The Empty by Thom Reese

defined love. He wasn’t even sure that reyaqc were capable of that emotion. But there was a bond they shared, perhaps akin to that of siblings. And if it wasn’t love, per se, it was at least a comfort, a familiarity that glued them together despite their growing differences.
    Dolnaraq exited a side doorway leading into the tight alleyway between high-rise apartment buildings. Hundreds of pieces of laundry fluttered above creating a low, almost thunder-like rumble. Leaning his head back, Dolnaraq breathed deeply. There. There was the scent. Tresset had not turned into the apartment building as Dolnaraq feared he might, but had continued past. Perhaps the molt had had a moment’s lucidity and realized the folly of leading the police to his home.
    Dolnaraq raced toward the scent. If asked, he couldn’t have expressed what he hoped to accomplish. This was Tresset’s fight. Dolnaraq had warned him of this inevitability for months. Yet still Dolnaraq raced through the crowded alleyways, bumping into pedestrians and bicyclists, nearly tripping over milk bottles and trashcans. Rounding a corner, he came face-to-face with the conflict. Tresset was on the ground, three uniformed officers over him, two of which pounded on the huddled form with nightsticks.
    Had Dolnaraq taken time to ponder the situation, he might have slunk back into the shadows and let the outcome be what it may. But Dolnaraq acted on instinct—and so, before he could contemplate his actions, he pulled the nearest of the officers away from Tresset’s huddled form. The man whirled on him, cursing, swinging his club, grazing Dolnaraq’s scalp. Blinded by fury, Dolnaraq lurched forward, attaching his teeth to the man’s ear and tearing away to his left. He pulled again, and then again, and now the member ripped free. The man howled as Dolnaraq spit the now-useless flap of flesh onto the gravel alley. But Dolnaraq wasn’t finished. Pulling the frenzied man to him, Dolnaraq bit hard on the Adam’s apple, chomped down, and twisted. The man’s shriek turned to a pathetic gurgle as he dropped to his knees, clinging at his ruined throat, before finally losing consciousness in a widening pool of his own blood.
    There was a sharp thud as a nightstick struck Dolnaraq. But, the reyaqc did not double over, did not cry in pain. A reyaqc’s strength is not superhuman as such, but it is greater than that of the average man, perhaps closer to that of one of the great apes, a gorilla or a full-grown chimpanzee. Three swift maneuvers and a quick twist, and the assaulting officer lay at Dolnaraq’s feet, his neck broken.
    Suddenly it was over. Tresset had disposed of the third policeman. They stood, momentarily alone in the alleyway, onlookers gawking and shouting from both ends, but none willing to come forward. Rising out of his carnal haze, Dolnaraq glared at the carnage about him, at his own bloodied clothing, at the bodies sprawled at his feet, and then his gaze lit on Tresset. “Never!” he shouted. “Never again.” He moved away, separating himself from his former companion. “I am not an animal,” he cried. “I am not an animal!” Then turning, he raced through a nearby doorway, down a corridor, out into the darkened street beyond.
     

CHAPTER NINE
     
    2009
     
    Shane Daws had a nervous energy, a desire for excitement, maybe even a little adventure. Instead of returning to his room at the Pulitzer Opera Hotel, he’d decided to check out the Paris nightlife, and so landed at a little club only a few blocks from his hotel. The music was vaguely Latin style, the setting neo-gothic. Three large screens flashed scenes from about the club—couples dancing, beautiful girls giggling and drinking, a band playing on a small, mostly-dark stage, bartenders serving drinks. Shane settled at a small round table in a corner and took in the scene. The place was not large; it was very dark, quite smoky, and too crowded. But aside from that, it was very, very French. It