by Shaun Meeks
“I have rules I have to follow, detective. I’m sorry.” That’s all I offer, but I can see it’s not enough.
“Dillon,” Father Ted says from beside me, and puts his hand on my shoulder. Right away I know he’s about to try his voodoo on me, and I’m actually worried it’ll work. “You can’t let him go off on his own, especially if they find this…thing. You have a gift, and a purpose. I know you might not think there’s a large force at work here, one testing us in everything we do, but there really is. Whether you call it God, the Universe or just say it’s a higher power; there’s a reason for everything we come face to face with. Right now, this is a test for you, don’t you see? You’re faced with an option. You can do the right and selfless thing, or you could just turn a blind eye and ignore it all, possibly costing the lives of the child taken and the detective here. I’m not going to tell you what to do, nobody can, but you really need to look inside yourself and make a decision that will let you sleep through the night.”
Bastard.
I see why this guy became a priest. If religion hadn’t called to Ted, he would’ve made a damn fine lawyer, car salesman or politician. With that silver tongue the man could sell a freezer to an Inuit. I don’t want to do this. Godfrey was right when he told me not to get involved, that I should’ve just let it go. I didn’t listen and look at what I’ve gotten myself into here. A whole pile of cow dung.
“You owe me big time, Father,” I whisper to him, and look down at Peel with his false face. “Actually, you owe me two times now.” I turn towards Detective Garcia and walk towards him. “I guess I’m coming with you after all.”
How is this going to turn out well for me?
The car ride to the scene is quiet. Before we left the church, Garcia said farewell to his wife and son. I stood and watched him bend down and say goodbye to the boy and felt strange at the way the man’s face changed. In the blink of an eye he went from stone still and mean to soft and as gentle as can be. I can bet that a lot of his passion for this case has to do with that child who he clearly loves more than life itself. I wonder if every time a new one is reported he somehow puts himself in the shoes of the parents and imagines it’s his own that’s been taken. I know what it’s like to have someone you love threatened. It’s not a good feeling.
As we sit in silence, I pull my cellphone out and decide to text Rouge, just so she knows what’s going on. We don’t have plans today, but she’ll probably want to know that I took her advice and am helping out Detective Garcia.
So, against my better judgement, I’m going to help the cops out. Don’t even say I told you so.
Fifteen second don’t pass before she responds.
Ha, I knew you would. Always the monster hunter, my little dick.
Little? I type back, not liking the implication. For the first time ever, I regret using the whole Monster Dick thing.
Oh, don’t be so sensitive. Anyway, I’m heading out to help one of my friends get ready for a gig tonight, and then I’m off to a show. If this doesn’t take long, you should stop by. It’s going to be a Lord of the Rings vs Harry Potter theme burlesque show. You know you want to see that!
Yeah, that sounds sexy and enticing. I’d love to see Dumbledore and Gandalf strip. Jeez. I think that, but don’t type it. Instead I write, For sure. Send me the name of the venue and I’ll do my best to swing by.
After that, I tuck my phone away and see that Garcia is pulling up to the curb. There’s police tape up already and people are huddled all around it. I’m amazed to see news crews are already on the scene too, and for a moment I have the briefest bit of selfishness as I imagine it will be a good place to plug the business.
I shake that thought off pretty quick. I need to keep my head low as well as my profile at this point. This is a job where I need to stay off the radar, in case the higher ups are tuned in to local Earth TV. That’s always how I picture them getting their information, the beings who sent me here, those I answer to. All of them sitting on some galactic couch, some sort of junk food in hand, watching to see the way those on Earth who’ve been hired to keep the peace and bring law and order do just that.
I’m sure that’s not how it really is, but it’s what I picture whenever I think of them.
And even if that’s not exactly how it is, best to stay away from media. Anyone with a camera or a microphone is going to be a plague to me.
“If it’s all the same to you,” I say to Garcia, as he pulls his keys out, “I’d prefer to stay as far away as I can from those cameras over there. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Why would I? I don’t want to explain to them who you are or why I brought you here. If my Captain finds out or word gets around I’ll be a laughing stock.”
“So what do you suggest? I’m sure someone is going to ask who I am when the see me cross the police line.”
Clearly he hadn’t thought of that, but neither had I. He stares out the window as the world moves in chaos before him and I see the gears turning. Somewhere in the distance a woman can be heard crying hysterically and I know all of this has to be a hard thing for a man like him. He has religion and he has the law; two things in his life which have always provided him answers and a sense of right and wrong. The nature of the world in the eyes of people like him is that there’s good and there’s evil. Very seldom does anything run the fine line between the two. Then, this afternoon, his world gets turned upside down, a double barrel of the impossible shot into his chest at point blank range. I have no doubt the very foundation of everything he’s ever held true has been torn to shreds.
In the past, I’ve worked cases where people lose all faith in religion, unable to hold onto the idea and ideals of God, Buddha, Allah, Jehovah, Ganesh or the others once they’ve had a peek into my world. Not that long ago there was a single mother, very religious and set in her ways. She called me because she thought I was an exorcist and could clean her house of the demons, which were haunting it. I told her to leave, going along with the story she wanted to believe, but in the midst of dispatching five monsters made up of used feminine products and hair collected from the tub drain, she walked into the room. She saw them and knew it wasn’t demons, at least not in the way she imagined them. She took a full ganger at the horrors in front of her, and at me with a bizarre tool that looked like a steering wheel, and her world was shattered right at that moment.
When the monsters were gone, she was in tears. She held a bible in her hand and was ripping the pages out as she yelled Lies! Lies Lies! over and over again. I made my way towards her and stopped the destruction of the book she once held so much faith in. I took her to the kitchen, made her a tea and did my best to fix what was broken in her. I explained that nothing had changed, not really. She wanted to know how there could be a God when things like that existed and people like me had to come and get rid of them. I’m sure she didn’t totally grasp what my job really was, but she wasn’t ignorant either.
“It’s simple. There is something in charge of all this. Give it whatever name you want, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t care the name, or the symbols used to give it thanks. All that matters is that you do what is right. You can still believe in that, if nothing else. Call it God or Jesus, heck, you can call it Howdy Doody and it’d still be happy, as long as you believe. Just have faith in what’s right and what’s good and do your best to do what you can not to be an ass, and you’ll be just fine.”
Is this true? Is it a single source, one that wants humans and all other kinds in the world to do good and have some sort of faith? Does it matter? Will it change how anyone should believe, or whether they believe in something or not? How do I know? I’m not here to shine a light on things I don’t fully know myself, but I do know that having faith makes all kinds of beings hold on to hope and stay positive, to think twice before killing another or just being a total douche. And that is a great power all in and of itself. I told her that and for a second she was silent.
Then, she sipped her tea and looked at me with a smile on her face and hope in her eyes.
I wonder if I’ll have to have the same talk with Detective Garcia. More than likely I will, though it’s not something I look forward to.
As I think this, the detective reaches into the backseat and pulls a duffle bag onto his lap. He says nothing, so all I can do is watch as he rifles through it. A moment later, he pulls an SLR camera out and passes it to me. I’m confused and say so.
“What am I supposed to do with this?
“It’s all I can think of. If anyone stops you and asks, you’re taking crime scene photos for me. You’re my nephew and visiting from out of town. You’re in school for criminology and forensic pathology so I thought this would be a good lesson for you. You got all that, Dillon?”
“Did you just think all that up on the spot?” I ask, pretty impressed by how quickly he came up with a somewhat reasonable lie.
“Yeah. Bullshitting is one of the first skills you learn to hone in this job. Now, wipe the dumb grin off your face and keep your head down. Got it?”
I nod and somehow I feel like a kid around this guy. The way he’s started barking orders at me, being all alpha male and all, I feel small and that’s not something I’m used to. I won’t do anything about this right now, but there’s no way I’m going to sit in the shadows of the world’s grumpiest man and let him treat me as though I’m his little submissive. I’ll give him fifty shades of shut the fuck up before I bow down to him. He’s going to have to learn quickly that I don’t do too well taking orders, or he’s going to find himself hunting down demon McPoopypants by himself.
We get out of the car and pass through the police line without any questions. Most of the officers take one look at him coming and turn away, as if they want to avoid him. My guess is that people know the type of person Garcia is and would rather just let him by than have to face his stellar attitude. I can’t blame them really.
The crime scene is a house. Apparently this is a daycare for area kids, one of those private deals. It’s a nice place, three stories with a big front yard that’s very well kept. We walk over to where two uniform cops are talking to a woman, and I listen in as Garcia starts to run his questions.
“Detective Garcia,” one of the uniforms says. “This is Annie Fletcher. She runs this daycare and owns the house.” Garcia says a brief hello and returns his attention back to the officer. “Approximately fifteen minutes ago, Ms. Fletcher went into the house to get drinks for the kids. She had four of them over today.”
“Usually I have more, but it’s a weekend so the day is lighter,” the daycare worker says, and sniffles. Tears have dried on her cheeks in white crusted rivers, but as she talks, more come out and the dried remains are turned fresh again. She breaks down and when it’s obvious she won’t be able to go on, the uniform officer continues again.
“When she came back out into the backyard three of the kids were crying and one was missing. There was some weird stuff all over the lawn and the kids were going on and on about a monster that came over the fence and took the little girl. They say it went to the back of the yard and back over the fence it came from. Best guess is that someone in some sort of disguise came over and scared the kids before taking the girl. We have a K-9 unit enroute to try and follow the scent.”
Garcia says nothing. He looks at the woman, then towards the place where the suspect ran off. Clearly his gears are turning, but he offers nothing in the way of what that might be. He stares off and I follow his gaze. I have questions I want to ask, but I think it would be better to just stay silent until the two of us are alone.
“Where are the kids now?” he finally asks, and that is a good question. I would love to hear what they have to say too.
“They’re in the house watching TV and waiting for their parents to come pick them up,” the second officer answers.
“Has anyone gotten a description of the person or monster they saw?”
“No,” the second says quietly. There’s a look on the police woman’s face, one that is a cross between we messed up and what good will it do, but she says nothing more on the matter.
“Well, when their parents do show up explain that we need them to stay and provide that. Get on the horn and have someone send out a sketch artist. I know it’s not going to make a lot of sense, but if it is a mask the perp is wearing, maybe someone will know it.” At that, his eyes fall on me and I know he’s not really thinking that at all. If he’s accepting what I’m telling him about the Golgotha, then he knows this is no man or woman in a mask. This is something shiftier by far.
“Will do.”
“Ms. Fletcher, why don’t you go in the house with the officers and have a tea or something else,” he says gently, almost with kindness in his voice as he puts his hand on her shoulder. I’m caught off guard by this and wonder if that’s the same tone he uses with his son, one where he doesn’t sound like a complete grump. “This isn’t your fault. You can’t control the actions of others, especially someone as sick as this. Have a tea and make sure the other children are all right. They’ll need a kind face to make it through all of this in one piece.”
“Thank you, detective,” she says, and offers the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. I have no way to know just how hard it must be for her, but I know it’s got to be bad.
Once the two uniformed officers and Ms. Fletcher disappear inside the house, Detective Garcia turns back the way the demon fled and his stern look returns. “Same as last time. I don’t even need to see the shit on the lawn to know this is the thing we’re after. What do you think, Dillon?”
“First thing is, I think you’re right. But I want to go over to the fence and see if there’s any signs over there that might help us out,” I tell him. I have an idea of what we’re going to find, but there’s no point saying it until I know for sure.
“Like what?”
“I’ll know it if I see it,” is all I offer the detective.
We walk over and as we go, I snap photos here and there. Some are of toys on the lawn, others the disgusting slime the demon left behind. In the light of day I can make it out so much better. It’s not what I am expecting. I thought it would be something more like ectoplasm or a kind of glittering, otherworldly mass, but it looks more like the scum that floats on the water on a bog. I take a handful of pictures of these. On the eighth photo, Garcia turns to me and has a confused look on his face.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and sounds annoyed.
“Taking photos and keeping up appearances. If anyone asks who I am and we give them the story you made up, it’d be good to have some pictures to prove that’s what I’m doing here, right?”
“True. Guess I didn’t think about that.”
I take a few more shots before we head to the edge of the yard. It looks like such a nice place for kids to play. The grass is well trimmed. There are toys and swings, even a little jungle gym for the little tykes to climb on. They were probably just sitting out here in the cool of the day, waiting for some treats after a day of play when their nightmares came to life. I don’t want to think too hard on how terrified they must’ve been, seeing the demon in its terrible form come at them and steal one of their friends. It’s nothing a child or any person of Earth should ever have to face, even if this thing is from this world or not. Could their little child minds even wrap around what they were seeing at all?
At the edge of the yard is a small wooden fence, about four feet high. There’s slime on the top of it, so I know this is either where it came over, or the way it left; perhaps both. I grab a tricycle sitting close by, wheel it over and stand on it. I lean over, doing my best not to put my hands anywhere near the smelly mess, and there I find the exact thing I knew would be there. I let out a long, low breath and snap a picture.
“What’s there?” Garcia asks from behind me.
“It’s the same symbol th
at was found at the other crime scenes. There’s no doubt now that it’s connected.” None at all.
“Shit. So, now that we see it there, how do we figure out what it’s for? Does the demon leave it there? Is it some graffiti thing to say ‘fuck you’ to us?” Garcia asks. His voice is low no doubt worried someone might hear him say the ‘D’ word.
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure this is left by the person who summoned the demon, as a way for the creature to find its target. I’m not sure Godfrey mentioned it, or if this is just me speculating, but it makes sense. I think it makes sense in some weird way. At least it feels right to me.”
“Well, can you call this Godfrey person and find out for sure?”
“Not really,” I say, and think back to the last time I saw him, chasing me, no doubt about to kill or maim me. “We’re not on the best of terms right now. It’s a long story.” Something I don’t really want to get into, but I don’t tell him that part.
“Okay, but if you’re right, and the person who’s summoning the demon is the one writing that, doesn’t it help us in any way? Wouldn’t that mean that the person is also here and writes that as the demon is stealing the kid?”
“I don’t think that’s it at all. We know for one that these attacks are planned somehow. I think whoever is behind this is pre-picking the targets for the demon. There’s nothing random about it at all. That’s more than we had before. I feel like the one who is summoning this creature is putting the symbol up as a way to focus where the damn thing should go.”
“Good. Then we’ll start to get the media to show the picture of the symbol and have people looking out for it. Best way to avoid other cases later on.”
“Not at all,” I say, and step down from the kid’s bike. “If you do that, you’ll have every nut job, anyone who hates someone in the slightest putting the symbol up all over the city and you’ll never get anything but a headache. Not to mention we don’t even know when the symbol’s put up for sure. It could be days before, hours or mere minutes. There’s no way to know for sure.”