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mood |
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 infuriated |
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"For the laaaaaaaaand of the freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."
The display was amazing. Sparks across across the sky, scattershot explosions that threatened to rip more sensitive ears had they been closer to the action. And the screams. Oh gods yes, couldn't forget those.
By anyone's standards, the decrepit building was a tinderbox begging for a match. That it was a tenement abandoned by the previous owners and then Henderson city council (as part of their now-abandoned Beautification project) only added to the fun. Deanna could filter nineteen, maybe twenty separate cries for help.
Tonight was a celebration. It was all out in the open. Upon waking, Deanna'd turned on the television, expecting to watch Angelina Jolie promote her new film on Ellen. It had been pre-empted with a non-stop news cycle of a 'former' government spook going public on the existence of bogeymen.
That was enough to get the blood pumping (out of the neck of a hapless maid at the Wynn Hotel, and down the redhead's throat) and put her in the mood for an early Fourth of July celebration. It was Independence Day for demons everywhere. And that called for fireworks.
"And the hoooooooooooome, of the braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaveeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"
Why was Rhiannon in Henderson?
The old, black Nissan down-shifted and rounded a curve in the road. Its speakers were blown out, and they crackled on a muted bass thump. Behind the wheel, Rhiannon smoked a cigarette and waited for the office building that fronted the Project to come into view. She had driven down to get a visual; She was 90% convinced it would be boarded up or just plain gone, which would be good. If there was no evidence of the supernatural to be found on the premises, there'd be nothing to back up the media stories, and maybe this shit wouldn't get out of hand after all.
Traffic was bad on that block. No big surprise hours after Josiah Markowitz spilled his guts on network television. What she did not expect was the road blockade, or the press frenzy outside headquarters, which were still standing after all. The spotlight shone bright on Project Integration's exterior. Rhiannon knew it wouldn't be long before the interior, with all its hostages, was spotlighted too. Every cop in the county was out there, trying to control an enormous crowd of reporters and angry citizens. No doubt the National Guard was on its way.
Rhiannon cut onto a side street and drove in the opposite direction. No need to get any closer to see what was going down. Her route meandered while she searched for access to the highway. Eventually a sign pointed the way.
It also pointed to an orange haze rising above the rough side of town, where an old neighborhood was waiting for renovation. "Shhhhhit." The brunette jerked the wheel in that direction and sped up. She dug through the junk in her passenger seat, feeling for her cell phone. Her 911 call was brief and to the point.
Near the building, Rhiannon tugged the emergency brake up and got out of her car. In the street, neighbors banded together in a variety of housecoats and pajamas and blue-collar uniforms. They all seemed to be stuck in place, listening in horror to the pleas for help. One loud, out-of-tune voice rose above the rest. It was singing the national anthem.
Spotting the redhead, Rhiannon stormed up behind her and grabbed her arm. "Deanna!"
( Into the Fire )
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