Jinka and Joey

"What is taking so long?" Nickolas demanded. He paced between the entrance of the parlor and the table in which Aden lay unconscious. "He should be awake and aware by now! You said it would only take a minute or two. It's been hours!"

"I'm afraid I've lost him behind a protective wall that was placed in his mind." Jason stammered.

"What!?! What do you mean you LOST him?"

"It means, Nickolas, that I can't bring him back. His memories were not 'erased' as we had thought but rather his memories have been walled off. So-to-speak. In my attempt to restore what I thought was erased, I inadvertently trapped his conscience behind that wall."

Nickolas blinked at his friend. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Kaden is trapped in his memories. His mind is reliving all the memories that have been blocked by the protective barrier that is in place. I cannot undo what has been done."

"I am not understanding. Tommy said he erased Kaden's memories. Why would he lie?"

"This isn't Tommy's work. Someone much more powerful did this."

"Who!?!" He boomed. "Who do we need to fix this? We need him alive and aware! Now!"

"I don't know." Jason was frantic. Restoring lost or erased memories was an easy task for him but what had been done to Aden's was far beyond his abilities. "I'm sure Twila will come to us now. Maybe she can release him."

"That's a big 'if' Jason. We have no idea what her powers are."

"We could call Joey." He offered, inwardly cringing at the thought. The woman was indeed powerful enough to do what needed to be done, but her distain for humans and half-breeds, and Nickolas' love for both had caused a rift in their relationship centuries ago and neither had been willing to reconcile as of yet. Nickolas snarled a few inaudible complaints under his breath before nodding his approval. Jason scrolled through the contacts on his phone.

**

"Where is this pretty boy, Sam? You know how I despise waiting." She said in monotone as she adjusted her graying hair in the reflection of the two-way mirror. She smoothed over her eyebrows and dabbed away a bit of excess liner the heat had melted out of place. Unphased by the sound of the door, she glanced past her reflection to see the man she had been waiting for take the seat opposite hers in the room. His dark hair lay slightly unkempt in his face accenting his olive toned skin and black-brown eyes. Randall Johannsen, as his superiors knew him. His face displaying far more youth than his coworkers of the same age. He was well known in the district for his uncanny ability to get suspects to confess to whatever crimes they had committed whether or not they had been officially charged. It didn't take rocket science to see how he was able to get people to talk. The women would be enamored by his devilish good looks while men wouldn't take him seriously enough to shut up. It had been at least a decade since she visited with him, but he wouldn't remember. She made sure he wouldn't remember.

"Joey Reed. Joey is an unusual name for a woman." He said as he slid a manila file across the table full of photos she was to look at.

"No more unusual than yours, Mr. Johannsen."

"It's just Randy. I trust you know what I'm here to talk about, Ms. Reed?" He asked making eye contact with her reflection.

"I know what you believe you are here to talk about." She responded with a sigh. She studied him for a moment, then turned to face him. "You believe you are here to get me to confess to murdering the women in that folder. I've never murdered anyone. Never saw a need for that kind of senselessness."

"So you say you're innocent?"

"No one is innocent, Detective. We are all guilty of something."

"And you are guilty of killing…"

She interrupted, "Dreams, Mr. Johannsen. Only dreams." She sat in front of him staring into his eyes. "You look about nineteen. No doubt because I've gotten older than I intended. Still, I imagine you should be about twenty-eight if my math is correct."

"I don't see how that has anything…"

"Allow me tell you what I know. You don't mind do you?" She glanced at him for confirmation before continuing. "You believe I have murdered people. Nothing I can say either way will change that."

"Try me."

"You also believe that you will be able to use your youthful appearance, rehearsed confidence and sex appeal to get me to confess to said crimes. So convinced are you of my guilt, you plan to pull out all stops to get me divulge all of my deepest secrets to you."

"I'm only here to listen to your side of the story. If you choose to reveal any 'secrets' as you call them; so be it."

She pulled a cigarette from the pack in her pocket, studying his expression. His eyes followed the cigarette as she rolled it between her fingers, tapped the butt against the pack then returned it to its place in the box. "You're not the only one in this room with secrets, Randy."

"Oh? And what do think you know of my secrets Ms. Reed."

"I got your age right, didn't I?"

"My age is not a secret."

"Perhaps not." She tossed the pack onto the table in front of him. "It's your brand of choice, is it not?"

"I don't smoke."

"Well, not at work."

"Still not much of a secret."

"No? How many of your coworkers know about your wife?"

"Wife?"

"The boss' daughter. The one you married because she was pregnant at sixteen and her daddy thought you did it. Eight years and three kids later, you are miserable. She is endlessly nagging you about the hours you put in at work and the money you spend. Reminding you daily of what a lousy husband and father you are."

"You're way off base," he growled. "Let's get back to topic, shall we?" He opened the folder and spread the photos across the table. Each one taken of a different victim.

She didn't bother to look at them. She kept her eyes on the brutally handsome young detective and continued without allowing him to redirect further. "Am I? You hardly spend any time with them because that woman is so insufferable. But even in the little time you do get with the girls, you've noticed that the oldest doesn't act right. She's too shy. Too skinny. Doesn't talk or play like an eight year old should. In your gut you know something is wrong but you can't talk to your wife about it because it would start a fight. You can't talk to your boss, because he is your father-in-law and you're convinced he would blame you like he always does for everything else that's ever been wrong in your marriage."

"Enough!" He yelled. "We're here to talk about these girls you murdered!" He shoved the pictures closer to her.

"Come on, Detective," she insisted leaning across the table, "You've always known she's cheating on you since day one because you have never slept with her. You know those kids aren't biologically yours yet you have claimed them as your own. And you know your wife's boyfriend has had his liberties with the eight-year-old already and it's just a matter of time before moves onto the other girl as well."

"Enough!" He slammed his fist down on the table.

"You talk to suspected murderers, so you wouldn't have to consciously think about the murder you've been planning to commit yourself. Can't say I blame you. Any good father would feel the same way."

"You don't know anything." He seethed through clenched teeth.

"On the contrary Mr. Johannsen. I know everything." She sat back and smiled coyly at him again. She lazily thumbed through the photos on the table. A photo of the young blonde found in the wooded area north of town caught her eye. She lifted it to get a closer look at the wounds to her neck. "You're right about one thing, Jinka. That man who has raped your daughter and your nasty wife who let him both deserve to die horrible deaths for what they've done. But it's not your job to do it." She tossed the photo of the blonde towards him. "Rebecka Lane. Found north of town seven years ago; stabbed to death. Her killer is currently on death row for the murder."

He blinked at her comment. "No one knows me by that name here." He stated flatly. He tried to focus on the photo she tossed him. "How did you.."

"I told you. I know everything." She tossed another photo in his direction. "Maria Consuelo. Found two states over with a bullet wound to the temple. Not your jurisdiction for one. Ruled a suicide six years ago for two."

He took the photo and studied it. Confusion laced his appearance. "Take my advice, Jinka. Forget what you think Daddy thinks and divorce the tramp and let God do the avenging. Trust me, He's better at it then any of us." Another of his victims' photos was tossed across the table. "Silva Porter. Husband did it. Killed himself in the process."

She understood his silence as confirmation that she had left him dumbstruck. "It's okay," She smiled. She gathered the photos together and put them back in the folder and slid them over to him. "You weren't sent to interrogate me for murdering these women. All of these crimes have been solved. You were sent so I could prevent further crimes. Your 'father-in-law' boss knew about his daughter's affair the moment your last child was born. He saw the hurt and anger in you and feared for her life. So, he asked me to have a chat with the boyfriend and convince the man to end the what he thought was just an affair. However, I had met your daughter, Becky first and let's just say the rest is history."

"You met my daughter?" His eyes, once so confident and bold now threatened to spill their pent-up fears and anger.

"As we speak, officers are arresting that useless excuse of a wife of yours and her boyfriend. Investigators are swabbing for DNA in all the bedrooms and vehicles and the shed in the backyard. Don't worry, they will find what they need to convict. Your kids, though not yours biologically; will be taken to a safe house where they will wait for you to pick them up."

"My kids?"

"Well, yours for now. Old Sam got a court order for paternity testing. Once science proves they aren't your girls, they'll be placed with him."

"I'm going to lose my girls?"

"You would either way. You don't get to raise kids in jail, you know." With that she stood, offered a consoled hand upon his shoulder.

"What... What... How..." He searched her face wide eyed. "I don't know what I shou.."

She looked to the two-way mirror. "Sorry, Sam. I need a minute alone." She snapped her fingers. The room went dark save emergency lights in the corner. "That's better."

Randy jumped in his seat; panic written in his features. "What did you just do?"

"Relax, Jinka. You're safe. I just needed to have a private chat with you."

"How do you know that name?"

"I know everything. Haven't I mentioned that?"

"How? How do you know all this… everything? My wife? The girls? Wait. When did you meet Becky?"

"Now is not the time for such questions. You know nothing of who or what you are yourself; what makes you think you would understand anything I could explain today?"

"What do you mean, what I am?"

"That's enough for today. Just remember that I saved you from committing a horrendous crime today. You are about to lose your kids and your job. I need you find some peace and not react negatively." She placed a black business card bearing only a phone number on the table in front of him. "Call me when the dust settles. I have work for you. We'll chat then. Until then, Randy, let these chips fall where they may. Trust me, it'll all work out as it should." She restored normality with a snap of her fingers and left the room, leaving Jinka or rather, Randy there to think.