She frowned at the thought of her friend. The only consolation that she had was that she actually hadn’t seen Jeremy tonight or the previous night. There was no evidence of his joining the people who lived at the Durfrene Row house except the sound of his voice. And the fact that they found you so damn quick, Pen, came that wickedly maddening inner voice.
What Penelope needed was Internet access, and she knew where to look.
*
The name of the Internet coffee bar was Buffalo Butt Bob’s Café. There was a silhouetted picture of a buffalo on the sign but none of Bob’s butt, a fact for which Penelope was eternally grateful. She ordered a large cinnamon hazel coffee with whipped cream and settled into a work station toward the back of the little coffee bar. Sitting where she could clearly see the front door, she noticed the fullness of the place. Saturday nights and no one had anyplace better to go than an Internet café where they could get loaded on caffeine and surf the net.
Penelope resisted the inevitable groan of despair. Saturday nights she usually spent with her mother or planning a creep. She wasn’t any better than they were, and she suddenly knew that her life had changed forever the moment she had stepped inside the Durfrene Row house.
Sipping the coffee, she stared at the computer screen, gazing at an MSN news website. The day’s headlines were there as well as news about various Middle Eastern conflicts. It all seemed commonplace and ordinary to Penelope now, as if none of it was real, and she was in the middle of a very bizarre and surrealistic dream.
She put the coffee down and put her fingers on the correct keys on the keyboard, trying to shake the odd feeling from her. Will had given her some information, and she wanted to know more. She entered the website of a search engine onto the top and waited while the computer took her there. Once the screen was up she entered the keywords in that she wanted. She typed in, “seatco,” spelling it the way it sounded. However, Seat Co. was a company that made car seat covers and resulted in over 500 hits.
So Penelope thought about what Will had said. “a seatco is an evil spirit.” She added the key words, “evil spirit” to “seatco” and hit enter. Twenty-two hits came up. That was better. Methodically, she began to hit each site and read what they said about the seatco. By the time she had reached the bottom of the first page, she wasn’t any happier than she had been.
The gist was not good. A seatco was a Pacific Northwest Native American name for an evil spirit. The old word was tsiatko, which had been Anglicized over the years. It was the most feared of demons, something that could take the form of a human but commit all the acts of atrocity imaginable. One entry read, “It sleeps by day and dwells under the earth to conceal its horrid form from those who would scream during the time when sun would shine upon its ugliness. It kidnaps those who are unwary enough to avoid it and eats the flesh of those it has taken. It haunts the darkest shadows and beware those warriors who travel by the nights when the moon does not shine.”
Native American, Penelope thought apprehensively. Will appeared to be just that. So did the cold and beautiful woman named Merri. It wasn’t such a stretch that they would believe in the myths of their people, but it didn’t necessarily follow that Penelope would swallow the same amount of hogwash.
But you’ve seen it. It was real. The mismatched arms and feet and the different-colored eyes were all clues to its origins. If it wasn’t a monster concocted from Indian legends, then what was it? The wretchedly questioning inner voice queried her with all the sarcasm of a man about to go to the chopping block and wondering if his neck would be messed up.
Penelope blinked. Then she entered another set of key words. “Tears of the Spirit.” A million hits resulted, and she groaned out loud, causing two nearby computer geeks to look at her curiously. She added “jewel” to the key words, resulting in 68,000 hits. There were a bunch of sites about Jewel the singer, and she studiously ignored them. However on the second page was a single entry about an Indian legend concerning a mythological stone.
It wasn’t an opal or some kind of piece of obsidian. Rather it was a story about a great fire in the skies that resulted in the landing of what Penelope knew must be a meteor. In the flaming pieces of rock and earth there was a tremendous black gemstone that a brave warrior brought back to his beloved wife. The warrior had traveled a vast distance to bring a cure back for his much cherished and desperately ill wife. When he returned and hung the gem around her neck, she was healed, but she was never the same woman. Furthermore, it caused immeasurable damage and strife among the Native Americans, and eventually the beautiful woman was taken over by the evil things that came from the gemstone. The Pacific Northwest tribal legend stated that the wife was sacrificed and the stone hidden so that it could never again do the damage to this world that it had almost ended before. The people called the gemstone, “Tears of the Spirit.”
The author of the site added some notes onto the bottom of the legend. One comment indicated that while the legend was very active, it had never been proven that such a stone existed. However, if it had, it would be a black diamond brought in from a 16th century meteorite. Black diamonds from meteors had been discovered before. The heat of the entering asteroids caused the formation of the proper minerals into the very rare stones, in much the same manner that the Earth created diamonds. But most of these diamonds were tiny; the largest was only a quarter of an inch in size.
A black diamond from a meteor, Penelope thought. With a curse on it. A terrible curse that causes all kinds of problems for the person who wears it. And it’s a whole lot bigger than a quarter inch.
Penelope frowned. I am in so much trouble. With something called a seatco sniffing me out like a mutated hound dog and someone else telling me only he can help me. Something else occurred to her. Will had said it, “It has your scent. You left your blood there. It can follow you anywhere. To the ends of the Earth and beyond. You have to understand.”
Standing up so quickly that she tipped over the chair she was sitting in, Penelope emitted a sound of horror. What if that were really true? What if it did have her scent? What if it could follow that scent anywhere she’d been? Say, for example to the one place she spent more time at than anywhere else.
“Oh, God,” Penelope muttered. “Mama.”
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday, July 5th
Wheelman (slang, origin unknown, probably 1940s American) - the driver of a getaway car
Penelope dug Jeremy’s cell phone out of a pocket as she drove toward the assisted-living home where Jessica Quick lived. Cedars on the Ridge was about twenty minutes away from Penelope’s apartment. After all, she spent as much time as she could with her mother. Of course, Penelope was forced to limit that time because Jessica was prone to asking persistent and intrusive questions about where the money for the home came from.
Thank God she can’t see what the place looks like, Penelope thought sincerely. Then Mama wouldn’t let me rest until I told every damning detail about exactly where the money comes from. Fresh flowers in the foyers every day. Italian marble floors. The walls and rooms were decorated by professionals to make the occupants feel as though they were staying in a comfortably elegant hotel. Cedars on the Ridge is the best place closest to me and worth every dime of the money I steal.
Jessica’s private line rang once and then again. It rang twelve times before Penelope hit the disconnect button. Either she isn’t there or…
“She’s not there,” Penelope answered herself in a rapid snarl. What she was thinking wasn’t conceivable. She threw the cell phone down on the passenger seat with a growl of rage.
Buffalo Butt Bob’s Café was located on the edge of Fort Worth’s stockyards, a place full of cowboy atmosphere and the rich history of the west. Consequently the drive to get to where her mother was located was further than the mere twenty minute trip from her apartment.
From downtown Fort Worth she took the interstate angling down toward I-20 as it coursed over the expanse of Texas going east a
nd west. Traffic had lightened up because it was a little later in the evening, and Penelope kept a wary eye out for both cops and black Suburbans that could be avidly searching for her. She didn’t doubt that Sammy, her landlord, had called the police about the 1963 Thunderbird being stolen. Of course, it could be hours before it was actively reported on police computers.
Penelope had another thought. She retrieved the cell phone and dialed another number. The operator at Cedars on the Ridge answered, and she asked to be put through to the on-duty nurse in her mother’s wing. The operator politely and rapidly complied.
Finally, a woman’s voice said pleasantly, “Nurse Gina.”
Great! Penelope was genuinely happy. Nurse Gina was one of the best nurses on the floors at Cedars, and she really liked Jessica Quick and all her patients. An African American woman in her fifties, she was well-educated and had a lovely voice that she used on the job as well as in the church choir. About the same height as Penelope, she was almost three times her weight and let everyone know that she was a kind woman but in charge.
Penelope fought for composure. She didn’t want to alarm Gina or make her think that something was up that would cause the nurse to call the authorities or even Cedars’ security officers. Penelope wasn’t sure if that would help her mother or not. But if those people that Penelope was so afraid of got their hands on Jessica Quick, all bets were off. She would have to give them the stone, not that she was all that willing to keep it after what she had learned from the Internet. From what the man calling himself Will had indicated, this was a one-way deal. They weren’t going to rest until Penelope had returned the gem to them, and she was also lying six feet under the ground. Or possibly lying dead above the ground would do just as well to them. She said, “Gina, Penelope Quick here.”
“Miss Penelope,” Gina said cheerfully. “You haven’t been by for a few days. I know your mama went out with Mr. Freddy for the weekend, but…”
“Oh,” Penelope slumped with relief. “That’s right. They went to Shreveport. I’d forgotten.” Mr. Freddy was Freddy Clark. Freddy was one of Jacob Quick’s oldest friends, and years after Jacob’s death, he had started to sedately court Jessica. Since he was out of the creeping business and had several of his own legitimate and well-paying businesses, Penelope not only didn’t mind but encouraged the relationship.
“Your mama surely loves to listen to the slot machines go ding-a-ling-a-ling when she loses,” Gina said laughingly.
“Do you know when they’re coming back?” Anxiousness began to sneak back into her voice, and Penelope struggled to restrain the fearful tone.
“Tonight, I think,” Gina answered. “Something wrong, Miss Penelope? You sound a mite out of sorts.”
“No, no,” Penelope said quickly. “I just need to talk to Mama about something that came up. I appreciate your help. If you see my mother before I get there, can you have her call this number?” She gave Gina Jeremy’s cell phone number. “It’s important.”
“Sure, honey. Oh-oh, I have to go. Mr. Laramie is trying to climb on the coffee table in the living room again.” Without another word Gina hung up.
Penelope dropped the phone on the passenger seat again. Agitated, she chewed on her knuckles. Dammit, she thought and removed her hand before the skin on her knuckles was worn away enough to bleed.
If Nurse Gina said her mother was planning on returning tonight, then that was exactly when her mother would have Freddy return her. Her mother thrived on stability in her life.
In any case, Jessica would get back in time to be shredded into mincemeat by what Penelope had been informed was an evil, badass spirit that liked to take on human form and cannibalize those it captured. And all Penelope had to do was think of a way to save her mother’s stubborn hiney.
The malicious inner voice added, And also how you’re going to explain a seven-foot thing in a fright mask and the weird guys with the glow in their dark eyes to your mother. Penelope shut her eyes for a moment and opened them when a car next to her honked angrily. There are times that I am truly glad that my mother is blind. Having let that unruly thought go, she immediately chastised herself severely for the unkindness.
*
Penelope parked in the lot at Cedars on the Ridge in a row of shadows caused by large oak trees. She turned the engine of the ‘Bird off and carefully scrutinized the building and the immediate area. Some of the visitors to the home were trickling out in small numbers having visited their loved ones, but it was late enough for the mostly elderly there to already be in bed. A security guard in a golf cart cruised around the facility every twenty minutes, and Penelope ducked just before his lights reached her.
It had taken her ten minutes of going the maximum speed of the ‘Bird to get to Cedars from where she’d called. Knowing that Freddy would have left his Caddy in the lot to escort Jessica inside, Penelope was relieved to not see that the Christmas bulb blue vintage Cadillac was not present. So the conclusion was that they hadn’t returned from Shreveport yet. Freddy would draw out the weekend event as long as possible, as he was completely enamored of Penelope’s mother. To him she was the most beautiful, most gracious, most wondrous woman on the face of the planet. He’d even offered a job to Penelope in a not-so-subtle attempt to get her out of the business that was ultimately bad news for any thief and please Jessica in the process. Of course, minimum wage wasn’t going to pay Jessica’s bills, and Penelope had refused in the most tactful way possible.
Penelope was pretty sure that Freddy had a cell phone. But when he was out with Jessica he turned it off. He didn’t want any interruptions in his unerring quest to win the hand of his beloved. Jessica, who returned Freddy’s affections, was mildly amused by his sometimes bizarre antics to wiggle his way into her heart. But none of that was going to help Penelope with her present problem of staying alive and also keeping her mother in a similar condition.
Muttering under her breath, Penelope ducked again when the golf cart with the single security officer came puttering around the corner of the lot. The guard was using a large and powerful spotlight to search through the lot for obvious problems, screaming individuals, or perhaps the walking undead as the case called for.
That isn’t funny, her wicked inner voice warned her. After all, you’re thinking about evil spirits that cannibalize their victims and chase you around Kingdom Come searching for a mysterious, cursed gemstone from a meteorite. Have some reverence, Pen. It could be you next.
“I hate that stupid inner voice,” she mumbled irately. The guard stopped to look at a metallic gold-colored PT Cruiser and then moved on a moment later, satisfied that nothing untoward was occurring. He didn’t even glance at the classic ‘Bird.
As Penelope shifted around in the car she felt something against her hip. It was the wallet of the man who had been waiting for her in the car park. She pulled it out and sat so that a stream of light filtering in from the parted branches of the oak tree allowed her to see.
It was a plain old wallet, leather and dog-eared with use. There was a driver’s license inside issued from a state that Penelope had never been to and hadn’t ever thought of visiting. William Jonathon Littlesoldier was the name declared on the little card. He was thirty five years old and was five feet ten inches tall. He was not an organ donor, and the town of record was listed as White Clouds, Oregon. She stuck the license back and pulled out the next card. It was a tribal identification card for the same name. The tribe was one that she’d never heard of; the Enumclaw Tribe. But the fact that he was a full-fledged member of a Native American tribe gave a little credence to the bizarre things happening to her.
Or that you’ve caused to happen, came the internal voice that was really beginning to annoy Penelope. He had told her the truth about his first name. His name was William, thusly he was probably known as Will. “Will to you.”
Penelope pushed the tribal ID back into its allotted slot and looked inside the flap where paper money was meant to be contained. He had one hundred and sixty-thr
ee dollars there. She left it alone because she didn’t need it and might have to run into the guy again. Tucked in the back were platinum MasterCard and Visas. Finally, there were two things left in the wallet. There was a temporary identification card for one Will Littlesoldier, Ph.D. for the Dallas Museum of Natural and Cultural History. There was also a photograph tucked away in the deepest recesses of the wallet. It was as if it had been hidden there, only to be taken out when he desperately needed to see it.
Viewing the worn and creased photograph made Penelope cringe with aversion, and her eyes went to the ceiling of the ‘Bird for a moment. Simply looking at it told her all kinds of things that she wasn’t sure if she was ready to know. Apparently Will had a set of secrets that he didn’t want addressed any more than Penelope did.
When her eyes slowly returned to the photograph held in her slightly shaking hand, she saw that there were three people framed in the picture. One was Will, years younger, grinning unabashedly into the camera with his handsome face friendly and unlined by the pain of reality. On the opposite side of the photo there was another man who looked very similar to Will except that he was a few years younger. He was also smiling openly into the camera’s lens, happy for that moment in time. Both of their arms were draped around the third person in the middle, as if they both treasured her equally. She was as beautiful in the picture as she had been in real life. But there was no coldness conveyed there in the photograph. Whatever she was now, she hadn’t been then. Merri. Will had said her name was Merri. And he had said she was “something else.” Something else being something not good. Not good at all.
With a feeling akin to dread, Penelope flipped the photograph over. A few words were written there, enough to let her know that she was in unfathomable danger.
*
Shadow People Page 13