Episode 2

Most of the clothes she came in with were either bloodied, or tossed in the trash. With no other viable option, Jane helped herself to the lost and found bin. The only clothes that actually fit, and weren't stained with questionable fluid, were scarce and limited. By the time she was dressed, Jane resembled a wannabe pimp with her track suit, and her sweatpants with the word 'juicy' plastered across her ass.

"I like the new look." Kara said with a crooked smirk. "It really suits your personality."

"I don't understand why you can't wave your wand, and get me something from my closet."

For the first time in centuries, perhaps, Kara was deeply offended, enough to almost backhand Jane, dramatically so. "Does it look like we're in Harry Potter?"

"Well, technically, it —"

"No! I am a Valkyrie; a revered warrior that's fought in countless battles, and a God amongst Gods. J.K Rowling may be a literary genius, but do not, for one second, confuse me with the likes of your make believe world."

"I'm sorry. It's the wedgie. It's got me on edge."

"You are forgiven. Let's go, before your —"

"Jane!"

Kara threw her hand up, "Great."

Maura rushed down the hallway, with a rather stunned Kent in tow. But it wasn't the sight of Jane that caught Kent's breath, it was Kara.

"I told you to go lie down. You should be standing." Maura scolded. "Dr. Drake?"

Kent stood before Kara, and asked, "Have we met before?"

"Nope. You got the wrong person." Kara answered nonchalantly. "Now, move along."

Kent was reluctant, but didn't insist. "Maura's right, Jane. I fear you might be a bit disorientated from the prolonged cerebral hypoxia you sustained."

"Do I look brain damaged to you?"

Both Maura and Kent appeared unsure, and weary.

"Don't answer that. I need to speak with you, Maura, privately."

Whatever it was, Maura could tell it was important, and a burden on Jane's frail shoulders.

"Okay."

"Tick tock." Kara said, "You have until I finish this hot dog, then we really have to haul ass."

And that's when, for the first time, Maura truly noticed Kara's presence all together. "Who is she?"

"My C.I. She's not important."

"Hey! I heard that."

Jane pulled Maura aside, and she held her girlfriend lovingly. But the look of torment, and hurt, written on her face was unmistakable. "I don't have much time, Maura, so you'll have to listen carefully. I have to go away for a while."

"What?! Why?"

"I can't say. Not now. But I need you to trust me."

The whirlwind of events, and emotional roller coaster ride had pushed Maura to the brink of a meltdown. "It's Christmas day, Jane. You were shot and comatose just hours prior. And out of nowhere, you're suddenly better, yet you tell me you have to leave? And you can't even tell me why? What am I supposed to think, if you were in my shoes?"

"I'm sorry, Maura. Just know that everything I do, it's for you; for us; for our future. You won't even notice my absence, now that you landed a recurring role on Shameless on Showtime."

Maura was utterly confused.

"I'm honestly surprised you didn't get an Emmy nomination, or a Golden Globe, at the very least."

The couple were in a corner talking amongst themselves, while Kent sat there, and he observed Kara. Not once, since laying eyes on her, has his line of sight deviated.

"Enough is enough!'" Kara finally said. "Have you never seen a woman eat a dog hot before?!"

"No. It's not that. Did you go to John Hopkins for your residency?"

"Nope. Not a doctor." Kara replied briskly. "Let's go, Jane, before I change my mind."

Jane cupped Maura's cheeks, and she parted with one last kiss.

Maura's lips were still.

It took Jane all the will power she had in her being to pry herself from the arms of the woman she loved more than life itself.

Maura was still speechless. She simply watched the pair disappear down the hallway; unable to react, or object.

Kent asked, "That girl with Jane, did you catch her name?"

"No."

"I think we grew up on the same block. But that can't be it."

- o -

The small bachelor pad was cramped if it had been for a family, but it was plenty spacious for one man. The place reeked of pizza, stale food, human ripeness, and for some odd reason, the fragrant scent of apple pies.

Its owner, and current occupant, had his eyes glued to the flat screen in front, while his fingers moved with fluidity, and an autonomous mind of its own.

The two high tower speakers sounded with several rounds of intense gunfire. And then one single explosion, and it was complete radio silence.

"I said cover me, cumdumpster69! Are you incredibly incompetent, or just plain deaf?!"

In a fit of rage, Váli whipped his headset across the room.

Váli cracked open another can of red bull, and he shot gunned the entire drink. He burped, and then he tossed the can aside. He hadn't slept for more than six months; not since he discovered this wondrous device called Xbox 360. And since then, he was hooked. He found himself consumed by a game called Call of Duty: Black Ops 2. It was as captivating as it was maddening, and downright addictive.

Of Odin's five children, Váli was the youngest, and most neglected one. He could come and go, and do as he pleased, and no one would notice, much less cared. Father had always played favorites. And he wasn't anything but a burden, which was how Váli found himself on this Earthly plane, surrounded by the mundanity of humans and their everyday lives.

The phone rang.

Váli checked the caller ID, and picked up. "Hello?"

"Hello, Brother. It is I, Vidar."

"I know who it is, Vidar. The humans have something called 'caller ID'. And will you, please, stop talking like a complete jackass. We're not on Asgard for Christ's sakes. The last time I checked, you lived in Toronto."

Vidar cleared his voice in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"It's fine. It's only been five hundred years. I know you're still new at it." Váli picked up a slice of day-old pizza, and without apprehension, bit into it. "Something's the matter. Given your distaste for modern technology, the fact that you're calling me, is a dead giveaway. So what is it?"

Vidar sighed, and said, "It's Kara."

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Just give her back her stupid DVDs, Vidar! It's Breaking Bad. Big whoop. It's available on Netflix, anyways. I mean, sure it's on Blu-Ray and everything, but still, it —"

"No, you idiot." Vidar snapped. "She has found herself a new champion."

The slice of half-eaten pizza fell from Váli's agape mouth. "You don't mean..."

"Yes. I do. I believe that's where she's headed next."

"Fuck!" Váli ran his greasy hand through his short, blonde locks. "Father will not be pleased."

"And that's why I called. If Kara should go through with it, as we both know she will, Father will recall us all."

"Then we'll just cut her off, and talk some sense into her, before she rues her actions."

"That's my thought exactly."

"Whose her champion this time, do you know?"

"A blue collared police officer from Boston, if I'm not mistaken."

Váli almost couldn't believe it. He thought Vidar was playing a terrible joke on him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I am."

"Her past champions have been swordsmen, gladiators, Vikings, warriors and even samurais. What the fuck does she see in a lousy, lowly police officer?"

"That, I do not know. Nor do I think that poor soul has any idea what she's getting herself in to."

- o -

The thermostat in the interrogation room had been cranked up, to the point where it was sweltering. It resembled a Korean steam room, minus the steam. The increase in room temperature wasn't accidental; it was done intentionally. It was an interrogational technique commonly utilized by the FBI. Due to the extreme heat, and the lack of relief, the suspect will do everything in their power to escape the intense feeling of claustrophobia associated with being in an oven.

"Can I have some water?"

"Talk to me, and this can all be over."

"I can't tell you what I don't know!"

Frankie threw down several photos, and he lined each and every one of them up in chronological order. "These women are the trail of bodies your husband left behind. Each and every one of them were murdered in cold blood. And as you can clearly see, none of the bodies are in one piece. Some are missing their torsos, other's their heads, thighs, and arms."

Helena clasped her mouth, and she held down the urge to hurl.

"Your husband was a visiting professor at Harvard University. The man was well respected amongst his peers, and incredibly accomplished in his own right. He taught Classical Latin, and has even published several scholarly articles. He has no previous criminal record. And no motives. You want me to believe that a man, like your husband, murdered all these woman?"

Helena said nothing.

"It is possible, but highly unlikely. We currently have five confirmed victims. And of those, Dr. Eriksen has a solid alibi for two of them. He was out of the country, and hundreds of miles away. And yet, tattered remains of these five victims were found in your basement. How do you explain any of this, Mrs. Eriksen?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, you better wise up, because my sister is fighting for her life, no thanks to your husband. Scott Eriksen shot my sister; that's the undeniable truth. What I want to know is why he targeted these women, and where the fuck is the rest of their bodies?!"

There was a knock on the door.

Frankie lost himself, if only just for a moment. "Give me a minute. I'll get you that water."

It was Korsak on the other side. And the look on his face didn't indicate a belly of joy one would associate with the holidays.

"It's Dr. Isles." Korsak handed Frankie his phone. "It's about Jane."

Frankie held the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

Frankie's eyes bounced back and forth, and by the end of the conversation, all he could bring himself to say was, "Wait! What?!"

- o -

The sun was about to set over the city of Boston. The day had come and gone, and Christmas was fast becoming something of the past. This wasn't something Jane imagined for herself, not in a million years. And in some ways, she felt the pain of regret ache ever so tenderly in her heart. None of this would've happened if she didn't place her job above all else. It was Christmas eve. She should've taken the day off, like she originally planned, but the blue blood in her vein wouldn't let her pass up the chance to chase down a potential lead. And lo and behold, on Christmas eve, she found herself in the midst of a foot pursuit, and the next thing she knew, she had been shot. The rest was history.

"You having second thoughts?"

"No. If it means I can stay on Earth, and be with the ones I love, then I'll move mountains if need be."

Kara shook her head, and laughed. "It's not that simple. We can move mountains with the snap of a finger. Now, getting Netflix to speed up production of Orange is the New Black, and Sense8, that's an entirely different issue."

"You still haven't told me what it is you want me to do."

"Think of yourself as Indiana Jones."

"Which one?"

Kara pondered for a second. "Raiders of the Lost Ark."

"Okay." Jane nodded. "You want me to retrieve your Golden Idol."

Kara snapped her fingers, "Exactly. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy."

"Wait. If you have the power to move mountains, and you're a God amongst God, why can't you get this Golden Idol yourself?"

"That's a long story for another time." The pair stopped outside a VCR repair shop. "We're here."

Jane gave the store front a scrutinizing look. "This is the top secret place you wanted to take me?"

"When was the last time you saw an actual VCR?"

Come to think of it, Kara was right. It was the perfect front, and the ideal cover.

"Wait a minute. Isn't this a scene from R.I.P.D? They had a VCR tune-up shop there, too."

"That movie is copyrighted by Universal Pictures. Don't ever mention it again." Kara held the door open for Jane, "And besides, they stole the idea from us."

The store was a standard repair shop, as one might expect. There were shelves upon shelves of electronics, and knick-knacks. There was nothing unusual nor abnormal. The store was empty.

They made their way to the back, to a tiny room. And in this tiny room, it contained one thing, and one thing only.

"Really?"

There, in the middle of the floor, was a manhole cover.

Kara lifted the fifty pound iron-cast cover single-handedly, and she tossed it aside like a sad game of ultimate frisbee. "After you."

Jane edged forward, and peeped into the bottomless pit. "You want me to jump in there?"

"Yes. I do."

"Why?"

This was going to be painful if Jane was to question her at every twist and turn. There was only one solution to this problem: she had to satiate her curiosity.

"The Golden Idol that I want you to retrieve is called: Sköfnungr."

"Scotch hunger?"

" Sköfnungr." Kara enunciated precisely. "It was the first sword my Father gifted me, before I rode into my first battle of Ragnarök."

"Okay."

"I lost it. And now, I want you to get it for me."

"You lost your sword in the sewage system?"

"This is a portal to the nine homeworld. We need to pass through Abyss, my homeworld, to reach our final destination: Hel."

Jane thought she misheard. "Did you just say Hell?"

"The pronunciation is identical. Well, you know what, fine, we're going to Hell. There. Is that better?"

"No, that isn't better! When I signed up for this, I thought the mission was more along the lines of being your partner on the Amazing Race, teach you how to play beer pong, hold your hair if you puked, or teach you how to stalk your ex on social media. You said nothing about going to Hell!"

"I told you that your fate would be worse than death itself."

"I thought that was a hyperbole." Jane put her foot down, and remained adamant. "I'm not going to Hell. Nu-uh. No way. If you think for one second that —"

Kara rolled her eyes, and she shoved Jane into the manhole.

Jane screamed as she fell into the dark abyss.

"Humans."

And with that, Kara crossed her arms, and she, too, jumped in.

- o -