by Shaun Meeks
Some days, I sound like a real sap.
“Detective Garcia, this is Dillon,” Father Ted says by way of introducing us. “I’m sure he can explain everything.”
“Good,” Garcia says with a low, mean voice that immediately makes me feel small and weak, as though I’m about to get scolded. “He better because I have way more important things to deal with than some drunk driving idiot who fancies himself…” He trails off as he looks at his notes. “It says Monster Dick on your card. What the hell’s that? Are you a detective or some sort of porn guy?”
Great. This again.
“Neither really, but if you have to pick one, I’d guess you’d say I’m a private detective.”
“Of monsters, right? I think I saw your flyer once.”
“Monsters, spirits, demons. Anything that shouldn’t be on this planet.”
His eyebrow goes up and I know he’s not buying it. This guy is too stiff for it. I’m betting he wears tighty whities, has sock suspenders, listens to talk radio and has every book ever published by Rush Limbaugh. He’s the dude who straight and narrow guys think is too uptight. I can look at his face and see that he wants to call out poppycock, or balderdash, or some other ridiculous word that only means bullshit, so I decide to stop him.
“It’s not what you think. I’ve even done jobs for Father Ted and a few other churches. If you want, you can call me a spirit cleanser if it makes more sense to you.”
“Sure. That’s so much better. Do you work for the psychic network hotline on your days off too?” He laughs, but there’s little humour in that sound. “Is that why you crashed the car then? Are you going to tell me you weren’t drunk, that some monster or spirit was in the car with you and you were doing your impersonation of Ghostbusters with it? Come on pal. Don’t give me any garbage here. Just be honest.”
“It wasn’t anything like that. I was jumped in the stairwell of my building and got hit in the back of the head by a junkie. Cracked me with a baseball bat. I didn’t think it was that bad, but I wrapped it in an ice pack and with a bandana for a bit and then put some ointment on it before I headed over to Rouge’s house. I didn’t think it was that bad. I didn’t feel sick or anything, only my head was throbbing. I seemed fine as I drove over and I was good right up until I sort of blacked out and crashed.”
“A junkie, eh? Well, you don’t live in the best of areas, so I guess that makes sense,” he says, but he doesn’t really sound convinced. Maybe he’s the type to say he only believes what he sees.
“Weren’t there any notes on a cut to the back of my head that doesn’t make sense for the accident?” I ask, hoping that will show up and be enough for him.
Garcia flips through the papers, grumbling something to himself, but I know there’s got to be something there. I wasn’t drunk. The story I gave him is all true. I only left the Skell out of it to save time and having to explain it to him. There’s no way this looks like a drunk driver issue, unless there is a problem with my blood test. That could be an issue. Even I don’t know what would show up. What happens to human blood and DNA when a Treemor host is introduced to host body? I couldn’t answer that on my best day.
“Junkie, hmm? Did you get a look at him or her?”
“Sort of. Male, five foot eight, bald head, light complexion and maybe a hundred and fifty pounds. He was wearing a green trench coat too.”
“Fine. Not my department, so I don’t really care,” he says, and closed his folder quickly. I’m sure he’s upset that he couldn’t slam it shut as he clearly seemed to want to do. He appears to have some anger issues.
I also wonder about why he’s here to do the interview. He just said that a junkie assaulting me wasn’t his department, but I’ve never known of a detective that gets sent to interview possible drunk drivers. Usually they work in narcotics and homicide. This seems like it’s more of a uniform cop’s job than one for a detective. Grunt work.
“Come now, John. There’s no need to be like that,” Father Ted says gently, and puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Dillon here is a good man. I know your current case is a burden and your bosses are a little mad at you right now, but there’s no need to take it out on others. In fact, there’s a chance Dillon could even be of some help. It’s worth a shot.”
Bingo. He’s in trouble at work.
“Right?” He nearly chuckles and gives me a look that borders on disgust. “A guy who pretends to hunt monsters down is going to—”
“John! Remember what I said in counselling. Sometimes you have to ask for help. Not every problem in the world is on your shoulders alone.”
So, the detective’s in counselling. I wonder if it’s for his marriage or if there’s a little anger management there. I’m sure he could use both, though whatever Father Ted is doing seems to be helping very little. Especially if it’s the latter. I’ve never seen someone who just has walking grump face as well as this guy does.
“Okay. Sure.” Garcia pulls out his cellphone and starts flipping through some things. I can’t see it so I’ll just assume they’re angry memes he uses to keep himself as chipper as he is. After a few more swipes, he turns the old iPhone towards me. “You ever see anything like this before?”
On the screen I see the outside of a house with something dark painted on the siding. I can barely make out what it is he wants me to see. As I squint, Garcia enlarges the picture and there’s definitely something written on the wall. It looks like a letter or a symbol, but it’s only vaguely familiar. I stare at it for a moment and I can feel the answer hidden somewhere in my memory. It’s old, I know that much, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. Something is tickling the back of my mind, but a tease is all I get and I feel a bit defeated.
It’s hard. In my life I’ve seen and learned to read so many languages. Some are as easy to learn as Earth types, others are no more than colour variations that speak in ways words can’t. Some languages are told in rock or structure forms, while others are told in drawings or symbols. There are millions of worlds and planes of existence and each one has their own way of communicating.
“Off hand, I’d say no,” I say, reluctantly admitting defeat. “I don’t know what it is, but, give me a day or two and I can probably find out.”
“How?” Garcia asks, and there’s the scepticism again.
“I have books and people who know things. If this is something real and not just kids trying to pretend to be into black masses, I’ll find it for you.”
“It’s real all right,” Garcia growls, and pulls his phone away. “Kids messing around don’t steal kids from school playgrounds or their beds and leave things like that behind as a joke.”
“Kids?”
“Yeah. Four so far. This is what we find at each of the scenes.”
He looks at the screen of his phone and for the first time I see something other than anger or sternness. It’s faint, but it’s as clear to see as the throbbing in my head is to feel. The detective looks lost and sad, as though something was taken from him each time one of these children were taken. I get that. Even in my job there have been times when I didn’t do what needed to be done right away and the results weighed heavy on me. Even with my recent bout up in Innisfil I had that happen. I watched a good man, a local sheriff, die and in the end I felt as though it was my fault. Somehow I’d failed him and the result of my failing was his death. It’s a guilt that is hard to live with, but one I’ve come to know very well. We can’t save them all, no matter how hard we try.
“I can’t make you any promises, Detective, but at least I can try. And who knows, if I find something there’s a chance of stopping any more kids getting taken or hurt. But it’s up to you in the end. I’m willing to try.”
He looks at me and even though his brows are down and he looks as though he’s ready to punch something, he nods. “Anything is better than losing another one. Even if it means working with som
eone who calls himself a monster dick. Seriously, you ever think about changing that. It’s not very PC.”
“There’s nothing really PC about me, Detective.”
Friday
Rouge stayed with me overnight in my hospital room. Father Ted somehow managed to get her cleared to stay, which shows me just how awesome the man is. It’s not every day a priest talks a doctor in letting your girlfriend spend the night, sharing a bed. Guess there’s nothing in the bible about that particular sin.
The doctor told me I have a pretty serious concussion and some bad bruising on my shoulder. To help me sleep he gave me some drugs, but I don’t bother with them. The pain was hard to sleep through, but aside from a few shots of some hard stuff here and there, I find it best to keep my senses about me. These days it feels more important than ever.
When I wake up it’s already morning. Rouge is beside me, her arm draped over my chest and it feels so good it’s hard to disturb her stillness and wake her up. I lay here for a while, just looking at her and feeling her breath on me and I can’t help but smile. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy with anyone. All these years since I first came to Earth, living as a loner, I forgot what it felt like to be this close to anyone. For a while, my life was a lot like Mister Rogers. All my friends were make believe.
Oh, there’s Godfrey, but how good of a friend is he really. That relationship has had more ups and downs than a rollercoaster. He’s ripped me off on more accounts than I have fingers and a few of those times have nearly cost me my life. Then again, he’s also given me items I could never do without like my gloves, my Tincher, and a few others that have saved my ass. He’s a strange and complicated man, but to class him as a friend is a tricky thing I’d rather just avoid altogether. In a pinch, I guess I would say he was one of the only real friends outside of Father Ted and now Rouge, but that’s not saying much. I wouldn’t trust him further than I can throw him and he outweighs me by fifty or sixty pounds.
Rouge is nothing like that. She’s a beautiful, smart and lovely woman. She’s the kind of person you’d look forward to seeing at the end of every day, the one you want to rush home and be with. She’s silly, serious and super smart all at once. There’s also the fact that she has an affinity for horror movies and comic books, which only makes her cooler than I can ever claim to be, and I’m pretty awesome. The fact that she stayed with me last night, even though she could have gone home and slept in a nice bed with her little puppy curled close to her proves the type of person she is.
I don’t want to wake her. She looks so peaceful here on me, but like a hotel, check out is at eleven sharp. I shift a little and she opens her eyes and looks at me. Her smile is enough to make me feel better. I sit up a bit and give her one back.
“How you feeling?” she asks, and moves her hand lightly across my face.
“A bit better,” I admit, and it’s true. My head’s still pounding, but for the most part it’s less than it was when I went to bed. “When I get home I’ll have one of my baths and that should do the trick.”
I have a special concoction at home. It’s a strange mix of fluids, salts and things not really of this world. Lay in a bath of that and water and within a day I can heal gunshot wounds, stabs, cuts or other injuries including dismemberment. Aside from getting my head cut off or a hole blown straight through me, I would be right as rain after a healing bath. She’s seen this first hand.
“I hope so. Especially since you’re going to go help that cop out with the kids. That kind of stuff is terrifying.”
“I hope I can do something, but it doesn’t really sound like my line of work.”
“Sure, but you have connections, right?”
“A few,” I say, and think about the ones I know. There’s Godfrey, a man not of this world either who is a bit of an encyclopaedia when it comes to that kind of stuff. There are a few other people I’ve met over the years; scholars, nerds, and dark souls who tend to hide in shadowy places and read books about things of nightmares and impossibilities. One of them should be able to help me in this, which will maybe in turn assist me in making another connection in the police department. “I’m sure someone will be able to lend a hand and stop whoever is doing this.”
“Good. I had nightmares over it. Just the thought of some kid being snatched up when they feel safe and taken who knows where and subject to who knows what is scary as Hell.”
Rouge reaches over and wraps her arms around me and I move closer for a hug. I need it as much as she does.
“Sorry about the date,” I add, whispering in her ear.
“You should be. The things I had planned for you. Guess it just wasn’t your day. Poor you.”
“What things?”
“If I tell you,” she says with a smile, “you’ll only feel worse over it all. But trust me; it was going to be a hell of a night for you, Mr. Monster Hunter!”
I bet it would’ve.
After a few more words and a kiss or two, we get out of bed and get changed. I’ll be glad to get out of here, and I’m sure she will too. There’s nothing very comfortable or romantic about having to spend the night together in a plastic wrapped, adjustable bed. I still feel a little woozy and my head feels like it’s pounding with each beat of my heart, but I’ll feel better once I get to breath some fresh air and take a nice, long healing bath.
We walk out of the hospital and standing in the emergency driveway is Detective Garcia. He’s leaning against an older, tan sedan and drinking a coffee. He’s scowling at everyone walking past him. He looks them up and down as if he’s assessing them, judging them for whatever reason. He seems so miserable; a true curmudgeon. When his eyes meet mine he looks even less cheerful, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible. I point him out to Rouge.
“Oh yeah, Mr. Chipper,” she whispers, and as we get closer she smiles the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “Hello, detective. Did you miss Dillon?”
“Not even close. I was told you were getting out and since time is a little of the essence I figured I’d stop by to give you the case file.” Garcia goes into the open window of the car and pulls out a small, beige file folder. He rifles through it, as though he needs to check the contents and make sure it’s the right one. Not sure if he’s doing that for my benefit, Rouge’s, or it’s just an affectation. Whatever the reason he soon sees everything is in order and holds it out to me. “Please don’t share this with anyone. The things in there are sensitive, items we haven’t even released to the press. That’s in case—”
“In case people call in and try to take credit for the kidnappings. I get it. It helps weed out the false calls from the potential suspects.” Hey, I’ve spent enough time watching Law and Order and The Wire to get how these things work. TV has taught me so much in my life. I don’t share that with him though.
I can see cutting him off or acting as though I already know the deal has upset him. Then again, I think the colour blue and cute puppies might make him look the same way. Such a sour puss. I’d love to see this guy in a bar drinking. I think after six or seven he might even get more severe, working the opposite it would on most people. I take the file and go to walk away.
“You two need a ride anywhere?” he asks, and at first I’m about to say no, that I’m fine driving myself home. That’s when I remember I don’t have my car here. In fact, I may not have a car at all if the tree won the fight I put the old brute through. I’ll have to ask Rouge about that when he drops us off.
“Sure,” I say, taking the offer.
“I’d love to, Dillon, but I have to go pick the puppy up. My friend’s watching her and she lives just up the street. She’ll drive me home after I’m sure.” I see the look on Rouge’s face right away and know there’s no friend close to here watching her dog. Normally she’d just leave the little puffball with her neighbour, not bring it all the way down here when she was coming to see me. I don’t blame her eithe
r. A car ride with Mister Sunshine should be a delight.
“Maybe I can come with you then?” I say, and hear Garcia huff as though this is boring him somehow.
“I’d say yes, but she doesn’t know you and to tell you the truth, you look like hell. I’d rather not this be the way my friend meets you for the first time.” I’m almost insulted, but then I look down at myself. My clothes are wrinkled, there’s blood on my pants and shirt, so I can see what she means. Not the best way to be introduced. Though, it now means going in a car with the grump Garcia and no doubt listening to talk radio or better yet, some self-help tapes. Oh, how much fun can one person have in a day? “Plus, I bet you and the detective here have a lot of stuff to talk about that my ears shouldn’t hear.”
“You coming?” Garcia all but barks at me and I’m so tempted to say no, I’d rather walk all the way home naked, but I really need to get back to my place and do something about the way I feel.
“You sure you don’t want to come with me and Chuckles?” I whispered to Rouge as I give her a hug.
“I’d be happy to say yes, but I think you two could use some alone time. And I’d rather be stuck on public transit than in there with him.” She chuckles.
“I figured as much. I’ll see you later then?”
“Not soon enough.”
I turn and begin to get into Garcia’s car then call out to Rouge.
“Miss me already?” she calls back.
“How bad is my car?”
“It’s not that bad,” she says, and for a second I breathe a sigh of relief. “That is, if you like a front end that looks like an accordion.”
I feel a cold hand in my stomach. My poor car. I never even took the time to give it a name. It seemed like a silly tradition at the time, but now that it’s gone I feel bad for not taking the time to do it. It was a good, reliable one, lasting nearly fifteen years and that’s the longest I’ve ever owned anything. I’m going to have to get a new car now, something I’m not really looking forward to. Car sales people are usually worse to deal with than monsters, but I guess I’ll deal with it later.