by R. M. Ridley
Jonathan knew the place, though, and headed towards the compactor—a large machine that transformed cars with no further worth into compacted cubes of metal for recycling.
Jonathan passed a few ghosts wandering through the wrecks. Those who had been manifested in the yard for years nodded at him. The newer entities flung themselves at him with the hope of getting his attention, as they had yet to adapt to their new state of being.
Some went so far as to try and attack him. They hoped to elicit a reaction of fear, for it was a strong emotion, and one the incorporeal could sip at to gain strength.
In most cases, such activity became cyclical and worthless. The energy used to interact with the physical plane to obtain a response they could feed off, drained as much, or more, than they could absorb.
Jonathan saw a grey-brown shape slip from the edge of a car’s empty back window into the crumpled metal forming a wall beside him. A moment later, and a few cars over, the same gremlin watched his passing. Only its eyes, reflecting a red-orange, were visible.
Jonathan could hear the compactor working, though it still remained out of sight. The machine itself, running off a large diesel engine, caused a fair amount of noise. When in operation, actively reducing a full-sized vehicle into a cube, the sound was unmistakable.
The screech of metal being forced against itself rent the air. The pops and cracks of welds breaking and plastic splintering punctuated the cacophony.
The sound stopped and only the rumble of the engine disturbed the back lot. A loud thud followed a moment later, signifying that the cube had been ejected from the machine.
Jonathan turned the corner and yelled for Frank. He hoped to get the man’s attention before he loaded the next car into the compactor.
Frank turned at the sound of the voice and, seeing Jonathan, held up a finger and locked out the controls. The engine became just a little quieter as it slid into idle.
Frank verged on the thin side of average, but had hard and lean muscles from the years working the yard. He had thin, brown hair that fell without enthusiasm to his shoulders and a neat moustache. Frank always looked a little disheveled, with eyes which seemed to hold a capacity for mischief.
“Hey, Mr. Alvey. What’s up?”
“Frank, please call me Jonathan. I think it’s way past time.”
“Sure, just habit, I guess.”
“Look, I got a favor to ask you, but I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way to say yes, all right?”
Frank nodded and seemed to be thinking about what Jonathan had said. “Okay, what’s the favor?”
“I have a client who might—I really don’t know—but might, have someone following him. I was kind of hoping you would follow my client yourself. See if you could confirm or deny my suspicions.”
“Right.” He nodded and stuffed his work gloves in the back pocket of his overalls. “Can I ask why you aren’t just having Ralph do it?”
Frank asked as though afraid of treading on toes by making such a request.
“Well, see, here’s the thing. If there is someone following my client, then they are probably a practitioner of some sort. Or it could even be that they’re not human.
“Ralph is quite capable of trailing someone, but I need a tail unlikely to be spotted by someone else . . . if there even is a ‘someone else.’ I’ll be honest with you, I’m just grasping at straws here.”
“Okay,” Frank nodded, clearly running what he had just been told over again slowly in his head. “I still don’t see how I’m better than Ralph,” he admitted.
“Look,” Jonathan hedged, “I wouldn’t be asking if I could think of any other way, but my client may be in serious danger. I’m at my wit’s end finding out from whom, Frank. I need you because . . . well, you have a specific skill that Ralph doesn’t. I need you because of what you can do.”
“So, you don’t really want me, you want . . .”
“That is you, Frank. I know you’re still coming to terms over it, but you are indiscernible from the dog.
“It’s why I’m not worried about Ralph’s safety; it doesn’t matter what form you’re in, it’s still you. And as long as you keep your head, that will always be true.”
“I—oh. I just . . .”
“Look, Frank, it’s your call. I will understand if you don’t want to, but you need to make sure you’re in control of the condition. You can’t be afraid of the other side of yourself.”
Jonathan opened his cigarette case and took out two.
“If you were the sort of guy who constantly got in bar fights, or even arguments, then I’d be telling you to stay in this form no matter what.”
He passed Frank one of the smokes and then lit both.
“But you aren’t that guy, Frank. You’re a humble, conscientious, kind man. You still will be, even if you walk on four feet and wag a tail when you are pleased with yourself.”
Frank looked around the yard. Jonathan knew he was making sure no one else was around, like they would hear the conversation over the compactor’s motor. He also knew Frank found it hard to meet his eyes on the rare occasion they talked about his condition.
Frank’s change had happened a while ago now. Jonathan had been the only person he’d confided in about his condition. In large, because Jonathan had begun to suspect something and Frank had decided coming clean was his best option.
He had been worried about the safety of those around him and had a lot of questions. Knowing Jonathan would have the answers to his concerns and needing an ear he could bend about the condition, Frank had finally confessed to being a cynanthrope.
“Look,” Jonathan said, not wanting to make Frank feel uncomfortable, “I’m going to go back inside and help myself to another cup of coffee. You take a few minutes to think about it. When you decide what you want to do, then come up front and let me know.
“It’s your call, Frank, and I’ll understand—completely—if you don’t want to deal with it just yet.”
Jonathan slapped Frank on his shoulder and started back to the warmth of the office. He really did want another cup of the always delicious coffee they somehow brewed in their beat up Braun coffee machine.
“Mr.—Jonathan?” Frank called after him.
Jonathan turned back. “Yeah, Frank?”
“What did you tell Ralph?”
“That I was afraid he’d be recognized from our previous adventures together.”
“Oh,” Franked nodded absently.
Jonathan waited a moment. When Frank just looked at his feet and didn’t say anything else, Jonathan started walking once more.
Ralph asked if Frank had agreed or not as soon as Jonathan came back in.
“I’m giving him a minute to decide. Either way, he’ll be coming up here. If he doesn’t want to come along,” Jonathan shrugged, “then you and I make it work somehow and he can run the office.”
“Okay.”
Ralph pretended to be busy and Jonathan let him.
He got another cup of the confusingly good coffee, made it bourbon flavored, and leaned against the counter to sip the warm beverage while he waited.
He only got halfway through the cup of joe when Frank came in through the back door. He looked first at his boss, then gave a nod to Jonathan before turning back to Ralph.
“Sorry, boss, but I guess this time—as long as you’re good with it—I’ll be the one leaving you to lock up.”
Ralph nodded. “Don’t be a hero, Frank. Jonathan only needs a set of eyes. So, no matter what may happen, don’t get involved.
Ralph leveled a steady gaze at his right-hand man.
“Jonathan knows how to handle himself. Let him take care of his own skin. You make sure to keep yours safe.”
Jonathan smothered his grin behind the coffee cup, the matter of skins being exactly why he wanted Frank on this job instead of Ralph.
Frank looked uncomfortable for a moment but finally managed to say, “Yeah, okay. Sure thing, Ralph. Eyes only.”
&nb
sp; “Good,” Ralph said and then he pinned Jonathan to the spot with a glare.
“If my employee comes back with a single hair out of place—”
“I got it, Ralph,” Jonathan interrupted, on the verge of laughing out loud.
If his best friend made just one more, inadvertent, shape-changing reference, Jonathan didn’t think he’d be able to smother it any longer.
“Come on, Frank, best we get going on this. I’ll see you in a couple days, Ralph.”
“Uh-huh,” the big man said.
As soon as they got to the parking lot, Jonathan gave Frank a slip of paper with the directions to Wendell’s place on it.
“Here’s where he’s at right now. I want you to go and park at least six blocks away. Transform halfway there in a back alley or something.” Jonathan added, “Someplace no one will see.”
“Oh, trust me, it will be,” Frank assured him.
“Okay. Right.” Jonathan offered the flask. Frank accepted it and took a healthy swig. Jonathan wasn’t sure if that made him relieved or more concerned.
“Remember, Ralph wasn’t wrong, Frank. No matter what goes down, you’re eyes, and eyes only. You’re not prepared, even in your other form, to tangle with something yet. I hope you never get there, actually, but promise me here and now you’ll watch and watch only.”
“Okay, I swear.”
“No matter what may be happening?”
Frank hesitated but then gave a nod. “No matter what.”
“Good.” Jonathan took back his flask and slid it into his coat pocket. “Okay, my client, Wendell Courtney, will be meeting me downtown at four o’clock. Be prepared for him to leave early. That’s just his way; he’s a Virgo.”
Jonathan walked Frank to his car. When they got there, he said, “Thanks for doing this, Frank. I know it wasn’t an easy decision. I also know this will be the longest you’ve been in your other form since it happened, but a human would be spotted.”
“Well, chasing a car all around town will at least guarantee a good night’s sleep.”
“Yeah—though that night may not be until tomorrow.”
“Right,” Frank said realizing his job might not be over so quickly.
“Last thing, Frank, I’m going to need to know if you’ve spotted anyone. So, I’ll give a wolf whistle when I need you to check in and you can meet me in the first private place I go.”
“Wolf whistle, then privacy. Got it.”
“Do be careful. Keep alert. I don’t know if anything will be around. If it is, it may be more or less than human, so use all your faculties.”
“You’re a great salesman, Mr. Alvey,” Frank sarcastically pointed out as he pulled open his car door.
Jonathan heard Frank’s car start up as he walked back to his own. He watched Frank pull out into traffic and then, feeling somewhat guilty, got in the Lincoln.
With just over an hour before he had to be at the yoga studio, Jonathan found himself at somewhat of a loss.
There really wasn’t time enough for a trip to his office to be a viable option, but he dreaded the thought of sitting in some coffee shop filled with noisy kids and wannabe writers.
The offices of The Herald weren’t far away. One thing always brought him back to their building, and it wasn’t harassing Sylvia. Jonathan thought maybe he could kill off some of the intervening time by participating in an old ritual.
Entering the front lobby of the city’s newspaper, he started off toward the one office he had visited more times over the years than he could count—the classifieds.
Walking into the room, he smiled at the one worker who’d glanced up from his desk. Jonathan picked up a clipboard with its attached pen and the man quickly looked away. Jonathan marked the box on the form labeled ‘Employment’ and began to neatly fill out the section that would appear in the paper.
It took only a few minutes to complete. He had always used the same basic words to say the same basic thing. Jonathan read it over once to make sure he’d made no obvious mistakes.
‘Wanted: Secretary for full-time position. Must be able to work flexible hours. Not a busy work environment. Some experience in accounting a plus. Paid lunches. Smoking allowed on site. Must be of strong constitution, open-minded, and able to adapt to new situations. Apply in person.’
He put in the office address and, rereading what he’d written, picked up the pen again.
He thought of the best way to phrase his addition, tapping the top of the pen lightly off his front teeth as he did so. Then with a flourish, he added the words ‘Atheists need not apply.’
He got up from the chair he’d requisitioned and brought the clipboard up to the counter. The same man who’d glanced up when he’d entered rose from behind his small desk and came over. “All set then?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, I’ll just give it a look over.”
Jonathan waited as the man read the advertisement. The employee raised his eyes to Jonathan. “And this is—um—what you want to run, is it?”
“Yes, please, just as it stands.”
“As it stands, of course.”
“There aren’t any mistakes are there?”
“Oh, no. Everything is spelled correctly and the punctuation is just fine. And how long would you like this to run for Mr.—” The man glanced to the form again. “Mr. Alvey?”
“Um, well, I guess just run it until I call to cancel it.”
“Indefinitely then,” the man clarified and checked a box. “Fine. That will be a deposit of six dollars and thirty-five cents, please.”
“Right.” Jonathan dug into his pockets and pulled out a pile of nickels from which he took seven and placed them on the counter between himself and The Herald employee. Then he took out his wallet and passed the man one of the fifties he’d taken from the suited weasel.
“Of course,” the employee said looking at the fifty.
“How about you just put this toward the ad. If I don’t use it up, then you can give me my change later.”
With a non-committal smile, the employee marked down on the form that Jonathan had paid fifty dollars and thirty-five cents towards the payment of the bill.
He separated the form into its three separate sheets and, keeping the white top layer and the pink bottom layer, passed the yellow middle layer to Jonathan.
“Keep this copy for your records,” said the man automatically then, in the same tone, he thanked Jonathan for coming in.
“That will start running . . . ?”
“In tomorrow morning’s paper, sir,” the man replied, already turning away.
“Good,” Jonathan said, but it was to the man’s back.
Jonathan looked to the clock over the door. Seeing how little time his diversion had taken, he tried to think of anything else he could do until four.
With a sigh, Jonathan accepted his fate and headed back for his car and the yoga studio.
He found a parking space two blocks from the studio. He fed the parking meter every single nickel remaining in his pocket, which gave him an only an hour and twenty-one minutes until the meter ran out.
That left a window of forty minutes until parking became free on that street. Forty minutes for a parking enforcer to locate and ticket his car.
Jonathan glanced at his watch and tried to sear the time he needed to get back into his mind. However, walking away from the Lincoln, he couldn’t help feeling that a ticket would be waiting for him on his return.
He sighed, buried his hands into his pockets to keep them from the cold, and began to walk. Jonathan looked around as he went, attempting to try to spot the large grey and black dog that would be Frank in his were-aspect.
The story of just how, exactly, Frank had become a cynanthrope was a bit vague.
Jonathan wasn’t sure if something had happened that Frank didn’t want to admit to, or if it honestly remained vague in his mind. The odds were high that Frank really did just have a poor recollection of that night. The effects of the change in the bod
y as it mutated, becoming capable of transformation, could burn out memories better than a night of doing absinthe shots with a fever of a hundred and four.
Jonathan didn’t see any brindle hounds about and was glad of it. For Frank to be doing his part correctly, he shouldn’t be able to spot him.
When he got to the building housing the yoga studio, Jonathan found something completely different than a grey and black dog.
In the nooks and crannies of the building, and on the telephone wires around it, squabbled an enormous flock of Whip-poor-wills.
The sun had already begun heading down to bury its fire in the moist earth, but normally whip-poor-wills didn’t start their excursions until after the sun had been quenched.
Also, he couldn’t completely ignore the ornithological fact that Whip-poor-wills were not city birds. To find a flock of them in the heart of downtown could be summed up with one word—disturbing.
Jonathan couldn’t pretend, as much as he might have liked to, that he didn’t know what Whip-poor-wills were reported to be.
He wondered, while watching the animals, what kind of conjuring it would take to summon this many nocturnal birds this far from their native habitat.
He saw how it could be done in his mind’s eye, but that didn’t make him any more comfortable about them being there. The fact that the birds were, in all other ways, behaving normally made him feel much worse.
Because of the birds clustered outside the building, Jonathan figured Wendell had to already be inside. He found his client sitting on a wooden bench in the hall outside the yoga studio.
A perverse part of Jonathan tempted him to ask Wendell if he’d seen the birds, too, but he didn’t bother. It didn’t matter one way or the other, really, though it did make him start to have second thoughts about the outcome of this encounter he’d arranged.
Instead of asking about the Whip-poor-wills, Jonathan sat beside Wendell and asked how he was holding up.
“Took a couple aspirin, so my head’s better. I did actually sleep, and the . . .” Wendell’s cheeks flushed. “The hang-over was my own fault because I drank the wine so quickly, see? So, don’t feel bad about it, Mr. Alvey.”