The Bolt from the Blue (Working Title)

Chapter 29- The Cell

John watched them wheel Veronica's body away. Inside, he felt like a vast, empty chasm. He tried to summon some kind of emotion- he knew he should be angry, sad and afraid- but there was nothing. It just didn't seem real- he was expecting Veronica to sit up on the stretcher and ask what was happening, or else walk out of her flat and calmly observe her own body being wheeled off. He couldn't accept that she was dead. It just wasn't possible.

Lucy was alive, but unconscious. They thought she might not have been conscious for a long time. She seemed to have been drugged. The police- his colleagues- asked John as gently as possible when he had last seen her up and about. He realised it wasn't since he'd carried Veronica into the flat the day that Daria had attacked her.

Daria.

She wasn't on the scene- which shouldn't be surprising, since she didn't do fieldwork anymore, but in John's mind this just sealed her guilt even further.

"John," Alex said, holding out her hand and trying to exude comfort, "you're going to have to come in to the station."

"I have an alibi," John monotoned, staring ahead at the ugly bare brick of the uni corridors.

"I know, but you're going to have to come in anyway."

"I get it." He said, "Do you want me to take us there?"

Alex shook her head, "You know that's not allowed."

And he did know. He knew everything that would happen that evening and for the following few days: he'd be taken into custody, offered a drink, asked questions, left to stew, asked more questions, offered some food (this wasn't protocol but Alex would sneak him in a sandwich) eventually let go, then he'd go home and slump into a deep depression and nothing would feel right anymore. It was Benji all over again.

He had to be teleported by someone else, which he hated. They chose Charlie, which made it worse: Charlie was an asshat from the fourth floor who was a space-jumper- as opposed to a portaller, like John- who was determined to prove that his method of transportation was far superior. John wouldn't have minded if he hadn't been so clearly wrong.

"I've been waiting for this moment for a long time," Charlie said, taking John's elbow, "The day you finally get to travel in style, Johnny boy."

"A woman's dead, Charlie." John hoped this would be a powerful enough sentiment to shut him up.

No such luck. "And to think: you were just one floor down. If you'd just gotten there a little quicker; if only you could teleport."

Part of John wanted to punch Charlie in the face; the other wanted to sob into his shoulder. He settled for spitting in his coffee the following Monday.

Alex was still collecting evidence- she had on blue plastic gloves and was carrying one of the blockers in a little bag. "There's eleven of these on the table in the living room," she said to one of the other officers- Yvette, John thought her name was- as she handed her the bag.

"What on earth are they?" Yvette asked, holding the bag up close to her face. John then remembered that she had x-ray vision and was probably scanning the inside contents

"Homemade blockers."

"You can make blockers?" Yvette asked Alex, bewildered. John tried to derive some small comfort from the fact that he wasn't the only police officer who'd never heard of this, but all of his emotions had scattered at the sight of Veronica's head bashed in.

"You can if you're a genius." Alex replied and then turned to John, "Did you know about this?"

John shook his head. They would never search Monica's house- they'd never find any evidence to link him and the blockers. It was fine to lie.