannot leave this triangle unless one of us moves. So, sit your asses down, and do as I fucking say, got it?”

Andrew slowly lowered himself to the floor, using the rebar to hold his weight until he was on the ground. “Welp, fuck it. My gun’s under rubble, Dom’s suffering blood loss, and Owen’s the only one with albeit a stupid plan. But… he’s been right before. What the fuck do we have to lose?” He smiled widely, his once white teeth now stained red. He looked at Owen, seeing if he was going to sit down, and then at Dom. “You better sit, boss. Slow the heart rate a little.”

Owen looked at Dom’s stomach, seeing the bone spike in it. Without thinking, Owen pulled gauze bandage from his jacket pocket and tossed it at Dom. “Take the spike out, wrap the wound. Inhale when you put the gauze on the wound, create suction.” Owen turned to Andrew. “You wouldn’t happen to have a narrow tube of some sort, would you?”

Andrew knew what Owen was thinking. If the injury was near the lung, there was a good chance that it could collapse. Relieving the pressure around the lung could get it to inflate again. It would be enough to buy them some time, which they would need. The police had surrounded the building by now, and were waiting on the disaster crew to come in and check things out. If they came in, that could raise the number of casualties, something they all wanted to avoid.

Andrew checked his pockets and found nothing but his keys and wallet. He shook his head, and looked at Dom who also found nothing, except for his Swiss Army knife. Owen’s eyes lit up when he saw that. He reached in his pocket, pulling out a pen. He threw the pen towards Dom, who immediately took the pen apart and cut the ink tube so the part with no ink was separated from the filled section. Dom unbuttoned his shirt and wrapped the bandage around the wound and his stomach, breathing deeply as the gauze was placed on the wound. He then took the knife, ready to cut an incision to put the tube in.

“Hold up, Dom,” Andrew stopped him before he cut. “Use the corkscrew. We don’t need you stabbing yourself to death.”

Dom looked at him, and smiled. “Better idea, mate. Metal toothpick.” He pricked between the third and fourth rib, wincing as he did this with the toothpick and the tube. As the tube went in, a “whoosh” of air could be heard.

“Better?” Owen asked.

“That’s a relative term,” he joked. Andrew snickered, which caused a chain reaction amongst them. Owen followed, and finally Dom, even though it hurt. By the time they stopped laughing, Owen could see from the holes in the crumbling walls that the FEMA had shown up, and where ready to enter the building. Owen smiled at them, waved, and looked at Dom and Andrew.

“You guys might want to call FEMA and tell them not to come in until we get out,” he said.

Dom shot him a sideways glance. “Well, what the hell do you want us to tell them, that we’re having a bloody picnic?”

Andrew picked up his phone from his shirt pocket, and dialed the police’s mobile headquarters. “This is Agent Andrew Westbrook, Blank Division. I’m in the collapse Olympus Building with Owen Winston and Director Dominic Silvers. I need you guys and FEMA to not come in.” There was a pause. “Yes, I’m serious. We’re having a ‘bloody picnic.’” He said the last two words mimicking Dom’s accent. Dom flipped him off as he hung the phone up. “They’re giving us ten minutes. And my potato salad isn’t out yet!”

Dom and Andrew started to laugh, but Owen turned his head over his shoulder. He heard a snap, the sickening of a broken bone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dr. Ford just as he lunged towards him. Owen couldn’t move in time and was tackled, landing face down onto the dirty floor. “Don’t move!” He shouted to his two partners just as the bone spike in Dr. Ford’s hands punctured his forearm, pinning it to the floor.

Dom pointed his gun at Dr. Ford’s head. He watched as Dr. Ford broke another bone spike and readied it to stab Owen’s right arm. At its apex, Dom shot the spike, splintering it. Dr. Ford’s head shot up towards Dom as he growled. He smiled as Dr. Ford jumped from Owen to him. He fired three times, only clipping Dr. Ford’s arm. Dom and Andrew dropped their jaws as they saw Dr. Ford stop in midair and fall to the floor in the middle of the triangle.

“Well, holy shit,” Andrew uttered as he grabbed the rebar. He wanted some form of weapon if this didn’t work. Owen gripped the spike in his arm and pulled. It didn’t budge at first, but he kept trying.

“Dom, we don’t have anyone to exorcise him,” Andrew stated. “Hell, to put it bluntly, he won’t survive from the virus.”

Dom kept his gun on Dr. Ford, who was now starting to stand up. Bones were stuck to the floor, preventing him from standing up. Owen finally pulled the spike out of his arm, unintentionally rolling out of position as he did. He only realized it when he heard the sounds of bone snapping and flesh ripping. He looked up and saw Dr. Ford’s ribs being pulled out of his body. As he rose up the flesh from his chest was ripped open, and his ribs were starting to separate from his spine. With a final tug, Dr. Ford was free of the floor, and was ready to lunge at Dom. He roared, leaning back as his organs dropped to the floor. His heart had long since stopped beating, hanging only by blood vessels.

Yet, he was still alive.

Owen rolled back into his position, starting the Prayer of St. Michael. He stopped once he saw the organs on the floor. He didn’t need to say another word as Dom fired at Dr. Ford, hitting his head. Dr. Ford stood for a brief period, and fell over limp. Andrew and Dom dared not move from their spots until Owen got up and walked over to the holes in the wall to call FEMA inside.

After they were taken out of the building, Owen sat in the Ambulance that Dom’s gurney was being placed in. “You okay, boss?” Owen asked.

Dom nodded. He couldn’t find the strength to speak at first, but he would survive his wounds. Owen placed a hand on his friends shoulder as Andrew limped over. “You never told us why Furtur wanted you,” he said slowly.

Owen grinned at Dom. “You want the real answer, or the glib?”

Dom grinned. “You pick.”

“Because I’m a psychic,” Owen said as he got up. The paramedics closed the doors behind him, and readied the ambulance to leave.

Andrew stared at Owen, cocking his eyebrow, but still smiling. “Was that the serious answer or the glib answer?”

Owen smiled back and Andrew. “The world may never know,” he replied. “Come on. We got to get back to the hotel and recoup God knows how many more demons we’ll have to deal with this year.”

Andrew nodded. “Good teamwork, Owen. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Owen stopped in mid-stride to turn back to Andrew. He was going to say something sarcastic, but decided against it. Instead, he waved Andrew along. He felt the same about his two friends, but they didn’t know what he did. He knew that the autopsy would show that Dr. Ford was not infected at all. That would lead the medical techs to find that Dr. Walter Ford should have been pronounced dead a week before, that his organs were beginning to putrefy and his muscles atrophy. He also knew that once they would find out about this, they’d ask him how he knew.

And he could tell them that Furtur had been in his head, mocking him. He never read Dr. Ford’s mind; he was being yelled at by the demon that was tearing his body apart. He could explain that the virus had never caused bone protrusions before, and that testing on it had been banned since Owen and Dom killed the man who created it. He would also have to explain that the demon changed the physiology of Dr. Ford, which would then have to be proven.

Instead, he had to use the reply he hated falling back on: “Because I’m a psychic.” The bitch of it that it wasn’t completely wrong.