Mel Evers wonders about it all

Kyra jumped out of the car and grabbed Maggie’s arm. “Tom is not dead.”

Maggie jerked out of Kyra’s grip and spun around. “Don’t touch me,” she shouted holding her head, breathing hard. “What is wrong with you?”

“He’s not dead.” Kyra’s hands went up in truce. “Trust me. Please,” she begged. She never begged for anything before. Not even when she kneeled before Her and waited for the divine gavel to come down and crack open her head.

“You have no idea what you’re asking.” Red faced, she jabbed a finger at the warehouse door. “I’m going in there and doing my job.”  

“You’re going in there to punish them, but you don’t need to kill them. Your life’s not over.”

“My brother’s dead and my only job now his to avenge his death. That’s it.” She stormed away.

Kyra risked losing a limb by moving into the path of the raging woman, but she couldn’t let Maggie ruin her life over three stupid thugs that were obviously pawns. “You know I’m telling you the truth. You’re fighting me because you want to hurt someone. Make them hurt as much as you hurt right now.”

The sparking glow changed, lessening the heat burning in Maggie’s eyes.

“How the hell do you know?”

“Call the hospital,” Kyra said.

Maggie stared at her. Skepticism smoothing the frown lines of anger and challenging the predator inside. She grabbed the phone from her pocket and punched in the number for the hospital. “This is detective Styles. I want to know the status of my brother Thomas Styles.” She waited staring daggers into Kyra’s eyes and then within a blink her posture changed. Disbelief spread across her features. “Thank you,” she whispered and put the phone back in her pocket.

“How the—”

“Someone wants to discredit you. Has to be someone who knows that your brother’s death will destroy you. You have to be careful. You can’t trust anyone close to you.”

Maggie walked away and toward the warehouse door. “Whoever did this will pay.” She disappeared inside.

“I don’t doubt it,” Kyra said to no one and then followed her in.

 

The three men were each seated on chairs with no arms, their wrists bound behind them. Two of them were fully conscious, the third’s head lolled to the side as he tried to wake up. Maggie walked over to him and slapped him hard in the face.

“Wake up, ass-wipe,” she shouted. The dominant roar in her tone reverberated around the room.

 The thug groaned, his eyelids fluttering open then closing almost immediately after. The other two men watched Maggie, the larger thug visibly shaking as his eyes followed her pacing back and forth in front of them.

Maggie remained silent allowing her body language to speak for her. Kyra watched in anticipation. Maggie’s power shimmered along her skin and for once Kyra was glad she wasn’t human. Though some humans could see auras, Kyra saw more, a whole lot more. A good soul when unmotivated became the color of smoldering ash as its fleshy vessel neared the end of its lifetime only to return in a different body to face the challenges ignored previously. A soul that accepted each challenge, victorious or not, glowed, shimmered and sparkled because failing or not it succeeded.

A soul brought down by corruption bled the color of rust and was met with more difficult challenges in its next life. A soul reborn into this realm was at its most brilliant in ever changing colors.  At death Kyra new what type of life the human had lived just by its hue. Maggie’s aura glowed with the color of rage and heat. Flames licked the air around her. Every decision she contemplated adding or depleting its intensity.

Maggie shot a glare at Kyra and clenched her teeth before striding up to the large thug quaking in his boots, grabbing his hair, wrenching his neck back and pressing the nozzle of her revolver under his jaw.

“Talk.”

“W-what do you want me to say?” he stammered, sweat dripping off his brow.

“You assaulted a man three days ago. I want to know why,” she sneered, her finger playing over the trigger.

The thin conscious man bound to his left shouted. “We were paid to do it.”

Maggie looked calm. Too calm. Kyra stepped closer to the thug that spoke. “By whom,” she asked.

“T-The owner of the club. Got paid a grand each. That’s all we know. I swear.”

Maggie back-handed him so fast in his face, blood spattered on the wall to his left.

Spittle dripped from the corner of the large thug’s mouth. “We liked Tommy. We didn’t hurt him that bad. We even told him about it. Gave him a percentage for a gift for his girl.”

Maggie stepped back.

“Why’d you jump me?” Kyra asked.

“We were just supposed to scare you, make you stop asking questions.” He lowered his brown eyes to the floor when Kyra came around to gaze into them.

“Who told you to scare me?”

“Mr. Pete. He owns the joint. He doesn’t like people coming around that he doesn’t know. Or…have people related to cops working for him. He said that one corrupt pig as enough for him.

Kyra and Maggie simultaneously looked at one another. “Finally, the first piece of the puzzle is revealed,” Maggie said.