by J. R. Rain
I hop up and walk around our desks to stand beside Rick. “Hey…”
He looks up, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Hey back. Any luck on your end?”
“Nah… I’ve drawn zip.” I hop up and walk around our desks to stand beside Rick. “What about you?”
“A few leads. But I still have a hundred hours of shit to look through.”
I nod, feeling guilty as hell, but at least one of us is doing our jobs. “Would you blow a gasket if I ran a quick errand?”
He glances up at me, eyes red from all the staring and reading. “Sudden irresistible craving for latkes?”
“Huh? No…” I blink at him, stunned silent for a second. “I’m not even sure what that is. No, this is sorta work-related.”
“Potato pancakes. They’re kinda good.”
“Where’d that come from?”
He shrugs. “Oddest word that came to me on short notice. How can something be ‘sorta work-related’?”
“It’s witchy stuff, but it could wind up causing innocent people to get hurt or killed. Our job is to protect and defend, so…”
“Whoa.” He spins ninety degrees in his chair to face me. “You never said that stuff could kill before.”
I lean my butt on the edge of his desk, half-sitting. “It’s not exactly the same stuff we practice. Much darker. We―my coven―are trying to stop it.”
“Sounds crazy.”
“Maybe. This isn’t like fireballs and lightning bolts. No Hollywood special effects or video game magic. The easiest way I can explain it fast is that it’s a demon running around that can possess people and cause car accidents, psychotic rages, and other coincidental type stuff.”
“Oh, no kidding? That’s real?” He raises both eyebrows.
His expression could be ‘you’re crazy’ or ‘oh shit.’ I decide to think he’s worried. “Yeah. I want to swing by that preacher’s church.”
“You know it won’t look good if you show up there alone, right?” Rick glances at his screen, then at his watch. “Ugh. So much crap to sift through. Hey why don’t you take Gonzalez with you?”
“What?” I ask, simultaneously with Linda Gonzalez.
He gestures at her. “She’s Christian.”
“I’m a Catholic,” says Linda.
“Right,” says Rick. He looks back at me. “Bring a ‘witness’ who would be biased in favor of the church to cover your ass.”
“This isn’t about bias, Rick. It’s about a demon.”
Linda scurries over to us. “What are you talking about now, Wimsey?”
“You’re aware of that Pastor Waters guy, right?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She makes a blasé face. “He’s a little over the top; then again, his place took a lightning strike.”
“I need to talk to him,” I say. “Something might be trying to hurt him.”
She blinks. “You’re not going out there to intimidate him off your friends, are you?”
“Not at all. Wasn’t even planning on mentioning any of that. This is something different.”
“A demon?”
“Yes.”
“You do know how crazy you sound?”
“I do. Do you wanna take a ride or not?”
She eyes the clock. “Not really, but you’ve got me wondering where this is going… so, sure.”
“Fine. Ready?”
Linda runs back to her desk, locks her workstation, and murmurs something to her partner, Washington, while gesturing at me. Mike peers up at me with an astonished expression, but shrugs and nods. Yup, I’m the office kook.
“All right,” says Linda, walking past me to the door. “Let’s not take all day with this, huh?”
“Better go before she changes her mind,” says Rick.
I pat him on the shoulder and grab my cell. “If I’m not back in an hour, send in SWAT.”
“Supernatural Witchy Attack…”
“Team?” I offer.
“Yes, that’s it. Team.”
“Take a break, Rick. You need it.”
“I do. I really do.”
***
Rock, paper, scissors decides I’m driving.
For the first few minutes of the ride, I fill Linda in on the pastor’s non-religious early life, plus doing time, plus my thoughts on how strange it is for him to get a bug up his butt about us. Us, being, of course, my witchy pals.
“So, you’ve used department resources to look into a pastor who accused people you associate with of arson?” asks Linda. “You trying to retaliate?”
“No. There’s nothing to retaliate for. You saw the lightning strike on TV. Besides, I don’t think this guy is in his right mind.”
“Why, because he believes in God?”
“Linda? Can I ask you a question?”
“Go for it.” She glances over, sharpening the daggers in her eyes.
“I get the feeling that you’re looking for an argument. Are you? Or am I being overly sensitive here?”
“I’m just bracing for when you start telling me I’m full of shit.”
“Keep bracing, because I’m not going to.”
“What are you like ‘atheist-light’ or something?”
I giggle. “No. You believe in one god split into three incarnations, right? Father, Son, Holy Ghost?”
She nods.
“Well, I believe in about fifty or sixty different gods, but primarily, the Goddess. I’m not an atheist at all. An atheist would think I’m insane. I just don’t follow the same god you do. Nor do I think less of you for not being on the same ‘team’ as me. The only thing I want from other religions is for them not to attack me in return.”
She raises an eyebrow. “So, why do you keep attacking us?”
“I think I need to make a slight modification to your understanding of attack. It’s not an attack for someone to have different views. I don’t consider you attacking my beliefs for not following them. My problem has never been with religious people in general. It’s with people who misuse religion to hurt other people.”
Linda makes a weird ‘pff’ noise. “I ain’t lookin’ for everyone to convert to Catholicism. It doesn’t bug me that people don’t believe in God, it bugs me when they slam God.”
“I respect that. I’m sorry for whatever ‘vibes’ I gave off that made you think I’m anti-religion… You’re thinking of my friend, Isabelle. She’s a hardcore atheist. Doesn’t even believe in my stuff, and we’ve known each other since before we were in first grade.”
Linda chuckles. “Doesn’t it bother you to hear her say your goddess doesn’t exist?”
“Well, I imagine if she ever said that to me, it would bother me, yes. But, I know she exists. I’ve felt her power. I’ve called on her and seen the result. What Isabelle or anyone else says doesn’t change that.”
“You’re evading.”
A red light catches us, but at least it gives me a chance to make eye contact. “It would hurt if she said that and meant that. Yes. But… after last weekend, I’m not so sure she’s going to stay as staunchly unbelieving as she was… which may, in fact, make things worse.”
“My head’s spinning,” Linda says, blinking. “Are you now saying it’s not good for her to give up being an atheist?”
I explain my theory about strong faith and strong disbelief both providing tough armor against malignant external forces, and over the next few minutes of driving, share what happened with the shadow at the campsite, plus my near-miss with the Beemer. Something I definitely did not think I would be sharing with Linda any time soon. Or ever.
“Yo, you’re legit serious about that?” Linda holds her arms up. “You’re givin’ me like real goose bumps here.”
“Yes. I’m serious. But you shouldn’t need to worry. Your faith is strong. Energy like this needs a crack. Weakness. Doubt. Avarice. Something it can exploit.”
Confusion takes hold in her eyes. “So… you’re telling me that God’s going to protect me from one of your critters?”
; “What do you think of white pizza?”
“It’s an abomination,” says Linda with a hint of a chuckle.
“If I like white pizza, would that make normal pizza less tasty to you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, okay. You can stop flogging it. So… what’s got you heading out to this church?”
“This preacher… it’s so bizarre to have someone like that here on the West Coast, don’t you think? I mean he’s from the Midwest, lived in Arkansas for a while, but you have to admit he’s a little… unusual for the area.”
After a long moment of consideration, she shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. He does kinda sound more like someone from the deep Bible Belt.”
“Right, and he’s going out of his way to attack my friends totally out of the blue.”
“Assuming that’s true, what’s your goal here?” asks Linda.
I pull into the right lane a little fast, nearly missing a turn due to my focus on our conversation. “Sorry…” The tires squeak a little around the corner, but it’s not too jarring. “I think that dark entity is affecting him. Actually, it’s good that you’re here. I’m really curious what kind of read you get on him. If you think the guy’s sincere.”
She nods.
A few minutes later, I turn off the road into the parking lot of the small chapel. The building looks like a church from Little House on the Prairie, though bigger. Guess he’s going for an ‘old time’ feel. Two vans and a box truck with ‘DeStefano Contracting’ cluster by the front. Workers tromp back and forth with scaffold bits, building a frame to reach the scorched steeple of the otherwise immaculate white building.
I bring the car to a stop beside the big truck, cut the engine, and get out. Still leaning on the door, I squint up at the damage, catching a hint of burned wood in the air. “Strange. This place doesn’t feel sacred.”
The passenger door closes with a whud. “Why would it? You don’t believe.”
“Sacredness of a place comes from the energy of the people who congregate there. I’ve been near other churches before and they had a… different feeling in the air.” I back up a step and swing my door shut. “Not to offend you, but this place feels about as sanctified as a Walmart.”
Linda follows me to the front door, past a group of workers. Two start to catcall us until they notice our badges and sidearms, then they scurry off behind the vans.
“So you expect me to believe you can feel the energy of a place?” asks Linda, with a surprising lack of confrontation in her tone.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything.” I smile. “Just saying what my experience is. So… what’s the protocol here for a church? Do we just go in?”
“Usually, yeah.”
The doors are unlocked, so I step in to a small foyer with a coat closet. Signs on the walls announce various events like bake sales or children’s choir practice. Inside, the smell of wood smoke is near eye-wateringly strong.
“They oughta open some windows,” mutters Linda.
We head through a double door straight in front of the entrance, walking into a large, open area full of bench seats and a simple pulpit and podium. I have to say, I’ve got a bit more respect for the humbleness. Never did understand why houses of worship needed to do the whole flagrant display of wealth thing.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice echoing over the march of hammers and saws coming from high above.
“One moment,” yells a man, his voice emanating from a doorway behind the altar.
We walk down the middle aisle and wait near the podium. A door creaks open in the hallway after a few minutes, and a short-ish man with wispy grey hair walks into view. His presence crashes into me like a wave of ice. The instant we lock eyes, I know he’s been affected by the shadow. The pleasant/curious smile on his face ratchets down to apprehension when he notices our badges.
He walks up beside the podium. “Oh, police. Is this about the arson investigation?”
“No, Mr. Waters,” I say, while gathering my mental energies in case that thing is still here and tries to lash out. “I’m investigating an unrelated matter that may involve you.”
“Oh.” He opens his mouth to say something else, but his gaze fixates on my pentacle amulets. Most of the color drains from his face, and he twitches like he’s about to have a coronary. “What are you doing here?” bellows Waters. “This is a house of God, and I shall not suffer a witch in my presence!”
“I’m here to―”
“Out!” roars Waters. “God protect me from this heathen woman and her evil.” He makes a shooing gesture. “Begone, foul creature. Taint not this sacred house of worship!”
Linda’s eyebrows go up.
“Mr. Waters, please calm down,” I say.
“I shall not be beholden to your machinations,” shouts Waters. “You and your kind have done enough damage. We will not yield!”
The hammering above us stops; the weight of a few stares falls on us.
“Why don’t you step outside and let me talk to him?” asks Linda.
“All right.” I force a polite smile at Waters.
As I’m turning to leave, a smear of black darts into the hallway behind the altar. Damn. Since it appears to be fleeing, I don’t bother causing a bigger scene by going after it―not that I’d even be able to do much to it if I ‘caught’ the thing.
Linda and Pastor Waters murmur back and forth as I make my way back down the aisle and go outside. Frustrated, I wind up kicking my Timberland at the dirt. Not only did I accomplish nothing, showing up here could give him some ammo to make my life complicated. Am I already getting careless from stress? Ugh.
“Goddess guide me,” I whisper.
The contractors building the scaffold keep checking me out, but none of them whistle or say a word. I’m too worried―and angry at Waters―to care about garden-variety objectification. While Linda talks to the guy, I go for a walk around the exterior of the building, hoping to spot the shadow, but all is quiet and still. A soft rustling of wind in the nearby trees helps calm me down. I keep telling myself that Waters might not be Waters. The man’s over-the-top histrionics belong more in a bad movie than real life. Such antics have got to be coming from the shadow’s influence.
One lap around the church doesn’t give me any clues, but it does help level my thoughts. Linda emerges from the front doors a while later, giving me a strange look.
“What?” I ask.
She nods toward the car.
Once we’re inside with the doors shut, I ask, “What?” again.
“I kinda hate to say this, but that man feels fake. I asked him a bunch of questions, and all of his answers came off rehearsed and preachy, like he’s just reading talking points off a presentation and isn’t really spiritual at all.” She puffs air past her lips. “I think he’s in it for the cash… or the spotlight. He doesn’t feel the Word of God at all.”
I snap my fingers. “Of course. That’s how it got in.”
“What?” asks Linda.
“The shadow entity. Waters being insincere in his faith would leave him wide open to the influence of that creature. Someone like you would be too well-defended.”
Linda fidgets her hands in her lap, picking at her nails. “What’s going on in there? I… felt something weird. Almost like a person was staring at me from the back hallway, but I didn’t see anyone.”
“It’s in there. The shadow.”
“And you know this how?”
“I saw it.”
“Legit?”
“Legit,” I say. “And I’m sure it’s affecting Waters’ mind, using him to attack my friends.”
“So, what is this thing? Why would it do that?”
I start the car, but sit there staring at the chapel without moving the gearshift. “I’m kinda surprised you’re taking it seriously.”
“Demons are real, Wimsey. Even if you call them something else.” She pulls a small crucifix pendant out from under her shirt and clutches it.
I nod at the powerfu
l Christian version of a ward. “Keep that on you.”
“I do. Always. Maddy, did you summon that thing?”
She’s got no accusation in her tone, which also surprises me. “No. But… one of my friends did, by accident, when she was a kid.” I drop the car in reverse and back around a turn. “Though it would be more technically accurate to say she opened a door and it came through. My young friend didn’t try to call that particular entity. She was trying to contact her deceased mother.”
On the drive back to the station, I relay the story of Elise. Hearing about a shattered young woman lost without her mother gets Linda choked up, though she still grumbles about her ‘meddling with dark forces.’ By the time we pull into garage at the precinct, the mood in the car is distinctly different from anything that’s ever hung in the air between us.
“Guess we’re not all that different,” says Linda.
Despite my knotted-up gut, I manage a smile. “Yeah. Thanks for taking the ride.”
“No problem.”
Linda opens the door, but hesitates, looking at me. She doesn’t say anything, but I’m sure I read an apology in her eyes for the past few years of snide remarks.
I nod once, offering the same back. After all, Linda’s not the only one who slipped in a few one-liners. I certainly didn’t hold back, either.
She raises a fist, and we bump.
Wow… I’m not really sure how to handle this lack of confrontation with her. It’s kinda cool.
I must be in a good mood; my hair doesn’t even snag in the door when I close it.
Chapter Thirteen
Breathless
Tuesday Late Afternoon – July 18, 2017
If looks could kill, my computer screen would have two giant holes burned in it.
Rick and I have spent days tracking down a handful of potential suspects―people who might’ve had any connection or contact with Benjamin Gibson in the last few days of his life. We even located a woman who decided to protest Burger King by throwing a Ziploc bag of cat shit over the counter.
Aside from being a miserable individual who laughed when we told her about his death, she didn’t seem feasible as a killer. No car, no access to medical equipment, and other than projectile cat feces, no other contact with Benjamin.