Threshold

by King, R. L.

  “Nah, not often.” Ted finished his beer and looked hopefully at the empty glass. “Can I—maybe have another one? Just one more? I don’t want to impose on you folks’s kindness—”

  “I got this one,” Jason said, getting the waitress’s attention and pointing at Ted’s glass.

  “Thank you kindly, young fella,” Ted said, a tentative smile lighting up his dirty face. He looked back at Stone. “This is a good town. Not much bad happens here. Even the folks who don’t really like me hangin’ around their biznesses aren’t mean to me—I get it, they don’t want me stinkin’ up the joint. But—” He sighed. “I hope there ain’t gonna be more stuff like this happenin’, y’know?”

  “I understand,” Stone said.

  Their food arrived and for a while they didn’t talk much as they ate. Ted tried hard to mind his manners, but it was obvious he hadn’t had such a good meal in a long time. He devoured his burger noisily, using his sleeve to mop up the juices that collected in his wild gray beard. “Thank you again for the dinner,” he said when he finished. “Wish I could help you more, but—” he shook his head “I ain’t always so good at rememberin’ stuff these days, you know?”

  “Don’t you worry,” Stone assured him. “You’ve been very helpful, Ted. We appreciate it.”

  They finished up, paid the check (Jason noticed Stone left a larger than normal tip, which seemed to placate the proprietor), and left the restaurant. “Can we walk you back to the park?” Jason asked when they were outside. “Make sure you get home okay?”

  Ted chuckled. “Nah, that’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine. Like I said, nobody much bothers me around here. Thank you again for the dinner—and the beers.” He waved a farewell, hefted his backpack, and headed off down Main Street in his odd, shuffling gait.

  “Interesting...” Stone said. “So he is Forgotten, but he doesn’t know about the Evil.”

  “I guess the Evil aren’t everywhere,” Jason said. “Maybe they’re like mages—they prefer hanging out in big cities where it’s easier to get their jollies.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why they killed Eleanor, though,” Verity added. “Assuming they even did. We still don’t know that. Maybe those guys just got hold of some bad drugs or something and freaked out.” She didn’t sound like she believed that for a minute, however.

  Stone looked at Jason. “You said something about a phone call you wanted to make?”

  “Oh. Right. Let’s go back to the motel and we can do it from there. Not much else we can do tonight, right? Looks like they’re rolling up the sidewalks pretty soon.”

  And indeed he was right: in the hour or so that they’d spent in the restaurant, many of the shops on Main Street had already turned out their lights and put up their Closed signs. It appeared that the only places still open were the bars and the three restaurants. Even the gas station was closed.

  Now that the sun had gone down, it was getting cold; a light snow fell as they walked back up Main Street toward the motel. Jason zipped up his leather jacket and pulled up his collar; he was a southern California boy through and through, and not used to snow. He unconsciously picked up his pace, and Stone and Verity lengthened their strides to keep up with him.

  “Who are you calling?” Verity asked as they reached the motel. Their rooms were just as they had left them.

  “Somebody who might be able to help us,” was all Jason said. “Lemme do this, and if it works I’ll tell you what I found out.”

  “I think that’s a hint,” Stone said to Verity with a raised eyebrow. “Come over to my room, and we’ll work a bit on that concealment spell I was showing you the other day.”

  Jason waited until they left and then sat down on the bed and picked up the phone. He wasn’t sure exactly why he didn’t want them listening in, but it was mostly that if his plan didn’t work out, he didn’t want to look like an idiot.

  A glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was about six o’clock, which meant it was three in California. He called the operator and told her he wanted to charge the call to his phone back home (realizing as he did that he probably should get around to cancelling that service one of these days), and in less than a minute a gruff voice answered. “Ventura PD, Lopez.”

  “Stan!” Jason said brightly. “Long time no see.”

  There was a pause. “Jason?”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Hey, kid, it’s good to talk to you. How are things?”

  “They’re—interesting,” Jason said, choosing his words with care.

  “Everything okay? Did you find Verity?”

  The question startled him until he remembered that things had been moving so quickly in his life that he hadn’t even thought to call Stan and update him on current events. Last his old friend knew, he’d been heading off to the Bay Area on his motorcycle to try to track her down. “Yeah, Stan. I found her. She’s—good. Better than good, actually. The treatment worked. She’s okay now.”

  “You’re shittin’ me! Seriously? That’s fantastic, Jason!” The cop’s voice was full of happiness and amazement. An old friend of their father, he’d known both Jason and Verity since they were kids. “So are you two comin’ back home, then?”

  “Not—not really. We met some people up in the Bay Area—V’s got some friends up there—so I think we’re gonna stay awhile. But that’s not why I called, Stan. I need your help. I’m not sure if you can do it, but—”

  “Where are you?” Stan asked. “I notice you said ‘up there,’ which kinda implies that’s not where you are right now.”

  Same old Stan—he doesn’t miss much. “It’s a long story. Right now, we’re in a little town called Woodwich, Vermont.”

  Another pause, longer this time. “Vermont. Like, back East?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You and Verity?”

  “Yeah, and another friend of ours.”

  “What the hell are you doin’ back there?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story. But listen, Stan: I really hate to ask you this, but is there any way you know of that you could pull any strings so they’ll let us talk to a guy who’s being held around here for murder?”

  This time the pause lasted a full twenty seconds. “Jason—you gotta tell me what’s going on. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No.” He let out his breath in a loud sigh. “I can’t go into the details—it would take too long. But the guy we’re here with, our friend—we’re here for a funeral. A lady he knew was killed in a real messy way. They have a suspect in custody—there were two, actually, but one of them hanged himself at the crime scene, or else the first one killed him and made it look like he did. The first guy—they found him on the scene, freaked out and claiming that he hadn’t meant to do it. They’re holding him to determine if he’s mentally fit to stand trial. I figure they’ll probably move him to the nuthatch soon. But we need to talk to him before they do that. I don’t know how else to do it—we haven’t asked yet, but we’re pretty sure they won’t just let any bozo off the street in to visit him.”

  “Why do you want to visit him?” Stan asked. “’Cuz you know as well as I do, they’re not gonna let you touch him even if you can get in there—”

  “We don’t want to touch him. We just want to talk to him. We need to ask him a couple of questions, that’s all. But it’s really important.”

  Stan sighed. “You don’t want much, kid. I don’t even know where the hell Woodwich, Vermont is, let alone that they have a PD.”

  “They don’t, actually. It’s the county PD.”

  “Oh, that’ll help. So instead of five people and a mutt, it’s fifty people and two mutts.”

  “Can you help us out, Stan? I know it’s a lot to ask—I’ll owe you a big one if you can pull this off.”

  Again, Stan sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. I suppose you n
eed this yesterday, right?”

  “We’re planning to head back tomorrow after the funeral, but we could probably stick around awhile longer if you can make this happen.”

  “I’ll have to make a few phone calls. Closest guy I know back there is in Boston. You just better hope he knows somebody else up there in the sticks.”

  “Thanks, Stan. Seriously, I appreciate it.”

  “But you can’t tell me anything else about why you need to talk to this random murder suspect?”

  “Probably better if I don’t.”

  The cop’s voice took on a harder edge. “This ain’t anything that could get you—or me—in trouble, right? Give me your word, kid, or I don’t lift a finger.”

  “I swear, Stan. Nothing that could get anybody in trouble. All we want to do is ask him a couple of questions. That’s it. You have my word.”

  The line was quiet for a few seconds, and then: “Okay. Like I said, I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though. And I’ll tell you right now, you won’t get near the guy if you tell ’em that you’re friends of the vic. We’ll have to concoct a story about you being consultants or something, so keep that in mind if this works. You got a number I can reach you at?”

  Jason read the number off the phone’s dial. “We’ll be at the funeral tomorrow morning, but you can leave word with the guy at the desk if we’re not here. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, Stan.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Listen, if you come down here to pick up your stuff, you stop by, okay? I wanna see Verity again before you two disappear.”

  “You got it,” Jason said, grinning. “Talk to you later.”

  He hung up and headed next door to give Stone and Verity the news. “Door’s open,” Stone’s voice called when he knocked.

  He pushed it open. “Okay, we might be in luck,” he said. “We—” He stopped.

  The room was empty.

  “Al? V?”

  No answer.

  “Okay, guys. Very funny.” He moved over and pushed open the door to the bathroom. It too was empty. He glared around the room. “Joke’s over...”

  He heard the faintest sound of a suppressed laugh off to his left. Spinning, he fixed his gaze on one of the room’s corners opposite the door. Grinning, Verity slowly came back into view. After a moment so did Stone, who was sitting in a chair by the bed.

  “Nicely done,” the mage told Verity. “But you have to learn not to make noise—especially when someone suspects you’re in the room.” He looked up at Jason. “So, any luck?”

  “We’ll know later today or tomorrow.”

  Verity, looking quite pleased with herself, dropped down into the other of the room’s two chairs. “Who’d you call?”

  “Stan Lopez. I figured maybe he might know somebody who knows somebody who could get us in to talk to Dwight. No idea if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot. If we can talk to him, we can probably find out if the Evil made him do it or if he just went nuts for some other reason.”

  “Good idea,” Stone said, nodding. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not holding out much hope, but we might get lucky.”

  The next day was gray and overcast. The memorial service, held at one of the local churches a couple of blocks off Main Street, was well attended: just about everyone in town who could get away had shown up, as well as a small knot of people who looked as out of place among the townsfolk as Stone, Jason, and Verity did. Upon entering the church, Stone immediately headed for this group, and all of them greeted him warmly. They gathered in the back of the sanctuary before the service started, all of them looking sober and sad at the loss of one of their own.

  There were seven in all, ranging in age from mid-twenties up to a couple of women in their sixties. They all responded politely when Stone introduced Jason, but seemed much more interested in meeting Verity. “So this is your new apprentice,” one of the sixtyish women asked, looking her up and down. Stone had introduced her as the friend who had phoned him about Eleanor Pearsall’s death.

  One of the men, about the same age as Stone, smiled at Verity. “I never thought I’d see you take another apprentice, Alastair. Too antisocial, you always said.”

  Stone shrugged. “Neither did I, but you never know how these things work out sometimes.”

  The service was short, simple, and heartfelt. The minister spoke for a few minutes, followed by several of Eleanor’s local friends getting up to celebrate her kindness, her charming eccentricity, and her famous store displays. Nobody said anything about her magical activities, but that wasn’t surprising. It likewise wasn’t surprising that there was no casket. Jason wondered if they’d even released the body yet, but decided this wouldn’t be a good time to ask.

  Afterward, there was a short reception in the church’s meeting area. Stone and the other mages didn’t attend, instead opting to head with Jason and Verity out into the parking lot. All of them looked downcast as they tried to remember the good things about Eleanor, rather than the gruesome way she had died.

  “Heading back soon?” one of the women asked Stone.

  He nodded. “We’ll be taking the portal down in Lowell, so we’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us. You’re at the Alpine Chalet, right?”

  Several of the mages nodded. “It’s the only one in town, as far as I know,” one said.

  Jason, feeling out of place among all those mages, walked to a pay phone near the church to call the motel desk and see if Stan had left a message. It was early in California, and he didn’t really expect to hear anything, so he was surprised when the clerk, a young woman this time, said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Thayer. There’s a message here for you from a Mr. Lopez.”

  “There is? What did he say?”

  There was a pause. “He says to call a Lieutenant Whitcombe at Helmford PD after 10 a.m. There’s a phone number.”

  Jason dug out a pencil stub and a notebook and wrote down the number. He thanked the clerk and hung up. It was just now ten, so he shoved another coin into the phone’s slot and dialed the number she’d given him, shooting a thumbs-up at Stone when the mage glanced over to see what he was doing.

  When he came back to join the group, he looked satisfied, but tried not to show it, given the gravity of the occasion. “Get something?” Stone asked.

  “Yeah, believe it or not. We can talk to the guy for fifteen minutes if we can get over there in less than an hour. They’re moving him to a different facility later today. Only thing is,” he added, looking troubled, “They said they can only let two people in. I tried to get him to budge but he wouldn’t, especially after he found out V’s underage. She’s not gonna be happy about that.”

  Verity, meanwhile, chatted animatedly a short distance away with a blonde female mage in her early twenties. “Let me handle this,” Stone said, motioning for Jason to stay put. He moved over to where the two women were talking, and said something first to Verity, then to the other woman. Verity’s face clouded with annoyance for a couple of seconds, but then she nodded. The other woman patted her arm, and the two of them continued their conversation.

  When Stone returned, Jason asked him, “How did you manage that?”

  “Well, she is my apprentice, which means theoretically she’s supposed to listen to me,” Stone said. “But really, she’s getting on quite well with Sharra there, so I suggested the two of them get some lunch so Verity can talk magic with someone who isn’t me for a while. I think she thought it was quite a good suggestion, even though she wasn’t too pleased about being left behind.”

  Chapter Five

  It took Jason and Stone about fifteen minutes to say their goodbyes, get back to the car, and drive the five miles to Helmford. Jason was nervous about leaving his sister alone with strangers, but Stone assured him that Sharra was a talented young mage and could deal with any trouble that might come up.

  The county sheriff’s office was a sprawling
, wooden single-story building on the outskirts of the town. Stone and Jason went inside and after a few moments of waiting they were ushered into the tiny, cluttered office of Lt. Morris Whitcombe. He was a balding black man with a goatee, the beginnings of a beer gut, and sharp dark eyes. He looked both of them over. “So,” he said. “I hear you two want to talk to our prisoner, but what I don’t understand is why.”

  Jason took a deep breath. This would be the hard part. They couldn’t exactly spill the beans about magic and the Evil and what they suspected had happened to the security guard the night Eleanor had been murdered. Much as he would like to—and the compulsion to do just that sometimes got very strong with him lately—he knew it would cause more problems than it solved, and likely end up with him and Stone being held for observation alongside Dwight. He indicated Stone with a head gesture. “Dr. Stone and I are from California—we’re consulting on a similar case out there, and we thought we might be able to get some insight talking to this guy.” He forced his voice to remain calm and dry. Just the facts—sort of. They were from California, and they were sort of working on a similar case, so it wasn’t technically a lie. Sure, he’d left out quite a few details, but that was okay.

  Whitcombe’s dark eyes shifted between the two of them. “I’m not sure how this is gonna help, but Wakowski down in Boston seems to think you know what you’re doing, Mr. Thayer,” he said, sounding troubled. “The thing is, this is the weirdest crime that’s happened around this area in years.” He leaned forward. “If you do anything to fuck up my investigation—”

  Stone shook his head. “We have no intention of upsetting your investigation, Lieutenant. But the situation in California has similarities to this case: a senseless and extremely brutal murder and evisceration with no apparent motive. We just want to talk to your suspect to see if we can determine if the two have anything else in common.”

  Jason remained silent. Stone was fabricating like crazy, but he had to admit the guy was a good liar. If it worked, it worked. If not, he’d have to see what else he could come up with.