“Yes. Yes. That was me. I have been trying for days to communicate with you, but you have ignored everything I did. Before you ask, I also moved the cup across your table.”
“Wow.” She smiled. “And here I thought I was going crazy.”
“You are not crazy, but you are beginning to make me that way.”
“Sorry,” she said, a little sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to make you crazy. I just never believed in ghosts.”
“There are probably ghosts who do not believe in you.”
Ssabra’s nerves were starting to settle down a bit. The more she listened to the voice, the more convinced she became that what she was experiencing was really happening. She no longer looked for hidden microphones, speakers, or cameras. She was actually starting to accept the possibility that she was standing in the middle of her living room, having a quiet conversation with a ghost. No longer frightened, she took a seat on the sofa and lit up a cigarette.
“Ah, tobacco,” he said. “You are wise for someone so young. We should smoke when we talk of important things.”
She took a puff, then set the cigarette in the ashtray. “That’s right. I smelled tobacco when I first heard your voice. And I smelled it again, here in the apartment. That was you, wasn’t it? But how did you get tobacco? Do they have such things on the other side?”
“You would be surprised to know of the things we have in the spirit world.”
“Really? Can you tell me? What’s it like over there?”
“My world is very much like yours, but we will talk of such things later. First, I must tell you why I am here, and why I have chosen you.”
“Chosen?”
“To be the person who hears my voice.”
“Why did you pick me?” Ssabra asked. “Why are you here?”
Tolomato explained, “A few days ago three women of magic came to this city in search of power and guidance. These women were like children playing with fire; they opened a doorway to the other side, allowing something dark and dangerous to come into this world. I too heard their call, and followed the dark one through to this side.”
The voice in her head was starting to scare her. Getting up, Ssabra crossed the room and put a pot of water on the stove. She could still hear the Indian chief, but she didn’t want to sit still and listen. She felt the need to be doing something with her hands.
“What came through?” she asked, stepping back from the stove.
“One of the old ones.”
“Old ones?”
“A creature that lived in this land long before me. A thing of darkness with the power to change its shape, and wear the skins of others. A dark god called a Shiru.”
“A Shiru.” Ssabra said the world aloud, rolling the syllables on her tongue. She had never heard the name before. It sounded Japanese. “I’ve never heard of it.”
He sighed and continued. “It has been a long time since the Shirus last lived in this land. A very long time. They were once considered gods by the native people. Knowing that the old ways were disappearing, the Shirus bred with humans so their bloodlines would be carried on to future generations. But the chiefs and medicine men told their people to fear anything that was not of the light, and the Shirus were cast down, driven from the villages to die of starvation. The offspring of the Shirus were put to death under the knife, or thrown into the cleansing flames of fire.
"The Shirus were hunted down and killed, crossing over to the eternal darkness of the spirit world. But one Shiru has returned, summoned by the voices of three women. A doorway was opened, and he stepped back into the world of the living, again taking his place as a dark god among the weak.”
“How do you know all of this?” Ssabra asked, confused.
“Because I came back through the same opening before it closed,” he replied. “I know the dark one is back, because I have seen it with my own eyes. I came through the doorway behind the Shiru, following the voices of the three women. I would have warned them of the danger they were in, but it was already too late.”
“Too late?”
“The Shiru has already killed. He has taken the life of one of the women, she whose words opened the doorway between the two worlds.”
“The Shiru killed someone?”
“Killed and consumed.”
“But how? It’s a spirit, like you. How can it hurt the living?”
“The Shiru is not like me. It is a thing of evil. The spirit world and this world are almost the same to such a creature. There it was only resting; here it is back at full strength. In this world it can again return to its old ways.”
“But why did it kill the women?”
“It killed only one of them. Perhaps it was hungry. I do not know.”
Ssabra made herself a cup of instant coffee, noticing that her hands were starting to shake. And why shouldn’t her hands shake? It had been one hell of a night. First there was a crazy psychic in her home. Now she was in the middle of a conversation with a ghost, and talking about a spirit-monster eating people. Damn right her hands should be shaking.
“What does the Shiru look like?” she asked, stirring sugar into her coffee.
“The Shiru is a shape-shifter, and can take many forms. It can look like anyone it has killed and eaten, stealing their identity. It can look like a man, or even an animal. That is how the Shirus used to sneak into the villages long ago. They would enter the villages as men to steal the women, taking them back to their lair to mate.
“The Shiru can change it’s appearance, but it cannot disguise its reflection. Its true form can be seen in running waters, mirrors, and in glass.”
“What does its true form look like?”
“Like nothing you have ever seen before, and like nothing you will ever want to see.”
Ssabra was silent for a moment, thinking about what had just been said. “I’ll make sure to put a large mirror in my purse before I go out.”
“You will need more than just a mirror when you do battle against the Shiru.”
“When I do what?” She nearly choked on her coffee.
“When you do battle against the Shiru,” Tolomato replied. “When you fight the dark one.”
“You’re out of your frigging mind. I’m not fighting this god/monster of yours. If you’re so worried about the damn thing, then you fight it.”
“The Shiru is no longer in my world. It is in yours. Someone among you must destroy it.”
“Well, you had better look around for another volunteer, because I’m not your girl. I’m a tour guide; I’m not a monster fighter.”
“But I have chosen you.”
“Then choose someone else, because I’m not going to fight it.”
“It is not so simple. I have chosen you to hear my voice. I cannot choose another. Not now.”
“Okay. No problem. Let me just grab my sword and shield, and climb on top of my white horse, then we’ll be off to fight the Shiru bogeyman.”
“You have a horse?”
She laughed. “Of course I don’t have a horse. I was being sarcastic. I live in an apartment. Where in the hell would I keep a horse?”
“I had a horse. He was a gift from the Spanish.”
“Enough about horses already. I don’t have a horse. Never did and never will. And I really don’t want to hear about your horse. I’m also not going to fight any monster for you.”
“But you were chosen.”
“I don’t care if I was chosen. Choose another.”
There was a moment of silence, then Tolomato said, “There is no one else I can speak with. I have chosen you. Your people need your help. If we do not do something soon to stop the Shiru, others will die. And if we do not act quickly, then the old ones may return to this world. When that happens the darkness will return, and all of you will suffer.”
Ssabra set down her cup of coffee and looked around the room. It was hard enough to believe that she was having a heated conversation with a ghost, but now the spirit of Chief Tolomato was asking
her to fight an evil creature that had been released upon the world. A thing of darkness had returned to the land of the living, perhaps hoping to breed with humans in order to reestablish its hideous race on earth.
It all sounded like a really bad fantasy novel, but Ssabra had an awful feeling that what she was hearing was the truth. She really did hear the voice of someone who had crossed back over from the spirit world. And while she would rather go back to her normal life, she knew that nothing about her life would ever be normal again.
“Okay, you win,” she sighed. “I’ll help. Tell me what I have to do.”
Chapter 16
It was Monday, and all hell seemed to be breaking loose at the police station. The St. Augustine Record had run an article about human remains being found for the second day in a row, suggesting that a homicidal maniac might be stalking the streets of the old city. The article had been front-page news, complete with file photos of the Tolomato Cemetery and the Old Drugstore.
The newspaper had hit the stands early that morning, and the phones had been ringing off the hook ever since. The police department was swamped with calls from upset and worried residents, mostly senior citizens who were absolutely certain something strange was going on in their neighborhood.
But it wasn’t just the seniors who were worried. The police had been receiving phone calls from teachers, school kids, taxi drivers, and even fishermen. One man called to say that his wife had been missing for two days, convinced she must be one of the victims, and was actually relieved to learn that she had been sitting in jail after being arrested for prostitution.
In addition to the scores of phone calls they were receiving, quite a few people had taken it upon themselves to come down to the station to pass along information about the crime. Most of them filled out reports about the suspicious activity of a neighbor, or a fellow coworker, suggesting that the particular person or persons just had to be guilty of something.
An elderly woman complained about the teenage boys who lived across the street, handing over a journal she had been keeping on the daily activities of the three young men. A local minister also stopped by the station, pointing his finger at the hard-rock band living down the street from him. According to the good minister, the members of the band were devil worshipers who practiced blood rituals. If there were any murders to be investigated, then the police should start with the band members.
There was also a middle-aged man who walked into the police station that morning, claiming to be the killer and demanding to be arrested. His confession might have been taken seriously, had he not had a history of making such statements on a regular basis. Instead of being locked up, he was put in a taxi cab and sent home to his wife.
Arriving at work a little before ten that morning, Jack Colvin squeezed through the crowd waiting in the lobby. He deliberately avoided making eye contact with any of them, because he just wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. Not that he had any answers to give. It was still early, so the lab tests had not yet come back from the medical examiner’s office. However, he did cast a glance toward the besieged desk sergeant as he crossed the room. The sergeant only smiled and shook his head.
Jack thought he was home free when he made it to his desk without being stopped, and he almost risked a smile, but then he spotted the mountain of paperwork awaiting him. It seemed additional reports needed to be filled out about the homicides, in triplicate. There was also a stack of messages from people wanting to talk with him, including two from the chief of police.
The detective coughed and rubbed his throat, feeling the invisible line where the ax was going to fall. If he didn’t come up with a suspect and a motive, or at least some serious leads in the case, Chief Harris was going to have his head on a platter. Getting on the chief’s bad side was never a pleasant experience, nor were the ass chewings that usually came as a result of it. Chief Harris had already left several messages on Jack’s desk, which meant he wanted to see the detective immediately, if not sooner.
This would be a perfect time to be on vacation.
There was no way in hell Jack was going to walk into the police chief’s office, not without having something to tell him. Since there were no suspects in the case, or witnesses, or leads, and since the lab reports hadn’t come back yet, Detective Colvin decided his best course of action was to become invisible. He needed to make himself scarce, and do it quickly. Anyplace else would be a better place to be than where he was standing.
Looking around the room, he noticed that the desk belonging to Detective Moats was also covered with paperwork and message memos. The desk was also unoccupied. He didn’t know if Bill had come to work that morning, but if he had, then he too had decided to seek refuge elsewhere. Jack would call Bill’s cell phone to see where his coworker was hiding, then the two of them could get together to work on the case.
He had just picked up the phone to call Detective Moats, when a striking young woman entered the room. She was tall and thin, with long black hair and dark eyes, her skin a rich tan color. She was dressed in tight black pants and a white blouse, and it looked as if she might be Puerto Rican, Filipino, or maybe even Native American.
Wow. Double wow. Maybe I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave.
The woman stopped and studied the room for a moment, perhaps unsure of which detective she wanted to speak with. She looked toward Jack for a moment, glanced down at the sheet of paper she held, and then started walking his way. Jack hung up the phone and smiled.
“Yes, ma’am. May I help you?” He recognized the paper in her hand as department stationery, so the desk sergeant must have given her his name.
The woman offered him a faltering smile. “Are you Detective Colvin?”
“Yes, ma’am. In the flesh. Detective Jack Colvin.”
She looked back down at the paper she held in her hand, making sure she had the right man, then folded the paper and put it in her pants pocket. “The man at the front desk said you’re the one I should talk with. It’s about something that happened at the Tolomato Cemetery a couple of nights ago.”
“The Tolomato Cemetery? A couple of nights ago?” He played dumb for a moment, but his plan almost backfired.
The woman again glanced around the room, growing agitated. “Maybe I have the wrong person.” She turned and started to leave.
“No. No. Please. You’ve got the right guy. I’m the detective in charge of the Tolomato Cemetery investigation. Forgive me if I sounded a bit standoffish; I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet.”
She turned back around and smiled. “I understand completely. It takes several cups for me to get started in the morning.”
Jack nodded, pleased he had found something they both had in common. It was always good to quickly build relationships with civilians, especially those who came to him with news about a murder investigation. “Please, have a seat Ms....”
“Onih. Ssabra Onih.” She sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the desk, facing the detective.
“That’s an unusual name. Is it French?”
“It’s Indian,” she replied. “My father’s Cherokee.”
“Really. That’s interesting. You don’t find too many Cherokees in Florida.” The detective took a seat behind his desk. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Miss Onih? It is Miss, isn’t it? You’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
She smiled. “Yes, it’s Miss. I’m not married. Thanks for the coffee, but I’ll pass. I’ve already had my two cups for the morning. Any more caffeine and I’ll be climbing the walls.”
“Well, we certainly don’t want that. Not in this place. Somebody will think you’re trying to escape.” Jack laughed and leaned forward in his chair, giving her his undivided attention. “Now, what can I do for you? You said you know something about what happened at the Tolomato?”
Ssabra looked around, making sure no one else was listening to their conversation. Several officers were in the room, but they were all occupied with other business. She cl
eared her throat. “I know about what happened the other night. At least I know some of it.”
The woman hesitated, and fell silent for a moment. It was obvious she was having a difficult time approaching the subject. Perhaps she was even a little bit frightened. Maybe she had seen a homicide take place, or was somehow involved with the crime.
Jack was hoping she wasn’t involved, because it would be a damn shame to put someone so attractive behind bars. She would not look good in prison orange.
“Take your time,” he said, encouraging her to go on but not to rush.
Licking her lips, she said, “I know someone was killed in the cemetery the other night. A woman. You found her body, but there hasn’t been much about it in the paper. There was a short article in yesterday’s paper about human remains being found, but all it said was that police were not ruling out the possibility of a homicide.”
“No. There wasn’t much in yesterday’s newspaper, other than a brief write-up about the remains being found,” Jack said, nodding.
“Why is that?”
“Truthfully, we weren’t sure if a homicide had actually taken place at the cemetery. The remains we found could have come from anywhere.”
“The murder happened at the cemetery,” she said, looking increasingly more uncomfortable.
“And how do you know that? Were you a witness to the crime?”
“No.” She shook her head. “ Someone else was a witness. They told me about it.”
Jack picked up a pencil, and began jotting down notes on a pad of paper. “And what exactly did they tell you?”
She coughed nervously, and continued. “They told me a woman was killed in the cemetery a few nights ago, and that she was not alone when she died. Two other women were with her, but they ran away.”
“Two other women?” Jack stopped writing for a moment. “But no one has called to report a crime. If two women witnessed the murder, at least one of them would have called by now.”
“They’re scared.”
“Scared because they broke into the cemetery?”
“No. Scared of what they’ve seen, and what they did.”
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