THE WORLD OF RUINS

S01-CH05

The drive to Clarissa’s apartment was painful because of the oblivious car traffic. It was the lunch rush hour and I hated traffic. Eventually I abandoned my car a half-mile from her block, parking in a loading zone downtown. And walked the rest of the way.

 

​Her apartment was in a quiet section of the city, surrounded by overgrown trees. I walked up the porch steps, trying to settle my breathing. And I knocked and called out.

 

​“Clarissa. It’s Yanga.” She didn’t answer but I waited. Then knocked again. “I know you’re in there.”

 

​After what felt like years of waiting, the deadbolt finally slid back and the door creaked open. Clarissa stood framed in the doorway, her shoulders slumped and she was wearing an oversized hoodie. Her face was stained by tears and mottled red. She looked… broken.

 

​“Hey.” she mumbled, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Come in, Yanga.”

​

I stepped past her. The apartment was tidy but smelled a lot like alcohol. I walked over her and sat on the couch. “I came to check up on you.” I said, putting my hands on my knees. “How are you holding up?”

She closed the door slowly, leaning her weight against it. Her eyes fixed on me. “How am I holding up?” she repeated. “I don’t know. But how are you this fine, Yanga? You don’t look like we lost a colleague and a friend hours ago.”

 

​She walked over to a cluttered table, avoiding my gaze. “You seem unaffected by his death. You don’t care that much that you’re back at work right after that? And we nearly died ourselves!”

 

​I sighed, reaching back to rub the back of my neck. This was exactly the conversation I had hoped to skip. “Njabulo dying is sad, yeah. I’m pissed because I saved him twice only for him to get killed in the end. But what you’re doing right now won’t bring him back.” I loosened my tie. “And when we signed up for this job, we knew the risks but we still took it.”

 

​“We didn’t sign up for haunting demons.” Clarissa choked out, her voice cracking. “We signed up to…”

 

​“Protect the city, I know. And going against demons is part of it in a way.”

I stood up and walked toward her slowly. I needed her to look at me. “Look. I’ve hated exorcist duties long before you could think about hating it.” I stopped a foot away from her. “But as you always told me, we fight these battles so that those around us don’t have to. We see what other people can’t and that unfortunately makes us special, doesn’t it?”

Her chin trembled and she stepped back slightly, her hand brushing against a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey on the table. “I’m done with this job, Yanga. I can’t stand to see people die from things we can’t explain to others. I can’t be the one who knows the truth when everyone else gets to be safe.”

 

​I looked around the room. “I for one can’t convince you otherwise.” I said, walking toward the door.

 

​“And you?” she asked, her question stopping me with my hand on the knob. “You still want in?”

 

​I looked back at her, meeting her eyes. “Yeah.” I said. “I still got some mysteries to uncover.”

 

I nodded once, pulled the door open and stepped out. Then walked away rom her street and took a shortcut through an alleyway toward where I had parked my car.

 

The alley was a nice place for a smoke. So I stopped, leaned against the wall and reached into my pocket, pulling out the pack. “Exorcists, huh?” I muttered, shaking my head and then  focused on the deeper reason I had to work with them. My mother – I don’t really  remember her or any of my blood relatives. But I do remember that the priest used speak about her and she was one of them, an Exorcist. So maybe the organization could be the only thing that can get me close to knowing who the hell the Qwabes were.

 

I pulled a cigarette out and put it to my lips. I reached into my pocket for my lighter but I felt a faint hiss next to my ear. A flame appeared, cupping the tip of my cigarette and igniting it. I jumped back instantly, the cigarette fell and I spun into a ready stance. – What the hell? I didn’t feel this guy until he lit my cigarette.

 

​The man smiled at me. He was of average height, maybe early thirties and dressed in expensive clothes, nothing about him screamed cop. He looked entirely like a normal citizen.

 

​“Apologies.” the man said, holding a plain black lighter out toward me. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just saw a fellow man in need of a lighter, so I thought I should help.”

 

​My eyes landed on that lighter and he was holding mine. “What are you?” I quickly asked.

 

​The man tilted his head innocently. “What do you mean? I’m a man like you, what feels odd about me?”

 

My thoughts continued to cycle through possibilities. – He has no spiritual energy, so he can’t be an Exorcist. He can’t obviously be a demon. So what is up with his speed?

 

​The man reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. They were the exact same brand as mine and I instinctively checked my own pocket but my pack was gone. He pulled one out, lit it and took a drag. “You’ve got a great taste, Detective.” he said, exhaling slowly. “This is the good stuff.”

 

​“What do you want from me?” I asked.

 

​The man took another step forward. “Well… it depends on who you really are, Yanga Qwabe.” he said, walking toward me slowly. “This morning, you went to Northport Prison and visited one of the most dangerous men in this city. You told the guards you were asking questions about a case.” He stopped a few feet away, his expression hardening slightly. “So tell me, Detective. What exactly were you asking Gabriel Van Zyl?”

 

​“I can’t discuss a police case with a citizen.” I replied.

 

He gave a disappointed sigh. “Oh? Then I’ll have to make you spit it all out.” He dropped into a predatory stance and with that, he shot at me.

 

​I could only react by crossing my hands high and blocking his incoming fist. And then I jumped back instantly, preventing myself from absorbing the entire blow.

 

​He shot again, with a fist aimed right for my guts while I was still mid-air. I barely managed to block it with both palms. This time, I took it all and it sent me flying, until I crashed violently onto trash cans. I scrambled back to my feet instantly, shaking the filth off my suit. “Hey, man! You’re gonna get my suit dirty!” I yelled out, more annoyed than injured.

 

The man stood in the clearing, looking impressed. “For a normal police officer, your skills are quite impressive.”

 

​“Thanks.” I replied, dropping into a spring-loaded fighting stance. “I’ve been taking a few combat classes.”

 

​He shot forward again, fist coming in low but this time I met it. Shot out my own fist and it collided with his and we exchanged several more blows. He was relying on speed, while I relied on pre-cognition, my body was slightly lighter and stronger.

Until I slapped his fist aside, grabbed his collar and pulled him in hard for a headbutt. It was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. Cause this guy’s head was not human. My vision blurred instantly and I felt a sickening pain shoot through my forehead. Before I could recover he spun, slamming his foot into my side and I crashed against a brick wall.

 

​He laughed. “If you had done something different, Detective. You might have made a difference!”

 

​I slid down the wall, forcing myself back to my feet instantly. “Yeah, yeah.” I gasped, wiping a trickle of blood from my brow. “We all learn from our mistakes.”

 

​I dropped into the spring-loaded fighting stance again and shot forward, then I launched myself upward to perform a crushing drop kick. He reacted exactly as I’d hoped he would, jumping back to avoid the overhead blow.

 

​That gave me the space I needed. As soon as he was about to land, I lunged forward again, putting every ounce of my physical strength into a fist. I caught him way before he could raise his guard, driving the blow into his ribs and that was enough to send him crashing against the brick wall.

 

​He pulled himself up slowly, his shirt torn where I had struck but he was still smiling. “Using another man’s attack against him is cheating, Detective.” he said, dusting himself off.

 

​“But it’s not illegal.” I retorted, pulling a cigarette from my pocket. Then I pulled out the lighter I had snatched when I headbutted him, lighting the cigarette with a theatrical flick.

 

​The man checked his pockets and he gave me a slow impressed grin. “You’re a fast learner, I’ll give you that.”

 

​I reached into my pocket again and took out his wallet, flipping it open quickly. I grabbed the wad of cash inside and shoved it in my pocket. Then I pulled out his driver’s license. “Itumeleng Mothoa.” I said, looking at the photo. “That’s a weird name.”

 

​Itumeleng cracked his neck. He then shot forward, faster than before. An idea came to me and threw his wallet directly to his face. Itumeleng reacted instinctively throwing a sloppy fist to bat the wallet away. I grabbed his outstretched wrist, pulled him close and slammed a hard knee into his guts.

 

​He gasped and before he could recover, I was about to throw a second knee but he blocked it instantly with both hands, trapping my leg. I twisted and elbowed him hard on the back. His hands went loose on my knee and I landed another knee to his midsection.

Itumeleng grunted, losing his footing and falling to his knees, clutching his stomach. Then to my confusion, he started laughing. “You’re really something, Detective.” he said, looking up at me through strands of hair.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I quickly replied, taking the cigarette from my lips, it was almost finished before I even fully smoked it. So I took a final drag, let the butt fall to the ground and extinguished it with my foot.

 

​And I dropped the wallet beside him. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Mothoa.” I said, walking away and heading to the same direction as my car.