Burning Sky

by R. S. Scott

  “Well, things just happen, and I try to get out of its way but most of the time things happen. How is your father?” Pastor asks.

  “He’s doing well, still dealing with bad kidneys and looking into dialysis soon. I’ll tell him you said hi,” I say.

  “Thanks, Son, it’s good to see you again. We have food if you’re hungry. Some frybread and stew over there,” Pastor points to the kitchen area where cooks were tending to the food.

  “He’s a pleasant guy, huh? This guy,” I say, turning to Karen while patting Pastor on his shoulder. We see Karen busy trying to tie her hair in a bun with her hands.

  “God damn this wind. I got dust and pollen shit in my hair.”

  Her excellent choice of words got the attention of Pastor and his associates.

  “Sorry, Pastor,” Karen says. “I didn’t mean to say that in front of you, or in here.”

  Pastor grins and shakes his head. “You kids eat something. I’ll make some coffee,” he says and walks off toward the kitchen.

  “Tell me again who the rookie is?” I smirk at Karen.

  Karen gives me a slight shove with her elbow.

  CHAPTER 6

  The bright morning sun glared its smiling face as we arrived at the Monroe house. Our coffee was cold and our breakfast seemingly a soulful empty serving. Jeremy is already there with his nickel-plated pistol in full view. The children are off to school and the workingmen at their jobs as we park on a slanted, earthed basketball court just outside the Monroe compound gate.

  “Be civil. Jeremy is a good guy,” Karen pouts.

  “Teamwork, I guess,” I say and climb out of our patrol vehicle.

  “Officer Keller, good morning,” Jeremy says, very alert and a bit jolly.

  “Good morning, Sir,” I salute.

  “Keller, it appears your coffee has gone cold.” Jeremy observes.

  “The nearest coffee bar is in Winslow, Sir.” I retort.

  “Perhaps your coffee maker is just crap then.” Jeremy smiles.

  “Perhaps, Sir.” I take a quick gander about the Monroe compound.

  “I brought some if you’d like some. Shall I get you a cup?” Jeremy motions at me.

  “Yes, please.” I note a strange uneasiness about the compound, “I’d like a cup to go with the bacon and eggs.”

  “I don’t have any bacon and eggs.”

  “Perhaps you should get some then.” I smirk.

  “God, you dick-swinging fuckers. Let’s just do this,” Karen says, annoyed while Jeremy steals a smile in my direction. Karen leads us past the compound gate to the main Monroe house. “The Monroes are still mourning their loss and it’s been hell getting a meet with them. They’ve had to hire a ranch hand to deal with the extra heads of sheep as well as all the other help that comes with it.”

  “That’s the Nelson herd right over there,” Jeremy says, pointing to the corral as we approach the front door.

  Karen knocks on the door. A small woman answers, “Karen, come in.”

  “Gladys?” Karen wears a worrisome smile.

  “Yes, come in. Leave your dogs outside.” The woman glares at Jeremy and me.

  “Keep a look out,” Karen says, then hands me her pistol. She disappears into the house closing the door behind her.

  “What the hell was that?” I glare at Karen’s 9mm pistol, a custom firearm of the highest quality.

  “Come on,” Jeremy motions me to his truck. We climb in as he turns on the radio at a moderate sound level. “Only women are allowed into that house when the men are gone.”

  “Serious?” I ask.

  “Gladys is the conjurer’s sister in law. She used to live up in Ganado but moved back after her husband died in a car accident.”

  “Wait, that’s Gladys Monroe? Daren Monroe’s widow?”

  “Yup, our former Chief of Police.”

  “Well, what’s she doing here? Here in this investigation? At that house?”

  Jeremy sits bewildered. “Her brother is Ken Yazzie, the crystal gazer that got hauled in then let go.”

  “Oh.” I sit in silence for a moment. “Does Karen know? I’ve read all her stuff and nowhere in that does it document any of this. That the dead former Chief’s widow is here in the Monroe house.”

  “She knows, FBI knows, and now you do, too. So be quiet about it.” Jeremy turns up the radio. We sit with country music blaring.

  “How did this come about?” I ask.

  “Daren was apparently having an affair with his niece, his brother Daryl’s daughter. You know her, Tracy Monroe. Word has it the brother Wade Monroe then went after Daren, his uncle. Weeks later, Wade had a brain aneurysm and died. The Yazzies across the highway burnt him and his hogan with only burnt dirt remaining. A crystal gazer from New Mexico fingered Daren working some serious mojo down here. And the Nelsons, working with the Yazzies, then took down Wade Monroe. We think.”

  “So if the Yazzies and Nelsons took down Wade, did any of them get hauled in?”

  “Not exactly,” Jeremy says.

  “What does that mean?”

  “The Yazzies took down a skinwalker or some weird shapeshifter. Or so they say. No laws currently say that old ways of dealing with those things are now illegal. Forensics from University of New Mexico came in and cleaned it up.”

  “Wow, so the Nelsons took down the Chief?” I ask.

  “Yes, that is the current linear conclusion,” Jeremy says.

  “Well.” I sit bewildered staring at Jeremy. “How do we handle this, then?”

  “That’s something we should be asking our new Chief.”

  “Can we? Considering what has gone on?”

  “Not really,” Jeremy says.

  “OK. Well why not?” I ask.

  “The folks from Flagstaff want to feel him out first,” Jeremy says.

  “There are others in this mess?”

  “Yes, pay attention,” Jeremy says irritatingly.

  “I’m trying, I’m learning something new every day.” I sit overwhelmed with information.

  “Take it one bit of news at a time.”

  “Can the FBI help? Can we? Or they? Pinpoint who’s who in this mess?” I ask.

  “Proving any wrongdoing is the hard part. FBI are sending in two to help us.”

  “What the hell do the feds know about what’s going on here?”

  “They know. They can’t explain it, but they know. We all know the Nelsons took down the Chief, and we know the Monroes are directly involved in the meth business with the Wilsons. We also know the Monroes are working some kind of premonition magic, and they’re very good at it.”

  “Premonition magic?” I ask Jeremy.

  “What English words can describe what they do?” Jeremy glares at me.

  “Good point,” I nod.

  “So, we know the Yazzies over there are in on it as well with their own brand of the dark craft. We know they’ve all been at it for decades—or even centuries—as long as the knowledge is passed down. We know all this. Proving it is the problem. Identifying then designating it as unlawful is the problem. No one wants to talk, and those that do talk usually die within days.” We sit listening to the country music from the radio. Moments pass.

  “What kinds of mojo are the Yazzies into?” I ask.

  “Not sure, last year one of them was to be arrested in Winslow for domestic violence. He beat the crap out of his girlfriend. Cops chased him into an alley, he then creeps into a dark corner and disappears. Later, he’s seen again in Polacca, Hopi country, drunk off his ass. The officer that picked him up got tuberculosis that same year.”

  “Tuberculosis?”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy confirms.

  We sit in verbal silence for what seems like an eternity.

  “So, in the meantime, we keep the peace then?” I ask.

  “Yup, we don’t get too intrusive, and they let us live. That’s how it works.”

  “Let us live?”

  “Yes. Don’t ever pick a fight with a Nelson or a
ny one of these evil bastards. It won’t last. You won’t last.”

  “Damn.”

  “You’ll end up worse off than you’ll ever be,” Jeremy says.

  “Damn,” I say.

  We sit listening to country music.

  “Oh, last night this white woman comes to my station asking for you. Jessica…something, I don’t think you were supposed to know she was coming.” Jeremy smiles.

  “Oh no,” I say.

  “She’s at a motel in Winslow, lovely gal. So white, almost translucent.”

  “Yeah, that’s my Jess,” I say. We share a laugh.

  “You might want to send her back to Phoenix, considering what you’re into here. It’s a good idea.”

  “Really? How do you figure that?” I ask.

  “You’re a Navajo cop, you’re one of us now investigating who whacked the former Chief, and now we know who they are, they’ve ousted themselves by doing what they did. The FBI are involved as well as who the hell knows who. Who knows who else has their hand in this, one group always affects others.”

  “By killing the Chief, they ousted themselves?”

  “Yes, whatever mojo they’re using now, they can kill with it. Whatever new magic they are dealing in, all of them, the Monroes, the Yazzies, the Nelsons, and who else is in on it over in Hopi country. Their elders are dying over there, too. Whatever this is, it has new rules to it. They’re out doing whatever they want now.”

  “I’ll go see Jess tonight then. What do I tell her?” I ask Jeremy.

  “Job hazard. Of the paranormal kind,” he says.

  “Like she’s going to walk away from that. Why do we call it ‘mojo’?”

  “Because some bright idiot called it that in his report back in the day and it stuck.”

  Karen emerges from the Monroe house a bit distressed with a slight limp favoring her left. She stops and waves to Gladys, then continues to Jeremy’s patrol truck outside the compound.

  “Her chairs are not comfy, God! It’s lost its support in a bad way, stupid chair,” she says and rubs her right buttock.

  “What did you find out?” Jeremy ignores the spectacle as I gawk unintentionally. Karen climbs into the rear bench seat. I give her back her pistol.

  “Gladys is afraid to talk. She knows she’s in deep but also knows she’s in too deep. A covenant with the devil kind of deep. She’s convinced the sheep are cursed and wants to get rid of them. Daryl is still infuriated about losing his son but his daughter is just as hysterical, and they want the Yazzies killed off. All of them.”

  “So the payment from the Nelsons was tainted?” Jeremy inquires.

  “According to Gladys, it is. The sheep keep fighting among themselves. She says she walked over to give them water yesterday and one even bit her arm. When she walked back to the house, she swears one of the sheep was standing upright on its rear legs watching her walk away. She saw it, and the sheep went back to all fours.”

  “Sounds like something the Nelsons would do.” I note.

  “And the crystal gazer from New Mexico is back. He’s been harassing the Yazzies for payment. Daryl then wants him dead.” Karen’s voice becomes muffled as she bends down to pick up the keys she dropped.

  “No one paid for that guy?” Jeremy looks on.

  “Nope. They’re not afraid of him, but do respect him.” Karen immerges with her keys.

  “Geez, if all goes as planned, they’ll just kill each other,” I speak what Jeremy sits wondering.

  “Imagine that, decades ago all the skinwalkers did was gather information and scare off others. Now they are out killing each other. They weren’t allowed to do that back then.” Jeremy wears a serious face. “What’s going on?”

  Karen lays down on the rear bench. “I’m so tired. I can’t even sleep right with the stupid nightmares. You guys have nightmares?”

  “Yes,” I respond. “Bad ones.” I nod.

  “Yup, ugly ones,” Jeremy says again looking somber. “Gladys wants us off the property.” Jeremy points to the Monroe house as Gladys waves a gray colored cloth with just her arm visible.

  “OK, Jeremy, keep in touch. Steve, you’re driving.” Karen gets up and climbs out of Jeremy’s truck. We then reclaim our field vehicle and roar off to Dilcon station.

  I arrive in Winslow to find my sky-blue Belvedere has a dented rear fender. The tires look new, but my rearview mirror ornament of fake feathers is gone. In its place is a pair of oversized pink velvet dice. “Oh, what the hell is that?” I make my way to Jess’s motel room.

  “Hey!” She tackles me. “I’ve missed you!”

  We embrace as if it was our last embrace.

  My thoughts run wild in an endless suspicious circle. I wonder at the darkened void that now seems to follow me. I wonder at the seeming coldness of evening and the air thick of tangible, malicious intent that now follows me. I wonder at the muddied silver truck outside with New Mexico plates. I wonder about the flimsy door to her motel room. I wonder about the hall light that is now dark. I wonder if there are eyes here that are unseen and inevitably conniving, crushing the weak like a king crushes his dirty glass.

  The world as I knew it is different now, the world of logistical rules founded on factual evidence seems now blurred. Am I to now believe that the walls could talk and mimic human behaviors? That darkness could now yield terrible things that would sicken and claw at the mortal existence of unfortunate souls nearby? That man could, in fact, morph into terrible entities. That man could prey on his neighbor because he thinks he can, using inhuman, unexplainable reaches with nothing to regulate their morbid ambitions. They reach into the minds and dreams, twisting its foundations of uprightness and solidarity. The desperate need to reach out then roots itself in unholy mannerisms, in insatiable needs, at the cost of all that can be considered. A wrongful, unregulated twist of a once-sacred duty, now seemingly hell bent on destruction as I have then stepped into its doorway willingly. It gazes at me and eyes my sanity.

  I look at Jess as she sits quietly gripping the bed comforter. “I don’t like this.”

  “I know. I don’t either. We can’t live here. Or out on the Rez. It’s too dangerous.”

  “So what now? What about our house in Phoenix? What about our dog? Max misses you so much. She sits by the door and just stares at it. And she cries.”

  “I know, I’m so sorry. It’s too dangerous. They’re killing each other out here. Skinwalkers turning to coyotes, wolves, and other evil shit.”

  She sits quietly. “So you’re sending me back because of that? I can take care of myself. I can handle myself.”

  “Jess.” I sit beside her and hold her hand. “I wear a gun more as an ornamental thing, it shoots and kills people but not them.”

  “Like a wolf? A werewolf from the movies?”

  “Yes, no other way of putting it,” I frown at the farfetched comparison. “Yes, as stupid as that sounds.”

  “Vampires, too?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of? God, there are blood drinkers out there?”

  “Vampires are mythical beings from eastern Europe. Out here they’re different.”

  “So I’m just leaving then? Going home? To the home we’re selling?” she pauses. “Our home?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I have a lot going on. I’m sorry.”

  “If it’s so dangerous then leave and come home with me.” She takes my hand. “We can leave all this behind, please. We can start over, just you and me like we planned.”

  “I can’t do that, and you know it.”

  “God! You and your stupid sense of family commitment! You’re choosing your Navajo crap over me! You’re choosing that family bullshit over us! Me! Our home! Our life together! You’re going to walk away from that?” She gets up and storms around the room. I sit silently. “Am I that unimportant to you?”

  “Jess, listen. I’m not leaving you, or us. I just need some time to figure this out. That’s all. I’m not rejecting you. Understand that. Please.” I r
each for her hand, “Please understand. I’m not leaving you—or us.”

  “It feels like it. It feels like you’re leaving me.”

  “I’m not, I swear. I just wasn’t sure what I was getting into, and now I do,” I say. “It’s messed up in a bad way, and I don’t want us to be a part of it.”

  “So in the meantime, I go back to Phoenix?”

  “Yes, for now. It’s too dangerous here,” I tell her.

  “Come with me then, please?”

  “Jess, I can’t do that,” I say.

  “Please?”

  “I’m a police officer now, the real deal. And yes I wasn’t sure what I was getting into, but I do now. And I also know you can’t be here.”

  “Why not?” she asks.

  “These people, they are dangerous, shapeshifters and a whole mess of others that have no sense of personal boundary, they’ll come into your dreams and get you there.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she says defiantly.

  “Days ago I read as much as I could about them, my bed was a mess with paperwork and folders, and I fell asleep. I woke up, and there was this thing at the end of my bed, a shadow. It grabbed my ankle and dragged me halfway off my bed.” I pull up my pant leg to show her my still bruised ankle with blackened skin flaking off.

  “Oh my God! Does it hurt?” She inspects my ankle.

  “It’s sore but nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I don’t like this. This is bad,” she says.

  “You have to leave, tonight. I love you, and I don’t want you to be part of this.”

  She glares at me with desperate eyes.

  “If they get you then I will do whatever they want me to do. That can’t happen. I’ll crumble, I’ll give in. I don’t want to see you hurt. I’ll have to do whatever they want. Jess, you have to leave, I can’t involve you,” I tell her.

  She hugs me. “Can you stay? I can go in the morning.”

  I sit rigidly. “I’ll help you pack. I can drive you back to Phoenix if you want but you have to leave.”

  “OK.” We pack her belongings and head outside. I note the darkened hall that was lit when I had arrived. I pull my pistol and scan the surroundings. “Get behind me. Stay close.” I march forth, pistol led.