Chapter 12-- Gothic Ghoul, Daughter of Jericho
Corbin sits alone in the waiting room of the police station. His tired, bandaged body is slumped over lifelessly with his head hanging. In his hand, he holds a piece of paper: a missing person's flyer with two young women's pictures printed on them.
"You are related to this lass with the short blonde hair, right?"
Lieutenant Faisal walks over and sets a cup of hot tea on the small table next to Corbin, trying his best to speak in a consoling voice. Corbin nods slowly without lifting his eyes, the paper scrunching in his grip. He recalls having tried to reach Colette the night after Lilia's murder to deliver the dreadful news, but Colette never answered her phone or returned his call, and now he knows why.
"The other person has been identified as her flatmate. Neither of them have been seen since the Halloween Festival last weekend. Somebody in the flatmate's band reported her missing when she didn't answer her call or show up for three days. Both of their mobile phones have gone completely dead, and a search of their apartment indicated no activities there over the past week."
"Are they...? Is Colette...?"
Corbin responds in a low, shaky voice, eyes still on the ground. Faisal slowly shakes his head.
"We don't know if she is dead or alive. But the timing and the fact that she was friends with our murder victim lead us to believe the two cases are related. We will be investigating these cases together. We'll find out who's behind it, and we'll find your sister- alive."
The 30-something police lieutenant pats the dejected young man's shoulder. Corbin shifts his body slightly, glances up, first at the lieutenant, and then past the lieutenant up at the wall clock. He slowly rises to his feet.
"Pardon me, sir..."
He offers a slight bow to the officer, then turns to leave.
"I have to go pick up my son."
Lieutenant Faisal gazes upon the back of the departing young man with a look of sympathy.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the dark, cold cellar of Jericho, Mother Rahab stands with the umbrella in one hand for support, in the other hand holding a stopwatch.
"One minutes thirty seconds."
She declares to the rapid moving figure in the shadow, which comes to a stop as the nun presses the stop button.
"This is better than the last run."
"Why are we doing so much running? Aren't you supposed to be teaching me how to hunt Rippers?"
Kazelle steps out of the shadow, wearing a black sports bra and black leggings, along with a pair of heavy-set black metal-studded leather boots. Her raven-black hair is tied into a ponytail with a streak running over her ocean-blue eyes, but without a drop of sweat or gasp for air.
"What? Are you tired?"
"Strangely, no."
"No, of course not. You're dead. The dead doesn't feel fatigue, doesn't gasp for air, and certainly doesn't get to complain about the way I choose to conduct my training."
"I'm sorry."
"But if you must know: I'm building up your speed, your agility, your combat skills- all without the limit imposed by human fatigue. These are all abilities you should possess before you should even think about confronting a Ripper, especially one of the Alphas."
"What's an Alpha?"
"The Alphas possess abnormal abilities. What kind of abilities and how they got them? I'm not entirely sure. But hopefully with your help I can find out. Here, come over here..."
Mother Rahab gestures for Kazelle to follow as they approach one of the walls.
"You've done all the speed runs, agility training, evasive maneuvers, hand and kick strike exercises with the sandbags for the past week..."
"I've been training in this blackhole nonstop for
one week
?!"
"Yes. Why do you think I keep leaving in the middle of your exercises? I need sleep. I need to eat.
You
don't. Now hush and listen... all that was just stage one. Now it's time we move on to stage two: a real combat exercise."
"
Real
combat?"
Kazelle glances over at the elderly nun dubiously.
"With whom? You?"
Rahab snorts again, and jabs at a switch on the wall with the tip of her umbrella. A light flashes on, causing Kazelle to squint momentarily. As Kazelle begins adjusting to the sudden blaze, she gradually makes out the scene before her:
Against a well-lit section of the wall, there is a transparent panel, revealing a padded room. Inside the hollowed space, a muscular, middle-aged man with ash-gray skin complexion sits in a chair bolted to the floor, his arms and legs tightly restrained by leather straps. His head twitches about, mouthing something inaudible. His bulging, fiery red eyes darting about wildly, glancing several times in her direction but apparently without seeing her. He wears an eerie grin that crawls up to the edge of his thin, long lips, as if trying to stifle a laughter from hearing a funny joke.
"Who...?"
Kazelle turns to the nun incredulously.
