Breed

by Goingback, Owl

  “And what did they do?”

  Miss Onih took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. She was obviously trying hard to keep her composure. Jack wondered why she was so nervous. Was she somehow involved in the crime?

  “The three women broke into the cemetery to conduct a magical ceremony. They were spiritualists, or maybe witches, and were trying to obtain spirit guides.”

  “Are you also a witch, Miss Onih?” Jack interrupted.

  “No. I’m not a witch.”

  “Sorry. You just seem to know a lot about what happened that night.”

  “I’m not a witch. I’m a tourist guide. Look, someone told me what I’m telling you. They asked me to bring the information to the police.”

  “Why didn’t they come themselves?”

  “They couldn’t come here.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Do you want to hear what I have to say? If not, then I’ll be glad to get out of your hair.”

  “No. Please, go on.” Jack almost grinned. Miss Onih had quite a temper. She also knew something, because, so far, what she was saying matched up with some of the evidence found at the Tolomato. A leather bag containing candles, sage, and quartz crystals had been found at the scene, and Jack suspected some kind of occult ritual had taken place. She said three women were attempting to obtain spirit guides from the graveyard, and that would qualify as a magical ritual.

  Ssabra continued, “The women were trying to obtain spirit guides, but they accidentally opened a doorway to the spirit world and something evil came through.”

  “Something evil? You mean like a poltergeist?”

  She shook her head. “Much worse than that. I’m really not sure how to describe it. I’ve been told it’s a creature that lived in this area a long time ago. It’s called a Shiru.”

  Jack wrote down the name. “Can you describe this Shiru? How big is it? What does it look like? Does it have any identifying marks or nasty habits?”

  “You’re being sarcastic.”

  The detective looked up from his paper. “I’m sorry, but can you really blame me? You just told me that three witches accidentally opened a doorway to the spirit world and let a monster in. I take it this monster ate one of the women; at least it ate most of her, because all that’s left are tiny bits of skin, bones, and a few molars. Oddly enough, no one has reported any monsters running around St. Augustine. You’d think something like that would have been on the news by now, but maybe people think it’s just another tourist attraction.”

  “No one has reported a monster, because the Shiru can change its shape. It can even look like a person.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Ah, that explains it. A shape-shifting monster. I should have known.”

  “This is stupid. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “You have to admit that your story is a bit hard to swallow. Maybe if you told me where you heard it....”

  “Tolomato.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tolomato told me.”

  Jack looked at her, wondering what to write down. “Who?”

  “Tolomato. An Indian chief. Leader of the Guales.”

  “Tolomato, as in Tolomato Cemetery?”

  Ssabra nodded.

  “I see.” He quit writing and put down his pencil. “And when did Chief Tolomato tell you about the murder in his cemetery? Was it recently, or in a past life?”

  She glared at the detective. “Listen, I know you think I’m some kind of flake. I can’t blame you. I didn’t want to come here today, but he made me. Up until last night I was leading a normal life. I’m a tour guide. I have a nice little apartment. I have no problems in my life. At least I didn’t have until recently. Now I’ve got a dead Indian chief talking to me, and writing words on my bathroom mirror.

  “Maybe I am crazy. Tolomato told me about what happened at the cemetery. He says a great evil has been released, and that the Shiru will kill again.”

  Ssabra stood up and pulled the slip of paper from her pants pocket. Borrowing the detective’s pencil, she wrote her name, address, and phone number on the paper and handed it to him. “I told you what I came here to say. I know you don’t believe me, and I really don’t care. I’ve done my job, and I want no more part of it. You can call me if you need more information, but don’t call if you just want to make fun of me.”

  With that the young woman turned and walked away, leaving the room. Jack watched her go, and then looked down at the paper lying on his desk. He sighed. “Why are all the good-looking women crazy in the head?”

  Chapter 17

  A flush of embarrassment warmed Ssabra’s face as she left the police station. She looked neither left nor right as she walked across the lobby, avoiding eye contact with the other people waiting to be seen. Pushing the door open, she left the building and headed for the parking lot.

  Her embarrassment turned to anger by the time she reached her car, causing her hands to shake and making it hard to put her key into the door lock. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching her, took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and tried again. Finally, she was able to get the key into the lock, and open the door. Climbing in the car, she quickly closed the door, but she didn’t start the engine.

  Her hands still shook with emotion, and she was worried about her ability to drive. It wouldn’t do to get into an accident before she got out of the parking lot, especially since it was the parking lot for the St. Augustine Police Department. That definitely would not look good on her driving record. If she did get into an accident before leaving the parking lot, she would probably be asked to step back inside the building to fill out a police report.

  There was no way she could go back inside the station, not after humiliating herself. Detective Colvin would have already told his fellow detectives and coworkers about the crazy young woman who had paid him a visit. He was probably telling the story right now, clustered with his friends around the office coffeepot, having a good laugh at her expense.

  She hit the steering wheel with her fist, a flash of pain shooting up her right arm. “Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. How on earth could I be so stupid?”

  It had been foolish for her to go to the police. There was no way anyone was going to believe a story as outrageous as hers. She was damn lucky they even let her leave the station. They could have turned her over to the local mental hospital, where she would have been locked away for her own protection, undergoing a series of shock therapy sessions, and maybe even a lobotomy.

  Come on. They don’t do lobotomies anymore.

  Ssabra let out a sigh and leaned forward, resting her head on the steering wheel. She knew it was a stupid idea, but still she had come. Why? Other than getting laughed at, what had she hoped to accomplish?

  The answer to her question was simple: she had come to the police station because Tolomato had insisted that she warn someone in authority about the Shiru. She had listened to the voice of a dead Indian chief, which, in fact, may be nothing more than the beginning of a brain tumor.

  No wonder the detective hadn’t believed her. At least he had been patient enough to listen to the whole story. Had the tables been turned, she probably would have tossed him out on his ass at the first mention of ghosts or monsters.

  She sat back up and looked into the mirror. Her face was still flushed, but her hands weren’t shaking quite so badly anymore. Grabbing a pack of gum out of her purse, she stuck two sticks into her mouth and started chewing. She was still pretty upset, and wanted to calm down a little more before starting for home.

  What she should have done was only tell the detective part of the story. She could have said that she overheard a couple of people in her tour group whispering about a homicide, dropping hints about the identity of the victim. She could have passed along some of the information, without having to mention anything about a dead Indian chief. She might even have been able to leave out the part about the Shiru, although she didn’t know how she could have
warned the detective about the monster without talking about it.

  Tolomato had convinced her that the Shiru had to be stopped before it could kill again, and her help was needed to stop it. He had talked her into going to see someone in authority for help, insisting that they would listen to her if her heart was good and her tongue truthful. Tolomato was obviously used to living in simpler times, because a good heart and a truthful tongue didn’t always work in the twenty-first century.

  “Yeah, the detective offered to help me all right: he offered to help me find the front door.”

  Maybe she wouldn’t feel so bad about the whole thing had she spoken with a fat, balding detective. Ssabra wouldn’t have been quite so embarrassed if an old fat guy had laughed at her. But Detective Jack Colvin wasn’t fat, or old. He was around her age, in pretty good shape, and rather pleasing on the eyes. He came across as a nice guy, with a smile that made his blue eyes light up. She could almost imagine the two of them on a date, having dinner at some candlelit little restaurant.

  Ssabra laughed. “Fat chance of that ever happening. After today, if I come within twenty feet of the guy he’ll probably have a restraining order taken out on me.”

  Detective Colvin’s laugh had cut her like a knife, and she had almost run out of the office. She couldn’t blame him for laughing at her, but that didn’t dull the pain any. He had cut her deeply, and she would never be able to look him in the eyes again.

  She let out a sigh and shook her head. Ghost Indian chiefs. Evil monsters. She almost didn’t believe the story herself. Maybe she had finally gone off the deep end. She had given one ghost tour too many, and her mind had finally snapped. The voice she heard was only her imagination. Hell, maybe she hadn’t even gone to the police. Maybe she was still in her bed, only dreaming that she was sitting inside her stuffy car, working two pieces of Juicy Fruit gum with her back teeth.

  The thought that she was safely in her bed had just passed through Ssabra’s mind, when she accidentally bit the inside of her mouth, causing her eyes to water. No, the pain was definitely real, which meant she was indeed sitting inside her car, and not just dreaming it.

  Starting the car, she backed out of her parking space and started for home. Traffic was light in St. Augustine, so it only took fifteen minutes to make it back to her apartment. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she hesitated before unlocking the door.

  The last few times she had been in her apartment surprises had awaited her, spooky surprises that came close to scaring the hell out of her. She just didn’t know if she could put up with such shenanigans today, especially after what she had already gone through.

  Putting the key into the lock, she opened the door and entered her apartment. The interior was quiet, the kitchen and living room empty.

  She closed the door, almost expecting to see a ghostly shape drift past, or witness another object slide across the room. When nothing happened, she said aloud, “Tolomato, are you here?”

  A few seconds passed, but no voice answered her. Ssabra repeated her question, speaking in a louder voice, “Chief Tolomato, are you in here?”

  Again no answer. The only sound to be heard was the soft humming of the refrigerator. The chief must be elsewhere, doing whatever it was that ghosts did in the daytime. She wondered if he had been with her at the police station, even though she hadn’t heard his voice during the meeting. If he had been there, then he already knew what a dumb idea it was for her to go to the authorities.

  “Great. Just great. I do what he wants, and now that I need to speak with him he’s nowhere to be found. Typical.”

  She set her purse on the coffee table. “You had better hide from me, because I’m going to give you an earful when I find you.” She laughed, amused by her own statement. “If I can find you. If you really exist.”

  She thought her last statement, a direct challenge to his existence, might flush out her phantom friend, but the room remained quiet and still. No voices. No sliding coffee cups. No ghost of any kind. Not even the spirit of a little girl, as Claire’s supposedly psychic aunt had claimed to have seen.

  “One thing for sure, I’m going to start looking for a different place to live. This apartment has become entirely too crowded.”

  Ssabra crossed the room and entered the bathroom, almost expecting to see words spelled out on her bathroom mirror, but the glass was void of lettering. A quick check of the shower stall also proved to be without words.

  “Osiyo,” she said, remembering what had been written on the mirror. Tolomato said it was Cherokee for “hello”, but it might have been the name of a mixed drink for all she knew. She said the word aloud a second time, but there was no reply.

  She left the bathroom and went into the bedroom, again finding no evidence that a spiritual visitor had come to call. Ssabra was beginning to wonder if her encounter with Tolomato had actually taken place. Maybe she had just imagined the whole incident.

  “I knew it. I’m going frigging nuts.”

  Wanting to let a little more light into the room, she pulled the cord to raise the blinds covering the window. She had forgotten what time it was, and that it was a Monday, her embarrassing conference with the police detective throwing her completely off schedule. Therefore, as the blinds in her bedroom were lifted, Ssabra was treated to a spectacular view of the fat man in the next apartment building. The man was on his porch watering his plants, dressed only in a pair of Speedo swim trunks, him enormous butt aimed directly at her.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she said, jumping back from the window and covering her eyes. “I’m blind.”

  Her day had just been made complete. Not only had she suffered embarrassment and humiliation, but the retinas of both her eyes were now damaged by a sight too horrifying to describe. If she didn’t need therapy before, she would surely need it now.

  Still shielding her eyes from the sight that lay beyond the glass, she stepped forward and quickly lowered the blinds.

  “Whew. Better. That was a close one. Never raise the blinds on a weekday. You know better than that.”

  Turning away from the window, she studied the clothes hanging in her closet, trying to decide what she would wear for that afternoon’s tour. The weather was going to be warm, so something simple and light would be the obvious choice. Something cheerful and bright to take her mind off of laughing police detectives and dead Indian chiefs. But even her most colorful outfit probably couldn’t keep the events of the past couple of days from intruding into her thoughts.

  She turned and looked around the room, suddenly feeling as if she might not be alone. “Tolomato, are you here?”

  There was no reply. The only sound in the bedroom was the soft ticking of her alarm clock. Tolomato obviously wasn’t in the room with her, and she was beginning to have serious doubts about his existence. Maybe she had just imagined everything, having given one ghost tour too many. Maybe she was getting as kooky as Claire’s psychic aunt.

  “That’s me, Ssabra Onih. Resident psychic and ghost talker.”

  Chapter 18

  After his strange conversation with Miss Ssabra Onih, Detective Colvin grabbed the stack of paperwork off of his desk and slipped out the back door. He had too much work to do to be bothered with crazy people, and even crazier stories. He also didn’t want to have a meeting with the chief, not until after he had gotten the lab tests on the two victims back from the medical examiner’s office.

  Checking to make sure the coast was clear, he hurried across the parking lot to his unmarked patrol car. Slipping behind the wheel, he started the engine and drove west, putting distance between himself and those he would rather not talk with. Waiting until he was several blocks away, he called the dispatcher to say that he was following up on a few leads, and would be back later. He was actually heading over to a little bagel place on U.S. 1, and had a sneaking suspicion that Bill might already be there. The two of them often used The Bagel Hut as a makeshift headquarters when they didn’t want to be at the station.

  H
is hunch was right on the money, because he spotted Bill’s car as he pulled into the parking lot behind the Hut.

  “Son of a bitch. I knew it.” Jack should have been angry, but he couldn’t help but smile. The two detectives were both thinking along the same lines, neither one of them wanting to hang around the police station amid all the confusion, and with the police chief on the warpath.

  Grabbing the stack of paperwork off of the passenger seat, he climbed out of the car and headed for the restaurant. Bill was sitting at one of the back booths, well away from the other customers, an impressive pile of folders stacked on the table in front of him. Jack was almost to the booth when Detective Moats looked up at him and grinned.

  “About time you got here. I was beginning to worry.”

  “Nice disappearing job you pulled,” Jack replied, sliding in on the other side of the booth. “You could have let me know where you were hiding.”

  Bill faked a frown. “I left you a note. Didn’t you get it?”

  “No. I didn’t get a note. That’s because you didn’t leave me one.”

  The frown turned back into a smile. “You’re right. I didn’t leave a note. Didn’t have time. Chief Harris was stomping around the place like an angry bull, so I figured I had better get out of there while I still could. You knew where to find me.”

  “Yeah, I knew where to look.” Jack got up and walked to the counter, ordering a coffee and a toasted cinnamon and raisin bagel. He would have gotten something for Bill, but his partner already had a full coffee and an empty bagel plate sitting in front of him. Paying for the items, he returned to the booth.

  “What have you got there?” Jack asked, pointing at the stack of folders sitting in front of his partner.

  Bill took a sip of his coffee before speaking. “I was just going over your report from yesterday. “Interesting stuff, but I’m glad I had the day off.”

  “I wish I was off yesterday.” He took a bite out of his bagel, nearly burning his tongue on a hot raisin. “By the way, how was the fishing?”