Shadow People

by Bevill, C. L.

  Tuesday, July 15th - Texas

  Rum bite (slang, origin unknown, probably 19th century English) - a clever trick

  Two hours later, the jet landed uneventfully at Addison Municipal Airport. Since Addison was a part of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, Penelope could see Dallas’s familiar cityscape as they circled around for the proper approach. The skies were clear and the smog was minimal, so she could see from Reunion Tower to the Chase Tower.

  Amazingly, she had snoozed again on the trip and had managed to relax enough not to think about what hells her mother was currently undergoing. However when Penelope woke up enough, she found Will staring at her in a way she didn’t care much for. The calculating look was absent. Instead he was looking at her as if she was a human being who could be respected.

  So Penelope turned away and continued to look out the window of the plane and thought about why she didn’t care for that much. The problem was that she didn’t really feel someone like Will should respect her. After all, she was rapidly and silently coming up with various methods of getting him out of the way. After that, the next thing she had to do was to get her mother out of danger. That counted doubly with the children that Anthony had kidnapped.

  However, Anthony was clever. And evilly perverse, added her inner voice helpfully. Penelope concluded the day before that Jessica couldn’t possibly be in the Durfrene Row house. It would be too easy for Penelope to simply call the police about it and have them do her dirty work. Of course, there was the implicit threat in his words about giving her mother to the witch. He wouldn’t want the publicity, and he definitively wanted the gemstone back.

  Anthony was too close to his prize to take risks. Penelope was the thief. She had possession of the Tears of the Spirit. Only she could bring it back to him. No matter what Will and Joseph John had told her, Anthony would believe that she was as selfish as himself. His thinking would be similar to Will’s beliefs. Or at least what Will had believed.

  Can you count on that? asked the annoying inner voice.

  “Yes, I think I can,” she muttered. So I have to find the site. Except I can’t take years to do it. If I can’t do it before Thursday at midnight, then I’ll have to persuade Anthony to tell me, and something tells me that Anthony won’t be alone at the house. As a matter of fact, since I ran over the seatco, it’s miraculously recuperated. It’ll be there and ready to pound me.

  Penelope looked at Will again. He was sitting there with one elbow propped on the rest, steadily gazing at her as if he were taking her measure. “What?” she said.

  “I was just wondering what goes on in that beautiful head of yours,” he commented mildly. “I don’t think it ever really stops working.”

  “You thought that if you recovered the Tears of the Spirit that would be the end of Anthony’s plot,” she stated.

  Will nodded. “It wasn’t such a stretch.”

  “But he’s managed to open doorways between the worlds before,” she said.

  “Small ones. Not enough to do significant damage but enough,” he said.

  “And what does an eclipse of the full moon have to do with it?”

  Will was amused. “I’m about to pull out my professor’s hat for you. It’s a myth, like many myths. But the basis in fact is what motivates my brother. The whites would consider them superstitious but then so are many Christian beliefs.”

  Penelope was glad to see that particular expression that so annoyed her fade from Will’s face. Instead he took on the persona of teacher. “Tell me.”

  “There is a tribe from Arizona who tells it the best. They say when the creator, not God mind you, but someone they called Tu-chai-pai, made the world, he made the Earth the woman and the sky a man. The world was a lake. The maker looked over his creation with his brother, Yo-ko-mat-is, and wasn’t sure what to do with it.” Will’s voice had taken on that singsong quality again. “So the maker took tobacco and placed it in his hand. Then he blew upon it three times. He called upon his brother to do the same, but his brother was rather useless. Each time the heavens rose higher above their heads. Then the maker made the four directions. He thought about it and made the other two directions. He added men to the scenario. Then he made hills and valleys and water. He made the forests and the animals. He made the sun because the people walked in darkness until he did so. Finally, the creator called upon his brother to make the moon. This he did because he knew that the moon would someday die. When it blinks out, men will know that the moon is dying. When the moon’s face is no longer visible, then men must run for their lives because the doorways to the other worlds shall be vulnerable.”

  “That’s the story you tell children,” Penelope said definitely. “What’s the one that you tell the adults with the doors shut?”

  Giving her a look that spoke of admiration for her accurate estimation, Will went on. “That an evil man comes in the time that Moon is dying. He is one of the impure ones, men who have tasted the flesh of other men. He took the blood of men and spit upon the face of Great Spirit. He defied the cautionary tales that keep man from falling into a great pit of fire and living in the ghost world as one who may never go onto the happy hunting grounds.” Will’s face was completely serious, and his voice leveled into a normal conversational tone. “He was a clever man, and he used the old legends to his advantage. American Indian legends are often a catalyst, a combination of paradoxes with which to teach the young about ancestors’ mistakes.”

  “But this evil man did more than that,” Penelope read between the lines.

  “He took the lives of six innocent souls, and he sacrificed them so that the second world became a reality. This man ended this world and brought about the death of every living thing. Nothing or no one remained. But as years passed Coyote came out of the nothingness and brought life back to the world. He even opened the doorway to the third world, this world, so that man could live again and thrive.”

  The plane came to a halt, and the co-pilot came out of the cockpit. He grinned agreeably. “Good landing.” He opened the doorway and put out the stairs. “Dr. Littlesoldier, I assume you’ll let us know if you need us to come back. Otherwise, we’re flying back to Oregon today.”

  “We won’t need you,” Will said slowly.

  After they deplaned, she asked him, “What about the crater? Did you look for it?”

  “I talked to a horde of geologists. I even talked to one who specializes in meteorites. Finding the crater is like winning the lotto because of shrubs, earth, and growth.” Will pointed with a hand. “There’s our ride.”

  She looked and saw a Jeep Wrangler. It was a special Rubicon edition and ready to go four-wheeling. Will shrugged ruefully as she cast him an inquiring glance. “I thought we’d need something that could go places.”

  “But about the crater,” he went on. “The doc said it was hard to find anything like that unless you know what you’re looking for. The crater in Arizona sticks out because of a lack of vegetation. It’s obviously a meteor crater. And believe me, I checked into that one. No one ever found any black diamonds there. Just meteoritic iron.”

  “So how big would a sky god be?” Penelope stared at the Wrangler. She had always liked Jeeps. This one looked as though it could climb up the side of the dome of the capitol in Washington, D.C. and not even sputter in protest. It even looked as though it could fit two adults and four children in it, if she stuffed the kids in back. It would do just fine.

  “There are thousands of proven impact sites across the world. Meteorites hit the earth every day. Most of them are so inconsequential that we wouldn’t notice them unless they hit us on the ass.” Will looked at her. “Do you want to drive?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “But what about ones in Texas?”

  “My geologist friend said he didn’t know of any, but he’d heard rumors about one east of Abilene. However, I couldn’t find any kind of literary trace about it. He even looked for me and said it was one of those stupid legends that all professionals hear.”
>
  “You should hear some of the stories thieves tell,” she said. Will handed her the keys, and she jangled them experimentally in her hand. “Your tribe isn’t poor then?”

  “Not hardly,” he said. “They have a casino, but they also found a strike of gold in the fifties on tribal lands. Pretty rich strike. It was invested by some of the educated elders. Stocks, bonds, securities.”

  “Okay, then,” Penelope said. “Now we have to figure out how to find a crater in Texas when a horde of geologists couldn’t.”

  Will blinked. Penelope no longer sounded scared. She sounded bemused and ready to solve a problem that was particularly vexing.

  “Where,” she said, climbing into the Jeep with a mischievous smile, “do you suppose we might find a clue?”

  “You don’t mean,” he started and the words died away.

  “That’s exactly where I mean,” Penelope finished. “But first we need some stuff. And I’ve got friends who can get me stuff. Stuff a professor never, ever plays with.”

  *

  Rocky Ray’s wasn’t particularly crowded on a Tuesday evening. Only one man was present. He was examining a stereo system that Penelope knew was stolen. It was probably obtained in a smash-and-grab operation. The customer didn’t know the system was hotter than an egg on an August afternoon sidewalk, but he was drooling over it. Furthermore, Ray was drooling over the fact that the customer was drooling over the stereo.

  Will glanced around the small place of business and was obviously unimpressed. He glanced at Penelope curiously as if he were asking, “What the hell are we doing here?” Then he would have added, “You know, worlds ending, madman trying to make bad-bad, witches, monsters, kidnapped children and mothers? So why the hell here?”

  Ray looked away from his customer as the door bells jangled and did a doubletake when he saw her. Penelope took that look to mean that the police had been in on more than one occasion to see if any of the known fences knew the identity of the mysterious thief who had been involved in the police-officer-related injury. In a moment of reflection she conjectured that a detective who knew Ray had probably been pestering the fence because he was sure that Ray knew more than he let on.

  Ray was a man in his early sixties with a balding head and a whiskey-hoarse voice. He was about five foot eight inches and weighed at least three hundred pounds. He had been a fence for Jacob Quick and his crew for years. But pickings had gotten slim, and a decade before, Ray would have never taken in such an obvious piece of crap as the stereo system. It was so brand-new that it still had beads of Styrofoam clinging to its features with the owner’s manual, unopened in plastic wrap, next to it.

  Penelope made a frowny face. Ray frowned and looked at his sole customer. The customer licked his lips and started to negotiate for the stereo system. Ray didn’t argue. He rang the guy up, with cash of course, and hurried him out of the door, even helping him load the system in his car. All the while Penelope and Will waited, and she wasn’t very patient.

  “Don’t,” she said warningly to Will once Ray stepped outside, “let him use the phone.”

  Will frowned too. “Why not?”

  “Because he’ll call the cops,” she answered. “Just go over there and stand next to the phone. He doesn’t have another one.”

  When Ray returned he was all smiles and joyful platitudes. “It’s great to see ya, Jake’s kid. You look like a million bucks. You’re just as pretty as your mama.” Then he paused and went for the real information, all the while inching over toward the phone. “Man, I’ve heard some stuff about you the last week. You wouldn’t believe the things Jake’s crew is saying.”

  Penelope rested her hands on the counter. She said, “Do tell.”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Ray said, reaching for the phone and abruptly stopping, because Will’s stern expression halted him in his tracks. Will gently tugged the phone toward him and put his hand on the receiver, saying, “You don’t mind if I use this, do you?”

  Not answering, Ray looked back at Penelope who smiled grimly. “You never would have done that to my father, Ray,” she said.

  “I didn’t turn you in the last time you were here, Penelope,” Ray protested. He put a hand across his heart. “I could have. But I didn’t.”

  “I’m going to tell every single thief I know that you’re working for the cops, Ray,” she said threateningly. “Every one. And you know I know a bunch of thieves.”

  Ray swallowed nervously. “Don’t do that, Pen,” he pleaded. “This one cop’s been breathing down my neck.” His voice imitated an octave higher than his normal range. “‘I know you know the girl, Ray. Just tell me who she is and what she told you about the house on Durfrene Row.’” His voice returned to its normal hoarseness. “Jesus H. Christ, he don’t give up.”

  Penelope’s eyes narrowed. Something smelled fishy. Very, very fishy, as if they were all standing in a bait store. Ray was typically wary of the cops. After all, they were onto his store and many let him operate under sufferance. Sometimes he threw them a crumb or two. It was enough to keep him in business. The cops didn’t know about the bigger business he ran out of his warehouse down the street. The warehouse was under his brother-in-law’s name and merchandise went in and out of there under strict security. “What do you mean by that?”

  Making a pained face, Ray turned on a radio that sat on the counter. It was set to a local all-news station. The DJ was saying, “…in other news more soldiers dead in Iraq, due to a car bomb at a roadway security checkpoint.”

  The DJ went on about the deaths for a minute before Penelope said, “Ray, I don’t have a lot of patience today.”

  “Just listen,” he said. “They’re repeating the same damn thing every ten minutes.”

  “Local Dallas Police are still searching for the missing police detective, Alan Harcourt, who vanished almost a week ago on Wednesday. This morning, Detective Harcourt’s official vehicle was found abandoned at a Super Eight Motel in Mesquite and apparently has no signs of foul play.” The DJ briefly described the case as he knew it. The police hadn’t ruled out possible suicide, but did stress that Harcourt was a determined officer with a high success rate.

  “Let me guess,” Penelope said dryly. “That was the cop who came to see you about me.”

  “Dedicated Al is what they call him,” Ray said. “He threatened to pull out my kidneys.”

  “And because he’s vanished, you’re a little nervous that more cops will come calling.”

  Ray nodded. “They keep records of who they talk to. It’s only a matter of time before I got more cops in here than there is in Krispy Kreme’s.”

  “So you were going to call them and tell them that you’ve seen me, the girl thief they were looking for, before they came knocking.” Penelope glanced at Will. “This is your fault.”

  “I called the police to protect you, Penelope,” Will said without apology. “I thought that Anthony might not follow you if you were in custody.”

  Ray fearfully looked back and forth between the two of them.

  Penelope’s glance swung back to Ray. “Even if I’m in jail, I could ruin your rep, Ray. Jacob’s crew will spread the word. They’ll tell everyone, and before long, you won’t have any business except crackheads wanting to sell you broken Timexes.”

  “I didn’t think about that,” Ray said truthfully.

  “Well, I might be convinced not to do that,” she said tentatively.

  Ray’s expression suddenly became a little hopeful. “If I don’t call the cops about you?”

  “Shame on you, Ray,” she scolded lightly. “I know for a fact that between my father, myself, and Jeremy, we’ve put your oldest son through college.”

  “Ray, Jr. graduated from Yale,” Ray admitted sullenly. “Last year. Works downtown at a firm that pays him a helluva lot more than I make.”

  “Nice to have a lawyer in the family,” Penelope said. “Does he know what you do?”

  Ray looked at the ground. “I guess he does, but I ain’t ne
ver told him.”

  “Well, I need some stuff from your special room,” Penelope said quietly. “And I won’t tell your son either.”

  “My special room,” Ray repeated huskily. “Oh, crap. You don’t ever use a gun.”

  “I will today,” she said. A big one, added her inner voice. And don’t forget the other thing you want. “And that isn’t all.”

  Ray’s face fell. “It ain’t?”

  Penelope smiled winningly at the fence. “Not even hardly.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Tuesday, July 15th

  Gaoler’s coach (slang, origin unknown, probably 18th century English) - a cart used to take felons to execution

  Penelope thought that it might be better if they waited until the next morning. Better was a stress-induced euphemism for safer. She figured that Will was probably thinking the same thing. They sat down the street, parked in the Jeep Wrangler, studying the Durfrene house. Although it wasn’t quite yet dark, and she knew that the sun would officially set at 8:35 PM, the end of civil twilight wouldn’t occur until 9:33. Then it would be all grim darkness and twisting shadows that meager street lamps wouldn’t penetrate.

  But Jessica Quick was still absent and Penelope knew that the four kidnapped children were still missing. National news was covering the event like sharks drawn to blood. It wasn’t that one child had gone missing, because it happened all the time. Most of the time it was because one parent had picked the child up from day care on the wrong day or that the babysitter took the kid to play goofy golf and neglected to leave a note.

  However, four children kidnapped at the same time from the same day care center and not recovered immediately was hot news. Even though there was no updated news, the radio blared reports of the situation every thirty minutes. Will’s lips went flat and white every time the DJ started the story again, and eventually Penelope reached over and turned the radio off.

  “What makes you think they won’t be here?” Will asked finally.

  “I thought you knew your brother,” Penelope said acidly. Then she relented. “Anthony is too smart for that. You said he’s been moving things out. He’s preparing for something, and I guess we both know what. Having his ‘hostages’ here wouldn’t make any sense because we both know about the place. No, he’s got them at the site, which is a place we don’t know about, and he’s counting on our continued ignorance of its location. My surveillance revealed that the Suburbans would be gone for days, so I’m assuming that the meteorite site isn’t exactly close by. How do you suppose he figured it was in Texas?”