The Equinox

by M J Preston

  Mick stepped into the room and let out a low guttural moan.

  Unknown to Mick, on the fateful night Olivia was ushered away by Erin Grant and her husband, John wasted no time. He went back to his room, removed the shotgun he kept in the closet and killed himself after writing a note to his wife. The note was sealed in an envelope and stood against Olivia’s jewelry box on the dresser. It would never be opened.

  Beyond the bed, blood mixed with pellets and gunpowder had long since coagulated, turning a reddish brown on the wall.

  This is the end of the cycle, Mick thought, then corrected himself: the suffering would not end here. There was John’s sister to think of, there were the friends who knew and loved them – including himself.

  “I hope you guys are together, John,” he whispered taking one last cursory look around, knowing the room would have to be sealed until it was documented. Then he backed out and closed the door. He wondered as he did whether or not he really wanted to be a cop anymore.

  Steel was standing behind him in the hallway like a statue. Mick grabbed Steel by the shoulder. “John’s dead, Don. He shot himself in the head.”

  Steel didn’t respond. He was looking straight through Mick, leaving Mick to wonder if Steel was suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress.

  “Come on.”

  Leading Steel toward the front door, he felt his sadness shift and make way for the anger.

  “I got some questions for that Indian.”

  Someone would pay for this.

  Once out on the porch, they saw a second cruiser parked on the street and Logan had Blackbird out of the car.

  Mick came down the steps and across the walkway like a freight train, his eyes blurred with rage, his face radish ripe. He didn’t notice Steel pull away and sit down, nor did he look at Logan, who undoubtedly had questions of his own. Instead, he marched straight up to Blackbird and grabbed him by the lapels of his jean jacket and shoved him onto the cruiser.

  “How did you know?” he screamed and shoved harder.

  “Mick!” Logan grabbed his shoulder.

  “Were you here?” He used his forearm to heave Logan’s hand off.

  “Hopper is dead,” Blackbird said, voice almost trancelike. “The plane is going down. There isn’t much time.”

  “What in the name of fuck is going on? Who the hell are you?” Mick shook him like a ragdoll, ignoring the fact that he looked even older than when they first encountered him.

  “I tried to tell you,” he replied weakly.

  “Mick!” Logan wrenched him off. “That is enough!”

  He released his grip on Blackbird, let out an angry cry of frustration, and pounded his fist on top of the cruiser. Logan had never seen him like this. He looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  “What did you say about, Hopper?”

  Logan noticed the aging as well. Blackbird’s hair wasn’t just streaked with grey, it had turned entirely white. He looked sick, like a man ready to expire.

  “He’s dead. Everyone on that plane is dead.”

  Logan keyed up his radio. “Base?”

  “Go ahead, Chief,” Sabrina answered.

  “Dispatch Henderson to my location and call me on the cell.”

  There was a short pause and then as Logan was about to repeat himself Sabrina came back with, “Copy that.”

  His cell phone chimed up, and he answered immediately.

  “Sabrina, have you heard anything about a downed plane?”

  “Well CNN is reporting an aircraft in distress on the net. They’re in full terror mode right now,” she said, then added guiltily, “I was cruising the net on my break, Chief.”

  “Okay, if you hear anything more call me back.” He hung up and leaned into Mick. “Sgt. Collins! Get your head on straight and fill me in on the situation!”

  Blackbird slid down the door of the cruiser and parked himself on the curb. He was worn out from the vision on the plane, and in no position to fight off another attack by the big cop called Mick. His body felt frail, his mind in tatters: the projection he had done was killing him.

  One or two more of those, Grandfather and we will be holding palaver before you can say, sweet squaw, he thought.

  Mick turned around to face Logan. He was devastated; his eyes were swollen and bloodshot. “What do you know, Dave? It will save time.”

  “I know Olivia killed herself; I assume John did the same. I’m not sure what Blackbird is talking about.”

  “John killed himself with a shotgun in the bedroom. It looks like he did it a few days ago because the flies in the place are unreal.” He wiped his nose. “That scumbag really fucked these people up.”

  “I know he did, Mick, but I need you to get a hold on yourself. I need you now more than ever to keep your cool.”

  Mick wiped his eyes with his forearm, collecting himself as Logan lifted Blackbird off the curb. “You okay, Mr. Blackbird? You don’t look well.”

  “Yeah, I’m alright – but Chief Logan, please stop calling me Mr. Blackbird. Just call me Dan.” He wiped the drip of blood from his nose then looked to the house across the street.

  “Alright, Dan,” Logan started, but felt something. “Give me a second.”

  Sitting on the step to the Parkins house Steel struggled with what he had seen. Was it a hallucination? Am I going nuts, he thought. How can this be? None of this makes any sense.

  Logan turned his attention away from the others and looked at the house, Steel caught his eye. “Wait here,” he told them and walked up the path to meet the befuddled officer who sat staring into space. “You okay, Don?”

  “Can’t be,” Steel said, not looking up.

  “What?”

  Steel shook his head, then stood up and faced his boss. “Come with me, Chief, and tell me if I’m crazy.” He turned and walked back up the porch steps, and Logan followed him into the house.

  Blackbird and Mick stood uncomfortably beside each other.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Blackbird said.

  Mick said nothing.

  7

  They were now in the kitchen and on the dining room table was the source of Steel’s mental worry. At first, Logan thought it was Parkins – then he got a look at the corpse’s face.

  “Kolchak,” Logan muttered.

  “So I’m not nuts.” Steel let out a sigh of relief.

  “You saw him get on the plane?”

  “We all saw him, Chief. I talked to him. We watched him go up the stairs and watched the plane take off.” Steel paused. “What in the hell is going on, Chief?”

  “I don’t know, Don. Did Mick see this?”

  “No; he gave me the bums rush when I went to get him.”

  Logan looked at the open and baron cavity of Kolchak’s body.

  Voices echoed inside his head.

  “All of them eviscerated,” Woodman said.

  “My best guess would be coyotes after he was dead,” Henderson had said.

  “You’re not nuts, Don. This is Kolchak.” He placed a hand on his officer’s shoulder to reassure him.

  His cell rang. It was Sabrina.

  “Chief, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “Try me.” He already knew the answer.

  “The plane, the one they thought was a terror plane? They think it’s the plane that Hopper was on. From what they’re saying it strayed into US airspace and went down in Lake Superior. That’s why they thought it was a terror plane, but now they’re looking for survivors.”

  “Put in a call to Oasis and get a confirmation on the flight number. Not a word to anyone, Sabrina. I have a situation here so keep a line open for Mick.” He closed the phone and shook his head.

  “What is it?” Steel asked.

  “It looks like Hopper’s plane went down. It’s all o
ver the news. Maybe he’s not so crazy after all,” Logan mused aloud.

  “Who?” Steel asked, but Logan couldn’t hear him. He was remembering what Woodman had said about believing in what he saw. As mad as this was, it defied any other reasonable explanation.

  Logan was starting to believe.

  “Come on, Don. Let’s get out of here for the time being.”

  When they got outside Henderson was just arriving.

  Climbing out of his vehicle he already presumed that John Parkins was dead, even speculated that it was suicide, but had no idea about anything else.

  8

  Logan came down the steps with Steel, ignoring Henderson and walking straight up to Blackbird. “We are going to need to have a serious discussion, Dan.”

  “You might want to check the house across the street first,” Blackbird replied.

  Logan looked over his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “What is the name of fuck is going on here?” He pulled his face in close to Blackbird’s, staring into his eyes, trying to assess what was going on behind them. “What have you brought into my town?”

  “It isn’t here right now, Chief, but it’s coming back... And I didn’t bring it,” Blackbird whispered. “Please, we have very little time.”

  Logan released him and then led Mick away from everyone. “You gonna be okay?”

  Mick was shaky. The man he had been was gone. “I’m going to be okay.”

  “I need you right now, Mick. More than anything I need you to act like a leader because we are in unknown waters here. You have to pull yourself together. I cannot do this alone.” Logan hoped that the authority in his voice would bring his friend and 2IC back. If it didn’t, he would have to turn to West and Steel to take over.

  Mick shook for a second, took a couple of deep breaths, reached down inside himself, and wiped the tears from his face. “Okay, Dave, I won’t let you down. What can I do?”

  “For now I want you on the phone to the detachment, and I want you to rally the troops. Tell them to come without lights or sirens.”

  “How many, Dave?”

  “All of them,” he said and walked over to where Henderson stood.

  Mick pulled out his cell phone, and once he had Kennedy on the line, he began giving orders. That helped steady him. The more orders he gave, the better he felt. This helped stave off the post-traumatic stress, at least for now. He felt ashamed for showing such weakness. The offensive nature of this had chipped away at the many protective layers he had managed to insulate himself with over the years. Now he felt raw, naked and vulnerable.

  “Hello, Dave,” Henderson greeted.

  “Jeff, I don’t even know where to begin, but I need you to sit tight until I get a handle on this.” Logan reached down to his belt loop and brought up his keychain. “Dan, please come over here.”

  Blackbird stepped away from the car, uncertain at first, but Logan waved him over. Once in front of him, Logan opened the car door and motioned for him to get into the back.

  Blackbird’s face fell. “You’re making a big mistake, Chief!”

  “Don, I want you to take security on the scene. Have a command post set up and be ready for our people when they get on site.” Then he looked to Mick and Henderson. “Me and Mick are going into that house, and I want you on standby, Jeff.”

  “What the hell is going on, Dave?” Henderson asked.

  Logan pointed to the Sawyer house across the street. “Something isn’t right. Frank Sawyer’s car is in the driveway, and he is way too nosey to stay hunkered down inside that house. Be ready to come inside when I call for you.”

  9

  Logan and Collins drew their guns and entered the house fully expecting to find a mirror image of the massacre across the street. The front door was unlocked, and they almost tripped over a cloth bag loaded with canned goods that had been dropped abruptly in the foyer.

  At first, they saw nothing. The house seemed virtually undisturbed – but as they made their way further into the bungalow all hope for the Sawyers evaporated.

  Logan spotted the first evidence of the horror which befell Frank Sawyer. It was a blood trail that started at the border between the doorway of the living room and kitchen. It was evident to both of them that he had been struck down in the living room while leading someone into the kitchen.

  Unbeknownst to them, Frank Sawyer had muttered only one word as it dragged him to the counter and heaved him onto Kitchen Island: “Rhonda.” Then he expired as it began to pull out his insides.

  Now a shell of what was Sawyer lay on the counter, its interior hollow, the skin already starting to dry out. This kill was fresher: the acrid stench of rotting flesh had not yet taken hold.

  The two officers stood transfixed over the body. Strangely, Logan was pondering whether or not to break the news about his cancer but then thought better of it.

  “What in the name of God is going on here?” Mick groaned.

  “Let’s see if we can find Rhonda Sawyer,” Logan said and thought, This is nothing, Mick. I’ve got a dead shrink across the street that you saw get on a plane. “Let’s get this place secure before we start bogging ourselves down with questions we can’t answer.”

  They walked through the house room by room, guns were drawn.

  But Rhonda Sawyer’s body wasn’t there.

  After checking the bathroom and the master bedroom they met in the hallway, gawking at each other. Then they glanced at the basement door.

  Logan sighed and led the way.

  10

  They were all there, set up waiting for a call from inside the house. Steel was pretty tight-lipped, even with Hardy. He was still numb from what he had seen in John Parkins’ house. He stared at the native guy in the car who had not torn his eyes from the Sawyer house since Logan and Mick had left.

  “CP?” It was Logan hailing him on the radio.

  Steel keyed the remote. “Go ahead.”

  “Scene is secure.”

  “Copy that,” he replied, then to Henderson, “They want you inside, Jeff.”

  11

  Nothing could have prepared Logan, Collins or even Henderson for what they found in the basement of the Sawyer house. In the center of the darkened chamber, hanging upside down from a support beam was the naked corpse of Rhonda Sawyer. Below her, an old steel wash tub, and in it, her lifeblood. Her throat had been opened up vertically, and she had been bled out like an animal in a slaughterhouse.

  “Dear God, what is this?”

  Henderson was looking beyond the slaughtered Mrs. Sawyer and to the symbols scrawled on the floors. The most distinctive was a large circle that looked somewhat like a wheel. In it were symbols which Blackbird would have recognized as numbers. At the center of the wheel were drawings, one of a bird, another of an orb. These were drawn with the precision of an artist. Surrounding them were more symbols and characters he did not recognize.

  “I have no idea,” Mick said, “But it looks like it was stenciled. The picture isn’t drawn in blood, but the background is.”

  Henderson answered his own question: “I think it’s a calendar.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Before he could answer, Logan’s cell phone rang, scaring all three of them.

  It was Sabrina again.

  Logan took a deep breath and exhaled. “Yes, Sabrina?”

  “Chief. I got confirmation on that flight. Oasis flight 182 chartered by Detective Pearson. According to the director of operations, Cindy Fowler, the flight experienced some sort of difficulty, but she wouldn’t specify. They lost power then drifted into Michigan Airspace just over Lake Superior. They are looking for survivors at this time, but she sounded pretty grim about the prospects. I also flagged her number if you would like to contact her later.”

  “Thanks, Sabrina. I’ll be in touch.”

  Logan shu
t his cell phone and turned back to Rhonda’s body. “Hopper’s plane is gone. Kolchak got on that plane, but his disemboweled body is across the street. This is fucking insane.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t see another body. Just John’s.”

  “Kolchak? The psychiatrist?” Henderson was still only halfway in the loop.

  Logan ignored Henderson for a moment and focused on Mick. “You didn’t get a chance; you dragged Steel out of there before he could show you. There’s a second body in the kitchen – Robert Kolchak’s body.”

  Henderson brought his hands up. “Somebody want to fill me in?”

  “For now, Jeff, let’s deal with this as a murder investigation. We are going to need forensics gathering, photos, and crime scene security. Hang on.” He keyed the remote. “CP, we’re coming out. We will give a full briefing on site and work out the logistics from there.”

  Mick stared into the floor. “How does the Indian figure into this, Dave?”

  “I don’t know, Mick. He’s either has something to do with this or…”

  “Or what?”

  Logan shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

  12

  “What do you mean there are no rentals available?” Proudfoot sighed.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but after the grounding of Oasis Airlines, we have had an overwhelming influx of people wanting to rent cars. Maybe one of the other agencies can help you,” the woman said, but she knew better. Not only had Oasis been grounded, but the larger carriers had also stopped flying until they determined if there was a terror threat.

  Proudfoot sighed. “We need a car really bad. Is there anything you can do?”

  She tapped the keyboard, looked into her monitor, pursed her cheeks and clicked her mouse a couple times. “No, no, umm… I have a return coming in after midnight.”