Demon Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Fingers of wind tugged at Lacey’s obsidian mirror.

  Finally, after several interminable minutes, the dust devil gave up. It weakened, its whirling force flagging. The brown cloud of dust and dirt began to fall apart, and then, as quickly as it started, it disappeared.

  Lacey peeked out around her crossed arms cautiously. There was not a breath of wind. The trees across the street at the mission showed not a leaf moving.

  She pulled her arms away and spat dirt from her mouth.

  “You okay?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah.” She spit again. “Holy crap, what was that?” She glanced over at Pilar. Luckily the old woman had sheltered against the wall and had escaped the brunt of the wind.

  “Brujo,” she said.

  Lacey nodded. “Yeah. Brujo.”

  They continued digging, but not without keeping an eye out for other manifestations. At one point a cloud drifted across the sun, and Lacey glanced around worriedly at the sudden darkness.

  The cloud passed without incidence.

  They found more flakes of obsidian. They had five steps uncovered when they found another datura pod. One by one, Sam tossed the artifacts into the box. The number was growing.

  Lacey stopped to get a drink of water and wipe the sweat from her face when she heard a weird thunk from the dig. Both Sam and Ed were in the hole. Lacey saw Sam lift up the shovel and jam it down again, point first.

  Thunk.

  She was just about to ask about it when the dust devil returned. The mini-tornado spun madly across the ground, flinging rocks and dirt and debris in a furious eddy. It pelted them all, and the house, in a hail of small rocks. Lacey tossed down her water bottle and spread-eagled her body over Pilar, her hands flat against the house. Arched over the old woman, she couldn’t shield her own face but could only duck her head, and she felt the whirling grit scratch her cheeks and forehead. The wind buffeted her body, blew her hair all about her face in a wild tangle, and ripped the obsidian mirror from her neck.

  She wanted to cry out, wanted to grab for the mirror, wanted to fall to the ground in a ball. She did none of those. She pressed her hands more firmly against the wall, set her feet solidly against the ground and squeezed her eyes and mouth shut. The dust devil beat her with its tightly coiled winds, like the revolving brush in a car wash, hammering her body, pulling her hair, howling in her ears.

  Please, she begged silently, please, please, please, go away. Go away.

  A cramp grabbed her calf muscle. She pushed harder against the ground to fight the pain. She grimaced, and immediately dirt coated her lips.

  Then, with a shriek, it was gone. The wind died in an instant, the dirt and small rocks only filtering down to the ground after the fact.

  The air was deathly still.

  Lacey pushed herself away from the wall and felt a loose coating of dirt fall from her arms. She backed away from Pilar and shook her body, brushing dirt from her clothes and hair. She dragged a hand across her mouth, then touched Pilar’s shoulder.

  “You okay?” she asked. “Okay?”

  “Si.” Pilar’s voice croaked. The old woman dusted herself off, but seemed unharmed. Lacey got a fresh bottle of water from the cooler and handed it to her. “Gracias,” Pilar said.

  “You guys okay?” Lacey called to the men. They’d hunkered down in the hole, and only now straightened up. They were both coated with dirt. Lacey brought water for both of them.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “Thanks.” He took a bottle and cracked the seal, taking a big drink. Ed did the same.

  Lacey found her mirror on the ground; the string was gone. She pulled the stone from the dirt and slipped it into her pocket.

  “I don’t know what you found down there,” she said, “but I’d bet dollars to doughnuts Reyes is not happy about it.”

  Sam grinned at her, his teeth gritty. “You think?” He gulped another mouthful of water and handed the bottle back to Lacey. “Come on. Let’s see what we got.”

  They cleared the dirt away and found a flat surface of metal. Old metal. A battered, black trunk with reinforced corners and a large, pitted hasp. They dug carefully around all four sides and found an ancient padlock through the hasp. Sam crashed the point of his shovel into the padlock, and the old rusty metal parted.

  Slowly, cautiously, he lifted the lid.

  ~~~

  FOURTEEN

  “What’s in there?” Lacey stood at the edge of the hole and peered down into the dim interior of the trunk. “Looks like burlap.”

  “Maybe sack cloth,” Ed said.

  Sam hunkered down next to the trunk. “Lacey,” he said, “hand me one of those trowels, would you?”

  Lacey found a trowel and passed it down. Sam used it to carefully delve into the folds of fabric. He pulled one section back, stared down into the shadows, and sighed.

  “Better call the police,” he told Lacey.

  “Why?”

  He looked up at her. “There’s a body in here.”

  Lacey pulled her phone from her pocket and came around to the stairs. “Let me see. I’ll take some pictures.” She descended the stairs carefully. Between the rotting wood and the scatter of small rocks, the footing was dicey.

  Ed stepped aside so Lacey could get close to the trunk. She snapped a picture of it in the confines of the hole, then moved closer. Sam, using the trowel, pulled aside a fold of cloth so she could see underneath.

  It was a head—a skull mostly, although some skin was still attached. A few matted wisps of hair were evident. The skull and skin were the same color as the ground, all of it a medium brown.

  Lacey snapped more pictures.

  “Can you pull the material back a little more?” she asked Sam.

  He repositioned the trowel and slid it underneath another fold of fabric. Being careful not to touch anything with his own hands, he pushed aside the material and revealed more of the body.

  Lacey looked closer. “What is that?” She pointed, almost gagging.

  Sam examined the face. “It looks,” he said, “like the mouth was sewn shut.”

  ~~~

  A half hour later, Lacey sat beside Pilar in one of the folding chairs in the shade and sipped her water. Sam, Ed and two policemen were all down in the hole, staring at the body in the trunk as they waited for homicide detectives to show up.

  Lacey leaned her head back against the wall and sighed. She tried not to think of those dark threads crisscrossing the seam of the ancient mouth, piercing the dry, leathery skin. A chill shivered up her spine.

  Pilar said something, and when Lacey looked over, she saw the old woman was offering a handkerchief. Lacey questioned her with her eyes, and Pilar pantomimed wiping her own face with the cloth. Lacey took the thin, white kerchief and dabbed at her face. The cloth showed small specks of blood.

  Oh, yeah, she thought. The pelting of rocks by the dust devil. She’d forgotten all about that. She poured some of her water on the kerchief and dabbed again at her cheeks, neck and forehead. The small flecks of blood mingled with larger smears of dirt.

  A second police car pulled up, this one unmarked, and parked beside the first cruiser. Two men in suits walked up.

  One flashed a badge. “Where—?”

  “That way,” Lacey said, pointing to the hole. She was too tired to offer more. She laid her head back again, took a sip of water and pressed the cool bottle to her cheek.

  It didn’t take too long before one of the detectives climbed out of the hole and approached Lacey and Pilar.

  “I’m Detective Ronson,” he said. He had a pen and a notepad. “Could I get your names, please?”

  “I’m Lacey Fitzpatrick, and this is Pilar Archuleta.”

  “You’re the homeowner?” Ronson asked.

  Lacey waved her bottle at Pilar. “She is. She doesn’t speak English.”

  Ronson frowned. “Can you tell me why you were digging here? What led up to this… discovery?”

  “Sure,” Lacey said. She pointed to another chair
. “Have a seat. This might take a while.”

  Three hours later, Sam pulled his truck into the parking lot at Lacey’s apartment. Instead of just letting her out as she might have expected, he pulled into a parking spot and shut down the truck.

  “Invite me in,” he said.

  Lacey stared at him. He knew he didn’t need an invitation. The look in his eyes got her attention, though.

  “Sure. Come on in.”

  They hadn’t talked all the way back. Lacey felt dopey. The events of the morning, then those burros that Pilar had fixed for them—meat, beans and cheese in homemade tortillas—combined with the repetitive, and disbelieving, questions by the homicide detectives had dulled her brain. Her arms felt heavy and she had to will herself to get out of the truck.

  Inside the apartment, she grabbed two Gatorades out of the fridge and handed one to Sam. They gravitated to the couch. Sam sat down and put his arm out; Lacey crawled under it and rested her head on his chest.

  “We did good today,” he said in a low voice. “That was one of the other spirits I felt there at Pilar’s. That was the one I said was imprisoned.”

  “Do you know who he is?” Lacey asked.

  “No. A priest by the look of the old robes. But beyond that, no.”

  She nodded. “Could the detectives tell cause of death?” If the body had had its aorta ripped in half, would there be enough evidence of soft tissue to tell? The body was pretty well desiccated.

  “Probably suffocation,” Sam said. “The hands were tied behind the back, but there was evidence he was still alive when he was buried.”

  “Ugh,” she groaned. A thought occurred to her. “Could a ghost do that? Put someone in a trunk and bury them?”

  “No. That man was killed while Reyes was still alive.”

  That made her sit up. “So if we can find out who he is and when he died…”

  “We’ll know when Reyes lived. This could be the key to finding out who Reyes really is. And maybe what happened to him to turn him into such a monster.”

  She settled against Sam again. “So let me see if I understand this. Finding this body doesn’t get rid of Reyes.”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t think so. We’ll find out from Pilar in a day or two, but I don’t think so.”

  She yawned. “Yeah, probably not. Jeez, I am toast. I need to take a shower, get all this grit off of me. But I’m too tired to move.”

  “Relax,” Sam said. He pulled her closer. “There’s nothing else we have to do today.”

  She leaned into him. “What about the kids?” she asked. “Aren’t you supposed to pick them up for the weekend?”

  “I called Christine,” he said. “I’ll get them later, maybe before dinner.”

  “Oh, okay. Good.” She snuggled in, pillowing her head on his chest. “I’m so tired.” Her voice was muffled by her mouth against his shirt.

  “I know,” he said. “Go ahead; get some sleep.”

  “Maybe, just a little,” she said. “Just a little…”

  ~~~

  FIFTEEN

  Wednesday afternoon, they reconvened in the director’s office with Swayze and Father David. Swayze had copies of the police report for Lacey and Sam. Father David had already been apprised.

  Lacey scanned the report. Male, thirty to forty years of age; cause of death undetermined but asphyxiation likely. Not much they didn’t already know.

  She looked up at the director. “Do they know who he is?”

  Swayze shook his head. “They don’t have any records of a priest disappearing, at least not in the last sixty or seventy years.”

  “It’s that old?” she asked.

  “Older,” Father David said. “We believe his name is Father Timoteo de la Varga. He disappeared from the mission in 1900. There was speculation that he might have left the priesthood, just… walked away. He was never heard from again.”

  Lacey stared down at the brief police report. “That’s all?” she asked. “That’s all anyone knows?”

  The director shrugged. “A hundred and seventeen years ago? There aren’t many records that far back. Just names and dates, I’m afraid.”

  Lacey frowned. Names and dates didn’t cut it. They needed history. Stories. She turned toward Father David.

  “Do you know of any really old people associated with the mission? People who worked here for a long time?”

  Father David seemed surprised at the question. “Uh, I don’t know. There might be some…”

  “If there’s no written history, there could still be some oral history,” she said. “Stories passed down from one generation to the next. Hidden stories, not part of the mainstream history.”

  The priest nodded. “Yes, I understand. History not… sanctioned.”

  “Exactly,” Lacey said. She arched an eyebrow at him.

  Father David looked to the director. Swayze nodded.

  “All right,” the priest said. “Let me, uh, look into it. I may know someone.”

  “Great.” Lacey sat back in her chair.

  “But finding this body hasn’t changed anything?” Swayze asked. He put his question to Sam.

  “We’re not entirely sure,” Sam said carefully. “Pilar says there’s still a presence there, although it seems to be… reduced somewhat. I would guess that Reyes was drawing power from the spirit of the imprisoned priest, and now that we’ve freed him, so to speak, Reyes has less to draw on. But he’s still there.” He turned to Father David. “Once the police release the body, will the priest get an ordained burial?”

  Father David glanced at Swayze. “We can do that, certainly,” he said. Swayze nodded.

  “Good. That should lay the priest to rest. Literally.” Sam sighed. “He’s been in anguish a long time.”

  Father David stared at Sam thoughtfully.

  Lacey flipped through the police report one more time. “Then I guess that’s all for now,” she said. She glanced at each man in turn, checking for input. No one had any more to offer.

  “All right.” She folded the report and tucked it into her pack. “Father David, if you’ll let me know as soon as you find an elder I can talk to, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll get right on it.”

  ~~~

  Lacey was quiet on the drive home, her brain awhirl. What else could they do?

  “Hey,” she said suddenly to Sam. “You know what you said about releasing that old priest, and that Reyes can’t draw on his energy anymore?”

  “Yeah.” Sam turned toward her in his seat, his interest piqued.

  “Earlier you said there were several other entities there, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Any ideas who? Or what their story is?”

  Sam thought back. “All the energies felt male, the good and the bad. But beyond that, no. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering,” she said, “if they might be Pilar’s father and husband. Both men were killed by Reyes’ psychic surgery. For all we know, they may have died right there in that house. Do you think that he was somehow able to tie them up psychically, so he could draw power from them, too? Even if their bodies were buried in a proper graveyard?”

  The light in Sam’s eyes spoke of his excitement. “Yes! That could definitely happen.” He mulled that over. “What we’d need to do is a releasement for those two men. If we could free them, we’d weaken Reyes even more.” He smiled at Lacey. “Good job, partner. You’re starting to think like a medium.”

  Lacey laughed. “Heaven help us,” she said. “We’re going to get this son of a bitch.”

  ~~~

  SIXTEEN

  Thursday afternoon Father David called Lacey with a name.

  “Jerome Pequeño,” he said. “He worked at the mission for almost fifty years.” He gave her the number.

  “Was he a priest?”

  “No. His father was, but his mother was a Juaneño, so there was some, uh…”

  “Discrimination?
” Lacey provided.

  Father David sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Mestizos were not considered to be good… material for the priesthood back then. Jerome worked as a maintenance man.”

  “How old is he?” Lacey asked.

  “Ninety-two.”

  “Jeez. Is he pretty sharp? Still clear-minded?”

  “I think so. At least that was the impression I got when I talked to him.”

  “Does he understand what this is all about? What we’re doing?”

  “Yes. I told him. He was hesitant at first, but then seemed to warm to it. I think if anyone knows anything, it’ll be him.”

  “Okay, great. I’ll call him,” Lacey said. “Thanks.”

  She called Sam and told him. “Do you want to be there when I interview him?”

  There was silence for a moment; Lacey recognized Sam’s thorough consideration. “No. You go ahead. If you can meet with him tomorrow, that would be great. I’m hoping we can do the releasement on Saturday morning. Keep chipping away at Reyes as much as possible, keep him scrambling.”

  “You and Ed arranging that?”

  “Yeah. After the dig, Ed’s all in on this, and he and Pilar get along great.”

  “Okay,” Lacey said. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll call you when I have something to report, and you can call me when you’ve got things set for Saturday.”

  “Deal.”

  Lacey was able to set up her interview with Jerome for Friday afternoon. He lived with his daughter and her husband in a middle-class neighborhood some distance from the mission. Lacey drove over and was met by the daughter at the door.

  “Mrs. Sandoval?” she asked. “I’m Lacey Fitzpatrick. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Yes, come in.” She pulled the door open wide and let Lacey in. She looked to be in her early sixties, neat and trim, her dark hair only minimally shot through with gray strands. “You’re from the mission, right?” she asked. Lacey thought she detected some uneasiness in the woman.

  “I’m a private investigator, hired by the mission,” Lacey said. “My partner and I found an old burial across the street from the mission, and we’re trying to identify the body. There are no records to substantiate it.”