A God in the Shed

by J-F. Dubeau

  “Did you know they were coming?” It sounded more like an accusation than the inspector had meant.

  “No. But even if I had, I wouldn’t have told you.”

  Crowley turned to look at Peterson. He’d avoided all but the most superficial glances at the man thus far. Harry was actually two years younger than the inspector, but he looked like he could have been his father. Cancer had been burning him from within for a decade now. Disease, drugs, and radiation had made his skin gray and leathery, covering it with premature liver spots. In the past, the farmer could have snapped Crowley over his knee like a twig, but today he was little more than skin draped over a skeleton.

  With a shaking hand, Peterson rinsed one of his brushes in a mason jar of turpentine. The fumes from the solvent rose and filled the studio. All the while, the farmer’s brown eyes stared at the inspector over the rim of his glasses.

  “What do you want, Stephen?” he finally said.

  “I want you to ask them to leave.”

  A deep, wet cough rose from Peterson’s lungs. It was meant to be a laugh, but the fit lasted for a full minute before the man got it under control. Crowley turned back to stare out the window. For a fleeting moment the temptation to go to the sink and get the man some water played in his mind. However, just as compassion was about to take hold, the coughing subsided.

  “I . . . I can’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because,” Peterson said, still catching his breath, “if I do, they’ll probably listen.”

  “They’re leaving either way, Peterson. If you ask them, they’ll leave peacefully. I can’t promise the same if I have to get involved.”

  “Listen to me.” With great effort, Harry Peterson got up from his stool and half-walked, half-dragged himself to a nearby canvas. “Look here.”

  With dramatic effect, the farmer pulled the linen sheet from the canvas. The frame rocked back and forth for a moment before settling again. It was a painting of a bird. A brightly feathered blue jay sitting on a branch among maple leaves. Everything about the portrait was photorealistic. Better than that, even. There was an element in the painting that couldn’t be expressed through photography. For lack of a better word, the image had soul.

  The life-size bird looked taken aback, as if it were trying to gain its balance again. It actually appeared to be reacting to the movement of the canvas, which was still wobbling slightly.

  Then, to maintain its equilibrium, the bird flapped its wings.

  Crowley’s jaw went slack. He put a hand to the back of his neck, walking slowly toward the painting. The bird, noticing his approach, chirped in fearful response. When the inspector stretched out his finger to touch the miracle, the blue jay attempted to fly away. It strained and pulled against the canvas but couldn’t quite break the seal between itself and the painting. No matter how much it chirped and flapped, the bird remained trapped in the oils and pigments.

  “I’m almost there, Stephen. I still have a few kinks to work out, but I can do it. I can paint Audrey back to life, just as I promised, but I need the other Craftsmen. I can paint her body, but I need their help to find her soul.”

  Only once before had the inspector seen the miracles Peterson could perform with paint and brush. The results had been far less impressive back then, but still mind-bending. The skill was Peterson’s life work, and he had improved greatly. If he could indeed paint the Bergerons’ daughter back to life, then the Sandmen might lose one of its most influential members. William Bergeron may have been mired in grief recently, but he had been one of the strongest proponents of finding and capturing the god. If his daughter were brought back, even stuck in a painting, then he might abandon the quest. And Crowley couldn’t afford for that to happen. Not after everything he’d been through. Not after all he’d sacrificed.

  Crowley tapped the bird with the tip of his finger. Again, it chirped and flapped. Some imperfection in the painting kept it from fully manifesting in the real world. Neither could it flee beyond the borders of the canvas. What was described in paint strokes were the limits of its universe. Stephen stroked the blue jay, feeling the perfect texture of its feathers. He pushed against it, feeling it struggle under his hand.

  “Stephen . . . ”

  But Peterson was too late. The inspector’s finger punctured the canvas, silencing the bird after one final shriek.

  “God dammit, Stephen!” Peterson coughed a little more. “You killed it.”

  “It’s a painting, Harry. Now, are you going to tell Nathan and his cronies to get lost, or do I have to do it myself?”

  Peterson stared him down. Ravaged by disease, his body prematurely aged from the cancer and treatments, the farmer decided to stand up to a man twice his size. A man he knew to be volatile.

  “I’m sorry, Stephen. But Marguerite would never—”

  Crowley’s fist made contact with the painter’s stomach, nearly lifting the man off the ground. Like the bird, he was silenced instantly. Peterson fell to the ground, clutching his abdomen and struggling for breath. Crowley looked down at him, pitiless. The rage was becoming more and more satisfying to obey.

  “Don’t you ever lecture me about her.”

  Peterson didn’t answer. The effort of picking himself up off the ground was sufficient to occupy what little energy he had.

  Inspector Crowley turned and walked away from the deathly ill painter. There was no way of avoiding it now. Crowley would have to meet with Nathan Cicero himself and once again throw the old man out of the village.

  As the inspector walked out of the studio, he took a look at his right hand. Rubbing his thumb and index finger together, he noticed that they were stained with blood. Blood that smelled of oil and turpentine.

  VENUS

  “HE SAID HE had something important to talk about,” Penny said, pacing the room quickly enough to dig trenches with her footsteps. “That big oaf better not be messing with me!”

  “Penny, his father’s in the hospital. In a coma,” Venus answered from her stool.

  It was the first time they’d returned to the ice cream shop since Dr. Hazelwood had delivered the news of Ms. LaForest’s murder. Penny might have bounced back from that news rapidly, but Venus could see how much her friend had changed. The once calm, almost calculating girl was now brash and impatient.

  The night she had shown her friends the god only drove that point home to Venus. Penny had attempted to kill a being of immense power, unconcerned by the consequences of her actions. If it hadn’t been for Abraham’s quick reaction, and courage, Penny might have suffered a fate worst than that of Venus’s cat.

  Earlier, the teenage girls had received a call from Abraham, telling them his father had been taken to Sherbrooke Hospital, but that he had very important news for them when he came back. However, he never made it to the shop, and his next call was to tell them that Harry Peterson had fallen into a coma. “So? He should have called by now.” Penny stopped her pacing, eyes blazing with resentment and self-pity. “Abe said he had information on that thing in your shed. The monster that killed my mom!”

  Venus took her friend by the shoulders, but the older girl retaliated by shoving her away. “What’s wrong with you? His father is still alive,” Venus said. “But who knows for how long? Abe wants to be with him if anything happens. I know you, Penny. You’d have killed for one more moment with your mom. Don’t you dare take that away from him!”

  Penny’s frown evaporated. Underneath, Venus saw fear. More fear than her friend had shown when confronted with a living god.

  “Oh God . . . ,” Penny’s eyes filled with tears. Her lips trembled and her knees faltered under the weight of realizing what she was becoming. “What’s happening to me?”

  “It’s okay, Penny. You just got a little carried away. Under the circumstances, I think you’re entitled to be a little selfish.”

  “No. No, I’m not,” she sobbed, sitting on the stool next to her friend. “I almost got you both killed.”r />
  The girls sat in silence for a minute, with only Penny’s shuddering breaths to fill the void. Venus couldn’t find a sincere way to comfort her friend, and wondered if she even should. After all, Penny was right. No revenge could justify putting all their lives at risk.

  “Well,” Venus said, finally attempting to break the silence, “as much as I nearly pissed myself, I was kinda cheering you on when you stabbed that thing.”

  “It did feel really, really good,” Penelope admitted with a half smile. “I know it shouldn’t. I don’t care what they say about revenge; that shit was pretty goddamned cathartic.”

  “I bet,” Venus said, and smiled back. “And the look on its face!”

  “I know! Venus, I stabbed a god!”

  “You did! Right in the gut, too.” Venus laughed. “When was the last time, in history, that anyone stabbed a god? They used to write songs about that kind of thing.”

  “And you’re keeping it locked up!” Penny added, laughing right along with her friend. “Venus McKenzie: jailor of gods.”

  “Oh, wow. I hadn’t thought about that. My résumé is going to be amazing.”

  The girls broke into a fit of laughter. It felt like they hadn’t smiled in years. Like they had both forgotten how to laugh. So refreshing was the feeling, so overwhelming the relief, they failed to notice the door to the ice cream parlor swing open.

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  The customer was a young man, one year Penny’s senior, with short, unkempt brown hair and an athletic figure. He wore plain jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt displaying the Saint-Ferdinand police department’s crest in distressed white screen printing. Both girls recognized Daniel Crowley. Embarrassed, they stopped their fit of giggles, their faces a matching shade of crimson.

  “Sorry, Daniel. It’s been a slow day,” said Penny, rushing to get behind the counter.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” the boy replied. “I, uh . . . kinda heard about your mom. I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah, it’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but thanks.” Penny struggled to regain her composure. “Can I . . . Can I serve you something, Daniel?”

  “Actually, I’m here to see McKenzie.”

  “Me?” asked Venus.

  “Yeah. I have something to ask.” He motioned toward the door, implying that the conversation was best held in private.

  “Uh . . . sure. I guess.” Venus looked back and forth between her friend and Daniel, then slowly got up from her stool to follow him.

  The two of them stepped out of the ice cream shop. The weather was atypical for a Saint-Ferdinand summer day; instead of withering heat and humidity, the temperature was cold and rain had chased everyone indoors. It was one of the reasons Penny had decided to work; she needed to put some space between herself and the god, but this way she wouldn’t have to talk with too many well-meaning but insufferable customers.

  The teens did their best to stand under the awning that covered the front door. But even standing close together didn’t keep them from getting splattered by rain.

  “So, uh, what can I do for you?” Venus asked, uncomfortable being so close to an older boy she barely knew.

  “A huge favor, actually,” Daniel said. “I need you to give a message to your uncle.”

  “Randy? He’s in jail.”

  “I know, and I understand you helped put him there.”

  “Wait. What?” Venus had been under the impression that reporting her uncle’s suspicious behavior was supposed to stay between her, Dr. Hazelwood, and the police department. “Why do you even know that?”

  “It’s kinda hard not to overhear a few things here and there. With my dad being who he is and all,” explained Daniel. “Anyway, you need to talk to him.”

  “Well, why don’t you go talk to him yourself? Shouldn’t that be easy, with your dad being who he is and all?” She wasn’t sure she felt ready to confront the uncle she had put behind bars.

  “Maybe I hear a few things I shouldn’t once in a while, but that doesn’t mean I can just waltz into the cellblock and speak with suspects.”

  “And I can?”

  “You’re his niece, McKenzie. The man has no wife, no children. You and your parents are the closest family he’s got. C’mon, I’ll owe you one.”

  Venus thought it over. It would be the perfect time to get some answers. She had sent Uncle Randy to jail, and it was only fair that she took some amount of responsibility for that. Especially now that she knew more. Perhaps she could, with his help, formulate a plan to somehow kill the monster in her shed. Still, she couldn’t help but think that Penny would be a better candidate for something like this.

  “All right, Daniel. What’s this message you have for him?”

  PENNY

  AFTER VENUS LEFT the shop, there was little to no hope that anyone else would brave the downpour for a chocolate parfait or a strawberry sundae. Penelope LaForest decided she had more productive things to do with her time than wait for the weather to clear. Of course, the old Penny would have stayed at her post, ready to pour a milk shake no matter how unlikely it was that anybody would come in on such a dreary day. Or, at the very least, she would have called her boss to make sure he was okay with her taking off.

  Today, however, things were different. She didn’t know if her irresponsible attitude would persist, or if she was just taking advantage of the leeway granted by virtue of her personal tragedy. Regardless, she wanted some answers about her mother’s death and the unusual circumstances surrounding it. A god. It was too much to believe and yet there it was, tucked away in the McKenzies’ backyard shed, held prisoner by the most absurd means. It couldn’t possibly last. Something would go wrong at some point. The camera would fail. There would be a power outage. And then it would come after her. It would kill Venus for keeping it trapped. It would kill her for having stabbed it. It would kill Abraham just because it could. It was only a matter of time. There was a certain peace of mind that came with the guarantee of imminent death. Not that Penny had given up. She was still hoping they’d somehow have time to figure out a solution, but if they couldn’t, she was comfortable with the consequences. The best she could hope for was that it would be quick. The thought of such an end was the only way she could make herself walk all the way here. The only way she could keep the raw emotions from overwhelming her. “Here” was a small patch of forest, just off the road by the Richards orchard. The ground was sodden and muddy. Large droplets of water fell on her from the leaves above. She was already soaked so it didn’t matter, though she felt a definite chill as she stepped over the yellow police tape that now lay among the foliage.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose in response to her surroundings. Apart from the rain and her own heavy breathing, the forest was completely silent. Thankfully, the smell of blood Penny had expected was either covered by the moist odor of the soil or had been washed away completely.

  Slowly, Penelope made her way to the middle of the area delineated by the yellow tape. It was a comparatively clear part of the forest, probably as a result of a dozen policemen trampling the undergrowth during the investigation of her mother’s death.

  She was reminded of another walk in the woods she’d taken years ago. She and Abraham had been hunting for frogs near the lake when they were about nine years old. It had been a much nicer day, and although unsuccessful, they had enjoyed the excursion. On their way back through the forest, they had stumbled across sun-washed yellow tape, not unlike the one she’d just stepped over. The two had initially thought the discovery mysterious and exciting, but they soon came to the horrible realization that this was where Brandon Morris had been murdered the previous summer. They’d known Mr. Morris. He had worked at the hardware store and often helped his customers on whatever home repair or renovation project they were currently having trouble with. Abraham’s father had employed him to renovate his barn loft. All that had remained of him were the copious bloodstains on the tree trunks and the unmistakable signs
of a struggle. His body had vanished, only to resurface years later on Sam Finnegan’s property.

  Penny didn’t know what she expected to find here. Perhaps just the reassurance that this was, after all, a normal patch of woods. And so it was, as normal as anything Saint-Ferdinand had to offer. Yet there was no further catharsis. Even standing at ground zero for the loss she’d suffered, there was no coming to terms with what had happened. Things would never go back to how they were.

  Penny realized she was crying. The tears hadn’t come in a couple of days, but now, under the rain, where even she had trouble noticing them, they streamed down her face. Her vision blurry and her breathing broken by choked sobs, the teenage girl leaned on an evergreen and allowed her emotions free reign over her. Before long she was balled up at the foot of a tree, sobbing.

  Somehow sleep must have overtaken her. When she forced her eyes open, the rain had stopped and been replaced by the dull gray of twilight. Her muscles ached with pain as she forced them back into action. The cool, wet ground had sapped the warmth from her, and she shivered. It was oddly cold for late summer. So cold in fact, Penny could see her own breath.

  Then she heard a sound.

  It was a soft, echoing voice, like laughter through a tin-can phone. At first Penny assumed one of her friends had come looking for her. Then she saw it. An ephemeral glimpse of a white figure at the edge of her sight. This was where her mother had last drawn breath. Was it possible these visions were her ghost, trying to talk to her daughter? It was no crazier a notion than that of a god trapped in someone’s backyard shed. But what if it was something else? What if the creature in Venus’s shed had made its inevitable escape and hunted her down?

  Between the cold and stillness of the forest and the approaching apparition, Penny finally lost her nerve. Taking little time to make sure she had picked the correct direction, she ordered her legs to run. Run and run and run. Get to the road, where she’d have at least the illusion of safety.