Commissioned [completed]

Chapter 4 - Should have called acab

"And you attacked him?" The officer verified. She was pretty.

You sat on the edge of the ambulance, felt it jostle with the shuffle of feet.

You had defended yourself from potential murder. You were your own hero; you should have felt on top of the world. You should have been flirting with the pretty officer. Instead, you weakly confirmed, "I attacked him." Heroics weren't sexy, and being attacked, was even less so. The stories had it wrong; you didn't feel daring, handsome or devilish only... Someone was bandaging your left arm after initially stitching you up. You barely felt the tugging.

"You understand you put yourself in danger by approaching the attacker."

"Yep." You popped the 'P'. You were staring at a point on the asphalt, your legs dangling from the ambulance. "I also understand it's hard to hurt someone if you can't see them."

The officer shook her head; she had to give it to you there. "Detective," she greeted a man walking up.

His mousey hair was braided down his back, his brows were dark, and his eyes looked black in the dark. He was also handsome. Imagine that hair free of it's braid. "I've got this one, Lydia," he smiled.

"There is a lot of DNA to go from, right? Guy drooled like, everywhere," You looked up at this new guy.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about him, couldn't have gone far either, ghost pepper, I'm not supposed to say this but, neat trick, I'm Detective Brennan Mulwater," he had a grin that coaxed a small smile from you. He was very handsome. "You said he was wearing some kind of mask though, right? Was it something like this?"

He brought up a photo of Papa's band playing a mausoleum. "Yeah, actually." You didn't know why, but you felt oddly protective of the church getting involved. There was every chance it was one of their ghouls, and they had been extremely fervent to get you in their area.

"I see. Can I ask you what you're doing in Mountview?"

"I'm a commission portrait artist, and I have been artistically commissioned," you informed dully.

"Well, there is a church close to this part of town, a satanic church." He said so with implication. "They wear these," he points again and points directly at the shortest. Sodo. "They're often...." He didn't say anything he could be liable for but did gesture ambiguously. "You understand. If you're looking for any kind of silver lining to all this, your testimony will act in taking them down."

"That's..." You weighed your options. He had been in this town longer than you; he knew it well, "he was wearing one of their masks but can you be sure he came from that place?"

His look turned narrowed as he calculated you, "You are completely correct. When we catch the guy, his ties to the church... yeah, quite right. You have a good head on you. You can see I'm antsy to take them down, they have been tied to a couple other things, but I can never quite pin them."

You weren't sure if you could chuck that up to poor detective work, bad luck, shifty Satanists or just sheer bigotry, and you couldn't know. This was something that happened to you once; this was his life. "I see."

"Either way, I can suggest staying away from the cathedral towards the east hills and its mausoleum. Maybe contact your employer, and see if you can shift to a safer location."

"I understand," you nodded, but you wouldn't be telling the church about this. Witch hunts happened in crowds—you would finish your piece and be out of there. You would wash off the town's inner drama in as hot shower in some shitty motel and you would keep driving. "I need to call my friend."

"Ah, yes, she was frantic, very demanding. You have yourself an excellent friend there."

You smiled and nodded.

"Someone got her phone?"

You grimaced at the misgender, weren't wearing your pronouns pin, and didn't owe a specific look to your pronouns...you couldn't blame him, but you were bummed nonetheless.

***

You called Marie as your phone was returned to you, it was hours later, and they'd cleared the scene. "Hey."

"Hey, hello, holy shit!"

"Holy shit," you echoed distantly.

"What's happening? What happened?! Holy shit."

"I.. gave the guy a face full of your chilli powder—your gardening prowess knows no bounds. 'Spoke to the motel owners, they're giving me a nicer suite on a second floor with better security... 'asked them to keep Sister Imperator out of it."

"Firstly, thank you, secondly, you have no idea how proud I am of you and grateful you're... not... that you're safe," you could hear her eyes welling over the phone. "Lastly, why can't the church know so your employers can look after you? Their church is going to be safer than any motel."

You slowly went about repacking your bags to move rooms. The glass had been cleaned up and replaced with a tarp. You were slow to move as your arm finally started yelling at you that it had been stabbed with a giant shard of glass. "I don't know, I mean, I do... the guy was wearing one of their masks."

"No, nu-uh, dude, you are going to actually get sacrificed. This isn't a joke anymore."

"Okay, but if you're going to do something bad, you don't wear something that will incriminate you or your people." You went to your knees to check if anything had rolled under the bed as you always did and found something glinting. The knife you'd dropped.

"Sure, but we are talking maybe zealots, not exactly rational. Might have taken an oath to never take off the mask."

"You can't eat with that thing on." You marvelled at the blade; it was ornate—religious. There was a script along the centre, something in some dead language.

"That is what you're taking away from it? And I think you can. I saw that guitarist's tongue enough times."

"And lastly, and I hate this one, and I'm being serious, if they do want to take me in and look after me...it will be Rhea all over again."

Marie went quiet on the other end, "is this Papa that potent?"

"Yeah, he really is. Because of the mask, it's not like I can trust him, and I.. don't want to stay there longer than I have to. I want to have fun with it but nothing more, you know? And I don't want to rely on the church or him because... and it's been hard. I really need the money," you shook your head.

"______, this is life or death."

"To me, Rhea was life and death," you said quietly, feeling like a dramatic teen. Your last relationship. Said a lot that you'd rather face a masked man with a blade than tempt that happening again. You gripped the blade's hilt and made the decision to keep it, wrapping it in a painting rag and putting it in your bag.

"I'm sorry, Bean."

"It's okay; the wonderfully handsome detective Brennan Mulwater gave me his number," you shrugged and your bandaged shoulder told you you should stop fucking shrugging. You had yourself seriously questioning the detective's abilities though. Seemed nice enough. "And honestly, would you attempt to do something to someone knowing they have a stash of your chilli powder?"

Marie considered, "gas mask."

"Then imagine how it would feel in your no-no square."

"Oh fuck."

"Yeah."