In Icarus' Shadow
"Immortal", Book One
By Matthew Jones
Copyright 2012 Matthew Jones
Cover Art by Boris Rasin ©2012
Acknowledgements And Legalities
- To Makesha, without whom this work would never have been. She was my sounding board and my test audience, but most importantly, she believed in my ability to get it done in the first place.
- The Lord Elgin Hotel (100 Elgin Street, Ottawa, ON, Canada) appears with the kind permission of its Director of Sales and Marketing, Ann Meelker.
- The Ottawa Police Department (OPD) is a fictitious organization. It is in no way based upon the Ottawa Police Service (or any other existing police force), nor are any of the police officers depicted in this work of fiction based upon real individuals; any similarities are coincidental and unintentional.
- The author has taken creative license with the buildings and locations within the city of Ottawa; not every location or establishment mentioned is necessarily where it is described as being.
Chapter One
Nadia Lawson raised her collar against the wind as she walked down the street. It was early April, but winter had not quite released its grip. And while she was glad to be done with boots and heavy clothing, it wasn't quite time to put away her jacket just yet, particularly with the day overcast the way it was. Still, the brisk nip carried by the breeze was not nearly enough to keep the sidewalk from being crowded with people; that was how it worked in downtown Ottawa, after all. She was only a few blocks from the Rideau Centre, which was a crowded area no matter what time of the year it was. Stepping out of the solid mass of moving people and up against the wall of a building, she fished around in her pocket and, finding what she was after, produced a note, upon which she had scribbled an address and a time. Referencing a nearby street sign and her watch, she nodded in satisfaction of her timeliness and continued on through the crowds, sidestepping her way around a mother pushing her two children in a stroller with a fond smile at the little ones as they cooed up at her in passing.
Despite having to navigate the crowds, Nadia was excited. Ecstatic, even. She could not believe she had finally gotten a lead on her story. And after months of getting nowhere and stubbornly ignoring the ridicule she received in regards to her work, it was more than welcome. She admitted that the idea of her story was a little far-fetched. Investigating whether some of the 'monster hoaxes' of the past had been deliberately orchestrated to bias the public's opinion against the paranormal was not something most people would take seriously. And it wasn't that she disagreed with the idea either; the witch hunts of the 16th and 17th century were compelling evidence of what could go wrong when a society believed too strongly in the supernatural. But she was determined to make a name for herself as a journalist; and if she uncovered proof that it had all been engineered she would do exactly that.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she came to the corner of a building and saw a mark chalked onto its brick; it was little more than an 'L', for Lawson, drawn in a stark white squeezed in between two different pieces of graffiti, but it was what she had been told to look out for. Retrieving the note from her pocket, she compared the address she had been given to that of the marked building. Satisfied that she was in the right place she pulled a mirror from her opposite pocket, taking a moment to make sure she looked professional. Her raven hair was up in a ponytail and her green eyes had, thankfully, shed the look of being half-asleep that she so detested having in the mornings. Nodding at her reflection she proceeded into the alley, taking a few steadying breaths as she gripped the strap of her camera bag. She saw it was a dead-end right away; and with precious little in it save for some litter and more graffiti. She frowned, but chided herself for being nervous. This was her chance and she would not blow it because she was feeling skittish. Besides, the worst her contact could tell her was that he didn't know anything substantial, and she had definitely heard that before. Besides, there were plenty of people passing by, what could go wrong?
She turned as she heard footsteps scraping across the pavement behind her. A tall, thin man dressed in dirty, patched jeans and a weathered jacket was framed in the entrance of the alleyway, sizing her up. She cleared her throat. "Hello? Are you the one who offered to help with my story?"
He swaggered into the alley, nodding. "Yeah, that's me."
Her breath caught as he continued to approach, accompanied by a sinking feeling in her stomach that told her she may not have thought this through quite as well as she should have. She backed away slowly, keeping at least a foot between herself and the hostile presence of the man. Feeling a need for something in her hands to defend herself with, she slipped the strap of her bag from her shoulder and held it tightly.
"That's close enough." She winced at the crack in her voice and the man smirked. She brandished her bag at him and he stopped his approach, although she was practically against the wall as it was. "Now tell me what you know, so I can go home."
He shrugged. "You want me to spill? Fine. Here's the facts. A buddy of mine stopped by a couple days ago, gave me your name and two hundred bucks, asked me to set you straight about sticking your nose into folks' business. You follow me?"
"Yeah, I follow you." She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, but hesitated to swing. Despite the situation she found herself oddly concerned with damaging her camera.
The sound of a man clearing his throat pierced the tension, catching both of their notice. Nadia felt a slight upsurge of hope as she saw the new arrival, a young man who appeared to be of roughly her own age. He was clean, shaven and his clothes actually fit; all of which were positive marks in her book. He was about six feet tall, with a medium build and, though his dirty blond hair and friendly blue eyes did not make for an imposing countenance, she had never been so happy to see a stranger. The thug accosting her, however, was not quite as thrilled by the interruption. He glared reproachfully at the newcomer for a moment before turning fully around to address the issue. Nadia, now behind her would-be assailant, saw the back of the thug's jacket bore a graffiti-style design; which she assumed spelled something, but to her looked basically like an overturned plate of spaghetti.
The man with the pasta-like jacket design scowled down at their uninvited guest. "What do you want? We're in the middle of something here."
The young man smiled, a little too cheerfully. "Oh, sorry, I hadn't realized. I won't be a minute, honest. You see, I was walking past and I nearly fell over a section of piping." He hefted the object in question into view: a foot and a half of rusted but solid metal. "I heard voices and thought I would warn you not to trip over it yourself. You could be seriously hurt from a stumble like that."
Pasta-jacket looked distinctly put out by the veiled threat, but knew when to beat a hasty retreat. "Point taken, little man, I'm not sticking around to get my head bashed in." He glared at Nadia. "You just stop sticking your nose in other people's business." With that parting remark he edged past the pipe-bearing youth, disappearing around the corner and into the passing crowd. With the immediate danger passed, Nadia used the opportunity for a deep breath of relief.
The man set the pipe down on the ground, careful not to drop it on his foot. He wiped his hands off on his jeans, taking a deep breath of his own as he straightened up. He turned to Nadia, his forced bravado traded for a look of slightly shaken concern. "Thank goodness that's over. Are you all right? That is, he didn't hurt you, did he?"
She shook her head, slumping against the back wall for a moment to gather herself. "No, I'm fine, thank you, Mr...?"
He smiled. "Carmichael. Thomas Carmichael. But Thomas will do just fine. And you are?"
"Nadia Lawson." She nodded at his introduction, but frowned as it sa
nk in that her lead hadn't gotten her anywhere. Scuffing the toe of her shoe against the pavement, she sighed and straightened up as well. "Well, thanks, Thomas. Sorry, but I have to get home. I've got... well, nothing to do, but it's about the only place I want to be just now."
He looked at her, obviously not following; how could he have, without knowing anything about what she had even been doing in an alley to begin with? "What's wrong?"
"If I told you, you'd laugh."
Thomas smiled encouragingly, miming that she should proceed anyway with his hands. "Try me."
She studied him for a moment and decided he meant it. It was worth a shot, at least. "I'm a journalist. Or, I want to be one. I'm working on a piece to prove that the paranormal has been intentionally discredited by our media."
He processed this for a moment. "Do you have any proof, yet? Or any theories as to why they would go to the trouble of doing that?"
She was taken off-guard for a moment as she realized he hadn't begun mocking her. "Uh, well, no, not yet. This was my first real lead. Or, I thought it was." She stopped herself and looked him in the eye. "Wait. Are you really taking this seriously?"
He nodded. "Yes, I am. And, if you ask me, you still have a lead."
"I do?"
"Yeah. He's sauntering down the street right now."
Nadia almost kicked herself; she dashed out of the alley, going in the direction the spaghetti-backed man had gone as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run, weaving between the flock of people headed in the same direction she was. Growling quietly to herself, she stood on tip-toe to try and pick her quarry out from amidst the dozens of other people, but without much luck. Coming up on a local bus stop, the masses ahead of her abruptly thinned as a dozen or so sprinted to catch the city bus that pulled up behind her as she passed; and, to her great satisfaction, Pasta-jacket came into view at the same time. Determined not to lose him again, she kept her eyes locked on the back of his head, even as Thomas jogged lightly to catch up to her. As he fell into step beside her, she flashed him a grateful smile before turning back to the matter at hand. "Thanks. I wasn't thinking clearly, you're absolutely right. Even if it has nothing to do with my story, something is going on here."
Thomas nodded, seeming a little nervous about the idea of following someone. "Yeah, but aren't you going to call the police or something? If that guy was willing to assault you, no questions asked, for two hundred bucks, I'm willing to bet his friends aren't exactly a stand-up bunch."
Nadia shrugged. "They would just detain him and ask if I wanted to press charges. The moment I mention my investigation, they'll think it's some kind of prank. Everyone else does."
Her new acquaintance sighed. "I have to admit you've got a point. All right, all right, fine. I'm coming with you."
She raised an eyebrow, turning to him for a moment to make sure he saw it. "Why?"
He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Because it's dangerous, that's why!"
She grinned, both in gratitude for his help and in amusement at his frustrated worries. "Well, then welcome aboard, Mr. Carmichael. Just remember, this is my scoop, so you're working for me."
Thomas rolled his eyes. "It's just Thomas. And I'm a volunteer, not your employee."
She laughed and was about to reply when a flurry of movement drew her attention ahead of them. Their quarry had jogged across the street and was fumbling with the door of a red, slightly rusty car. Nadia scowled, knowing her own vehicle was a block away.
"Just isn't my day today," she sighed.
"No kidding. Any ideas?"
She shook her head, but in the process of doing so caught a glimpse of something that changed her mind. "Why yes, yes I do." She turned and waved to attract the attention of what she had seen. "Taxi!"
Thomas chuckled, going around to get in the far side as the car pulled to a stop at the curb. Seeing the driver's enquiring glance in the rear-view mirror, Nadia flashed her most winning smile. "We're going where he's going," she informed the man, pointing to the red vehicle across the street. "But try not to let him know that, all right?"
The cab driver followed the red vehicle like he was a trained professional, through lights, around corners and down the one-way streets the downtown area was infamous for. Nadia was not as impressed by this as Thomas was; it had taken the promise of an extra twenty dollars to convince the driver to follow the car in the first place. Still, nothing could dampen her spirits so long as the hope of progress on her story lay before her. Pasta-jacket drove ahead and if he knew he was being followed he did not show it, taking them on a twisting route through downtown Ottawa. Outside the cab's windows they saw tiny, two-floor heritage buildings built of ageing, rust-coloured brick squashed between modern giants of glass and steel. Nadia smiled to herself, remembering the first time her parents had brought her here and how astounded she had been by the vibrant atmosphere of the area. The old buildings, right alongside the new, displayed colourful signs proclaiming what was within, while old, chipped paint hinted at the building's original purpose. The whole area was a bulletin board of sorts, where anyone and anything could be found, from small shops to large businesses. She caught a glimpse of Parliament Hill through the aisles of steel and brick, its aged but beautiful architecture further showcasing the area's diversity.
But it was hardly the time for sightseeing and they soon passed from the cultural melting pot that was the downtown area. Their pursuit led them, ultimately, to a parking garage, where their unsuspecting lead left his car and got out to continue on foot. Paying the cab driver, the pair followed at a distance, infinitely grateful that this part of town had only the occasional fellow pedestrian to share the sidewalk with; it was much easier to follow someone when you could actually see them from a distance. The area they were in now had been built up around a few warehouses, but when the industries operating the spaces had folded the area had quickly fallen into disrepair. Pasta-Jacket seemed right at home, however, swaggering down the street the way he was.
Thomas could feel himself beginning to sweat as he considered what exactly it was they were doing. It was fairly obvious that they were in one of the city's low-rent areas by this point; their clothes alone marked them as outsiders. Nadia snapped him out of his worried thoughts with a tug on his sleeve, and pointed after their mark. Thomas followed her gesture and saw him entering a run-down motel complex that now seemed to serve as something of a horizontal apartment block. Watching from afar, they saw Pasta-Jacket enter room sixteen and shut the door behind himself, effectively marking the end of their trip.
Nadia drew Thomas into the alley behind the complex, speaking in a stage whisper that absolutely reeked of conspiracy; had anyone actually been able to hear, Thomas was confident they would instantly know the pair were up to something. "All right, we've gotten this far. Help me find the window to his room."
Thomas gaped. "You can't be serious! We already stick out like sore thumbs here, what are we going to do if somebody sees us? There can't be a cop within six blocks of here!"
She put a finger over his mouth, tutting in disapproval. "Hush it, would you? Somebody's going to hear you and then where will all of your worrying have gotten us? Now, let's find the window so you can boost me up."
Thomas blinked, taken off-guard by the finger on his mouth. He sighed as he realized he couldn't talk her out of it and instead resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. Nodding his agreement, he started down the alley with her, counting the windows. Maybe he did worry too much, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that Nadia didn't worry at all.