by D. C. Gomez
“Death, thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“It was in their best interests not to kill you. Be careful in purgatory; they won’t hold back.” She fixed her suit one more time when she reached my bedroom door. “You’re not doing so badly for your fist week. Try not to get killed, now.” She winked and was out the door.
I rolled out of bed and prayed that Death was the one who had dressed me. It would be really embarrassing for either of the boys to be involved in that process. I walked to the bathroom, and for the first time since meeting those witches, I didn’t look like hell. I wanted to do a happy dance for myself. Instead I quickly used the facilities and got dressed. Company could mean only one person, and that meant I was in trouble.
By the time I reached the kitchen entrance, I could hear the boys talking to Eric. Whatever it was they were discussing had them all agitated. I went straight for the fridge and grabbed the milk. I was thirsty, and for some reason, milk sounded amazing.
“Isis, you are up?” Bartholomew was Captain Obvious today.
“I was told we had company, so here I am.”
All three of them looked confused.
Constantine was the first one to ask. “Who told you?”
“Death. Who else?” I poured the milk and started drinking, not waiting for their reply.
“From anybody else, that answer would guarantee a trip to the loony bin.” Eric was at least honest.
“She said good-bye hours ago. We thought she was gone.” Bartholomew looked really sad.
“Maybe she came back to make sure I didn’t have a concussion. It would probably be bad for recruitment to lose two interns in less than six months.”
“That’s never stopped her before.” Constantine had a way of crushing my dreams.
I glared at him. “I hope we’re not practicing today. I don’t think my head can take it.” I took a seat at the kitchen table and watched the boys. I wasn’t moving closer to them, so they all migrated to me.
“What happened at the Grim?” Eric almost yelled at me. Bartholomew and Constantine took their usual chairs, and that left the last one for Eric. He paced behind the chair for a bit before sitting down.
“I got hit with a two-by-four, according to Death.” I knew I wasn’t making this easy for him. I didn’t care. If he was going to be a cop, then I had no choice but to be difficult. It was irrational, but I had a concussion. Who could blame me?
“Ouch. We had no idea. We heard the bang, and then you were out. The screams after your fall were horrifying.” Bartholomew made an awful face. He looked like a kid who had eaten something sour.
“Death said our dear tour-guide ghost gouged the eyes out of the witch who hit me.” I was already past the traumatized stage, so my mind was numb.
“Well, that explains the blood-curdling screams and curses.” Constantine was not fazed. I was assuming that after five thousand years, blood and guts were nothing to him.
“That also explains the eyeballs in the hallway.” Eric was looking pale. He had found the aftermath of that; no wonder he was edgy. “Isis, did you hit those men with an ax?”
“Nope, no ax for me. I had a machete and an M16.” I wondered where my gear was. I looked around the room, hoping to spot it.
“That’s not funny.” Eric stood up, angry.
“It’s in the armory,” Bartholomew whispered from across the table. He knew exactly what I was looking for. I winked at him and mouthed back Thank you.
“I wasn’t being funny. The dead burned guy did that part.”
“What burned guy? We didn’t find any burned guy.” It seemed that Eric really thought I was making everything up.
“That guy was terrifying,” Bartholomew said.
“The placed was haunted. The dead people kind of helped.” That was an easy way to explain it.
“Are you serious? What part did you play in the small battlefield?” Eric was glaring at me. “Isis, are you sure you’re not part of the terrorist group? ’Cause every time you’re around, things mysteriously explode. We’ve had reports of explosions, gunshots, smoke, gas, screams, howls, and horrifying screeches. Our phones were going off like crazy.” Eric took a breath and sat back down.
“I can only claim some of the gunshots and the gas. The rest was not me.” I tried to look as innocent as possible.
Eric tilted his head in shock. He was not happy. “Only…only those things. You are truly a weapon of mass destruction. We got three dead, two barely alive, and a pair of eyeballs. How do you explain that?”
“Do the three dead have gunshots in them?” I had been aiming for their legs. I prayed I was not that out of practice.
“That’s the weird part. They have gun-like wounds but no bullets. We couldn’t even find the casings. People heard gunshots.”
I hadn’t taken the casings; why was he giving me that look? “Can I be impressed by the great police work?”
“No. Isis, you claim the gunshots but not the ax? Those men were bashed in the skull. The ax that was left at the scene. Why?”
“I don’t think Saint Peter allows axes in heaven.” That was my best guess.
“What?” He threw his hands in the air and then slammed his head on the table. That really looked painful. Constantine, Bartholomew, and I just stared. Eric stayed that way, and the three of us went back to talking.
“So Death took them home. It was about time.” Constantine didn’t need much explanation.
“I guess when my new ghost friend couldn’t drag me out, and after gouging Natalie’s eyes out, she made the call.”
“No wonder Eric couldn’t find you,” Bartholomew said. “We called him as soon as you started shooting. We were hoping for him to get you out before the cops showed up.”
“You actually went in looking for me?”
Eric had his head in his hands. He looked like a little kid. “Yeah. I went ahead of my partner straight to where Bartholomew said you were. I ran into the eyeballs instead. I almost puked on the scene. By the time I got myself collected again, Bartholomew called, saying you were home.” Eric started yawning. I just realized he had been up all night and was exhausted.
“I don’t think an ax-wielding ghost is going to hold up in court,” I said.
Poor thing was not amused.
“We have a picture if you want to see it,” Bartholomew said.
I had totally forgotten about the video. “I don’t recommend it.” I was shaking my head.
Unfortunately, Bartholomew was already out of his seat and at his control station.
Before I could protest, Eric was beside him. “I almost stepped in eyeballs. I’m sure I can take your little ghost.”
Bartholomew played the video for Eric. Constantine and I waited by the table, watching each other and shaking our heads.
“Holy shit. That thing was there. Please tell me this is fake.” Nobody ever listened to me.
“I tried to warn you.” I felt a little bad for him. He looked even worse. “The good news is, he’s not there anymore. Everyone is safe to continue the investigation.” I looked at Constantine, who was agreeing with me.
“Please tell me: Are we going to find anything connecting you to this?” Eric was back at the table, staring down at me.
“Well, Officer Eric, I can’t believe you care.” I gave him my most fake brilliant smile and even batted my eyes. Constantine started laughing.
“No! I just need to figure out what I’m going to say when they ask me why I’m hanging out with a crazy murderer.”
Ouch. He could have at least played it off. I sank lower in my chair. Constantine, on the other hand, was rolling.
“Oh, thanks for the support.” I waved my hand at him. “I’m pretty sure if Death took care of the bullet casings, you won’t find anything placing me there. Besides, I was wearing gloves and a cap. Unless you can trace droplets of my spit, I’m sure I’m clear.”
The boy actually looked relieved. I wanted to kick him.
“Not even o
n the ax?” He was really hung up on that ax.
“Never touched it. It wasn’t mine. I doubt you’ll be able to match the prints you find. I don’t think you have fingerprints from the fifties.” Technology was good, but it couldn’t work miracles.
“Great. So now we have a triple homicide nobody can explain.” When he put it that way, it was depressing.
“You can always blame it on gangs,” Bartholomew said from his work station.
“True. If only we had a gang problem in Texarkana.”
“You do now,” Constantine said.
Eric was ready to kill us. Totally uncalled for. Bartholomew, Constantine, and I sensed his tension and waited for him to calm down. We didn’t need an edgy cop on the premises. Eric paced a few times and tried to take deep breaths. I felt so much better watching someone else do it.
“Eric, let the investigation unfold on its own. Go home, shower, and take a nap. It will work itself out.” Constantine was back in his Yoda mode. I was impressed with his advice. It was making Eric feel better.
“Fine. I’m going home.”
“Bye, Eric,” Bartholomew and I said together. We were afraid to spook him any more.
Eric headed out the door and down the stairs.
“Is he going to be OK?” Bartholomew asked.
“He’s afraid of the ramifications of the investigation. He’s young and doesn’t understand that humans will always find a rational explanation for events. Witches, ghosts, and magic will never be part of it. Now I need a nap as well.” Constantine hopped down from the table and headed out.
“I’m beat too. I left your recording, your new devices, and your laptop on the couch. Good night, Isis.” Bartholomew walked behind me and kissed my head. He had never done that before. He was really tired. “I’m glad you’re OK.”
“Am I the only one who sleeps?” I felt really guilty.
“You were unconscious. I wouldn’t call that sleeping. Besides, it’s barely five a.m. You should take a nap too. It’s going to be a crazy day.” With one last smile, he left the room.
My body rhythm was off. I walked over to the couch. Bartholomew had left me a brand-new computer, with a bow and everything. I flopped down on the couch and got comfy with my new toys. Bartholomew had created a loop of my lullaby and stored it on three different MP3 players. At least something good was happening for once.
CHAPTER 32
A nap was not part of my master plan for the morning. Unfortunately, once again Morpheus won, and I was out. I was having another fabulous dreamless night. One of the major benefits of Reapers was the lack of dreams. I wasn’t sure if it was the wards on the building or just having some of Death’s blessing, but ever since I had moved in, I hadn’t dreamed. The nightmares had stopped, and I was resting. Sleep was a friend, something that I had never known before. I enjoyed going to bed and hated getting up. In a strange way, I finally felt somewhat normal in that area.
I was sure I was in REM when I was, sadly, interrupted by a call from Shorty. I was afraid I had created a monster. The man truly believed he was an informant for the CIA, or maybe the FBI. I barely managed to say hello in a sleepy, comatose stage. He delivered this message: “Boss, Church under the Bridge, nine o’clock. See you there.” Then he hung up. I was too dumbfounded to think. It took me at least five minutes to process the situation. According to the phone, it was 8:17 a.m. If I needed to be downtown, I had to leave by 8:45 a.m. That wasn’t a lot of time to shower and get ready. For a person obsessed with time, I was always running late.
I was tired of quick showers. My godmother would never believe this. One of my favorite things was to take long showers and let my mind wander. I never managed to do that anymore. This job was really affecting my life. I was out the door with a toaster strudel in less than twenty-five minutes. I wasn’t expecting to find parking near the bridge, so I wanted to have plenty of time to walk to the mass. It was a blessing I did. I managed to hit every red light between Reapers and the service. I was starting to believe this was a test.
By the time I arrived at South State Line’s Bridge on Broad Street, the service had started. I was fairly impressed. The Church under the Bridge had over a hundred people truly worshipping. They had a band that was really good. A small podium where a man with long, Jesus-like hair watched the band in delight. He was a handsome guy, maybe in his midthirties, with a nicely groomed goatee. I made my way to the crowd right as he started to minister. A small sound system was set up to one side.
The man’s voice was electrifying. There was a passion and a love in his speech that had the crowd transfixed. The crowd was even more impressed. All races, all colors, all religious beliefs were represented. Rich and poor stood side by side, caring for the Lord. The cynic in me wasn’t sure what to think. Instead of analyzing it too much, I looked for Shorty. If he was trying to find a busy public place, he had definitely found one. How was I supposed to find that goofy man in this crowd?
After I had done couple of laps around the outside of the crowd, Shorty was nowhere to found, and I was getting tired. I stopped to listen to the sermon. The pastor was talking about love, hope, and knowing we were children of God. Knowing we were meant for greater things and that our first calling was to care for one another. I wasn’t sure if I was moved to action, but his words hit a core in my soul. Before I could think of the message, I felt more than saw a person walking behind me.
“Boss, don’t look my way. We don’t want to attract attention.” Shorty was extremely paranoid and delusional. I was praying it was not a horrible idea getting him as an informant.
“Of course not. I would hate to look shady.”
“Everyone is suspicious around here. Now listen before they see us together for too long. It’s going down tonight. They plan to have the packages to the other side by six p.m.” He took a sip from his cup. By the smell, it was really strong coffee.
“Are you sure?” That was not a lot of time.
“According to my sources that heard them speaking, they need to be on the other side before the sunset and the packages prepped.”
“Sunset at this time of year is around seven o’clock. That’s cutting it close, if they only need an hour.”
“They kept talking about crossroads. Something to do with major street crossings at a central location.” Shorty was sipping his coffee as he spoke.
“Anything else, Shorty?”
“The place is somewhere downtown. That’s all we heard.”
OK, so downtown and probably in between the two Catholic churches. I needed a map. Hopefully, Bartholomew would be up by the time I got home.
“Nice job, Shorty. Is there any way you could get word to the underground to stay away from downtown? It’s going to be dangerous tonight.” I didn’t want tons of collateral damage or more prisoners.
“Consider it done, boss. Anything else?” Shorty would have made a great soldier.
“Check in with me tomorrow. Take a count of how many people you have starting out, and again at the end. We want to make sure nobody else is taken.”
“Ten-four.”
By the time I turned to looked at him, he was gone. Shorty had blended in with the crowd like a chameleon.
I was alone again, and I wasn’t sure what else do to. The minister was still speaking, and the crowd was moved with each one of his words. The space had no boundaries, no walls, no sacred art or crucifix anywhere, but you could feel the Lord in its midst. I closed my eyes, and I could feel energy rolling over me in every direction. Unlike the crazy witches’ energy, this was soft and warm. It felt like soft silk caressing my face, or warm waves. I found myself swaying to an invisible force I wanted so badly to touch.
I opened my eyes, and the band had started playing again. The crowd was moving to the same beat. It was captivating. I started to look around. There were smiling faces everywhere. The church had set up tables on the far side for what appeared to be breakfast. The food was not what caught my eye. A guy who looked just like Eric was c
arrying boxes. I didn’t want to yell his name, in case it wasn’t him. Instead I walked carefully in his direction.
“Do you guys need some help?” I had learned early in my military career that the easiest way to get people to like you was to volunteer. It was the same way in most places.
A lady in her fifties, or maybe sixties, smiled at me. She looked as if she had had work done on herself. She had age spots on her hands, but her face looked really good.
“Of course, sweetie. We could always use more hands. Do you mind helping unload the truck.” Her voice was very musical. It had the same quality as the preacher’s. I wondered if the two of them were related.
I made my way toward the truck. The guy was definitely Eric. He was facing the bed, pulling crates closer to the front. He was wearing shorts and a long-sleeve shirt. He had a baseball cap on, and he looked younger.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
He almost jumped at the sound of my voice. “Isis, what are you doing here? Please don’t blow up anything here.” Eric had a horrible perception of me. Scary.
“It wasn’t on my list, but thank you for the reminder. I’d better be going.” I turned around and started to walk away. I really didn’t need that from him today.
“Isis, I’m sorry. Please wait.” Eric was holding my arm.
My first instinct was to knock his hand off me. I controlled myself and turned to face him. “Yes? What other insults are you getting ready to throw at me?” It sucked to be like a mayhem commercial. For some strange reason, he wanted to blame all the insane crap in this town on me. As if the witches weren’t doing anything here.
“I’m sorry about that. I’m tired and maybe a bit edgy. What are you doing here? I thought you were Catholic.” How did he know my religious preference? I guessed that part really didn’t matter.
“I am, but I still enjoy a good service. Even the pope promotes better relations with other faiths.”
“So that’s the only reason you’re here?” Eric really should become an investigator. He asked plenty of questions.