The Manhunter's Son (PILOT)

CHAPTER 8: John Thames

Dad and I sat in the bar once again, Nora had given him great knowledge. Apparently a "foreign man with a tiny dick" had gotten tipsy, asking one of her closest colleagues to be his escort where later he spilled all the information he knew of to her which in turn gossiped to Nora, some of the information was useless, other parts were greatly helpful. She was also told where he got all that information, which was a bonus on our part.

But it wasn't all.

Nora spoke with us more in depth, dropping her "professional" persona that she took on for work. She related that she knew where to find the documents we were after after he came back and he wanted to take Nora back with him after work, that he himself had a room in the local hotel but we weren't going to get in without help.

After an in depth discussion, Dad and I agree to wait until nightfall. Luckily, John was out tonight as his usual routine of dinner with some other important person on a Thursday night, we were free to retrieve the papers Seamus wanted so badly. The day seemed to go slowly, we explored the village and took note of all the sights that were to be seen.

Nothing too exciting apart from placing bets on two stray dogs fighting each other, Dad won. I had pawned off my ten bucks into his hand with a disgruntled slap, a little pissed yet a little humoured.

Eventually, fifteen minutes after the sun went down, Dad and I headed out to John's temporary lodging, a quiet hotel that laid in around the centre of town that spoke to others as nothing out of the ordinary, yet I saw inside a goal, a reason as to why the two of us were here.

'Remember, I am more than a weapon.' Raikhen whispered in a suave, lighthearted tone. 'I am a tool to your use, as you are a host to me.'

I look at Dad, he looks at me, we nod. Dad walks over with his Voidern at the ready, the tattoo on his arm slowly moving, waiting to strike in anticipation. We walk into the lobby, the receptionist looks up at us.

'God kveld frøken, vi er arbeidskolleger av John Thames, han ba oss om å hente noe til ham siden han sitter fast i et møte.' Dad tells her, saying that we were John's personal employees and he sent us to get something important he forgot. 'Sa han at han skulle bo her? John Thames? Britisk mann?'

'Å ja, Mister Thames bor i fjerde etasje, på rom 4J.' she says, looking through a thick book filled with the most up to date customers for the hotel, then handing us a key.

'Mister Thames har allerede gitt oss en nøkkel, takk.' I say to her before Dad can take it, who then playfully smacks his head and agrees with me, saying his mind was getting old.

I wouldn't necessarily disagree with him there...

'What did you have in mind, Son?' he asks me as we reach room 4J.

'Raikhen's words made me think before we reached the hotel,' I confess. 'I want to try something.' Concentrating, I close my eyes and focus, imagining Raikhen pooling on the palm of my now raised hand, as if someone was going to hand me something. I think to the point of feel, normally that's when your mind tricks you into feeling what you imagine like insects crawling on your skin or thinking intensely of vomiting. Opening an eye, I see the blackish blue liquid pooling, almost swirling clockwise instead of the usual web-like design in the palm of my hand, stretching, almost leaking from the webbing on the back of my hand from Raikhen's usual form.

'Alright, let's see if this works.' I think to myself before closing my eyes and placing my hand on the lock of the door.

I try to extend my senses, feel the inside of the lock as though I'm touching it myself. Somehow, I feel a tinge of cold metal, like the inside of the lock was now enveloping my hand, the springs and teeth inside. Concentrating harder, I can feel the insides of the lock more clearly, and push the teeth into place. Using my other hand, I turn the handle, and the door opens as if we had a key.