Breather

Breather (WoH)
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1986, November 12th
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After a long drag, he blew a lungful of smoke in the air as the sun slowly rose from the horizon while the moon gradually fades in the brightening blue canvass that was the morning sky. Detective James Sheridan watched the waves beyond the balcony of some rooftop beside the Ocean Drive; his fists were bruised with cuts and contusions, fingertips soaked in bright red. Behind him laid bodies, either mutilated or perforated, alongside spent bullet casings, torn wallpapers, pools of blood...and discarded skin.
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He tossed the spent cigarette aside and exhaled, ejecting the last traces of smoke from his respiratory system. The autumn breeze brushed against his hair and caressed his beaten face that required slight medical attention. He closed his eyes and wondered how a Miami PD cop got dragged into a mess like this.
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"I thought you've quit?" A familiar voice called behind him. James smiled, he didn't bother turning to take a look.
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"Father Michael," he greeted. "I only smoke if situation calls for. I guess this was one of those."
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"Nasty work you did here." The priest in an innocent clerical attire leaned on the balcony railing beside him. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He nodded at the panoramic view beyond.
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"Yeah," James agreed. "A compensation for the bat-shit insane things that exist in the dark." He remembered the fleshy humanoid creatures with bulged out eyes that possessed no pupils and the 'squishy' sound their muscles make every time they move due to the lack of skin. "What the fuck are those things anyway?"
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"Skinwalkers," the priest replied. "We've recently raided a hideout harboring cult members involved with creating humonculi."
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"What the fuck was that?"
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"Artificially created humans, James. Through occult means." Michael replied. "I guess it pretty much explains what happened to those missing persons."
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"Yeah," James remembered the photographs of the missing persons on Detective Parson's desk. "I guess you're right."
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"What will you do now?" Father Michael asked.
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"I'll consult with the other Exorcists." James glanced at his battered left hand. "And have myself checked after I called this in."
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The priest laughed heartily, earning a glance from James.
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"What's funny?"
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"You really could handle being a cop and an Exorcist at the same time, huh?"
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"Well, the chapter's gonna need a strong arm from the law. With that stint back at the Mayor's house, my connection, I could say, have extended far deeper which was also a good thing."
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"I guess." Father Michael said. "A man of my age wouldn't be able to keep up with this life."
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"Why, athritis slowing you down?"
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Michael grinned.
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"You're like a son to me, James." Michael's hand went to his pocket and retrieved a dogtag from within. "I want you to have this."
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James accepted the dogtag with a questioning look on his face. He noticed a hole where the credentials were written, making it unintelligible.
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"Who's this?"
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"The owner of that dogtag was my buddy back when we were serving." Father Michael smiled at the distant memory. "When we got out of the Marine Corps, we went separate ways. He gave me that when I pulled his ass out of enemy fire back in Korea."
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"Good times," James replied as he pocketed the affectation.
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"You never kept any souvenir from Vietnam?" Michael glanced at him.
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"Although my time back in the Army was pleasant, Vietnam was another story, Father." James replied. "No, I don't wanna talk about it. It's easier to kill monsters than humans."
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"I understand." Michael replied as he stepped away from the balcony.
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"You haven't told me the name of the dogtag's owner yet." James said.
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"I forgot his name," Michael replied, his tone sounded melancholic as if he had betrayed someone close. "I am not getting any younger." He turned and walked away.
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"See you around."
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[END]
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(Short Tale)