Cross My Heart

Cross My Heart: A Supernatural Detective Novel

Chapter I

San Antonio, Texas. November 4^th

My day started like most days, in other words, like shit. My cell phone started screaming the police siren ringtone in some hidden location in my room (i.e., wherever the hell I last threw it) the ringtone feeling like needles on my tired brain, and me fumbling for it with a steady stream of "What the fuck...fuck...Who the fuck...fuckity fuck fuck it" *deep Zen inhale to calm myself (heh, yeah right) *. Why the police siren ringtone? It's the one I chose for my boss, San Antonio Metro PD Captain Matt Camann. Love the guy. Totally lovable guy. Awesome boss. Just don't love the early morning phone calls after I just came off a Supe case that lasted 2 months and had me running on roughly 4 hours of sleep daily...if I was fucking lucky.

This is probably a good point to pause and warn you, if you are easily offended by language that falls outside the "polite" range, then stop fucking reading this. Also, pull your head out of your ass and realize I have zero fucks to give for your "Karen" ideals. In other words, grow up dumb ass.

Before I continue my tirade into the phone "what the fuck do you want situation," I feel I owe all of you a bit of background info. I know a lot of detectives are out there writing their life stories these days, passing them off as "based on" at best or at worst as outright fiction. This is not based on shit. Well...technically that isn't true, but I'll get to that golden butt nugget in a minute. This isn't fiction. This is my attempt at putting the last 3 years of my life into writing, albeit digital writing (oh printed books how I miss thee). Why would I give two shits about doing this? Three reasons. 1. My therapist said I had to. Yeah, had to. Court mandated therapy, the worst. 2. I've lost too many people I loved in the past 3 years, and I owe it to them to let their heroism be known, and three. This is a warning to everyone who reads this. Bad Shit is real. Bad Shit is all around you. Bad Shit does not care who it steps on. Bad Shit is here to get you if it can. And Bad Shit can carry many faces, human or Supe. If I save one life with these words, even the shit eating Karens of the world, then I did my job. The last job I'll do in the line of duty.

This brings me back to the golden butt nugget. I'm a detective working for the San Antonio Metro PD, Super Human Investigation Taskforce. Let that sink in for a minute. You're almost there...ok I'll help you along. I'm a S.H.I.T. detective. Yeah... Yeah, I know. I didn't make that up. Some red-faced shit men in DC created the national taskforce and true to fucked DC autocrats, they gave it a name to mock the need for it in every way they could.

This superhuman shit all started about a decade and half ago when, I dunno, the veil between the realms got thin and all kinds of things crept into "humankind's" world. No that is total complete fuckery. I would never serve that bullshit to you. "Veil between the realms" crap is what the Powers That Be tell the masses to keep them calm. If y'all knew that the "baddies" have been here all along, since before modern humans fucked a hot neanderthal for fun, most of you would bust a vein in your small minds and kick this mortal coil. And let me be frank, humans are pure shit. They are the cockroaches on planet Earth. Humans get a plague and it's a tragedy...well, wake up call, humans are Mother Earth's plague. Don't believe me? Look at all the fuckery going on around you in the news, in your city, in your family. There are enough fuckwads to go around and only the stupid people are breeding. Let that golden truth sink into your gray matter.

To be a SHIT (I'm dropping the "." at this point because, frankly, I'm too lazy to keep typing them, deal with it) detective there are two requirements. 1. You must be a bona fide officer or the law. 2. You've been evaluated by the Hitler Health Authority (otherwise known at the Human Genome Registry) and found to have at least 25% Superhuman genes and exhibit some form supe ability. You CAN'T, however, be full Supe. If you were...there are two places for you. Assessed, registered, and living in Supe designated areas that have borders guarded like a super max prison or you're in Supe prison. See folks, what people can't understand frightens the masses, and since most people are dumb enough to inject disinfectant into themselves to kill the Covid virus (on the advice of the former POTUS who keeps "Mein Kompf" in his bedside table) Supes are bad creatures. Things to be caught, tagged, and kept in line.

The law says you can have up to 25% Supe DNA and still work in CHP jobs, or Close Human Proximity jobs. When normie cops couldn't catch Supes effectively (that means as fast as fuck for those reading between the lines) they upped that Percentage to 35% for law enforcement, but it also keeps these Supes designated to one unit...SHIT. The size of your city and outlying normie populace, determines how many SHIT detectives you get. San Antonio has, officially, 4. Myself being one. My partner, Rayven E. Black, being the 2^nd. The 3^rd and 4^th are our own handy dandy Crime Scene Specialists, but I'll get to those awesome rockstars later. Getting back to the beginning of this statistical dickstorm, there are still CHP jobs out there to be had, but the 25% rule still applies to them. Who picked these numbers? Probably another red-faced shit DC autocrat who was having an especially hard dump that day.

Before you get all uppity and wonder what sort of Supe I am, it doesn't work that way. This isn't a world of halfling Fae running around or 25% troll kids being born (but maybe I'm wrong on the troll part...anyone on the net who has ever been in a flame war over any kind of fuckery will tell you that trolls are alive and well and feed on a steady diet of drama they stir up. I hate fucking net trolls. I really do).

To be a "TYPE" of supe, generally speaking, your supe DNA is above 75% (queue Rob Zombie's "More Human than a Human"). When your down where us working supes are, you get flickers of different abilities. Sometimes new abilities pop up as you age, some leave you as you get older too, but it's rare to the extreme to have a low-level DNA supe like myself to suddenly bust out mega supe abilities on par with the real supes. If you are 100% supe, welcome to the big leagues. Humans like to think we can tell them what to do, but secretly we all know they are allowing us to co-exist. It's sort of a mutual understanding that if either side doesn't rock the boat too much then major bloodshed can be avoided. Full supes are rare, but it doesn't take a ton of them to do major human populace damage. Think of the human/full supe relationship sorta like the USA and Russia during the Cold War...only one side really did have the ability to erase the other side from existence, but in the interest of being neighborly they allow the "weaker" side to think they are on the same playing level (Still not sure who was weaker on that one). Honestly, I think the supes need us around because they are too busy jockeying for head spot on "who not to fuck with" list. Humans keep the lower level supes in line and they are free to play Risk with actual areas of the globe.

My phone siren blared again as I finally found it wedged under my well-worn combat boots and my nightstand (and by night stand, I mean a wooden crate littered with half empty coke bottles and various snack wrappers).

"Yeah yeah...what the fuck. Yeah, Harley here." Ok, I knew it was my boss, but I was too sleep deprived and annoyed to give two shits.

"Good afternoon to you too Detective Harley." Uh oh, Cap only called me by my actual title when he was annoyed. It couldn't be due to my perfectly acceptable answer to his calling me...naw. Well, maybe a little bit. Heh. Meh.

"Oh ah, hey Cap. Didn't realize it was you. I just nodded off to sleep. You know me...not a morning person" I scrunched up my eyes tight and hoped he didn't put me on some shit case just for forgetting I needed to be nice. I'm not well socialized with people. I'm fine with that. Unfortunately, most people take offense to my "excuse me fuckwads" and "Ok I see your lips flapping but nothing but bullshit is coming out" line of communication. I've been forced to take police sensitivity training so many times I could teach the course.

"It's 4:30pm Harley, and you knew it was me due to that annoying ringtone you insist on using for me" Did I mention my Cap is on the Autism spectrum? He is a regular high functioning all around GENIUS...but when you get to know him better you discover he doesn't get your jokes as well as others...but man, when he tells you a joke it always slays. I know a Skinwalker who shares the same traits as my Cap, not that I'd tell Cap that. He'd likely stare at me until things got uncomfortable...for me.

"Dude, Cap...I just finished punching out...I even turned in all my paperwork for the last case...I even spellchecked it this time. If I do not sleep, I will die. As in dead? You know what I mean?" I tried not to sound whiney, but it totally crept in towards the end.

"One, you wont die. I've checked your DNA specs. You aren't an insomniac Harley, you just run off less sleep that Regulars" He sighed into the phone. Regulars is what we called your average human with no Supe DNA. "I need you to get dressed and head out to Bastrop State Park. Black is already out there waiting on you before she approaches the scene."

"Bastrop? That's like almost two hours from here. Can't Supe Squad in Austin take it? That is out of our jurisdiction" Ok, I for sure sounded whiney now.

"Harley, get dressed and get the hell out there. Don't stop for Starbucks or donuts. Black is waiting on you." There was an edge to his voice I rarely heard, and it made my stomach clench.

"What do we have out there that makes this case ours?" I started chewing on my thumbnail as I pushed around my bedroom floor looking for a marginally clean pair of black jeans.

"I'd rather not have this discussion over the phone. I need you out there ASAP. You and Black were hand picked for this case by the Chief herself. So do not fuck it up. I'll text you the GPS locaters. Once you've had time to get a feel for what we have, buzz me. I'll meet you at the office for your debriefing."

I don't have the gift of premonition, but I didn't need it to know whatever what out in that state park wasn't going to be pretty. "Ok Cap. I hear you loud and clear. I'll be on the road in five."

"Harley, be on the road in two. I'd like you in and out of there before full dark."

"10-4." Cap hung up before the word "four" left my mouth. The mouth that was suddenly dry. My hands shook as I dressed in black jeans, my combat boots, and a black button up that was only a little wrinkled. I shoved it unceremoniously into my jeans and I hunted for a belt and my army surplus BDU jacket and my badge that hung around my neck on an equally black chain. Some might think I had a look I was going for...I just wore black because it showed blood less. Job perks. Yay.