by R. R. Virdi
She arched her dark eyebrow higher, regarded the crayon, then me.
I nodded towards the wall. “Well, get coloring, there’s more.”
“Why didn’t you finish it before?”
“Reasons.”
She scoffed and took the crayon. Ortiz’s arm moved deftly across the shallow white grooves in the wall. The springs in the mattress pushed against me as I sat on the bed. There was enough room on the mattress for me to spread Charles’ drawings over it. After I had done so, I wished I hadn’t.
I had no clue what I was looking at, but they terrified me. The same writhing tentacles that had latched around my arm covered a page. Swirls of black marker ran over another page in what I assumed was the peculiar mass of fog I’d seen. One page had a series of simply drawn men, every inch shaded in black. Shadows had been sketched several times across the page. And then a message. “The shadows stare,” he’d written. “They watch.”
Whatever the hell that meant. It was disturbing nonetheless.
The last page caused my heart to break the world’s vertical leap record. It almost got caught in my throat. Thick lines of purple, nearly black, streamed out from the center of the page. Clouds of that dark fog colored the background. Words like “shadows” dotted the page. Bullseye center of it all was an undefined white shape—lengthy and slender. A replay of the vision I had experienced when trying to rescue the poor girl. Charles’ drawing might as well have been a Xerox of what had flashed through my head. Somehow, not-so-loony Charles had managed to record everything with startling accuracy.
I was left with one problem: making sense of it all.
So many clues, so few answers. I was tempted to whip out the larger of my journals and go through it. Maybe I could come up with something. However, with Ortiz standing a few feet away, I couldn’t risk it. She had already seen those journals; hell, she’d gone through them. If there was ever a way to tip her off to me not being who I claimed to be, that was it.
“Uh, Charles?”
I turned away from the littered pages of spooky art and faced Ortiz. Someone filled my lower jaw with lead. It sank when I saw the wall. I’m pretty sure my eyes had gone full Warner Brothers, increasing several sizes. Charles was one hell of an artist before he’d been killed.
Faces, a few sizes smaller than they would be in actuality, peppered the wall. They were a heckuva improvement over Charles’ other work, akin to a forensic sketch artist. There was enough skill involved to identify the faces. The first two were unknown to me, a portly bald man and a pretty young gal. An intense pressure developed behind my eyes as I gazed upon the third and fourth sketches. My heart, the ever-so-rhythmic musician, thumped away in my throat.
Ortiz matched my saucer-eyed gaze as she traded looks between the wall and my face. The third picture was familiar. It should’ve been. I had been looking at him not too long ago. A few days’ growth of scruff lined his jaw. A near perfect nose offset his stark appearance. Ortiz had good reason to be doing a double-take between me and the wall.
Charles’ face was on it.
The face beside it didn’t help. Long ringlets of hair framed a face of early adulthood. I blinked and thought of the young woman Ortiz and I tried to save earlier.
Gus had told me several people had already died. The young woman I knew for a fact was dead. Then there was Charles. He had predicted his own death. I was left with more questions and not too many answers. Like, when had Charles found the time to practice poetry? He had left one heck of an incoherent message.
Water makes them come and makes them go.
With more water I can make them show.
Shadows sitting, watching, always they stare.
Coming at night, to fill me with despair.
It comes at night; it comes at night.
Silent but screams, quiet and out of sight.
Watch the shadows, be careful, beware.
Follow fear down below, down below elsewhere.
Just once, I wished someone would leave a note behind: “This is what killed me. You’re welcome.”
“Charles?” Ortiz pulled me away from my inner grumbling. “You have any idea what this means?”
No frickin’ clue.
“Yeah,” I frowned. “It means I have to make a phone call.”
Chapter Seven
“Phone call?”
“Yeah, you know those things you put to your ears to talk to people with?” I gestured with my pinky and thumb near my ear.
Her eyes went flat. “The other guy had a journal full of information. Don’t you?”
I froze. Denying it was not a good idea. She’d see straight through the lie and I’d be in trouble. Well, more trouble. There was still a monster breaking into rooms and killing people.
No biggie…
I made sure to change the subject. “Trust me, this is one of those things I need to make a call for.”
A huff of agitated breath left her mouth, but she gave an understanding nod. “Wait here. I’ll fetch one.”
Wait, what?
“Uh, you’ll…fetch one?” I blinked as she left the room. My plan had been to find a way to use one of the receptionist’s phones. But hey, if she had access to a phone, it made my job easier.
Once I was convinced Ortiz wasn’t anywhere nearby, I reached under the pillows and retrieved one of my journals. With a flick of my wrist I sent the brown leather cover and pages within it, tumbling open. I licked my thumb and flipped through page after page. Nothing. I had the severe inclination to hurl my journal at the wall. Several soothing breaths later, I decided against committing such sacrilege.
My journal was the paranormal equivalent of Wikipedia. Scrolling through it always led me to some conclusion or provided a clue. You’d be surprised how little it takes to start an avalanche of thoughts that can lead you to the right answer. All I needed was a hint. If there was a place to look for signs, this was it. Its handmade and yellowed pages nearly had it all, but none of it was helping.
The hell are you supposed to make out of shadows, water, tentacles, black fog and heart attacks? Most disjointed clues...ever.
My arm itched and I sighed. Forty-one hours left. That was still a good deal of time to close the case. If I had an idea of what was going on.
I shoved my journal in its hiding place as Ortiz entered into the room. I muttered a silent thanks to whoever was listening that she had failed to notice me hiding it.
“Here.” She handed me a rather outdated-looking cell phone.
Arching a quizzical eyebrow, I stared at the device, then her. “How’d you get a cell phone in here?”
Her fingers waggled in a spooky gesture. “Trade secrets.”
I blinked. Did she just steal my line and moves? I sniffed and took the phone. My thumb slid over the power button. I paused before pressing it.
“Ortiz,” I said. She regarded me, waiting for my question. “What are you doing in here?”
“I told you at group.” She shrugged, but I waved her off.
“Isn’t this going to hurt your career?”
Her voice went flat. “I never told you about my career.”
Oops.
“Well...” I looked around the room, at the drawings, at the floor, anywhere but her face. I smacked my lips together and risked meeting her eyes. “Won’t it look bad on your record for wherever you work?”
“Oh, that, yeah.” She gave an absent wave of her hand.
Whew, saved.
“I called in a couple of favors,” she went on in the same nonchalant tone. “I work for the FBI. I have a good history with some of the higher ups. They’ve made sure my little ‘visit’ stays off the books.”
Which explained how she managed to sneak a phone into a mental asylum. Don’t get me wrong. They’re not maximum security prisons. You’re just not allowed to have cell phones, sharp objects—those sort of things. But if you happen to be an FBI agent who can call in some favors, I’m pretty sure you can have a phone smuggled in.
/> “My dad was a big player back when he was working. He made a lot of friends—enemies too.”
I didn’t know her father had been a Fed.
“What happened to him?”
“Died.” Her beautiful features sank into a melancholy mask.
Nice, Graves.
“Sorry,” I said with as much sympathy as I could.
She gave a simple shake of her head. “Don’t worry. You didn’t know.” Walking over to the side of the bed, she plopped down beside me. I noticed she was looking at the phone with a great deal of intent.
I tilted the phone so the numbers were out of her view and dialed. She shot me a frown before leaning over, her expression curious. I scooted over a bit and waggled an admonishing finger. “Nah ah ah.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously and I had the feeling that if I kept it up, she might have bitten my finger off. So I issued a retreat warning to my uppity digit.
The phone rang. It kept on ringing. Then it stopped.
“Seriously? Voicemail!” I spat in disbelief.
“Who was it?” Ortiz leaned over further, peering at the screen.
I motioned at her to pipe down. She adopted a threatening posture. I quickly shot her an apologetic glance. No point in dying before solving the case. That’s plain stupid.
I dialed again. Somebody picked up. There was no answer. Guess that left the hellos to me. I was okay with that though. I am an excellent conversationalist. “Get his ass on the line—now!” See? Excellent.
No answer, but the line was still on.
“I know you can hear me. You tell that little shit he can’t just hang—”
Click.
Well...crap.
I redialed and resolved to be more diplomatic.
Somebody answered. “Graves,” said a deep, gravelly voice.
“Gnosis?” I whispered, uncertain if I was talking to the eldest of Gnomes or not.
“Obviously.” Somehow he made it sound like I was an idiot. “And why are you whispering?”
I cast a nervous glance toward Ortiz. She looked back at me with an almost predatory gaze. She didn’t like it when people held out on her with info, and here I was talking to the George Soros of the paranormal world.
Gnosis was probably the biggest information broker of the supernatural on our plane of existence. He knew a ridiculous amount of things and possessed an equally ridiculous amount of wealth. And he would. Gnomes are the best when it comes to dealing with gems and wealth derived from the earth. He was also the oldest Gnome in existence, mostly because he was the first. That, and no one had killed him—yet.
He was also a colossal asshat, which is saying something for a being of his stature.
“She didn’t hear a thing, Graves.”
“You…know?” I blinked. How could he have known something like the fact Ortiz was right beside me. Maybe he and Church attended eavesdropping classes together.
“There won’t be much for her to hear anyways. This conversation will be short.”
See? Rude. Asshat.
Motion cut my conversation with the curmudgeony Gnome short. A blur darted across the wall. It was gone. I knew I had seen it—hunched and insanely fast. I blinked, making sure my vision was clear. It was. The hell did I just see?
“Graves?”
“Yeah.” My reply came out a bit gruffer. “Yeah,” I repeated after clearing my throat.
“What do you want?”
“Answers.”
He didn’t respond, not right away at least. I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line. It was deep, slow and calm. He was thinking. Which wasn’t a good sign. He was debating whether he would help me or not. Soon, I was wondering the same thing. Seconds later, I got my answer.
“No,” Gnosis said in a stone-like voice. It was a weighty, solid answer.
“No?” I could feel reverberations in my throat as I growled. “The hell do you mean, ‘no’?”
“As in ‘no’. As in to not comply; to refuse.” He sounded like he was talking to a dimwitted child.
I ground my teeth.
“My debt is paid, Graves—in full—but there is the small matter of you being indebted to me. You could, of course, offer compensation for such information, if you had anything to offer. The last option you are left with is placing yourself further in my debt.”
My growl deepened. I could feel him smiling on the other end of the phone. Gnosis had a crooked nose; I suspected someone had broken it for him long ago. I wondered if I could straighten it out with another punch.
“Does that option appeal to you, Graves?” Pure pleasure filled his voice.
I gave him one hell of a reply. “Go fuck yourself!”
A heavy sigh emanated from the phone. “Well, it seems we are at an impasse. Goodbye, Graves.” Click.
“Thanks for nothin’, you little shit,” I muttered as I lobbed the phone up and down in my hand. I had the urge to throw something…again.
Ortiz decided to comment on my little conversation. “So that, um, went well.”
I glared at her. The corners of her mouth struggled not to spread into a wide smile. I glared harder. “What happens if I throw your phone really hard at the wall?”
Her lips pursed and she thought for a moment. “Well, first, my phone breaks, then I kick your ass.” Her voice was perfectly neutral.
“Oh.” I handed the phone back.
She accepted it with a self-satisfied grin. Her attention turned to the miniscule screen, and her brows furrowed. “I’ve seen that number before.”
“Really?” I feigned surprise.
“You’re a really bad liar.” She scowled as she pressed the redial button. The phone rang, and I tried hard not to burst out laughing. Seconds later—the inevitable. Frowning, she turned back to me. “No longer in service—again?”
Raucous laughter erupted as I lost the battle to hold it in. Ortiz had tried that trick last time and Gnosis had given her the same reply. She couldn’t even get through to him. I found it hilarious; sue me.
A dull fist-sized throb manifested in my shoulder. I stopped laughing, sort of. “Hey!” I exclaimed through the last bits of laughter.
Ortiz sat there, fist balled, her mouth twisted in an amused expression. “You tattoo guys suck.”
I laughed again. She joined me. It felt good. Laughing always does. There’s no pain in this world that a little laughter can’t help with. Trust me. We finished our laughter and things got quiet.
“So...what now?”
I shrugged. “Dunno, that was my best bet.” Although that wasn’t entirely true. Gnosis wasn’t my best bet—just the safest. Well, that part wasn’t true either. It would’ve been more accurate to say he was the least dangerous. I really needed new friends….
“Don’t tell me you’re giving up?”
I tilted my head, looking at her like she was crazy. “The hell I am!”
She nodded. “Good. I have an idea.”
“All ears.”
“They’ve probably found the body by now,” she said. I gestured for her to continue. “I thought I could take a look at it and see if anything’s, you know…weird.”
“I was told by one of the patients that the deaths looked like heart attacks.”
“Sure didn’t look like a heart attack to me.” Her face tightened, lips pressing together as she thought on it. “Bunch of black smoke and tentacles? How does that equal a heart attack?”
I shrugged.
Ortiz chewed on her lips. “Okay, how about you go and see what you can learn from other people, and I’ll go check out the body.”
I raised a hand. “Uh, shouldn’t I be checking out the dead body? My area of expertise, you know.” I hooked a thumb to my chest. “I deal with the paranormal.” I pointed to her. “You interrogate people. Part of your job being a Fed and all.”
An eyebrow arched and her face took on an amused look. “I’m sorry, did you go to medical school?”
“Well, no.” I paused before b
linking several times. “Wait…did you?”
She smiled.
Woah, impressive.
“Okay then, uh, you go check out the body, I’ll go ask questions.”
Ortiz snorted. “That’s what I thought. Meet back here in an hour?”
I nodded.
“Don’t come back empty-handed,” she said as she turned on a heel and left.
“You too!” I called after her.
Once Ortiz left, I pushed myself off the bed and headed toward the rec room. It made sense. The largest concentration of people were going to be there. I just had to make sure I was subtle in my questioning.
I can be subtle….
Following leads makes one thirsty. I stopped by a fountain in the hall. “Bleckh,” I sputtered as a stream of warm, stale water lobbed into my mouth. It was like it had been sitting in a bucket in direct sunlight—all day. Water fountains do not, and should not, spout warm water. Heresy!
But I was parched, so I took another swig. I let the water slosh around my mouth before swallowing with a grimace. When I had taken my fill, I turned around, freezing as something whipped past me. Startling speed didn’t even come close to how fast that freak had moved! Supernatural, sure, but even that did it no justice. The only glimpse I got was a shadow, and it was a poor glimpse. I stared at the wall, resolute not to blink.
A blur.
I blinked.
Another glimpse, another shadow. This thing was freakishly fast…and taunting me. Pressure surged through my gums from the force with which I clenched my teeth and jaw. Eyes narrowed, I stared harder at the wall. If this dick wanted to play games, I’d play along, right up to the moment where I’d kick its ass!
“Who’s winning?” asked a voice in equal parts amusement and genuine interest.
I swore, whirling about to face the source. Big, cherub-like and smiling, Gus stood there watching me. “What?” I said in a half-shout as my head whipped back to the wall, hoping to catch another glimpse.
“The staring contest. You, the wall?” he explained.
I broke away and turned back to face Gus, laughing as I did. Not often I meet someone who can match my razor-sharp wit and crack out a funny like that. I gave a slight bow of my head in admiration for his witticism. He flashed me a childlike grin and extended a meaty hand. I shook it. “Good to see ya, Gus.” I grinned.