by Joey Ruff
“See what I mean? For ten years, it’s been nothing but one story after another. And somehow, you haven’t been locked up yet in some asylum.”
“We used to be good together,” I told her. “Remember Texas?”
“Ten years ago,” she said, annunciating each word carefully and with forced annoyance. “A lot has changed since then.”
“You were just starting out. That was the case that began your career.”
“I remember.” Her voice was softer now. “I lost a partner on that case.”
“We both did.” I let the silence fill the space between us, and then added, “Not that much has changed, Nat.”
Her head was bowed, but she looked up at me. “You don’t get out of it that easily. I want to know what you’re doing here.”
I shrugged. “Fine. I’m looking into the Gables’ disappearance.”
“So am I, it’s part of my case file. But why are you at Moreland? He didn’t disappear from school. Anderson’s men have questioned the teachers. There’s nothing left here.”
“That’s not true. This is where it began.” I had no intention of showing her my whole hand.
“How do you know that?” She didn’t know about my ability, and I didn’t volunteer that information out.
“Let’s just say I’m pursuing a different angle than you are.”
“What, missing children being taken by the boogeyman?”
“Bogeys don’t have the…well, they don’t operate this way.”
“What way?”
“You saw the house yesterday. Those kids were eaten. Bogeys don’t do that. They feed on emotion, fear mainly.”
“Uh huh.” Clearly, she wasn’t a believer.
“The neo-druids and Satanists you take my word for, but all of the other stuff, you don’t get. It’s no wonder you stopped taking my calls.”
“I believed you on the demon possession, too.”
“Why wouldn’t you? You were raised Catholic. Your great uncle has the fucking stigmata.” I sighed. “But everything else you just write off.”
“Are you really that naïve?”
I didn’t say anything; I could smell a trap.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to cover for you over the years?” she said. “Do you remember any of the talks we had, where I begged you, pleaded with you, to adhere to the rules? There are politics in law enforcement, Swyftt. I can’t even tell you how many times you nearly cost me my career because you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then why is it you’re always charging in to crime scenes half-cocked, discharging your firearms, contaminating my evidence…oh, oh, murdering my only suspects…” She was quite angry, her voice rising heatedly. “You have no regard for anyone or anything else around you. You’re a danger and a hazard and it’s easier to be mad at you and keep you away than to put up with you and cover your fuck ups.”
I smiled broadly, covering my mouth in my open hand. “You said a naughty word.”
She shook and growled with rage. “You killed Elliot Ness!”
“He was supposed to be untouchable, right?” I smiled at her, but her anger only crystallized on her face.
“You know what I mean,” she spat.
“And you know why I did it.”
“No. I don’t. I know the story you told me. I know the mutilated body we found, the one you swear was some creature but the autopsy revealed to be human.”
“Technically, he was.” I sighed. “I don’t like fighting with you, Nat. We should be better than this.”
“It’s Special Agent Stone. Not Natasha. Not Nat.” She did this thing where she nibbled on her lips and furled her brow while she looked around the room, maybe looking for the words to say. “Not anymore.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you out of my hair. I want you to get out of here, and I want you to stay out of my way.”
“Does that mean I can go?”
She stepped to the side. She didn’t look at me, she was looking at something on the ceiling. Quietly, she said, “Before I change my mind.”
I moved to the door, but before I could push it open, she added, “I don’t want to see you again. Not at my crime scenes. Not with my suspects. Not poking around where you don’t belong. Is that clear?”
“We both have jobs to do. You respect mine, I’ll respect yours.”
“Close the door on your way out, Swyftt.”
I did. I could hear the emotion in her voice. I had dredged up something forgotten, or at the very least tucked away. I knew it when she brought up Ness. She’d probably cry a little bit now. Fuck it, what did I care? What happened wasn’t my fault. At least one of us knew that.
Outside the room, I saw What’shisname sitting next to the basset-hound receptionist as she flipped through a photo album. Maybe he was a nice guy and he genuinely cared about her little family photos, maybe he was a good actor and had nothing better to do. Either way, he gave off the appearance of actually being interested.
I walked right by them, and neither looked at me, they were too engrossed in their conversation and some photo with a camel and circus balloons and a baby carried in the arms of a clown. Don’t ask; I didn’t.
Nadia was parked about where I expected her to be, hands drumming the steering wheel to some unheard beat, her mouth moving soundlessly, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.
As I approached, she opened her door and called to me, “What happened? I’ve been waiting.”
“I had a run-in with the law.”
“Feds or local?”
“Stone.”
“Ah. Did you get what you needed?”
I thought about it for a second and said, “I could have gotten more, but I was vetoed from the Johnson kid.” She nodded and sat back into the car. I opened the passenger door and collapsed into the seat. There were two paper travel cups of coffee with cardboard cozies in the cup holders. “You didn’t.”
She smiled. “I hope it’s still hot.”
“Bless you.” I took a sip. “Remember that question you asked me earlier? Ask it again.”
She gave me a blank look, then something seemed to register and she said, “What was Adam given?”
I nodded. “A friend. And maybe something else. Eric’s journal said Adam was taken to a place called Elensal where allegedly he was shown where the dragons were. After that, he changed, his drawings changed, possibly to mirror what he saw.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Dragons? Really?”
“The jury’s still out on that. Haven’t seen a dragon in years, and even then, never in the New World. They’re Asian beasties, or European, and they’ve been mostly extinct since the Dark Ages. But it’s possible, I guess.”
“Okay. So what or where is this Elensal?”
“My thoughts exactly.” She was driving now, weaving in and out of traffic. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“Toby Emmerich’s house.”
I nodded. She wore a suit, just like I asked, and she had her dark hair pulled up, a modest amount of make-up on. She looked good, presentable, professional.
“We need to call Ape and ask him to look into places where dragons have been known to live. Also, maybe he can cross-reference Elensal in myths.”
“He’s not home.”
“What do you mean? Where is he?”
“Out looking for Arthur.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He said he was doing the case on his own. Why would he tell you?”
I sighed.
“So did you get anything on Adam’s friend Dewey? Maybe what he looks like?”
“Not yet. I think I’ve seen Pierce, Julie’s friend, in the reading I got from the bear.”
“And? What did he look like?”
“A big grey blob.”
She shook her head. I saw the amethyst that hung around her neck, mostly hidden by the collar of her shirt, and for a momen
t, it looked like the gem was glowing. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “Whatever it is doesn’t leave a sense memory on the objects it touches.”
“How did you come to that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but it makes sense.”
We lapsed into silence, and my mind began to wander, playing things back in my head. Eventually, Nadia asked, “So, what did you and Stone talk about?”
“Elliot Ness. That old chestnut.”
“The FBI agent after Al Capone?”
“Kind of.”
“I don’t think I know that story then.”
“Well, remind me to tell it you sometime.”
“What about now? We’ve got a few minutes.”
“I’d rather not.” She just looked at me with those big, pleading eyes. I rubbed my brow in one hand, and took a deep breath. “Fine.”
16
About three years ago, I was hired by a neighborhood watch group in the suburbs to investigate an ongoing vandalism problem. It wasn’t normally my bag, but it was a slow week, so I settled. The money was green.
It was a gated neighborhood with curb-side recycling, street lamps, and smoothly paved roads. Not the kind of place that normally catered to the criminal element.
So I staked-out, curled up in my car with logs of beef jerky and a couple extra tall grande mocha fraps. Did crossword puzzles and listened to talk radio.
Nothing happened that first night.
The next morning, as the sun was coming up, I noticed a woman, short and round in a pink bathrobe and a towel on her head, taking the garbage out. She stopped when she saw my car, and slowly, she approached me.
I’d met the woman the day before, as she was one of the chairpeople on the watch and thus one of the people responsible for hiring me. Her name was Mrs. … ah, bollocks. Call her Mrs. B.
It was the middle of summer, too warm and too humid for as early as it was. She was barefoot as she crossed the lawn – I didn’t want to think about what else was bare under the robe – and she rapped on the glass of the passenger door. My car was never blessed with power locks or windows, so I leaned across the seat next to me, fresh with wadded fast-food wrappers and empty disposable coffee cups, and I cranked the window down about half way.
She was pleasant enough, nice in an awkward way, and she flashed me a toothy grin, her eyes behind her glasses squinting as she faced the rising sun. “Mr. Swyftt,” she said. “Have you been out here all night?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She seemed surprised by this. I wasn’t sure if she knew what a night watch really did. “When do you sleep?”
I yawned. “In a few minutes. Can I help you with anything?”
She shrugged. “I was just out looking for my cat. We let him out every night, but he’s always right there waiting by the back door in the morning. When I open the door, he’ll purr at me and rub his face with his paws, bless his little heart.”
“He wasn’t there, then?”
“No. No, he wasn’t there. It worries me a little, what with all the strange things going on.”
“Cats wander. He’ll be back in time for lunch.” I didn’t think the cat’s disappearance was related to what was “going on.” A few nights ago, one of the houses had the garbage cans knocked over and smashed in, litter everywhere through the freshly groomed grass. Then the little glass square in someone’s rear garage door had been smashed through. Some things were missing from inside, tools and such, some food from the deep freeze unit they kept out there, but the alarm went off when whoever it was tried to enter the house; I guess the noise scared them and they fled. The night before last, a couple of cars were broken into, glove boxes rummaged through, but nothing missing.
“Oh, you’re probably right,” she said. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee?”
I yawned. “Nice offer. But if it’s all the same, I think I’m just gonna head home and grab some shut eye.”
“I understand.” She smiled. “Pleasant dreams then, Mr. Swyftt.” And then she hobbled back to her house, turning and waving as I started the car.
I circled the block and then drove down a couple side streets, checking to make sure everything was still in order. Every house looked nearly the same as the one next to it. I don’t know if the neighborhood was built on a budget or what, but there were only three different looks, three different styles of house, and each had a small neatly-trimmed square of grass in the front, the garages all out to the side. The only thing that set any of them apart from the others was the occasional political sign, Re-elect Jim McTierney, or a windsock in the purple and gold colors of the University of Washington.
The one house that really stood out didn’t have signs or flags, but it did have a blonde in a bathrobe. She was quite the knock-out from behind – I couldn’t see her face – and she was bending over to grab her newspaper from the front walk. I caught her stealing glances at me in the rear-view and made a mental note to make sure her house stayed safe that night.
I was still studying her in the mirror when I almost hit the kid. I slammed on the breaks quickly, squealing and skidding on the pavement, and he staggered to the side, falling off the bike that had thrust him into my path, steadying himself on one leg. I threw the car in park and opened the door, calling out the window to him. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for school or something?” He couldn’t have been older than fifteen. He had brown hair under a backward ballcap, baggy jean shorts, and a faded Nirvana t-shirt.
The initial shock in his expression, probably brought on by his near-fatal almost-collision, melted coolly into a devil-may-care attitude and swagger. “Wouldn’t have been a problem, faggot, if you hadn’t been checking out my neighbor. She’s married anyway.”
I looked back over my shoulder, but the blonde had gone back inside. I felt a pang of disappointment. “Obviously the term faggot doesn’t apply, you fucking shit, if I’m looking at a woman.”
“Ooooh,” he said, mounting his bike a little more steadily.
“Why don’t you scamper on back to wherever it is you came from, huh?”
He arched an eyebrow at me, looked as if he were about to say something, shook his head and walked his bike to the side of the car, giving me room enough to pass. As I started to roll my window up, I heard him say, “You’re the guy, aren’t ya?”
I rolled it back down. “Which guy?”
“The watch guy. My dad’s on the council, he said they hired some idiot to find out what’s doing all the damage at night. I told him it was pointless, but he didn’t want to listen to me.”
I thought it was pointless too, but it paid. “Listen to you about what?”
“Kids talk, man. Everybody knows what’s doing it.”
“What are they saying?”
“You haven’t heard? Shit. I thought you might talk to some people.”
“I talked to the members of the council, your dad probably. They’re all convinced it’s a bear or another animal from the woods nearby, maybe some neighborhood kids getting drunk and playing pranks.”
“Yeah, it’s kids alright,” he said. “But not like they think.”
“Alright, genius. What is it then?”
“Chuck Finway and Mark Barring.”
“Okay. Which house is theirs?”
“You don’t get it. They’re dead. That’s why nobody will listen.”
That got my attention. I doubted it was some roaming vengeful spirit I was on the lookout for, but the mystery was enough to engage me. “Go on. I’m listening.”
“A few weeks back, there was a party at Marcy Taylor’s. Chuck and Mark got shit-faced and they tried to drive home. They ran off the road, plowed through some old farmer’s fence and into his field or whatever, crashing the car into the side of his barn. Nobody had seen it, and I guess they tried to go for help, but Mark was bleeding pretty bad, I heard, and they ended up falling down some abandoned well.”
“How do you know all th
is?”
“They found the car. Farmer was pissed. Of course, it took a couple of days before the police found both the bodies down at the bottom of the well. Looked like something had been feeding off ‘em.”
“Feeding? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Rats, I guess. So anyway, kids at school say that now their spirits can’t rest or something. Since their bodies were eaten, they wander the night looking for things they can eat.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“Yeah, well, whatever man. You asked, I told ya.”
I nodded. I rolled the window back up, and the kid just looked at me. There was just a crack left when I said, “Don’t fall in any wells.” He gave me a look that said, “Go fuck yourself, asshole.” And I drove home, thinking about what he had told me.
That night, I was back, but I didn’t park by Mrs. B’s house. I parked in front of the blonde’s. It seemed like a better vantage point to…I don’t know, see something. It was dusk as I pulled up, having stopped on the way and picked up a dozen donuts and a jug of coffee that was supposed to feed ten. I figured maybe it would get me through the night. I’d brought a book and a couple magazines and settled in, poured my first cup of coffee and began to read, stealing glances out of the corner of my eye at the house.
Just after dark, I was startled when someone rapped on my window. I don’t know how they had snuck up on me, but they did. What surprised me even more was seeing Natasha Stone, Special Agent of the FBI, standing in a fuzzy robe, flannel pants with rubber duck print and bunny slippers. She had her hair up in a loose pony tail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. I almost didn’t recognize her.
She muffled something at me through the closed window, and I rolled it down. “What are you doing outside of my house, Swyftt? You trying to take this relationship to the next level?”
“What…what do you mean?”
“I thought that was you this morning. Are you stalking me?”
And then it clicked. The blonde hair, the bath robe – I was sitting outside her house. “I was…oh. Sorry, love, didn’t know you lived here.”