Page 25 of Darkness

Men in Black? Had Morrisey even seen the movie trailers? Weren’t those movies about aliens living in disguise in the US? Unease gnawed his guts. Maybe he should’ve had a bite of breakfast with the three cups of morning coffee currently burning through his stomach lining.

They stopped by a reception desk located off to the side of the hallway like an afterthought. No bulletproof glass here. Morrisey didn’t get a look at whoever sat there since Austen stood between them. “Hi, Arianna. This is Detective Morrisey James from Atlanta PD.”

“Nice to meet you, Detective,” came the soft voice from someone unseen but who sounded female. “He’s expecting you.”

Austen ushered Morrisey along. Morrisey glanced behind him, assessing the exit and who stood between him and freedom, but the woman had doubled over, digging through a lower desk drawer.

Fluorescent lights illuminated a long corridor of gray carpeted floor. None of the doors were open, nor did they have any identifying nameplates or indications of what lay beyond. There were no pictures, chairs, tables, or even a cheesy motivational poster about teamwork. Nothing to relieve the monotonous grayness of the walls.

As used to the close quarters and chaos of a bullpen or shared office as Morrisey was, this entire area might as well be a ghost town.

At the far end of the corridor, Austen knocked on yet another unmarked door.

“Enter!” came a deep, booming voice.

Austen pushed open the door, once more waving Morrisey in. “Boss, this is Detective Lieutenant Morrisey James. Detective, meet Special Agent in Charge Reginald Leary of the FBI Alternate Entities Task Force.”

Alternate what now? The FBI sure enjoyed their long titles, then abbreviated them to acronyms.

Leary looked to be in his mid-forties, with buzzed copper hair and closely spaced green eyes. A shimmering glow on his cheeks suggested he’d not shaved recently. He rose, rounding the desk with his hand extended. His broad shoulders had made him seem larger somehow, and it shocked Morrisey to discover that Leary stood a good six inches shorter than him. Leary offered a sturdy handshake, the dimples in his cheeks making him appear far younger. Freckles were scattered across his nose. Such a deep voice for a small man. “Detective James. We meet at last.”

Leary held on longer than Morrisey thought appropriate, but since he hated shaking hands, even a microsecond counted as too long in his book. Still, they didn’t touch long enough to allow Morrisey to get impressions. If he could read others’ emotions, maybe they could read his, too. Sadly, his skills worked better with the dead than the living.

However, the tingling in Morrisey’s palm when he’d shaken hands with Austen left him wanting more—but only with Austen.

Leary wore slacks and a green polo shirt. "Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the two plush chairs facing his desk, then returned to his own chair.

Morrisey took quick stock of the room: an enormous wooden desk, not the utilitarian mostly chrome ones currently in fashion, with two matching bookcases. Besides a pair of visitor chairs, a small, round table sat in one corner, surrounded by four less comfortable looking chairs.

The walls displayed the bumpy surface and groove texture of cement blocks, painted a dull gray to match the darker gray carpet. No window, but then being underground, Morrisey didn’t expect any. The office appeared stark even with the large furniture pieces. Businesslike. Much larger than his office at the precinct. No pictures or motivational posters broke up the monotony of the walls and no interesting knickknacks occupied the bookshelves. The building hailed back to an earlier time. Cold. Impersonal. Showing nothing of the occupant’s personality unless Leary lacked a personality altogether.

So unlike the overcrowded office Morrisey had shared with Will at the precinct. Fastidious Craig would have approved.

Austen pulled a pile of documents on a clipboard and a pen off Leary's desk, handing both to Morrisey. Their absence made the desk even more empty and foreboding. Flat surfaces were meant for clutter.

Morrisey stared dumbly at the papers, page after page of small print. “What’s this?” And did anyone really expect him to read every word?

“A nondisclosure agreement.” Leary studied Morrisey like a cat watching a mouse. “Whatever is said in this room can only be discussed among the three of us.” He shrugged. “We’re kind of old school here, so paper and pen.”

“I’ve already got agreements in place.” Didn’t they trust him?

“Not like this one.” Austen gave a tight smile. “It’s a bit… different.”

“How different?” It might be preferable not to know based on the swooping feeling in the pit of Morrisey's, well, everything.

Austen lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow. “Remember the Men in Black reference?”

“Which I didn’t get.” No use denying. Morrisey would binge-watch the series the first chance he got.

"Don't tell me he hasn't watched Men in Black. I thought everyone had.” Leary palmed his face. A shiny gold band glinted from the ring finger on his left hand. "Things go so much easier with a few obstacles removed."

Morrisey scanned the agreement. No sharing information without direct approval from Leary, etcetera, etcetera, and a whole lotta legalese. Nothing left to do but sign. Why all the formality just to tell the story they wouldn’t believe anyway?

Leary and Austen's twin scowls promised nothing good for the next few minutes.

Leary regarded Morrisey for several more moments before giving a decisive nod. “What I’m about to say will sound farfetched, but hear me out, okay? Know that I’ll never lie to you. Everything I say is God’s honest truth.”

Morrisey nodded numbly. Whatever Leary said couldn't be more farfetched than the incident in the alley.

---