by Ramsey Isler
“You think you have me pinned, don’t you?” Terry said to his animal assailants. “Well you bastards have another thing coming.”
Terry opened his glove compartment and retrieved a pair of gloves and two items he’d acquired from his friends at the sheriff’s office. One was a military-grade gas mask. The other was a large dispenser full of double-action riot control aerosol. The stuff was a mix of tear gas and the strongest pepper spray on the market. It came in a fogger dispenser designed to spray a cloud of the nastiness that could affect multiple targets. He acquired the items after a spate of random assaults struck the Detroit area, and one can never be too prepared.
Tonight he was going to put these things to use on some birds.
Terry slipped on the gloves, donned the gas mask, grabbed the heavy fogger, and casually exited his car. The crows on his hood cawed fiercely and moved in. Terry sprayed them all right in their narrow faces. Birds don’t have the anatomy required to scream, but those crows sure did try anyway. That didn’t deter their friends though, who swooped in swarms to avenge their brethren. Terry didn’t panic, he just kept spraying clouds of pain.
The crows scattered in a panic. Some tried to fly away, but since they couldn’t see they quickly flew into trees and branches. Others didn’t even try to take to the air; they just blindly fled on foot in any direction they could manage. Terry could still hear some of them wheezing in the distance. The smarter crows decided they didn’t want any part of this, and they beat a hasty retreat before Terry could get in range.
In just a few minutes, there wasn’t a crow to be seen or heard. Terry laughed, and went back to his business.
He approached the workshop again, keeping his mask on in case he ran into any other trouble. As he got closer, he noticed that the activity he’d heard earlier had stopped. Silence fell over the area like a shroud. Had people inside heard the commotion from the crows? Or maybe the work shift was over and it was quitting time. Either way, people would soon be exiting the shop. Terry figured this might be his best chance to get in.
He decided the best place to hide out would be the roof. He spotted a ladder and started climbing. Fortunately he’d kept in peak physical condition for a man his age, but he was still a man of his age. By the time he got to the top of the ladder he was huffing and puffing, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his body.
On the roof, he had a clear view of the area around the factory. Nothing moved in the night. He waited for a rush of homeward-bound workers to spill out of the factory and give him a good look at the kind of folks Sam was employing behind his back. But nothing happened. No one came out of the factory. There were no sounds of irreverent banter about the work day or plans for the weekend. Nothing seemed right here. As long minutes passed, Terry realized that something else was wrong: the crickets had stopped chirping.
Without the crickets, the night was eerily quiet. There was no wind, so even the leaves of the many trees that surrounded this area were stock still. Terry wanted to move, but he was certain that any motion he made would be heard in this stark silence. Even the ticking of his watch seemed like it could betray his presence. So he sat on the roof, and waited.
Half an hour passed and Terry’s joints were getting stiff from staying in one position for so long. Spy work is more of a young man’s game. He decided to make a move.
He eyed his surroundings for something that could help him out. The moon shone dimly above him, and he got scant traces of light from the downward-facing security lamps placed at the corners of the building. Still, Terry could make out the rough shapes of the structures on the roof. It was mostly what he expected; a flat surface with a few rectangular protrusions that marked air conditioning units and vents. But far ahead, near the center of the building, he spotted a small glass dome. It was a skylight.
Terry inched his way towards the skylight with extreme caution. He moved as slowly as he could manage and kept his eyes downward, scanning the roof for any debris that might make a sound or trip him up. He made it to the skylight, removed his gas mask, and peered down into the factory.
The main lights were out, but there were dozens of tiny lights far below him. They were small circles of illumination and looked like little glass pieces reflecting and amplifying the dim moonbeams that filtered through the skylight. Terry wondered if they were watch parts; maybe glass watch covers catching the light and throwing it back at him. But then he noticed that periodically a pair of the lights would wink out for a moment. He found it very strange, and there seemed to be no pattern to it. One moment, a pair of lights to his left would disappear then reappear, and at another moment a different pair would blink in and out of sight. It took Terry a full minute to realize what he was looking at.
Those weren’t reflections from glass. Those were eyes, and they were staring at him.
He stumbled backwards and fell on his butt. Nerves in his backside protested sharply, but he had no time to listen to them. There were...things...down in that factory, and they knew he was here.
Fear pumped adrenaline into Terry’s veins and propelled him faster than he imagined he could move. He scrambled to the ladder that brought him up here and half climbed, half fell down it. The moment his feet touched the soft earth, he turned to run for his car. Then he stopped. He wasn’t alone.
There were dozens of them—small, shadowy figures who stood just outside the range of the factory’s exterior lights. They moved like wisps of smoke and surrounded him. If he wanted to get back to his car, he’d have to break through their line. To Terry, that was a very unappealing idea. But he had no other choice. He ran.
He made it fifteen paces before the lamps above him went out. The shadowy figures moved in, and that was the end of Terry Hamilton.
Chapter 16
Sam was having a wonderful dream about freshly-baked cookies when her phone rang.
She emerged from an improvised cocoon fashioned out of blankets. Her phone continued to ring, jarring her into consciousness. She’d left the vibrate function on too, and the added percussion of the phone trembling against the glass top of her nightstand was like a jackhammer in her head. Sam grabbed the offending gadget and saw that it was Yusef calling. He never called. He hated phone conversations, preferring to talk in person or via email. Something was wrong.
“Hey,” Sam said as she answered the call. “What’s up?”
“I just got in the office and there are a bunch of messages from Hamilton’s wife,” Yusef said. “He never got home last night.”
“Maybe he has a mistress,” Sam said.
“Possible,” Yusef answered. “But this is apparently the first time he’s never come home without calling her. She’s worried. Really worried.”
“Wish I could help,” Sam said. “But he didn’t give me any ideas on where he might be going.”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” Yusef said with a heavy sigh. “I guess I’ll keep an eye on the situation. Mrs. Hamilton hasn’t filed a missing person report yet, but if Hamilton doesn’t show up by the end of the day I’m sure the cops are going to get involved. You may need to carve out some time in your schedule to talk with detectives.”
“I doubt it will even get to that point,” Sam said. “He’ll show up right at the last minute to annoy us as he always does.”
“Let’s hope so,” Yusef said.
* * *
It was just past six in the evening and the sun was going down when the police arrived at the Better headquarters.
Yusef greeted them first, then he escorted the two officers to Sam’s office. They asked pretty standard questions and requested to see Hamilton’s office. Sam obliged their request, and after a brief search that revealed nothing unusual, they left. As soon as they were out of the door, all eyes turned to Sam. She could feel every employee’s questioning gaze. They were worried, and needed answers. Sam had none.
But she knew a place where she might find some.
She went back into her office, closed the door, and r
esumed work on the tasks at hand. There were dozens of operational issues that still needed to be addressed in preparation for Better’s expansion into new markets. It was another hour before she felt comfortable leaving work behind. She got in her car and headed straight for the workshop.
As soon as she got there, she saw Terry Hamilton’s car.
Sam parked, ran out to the dark sedan and tried to peer into the tinted windows. She could see nothing. She went around to the front of the car and peered into the windshield. It didn’t appear that anyone was inside. She looked to the trees, wondering if the crows were still there. She found nothing.
“Hallo,” said a voice from above her.
Sam spun around and looked to the trees, but she couldn’t see anyone. “What happened here?”
“We were distracted last night,” someone said. “There was an intruder.”
It took a moment for her to recognize that mysterious voice from the dark. It was Noc Noc’s, and it was deeper and raspier than usual. Sam searched for signs of the elf. Her breathing quickened and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
“What did you do to him?” she asked.
“You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” Noc Noc said.
He said nothing more. Long, agonizing seconds passed before she caught just the tiniest hint of movement out of the corner of her eye. She spotted two tiny circles of light—Noc Noc’s eyes. His coal-black skin melted into the nighttime darkness, leaving nothing to be seen but those piercing, shining eyes. Then the two lights swiveled and disappeared into the darkness, and Sam knew Noc Noc was gone. For the first time she was truly afraid of what she’d gotten herself into.
She ran inside the factory and found the workshop full of Kith. They stopped their work as soon as they saw her, as usual. Nothing seemed amiss here. Sam saw Piv a few feet away and ran up to him.
She took two deep, calming breaths before she spoke, “What happened out here?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Piv asked.
“Why is Hamilton’s car out there?”
“Oh,” Piv said. “Hamilton? Was that his name?”
“Yes. What happened to him?”
“You knew him?” Piv asked.
“Yes! Dammit he was a major investor in the company.”
“Oh,” Piv said, and he grimaced. “That is unfortunate.”
Noc Noc and Melkidoodum appeared next to Piv. Noc Noc was grinning like he was quite happy with himself. Melkidoodum looked rather bored.
Sam took a step back from them. “He’s dead isn’t he.”
Noc Noc shrugged. “More or less.”
* * *
“We should clean out his office,” Jess said as she stared into the empty quarters that had gone untouched for weeks. “It’s kind of creepy seeing all of his stuff in there. It’s like he’s coming back one day.”
Yusef gnawed on his pen and said, “Isn’t that the whole idea though? Aren’t we supposed to be hopeful that he is coming back some day?”
“It’s been two weeks,” Jess said. “The writing’s on the wall.” She pointed a manicured finger at the flowers placed at the door of the office. “And having stuff like that around is not helping company morale.”
Sam said, “The grief counselors you hired seemed to be doing okay.”
“They were the ones that suggested we clean out the office,” Jess said. “People need to be able to move on. They need some type of closure, which we may never get if they don’t find the bo.....him.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Leave his office alone for a couple more weeks. If there’s no news, we clean it out then.”
“Fine,” Jess said. “Who do we send his belongings to?”
“His wife, most likely,” Yusef said. “I’ve been helping her with the terms of the company insurance and how they’re going to handle this situation.”
“How is she holding up?” Sam asked.
“Surprisingly well from what I can tell,” Yusef said. “You haven’t spoken to her?”
Sam shook her head. “Never even met her.”
Yusef turned to Jess. “Jess, I’m shocked. You let this slip through your carefully planned public image for our dear CEO?”
“Oh please,” Sam said.
“He’s right,” Jess said. “You should at least make an appearance. Give your condolences and such.”
Sam grimaced. “I...I don’t know about that.”
“Yusef,” Jess said, “could you leave me and Sam to have a little girl talk?”
Yusef nodded. “No problem. All this talk of dying has reminded me to review our insurance coverage for accidental death and dismemberment.” He left, and Jess turned to Sam.
“Something on your mind?” Sam asked.
“Let’s discuss this in your office,” Jess said. The two women made the short walk over to Sam’s office, and Jess closed the door behind them. Sam took a seat in her chair.
“I know why you don’t want to visit Hamilton’s wife,” Jess said.
Sam’s skin tingled. It was that damned fight or flight reaction again. What was Jess talking about? Did she know about the Kith? Had she seen Piv? A multitude of questions raced through her mind, but she calmed herself. She was getting used to these kinds of situations. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Jess said as she took several careful steps towards Sam. “It’s not as secret as you think it is. I know you hated him. So did I. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Sam sighed and slumped into her chair. It wasn’t an act. She was relieved as all hell. But Jess would misinterpret the actual reasons for her relief. All Sam had to do was play along.
“Okay,” Sam said. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Jessica said as she gingerly sat on Sam’s desk and gave her a reassuring pat on the leg. “You did a great job of not letting it show, though. You were a perfect professional even when he was being a gigantic jackass.”
“Thanks,” Sam said.
“Now, you just have to put on that show one more time, for his wife.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“Which actually might make it easier,” Jess said. “If it was someone you knew, this would be tough emotionally. But she’s virtually a stranger and her husband wasn’t exactly your favorite person in the world.”
Sam crossed her arms and glared at Jessica. “Remind me why you want me to do this again?”
“Because Mrs. Hamilton is probably well-connected and may not speak well of you if you don’t make the effort.”
“She may not speak well of me even if I do,” Sam said.
“True, but there is another reason to do this.”
“And that would be?” Sam asked.
“Because it’s the nice thing to do,” Jess said.
“Since when have I been nice?”
“Point taken,” Jess said as she stood and headed for the door, “but now sure is a good time to start.”
* * *
Sam left the office early to mentally prepare for tomorrow’s visit to Mrs. Hamilton. First, she made a stop at the grocery store to pick up some snacks for the elves. Piv had said something about the team getting low on eggs, and the Kith had recently requested more of a treat they just couldn’t get enough of—pineapples. Sam dropped the supplies off at the door of the workshop; she didn’t go inside. Once she got home, Sam collapsed on her couch and propped her feet on the table. In five minutes she was asleep.
When she awoke it was late afternoon, and Piv was sitting cross-legged on the floor while he watched TV with the volume low.
“What are you doing here?” Sam said.
Piv turned to her. “This is always what I do at this time of day. You’re usually not here. Why are you here?”
“I needed a little break,” Sam said. “I’m going to visit Hamilton’s wife.”
“Ah,” Piv said, smiling. “That would be the nice thing to do.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sam grumbled.
“You don’t seem happy about it.” Piv said.
“No. I am not.”
Piv cocked his head quizzically, a gesture Sam realized he did quite often when dealing with humans. “Why not?” he said. “Do you not like giving comfort to the grieving? I could provide some helpful instructions.”
“That’s not it,” Sam said.
“What is it then?”
“Don’t you get it?” Sam said.
“I do not.”
Sam sat up and looked Piv dead in his pale green eyes. “I killed her husband.”
Piv’s face contorted with confusion. “No...you didn’t. We—”
“I know what you did,” Sam said. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here because of me. I’m responsible for what you do. And do you know the worst part of it? The worst part is that I had warnings. My father wrote about this kind of stuff and I just brushed it aside. I should have done a whole lot more and I didn’t. Hamilton died because of that. That’s why I can’t go and look his wife in the eyes and tell her how sorry I am for her loss. No matter how you sugarcoat it, that woman’s husband is dead because of me, and nothing is ever going to make that right.”
“I see,” Piv said. “So why are you going to visit her?”
“Because it’s the nice thing to do,” Sam said.
* * *
Jessica, being thorough as always, had emailed Sam the info for Mrs. Hamilton’s residence. The address led her to a quaint cul-de-sac in Rochester Hills. The Hamilton home was impressive, but not garish. It was built sometime in the late sixties, and it retained a vintage charm without being outdated. It was a classic design of brick walls, tall windows, and a slanted tile roof. Sam parked at the curb, and as she made the long walk up to the home’s front door she could tell the house itself was meticulously maintained and in excellent condition. The only sign that anything was amiss was the slightly overgrown lawn.
Sam took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and paused. Countless varied thoughts ran through her head as she tried to think of things that Mrs. Hamilton might say. Most of the responses she came up with sounded pitifully similar, loaded with phrases like “I’m sorry”, and “Your husband is a great man”, and “The police will find him soon.” She believed none of it, and she was convinced no one listening to her would either, but this was apparently the nice thing to do.