The Crescent Stone

by E G McNally

  He folded his long wings back and arched his body into a dive, like an eagle aiming for a fish, and then just as he passed below the tips of the treetops, he swung his tail forward, pulling with it both his legs. He stretched out both wings, wide and graceful, slowing his dive into a calculated precise landing that only birds manage with such ease. His two large raptor shaped feet crunched into the snow and his wings folded together, just enough so that he could clasp them around his chest, like a cape, and then began running rapidly through the snow hoping to make camp before noon.

  Chapter XV: Hughes Estate

  “Can’t anyone tell me what the hell has happened to Taylor?” Jake shouted in a loud demanding voice, at the police officers scattered about the room in the station. Two were chitchatting across from each other, and a third sat in a swivel chair rolled up beside them.

  “Boy, watch your mouth, or we’re gonna kick you out of here!” A fourth police officer shouted from inside a room. Jake didn’t realize it, but the Chief was watching him through a large glass window, of his office. “Kid what are you fussing about anyway.” He motioned for Jake to enter his office.

  Jake turned to an officer sitting legs kicked up, on a desktop and snuffed at him. “Thanks for nothing, jackass,” mumbling the last word under his breath as he walked off towards the Chief’s office.

  “Now tell me kid, why are you down here again, causing a scene?” The Chief asked.

  “I just want to know what’s happened to Taylor. Everyone knows about that house burning prank in Maine, but that was where she moved. I mean, she was all over the news for a while with that whole healing thing, and then her house burnt down. . . I mean what is this all about, and why can’t anyone tell me a damn thing?” Jake nearly screamed at the Police Chief.

  “Kid, it’s not that we don’t care or anything like that, it’s just that it’s not our district. It’s not even our state. Even if we wanted to help out, we can’t. Just let it go, I’m sure someone will give you a call in the future. Quit worrying.” He stressed, not particularly interested in the boy’s fit.

  “Quit worrying? What the hell are you talking about, both her grandparents are at the hospital and in bad enough condition that the doctors won’t let me talk to them, and no one will comment on her disappearance. They won’t even say if she died in the fire or what? I mean, isn’t this state kind of responsible for her anyway, if her grandparents can’t take care of her. Doesn’t the whole foster care system have to reclaim responsibility for her if the place that they sent her to, fails?” Jake shouted some more, pacing back and forth in the office refusing to sit or calm down. “I just want to know if she’s alive, damn-it.” He slammed a tightly balled fist down on the desk, startling the Chief.

  “I don’t know kid, but if you think the state has some sort of responsibility for her then you might want to talk to someone down at the courthouse. They probably know more about custody issues. If it’ll shut you up, I can make some phone calls and see what I can find out, Okay?” He assured Jake, hoping that a phone call here or there might shut him up enough to get him out of the office, not to mention the silent curiosity nagging at the back of his head. It did appear that the kid might be onto something. The girl on the news had seemed to be pretty popular there for a while, with that old Major coming in, looking for her and then the odd arsine prank, who knows, maybe something was up, or maybe he was just getting a little senile in his old age, but there was no harm in making a few phone calls especially if it would shut the boy up.

  “Alright, but I’ll be back tomorrow to see if you’ve found anything out.” He threatened, hoping that it would put a little haste in the Chief’s inquiries.

  He watched as Jake left the room, making sure he didn’t hassle any more of the police officers on his way out. Once he was gone, he rolled open a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a small white card with the name Major James Bradshaw, United States Army, traced onto the white card in gold leaf scroll and on the flip side of the card two phone numbers, printed in black ink. He picked up the phone and dialed the first number, listening to the phone ringing on the other end, until someone finally answered it.

  “This is my private line, who is this?” A deep masculine voice answered, agitated.

  “Hey this is Chief Patrick, at the Port Angeles Police Station. You told me if I needed to get a hold of you for anything to just call and you gave me your card.” The Chief said.

  “Right, well, what do you need?” Major Bradshaw confidently forced the words out.

  “There’s been this kid in the office and he won’t quit bugging us. I’m starting to wonder if he’s on to something. Did you ever find Taylor Saskia, after you left here? I know you were looking for her, and I figure if you ever found her you would probably know best where she is right now or whether she was caught up in the fire.” He asked cautiously.

  “I’m sorry; I’m not sure who you are talking about, who’s been asking again?” Major Bradshaw lied.

  “Just some kid, claims to know her. He’s been an awful pain in the ass.” Chief Patrick responded, but hesitated to say Jake’s name. The Major had obviously known something and was hiding it, so something was seriously up. That left the Chief a bit worried for Jake’s safety, and hesitant to tell him anymore information.

  “Well, get that boy’s name and call me back when you have it, if you please. I’m sure I can talk some common sense into him. Otherwise, please don’t call me at this number again.” Major Bradshaw stated and then quickly hung up the phone, leaving him listening to a buzzing noise at the other end of the line. The Chief was quite the opposite of pleased with the phone call. He’d called hoping to get a simple answer about the health status of Taylor Saskia, but instead hung up, wondering if there was some sort of large scale government cover-up going on, and whether Major Bradshaw was at the head of it. Unsure of where that left him, he decided to make a few phone calls, possibly contacting the hospital where the girl’s grandparents were being held. If he was lucky, one of the doctors would know some more information and at the least, whether or not Taylor was in the fire.

  The Chief spun around in his chair facing the front door of his office, startled to find Jake staring at him. The boy must have forgotten something, how long was he standing there? He thought to himself.

  “Sorry I forgot. . . I have the hospital’s phone number - thought maybe it would help. I’ve tried calling but they won’t release any information to me, maybe you would have more luck.” Jake paused for a minute. “Was that the military guy that was trying to question me and Joe a while ago?” Jake asked curious, but in a much calmer fashion than his only minutes earlier confrontation. “I don’t think he’s gonna be much help, he seems to want more information than he gives. He wouldn’t answer any of my questions when he was here a while ago.” Jake offered, fumbling with a paper weight on the Chief’s desk and then placing it down, alongside a piece of paper he had with the hospital’s phone number and a few other ones scribbled in nearly illegible script, along with their names and addresses.

  “Yeah, I noticed. He wasn’t particularly helpful. These will be more helpful,” he said looking at the piece of paper, briefly reading through the names. “Randolph Police Station, Gardiner Police Station, Fire Department, Augusta Hospital, Dr. Mathews. . . Yeah I’ll try some of these, thanks kid.” He commented, giving Jake a mild half smile as if something was still bothering him underneath the halfhearted efforts to appear thankful.

  Jake turned and made his way out the door just before the Chief gave him one last quick comment.

  “Do me a favor and stay out of trouble for a while, will ya kid?” He hollered to him in the hallway, hoping that Jake caught the comment.

  To his surprise Jake turned and responded, “Sure, don’t worry about me, and just figure out what’s up with Taylor, okay?” And then Jake flipped his head around and continued out the door.

  Jake wondered what was up with the Chief, he seemed so uneasy and he had a hint of anxiety l
ingering in his voice, when he stepped back into the room. Of course he considered that he might feel the same way after talking with Major Bradshaw, that guy was the embodiment of fear. Something about the Major made everyone feel inferior and nervous, like no matter how many years something was right, he could come along, tell a person it was wrong, and then they would begin to doubt themselves, and everything they believed in.

  At least the Chief was going to try and help, no one else would even listen to him, not at the school, or down at the courthouse, or even at the department of social and health services. Jake was glad that the Chief appeared nervous, maybe he had found out something that would motivate him to find more information about Taylor. After all, he was just a kid and probably an annoying one, the way he’d been harassing all of the authority figures, but at least it paid off, and now the Police Chief was going to help him out, at least a little.

  He left the police station on foot, heading back to his house, but decided to stop off at the Safeway on Lincoln Street, and pick up a snack before heading home. He’d normally drive but ever since he was arrested at the police station last month, both his parents had been in agreement on the punishment; sadly the first thing they’d agreed on since the divorce, and decided to remove his driving privileges for the rest of the school year.

  He walked up the large paved parking lot, past the little gas station on the downhill side, and then up to the front of the store. He caught a glimpse of some of the vehicles parked in the lot, three or four Toyotas, a couple Fords, several Chevy trucks, and a large black Sedan pulling through the lot. He didn’t see the more expensive vehicles often; most people had energy efficient cars or gas guzzling trucks, but once in a while he’d see an expensive Denali or Yukon or something like that, often driven by the older women that didn’t want to be identified as soccer mom types in the town.

  Jake ignored the cars, and small group of kids, kicking a hacky sack out front, and went inside for some doughnuts. Once he’d collected a couple of Boston Creams and a sour cream glazed doughnut, he headed for the cash register. He pulled out a soda from one of the cashier stand mini fridges and tossed it onto the conveyor belt.

  “How you doing,” the cashier brushed the comment out as if he’d said it a million times in the last hour.

  “Fine,” Jake responded, and then something caught his attention from the corner of his eyes.

  “Four and seventy-eight cents,” the cashier said.

  Jake fumbled through his pocket and handed a five to the cashier keeping his eyes focused on the distraction. The large black Sedan had stopped outside the store, and a man in a nice black and white business suit was holding a square piece of paper, and asking the kids with the hacky sack some questions.

  “Thanks,” Jake naturally responded to the cashier, as he handed him his twenty-two cents back and grabbed his snack to exit the doors.

  Curious but wanting to keep a distance, Jake took the doors on the further side of the store, hoping to avoid any bothering questions, like the kids playing sac were getting, but as he stepped outside and turned nonchalantly towards the scene one of the kids pointed towards him and said, “sure that’s him over there. I just saw him go in there a minute ago.”

  It happened so quickly Jake wasn’t even sure if it really happened. The nicely dressed man pointed directly at him and hollered, “There, now.”

  The large black Sedan sped over to the curbside, simultaneously both the front and rear passenger doors opened and something sharp and painful smacked him, hard and deep directly under his chin. A haze of cloudiness began to saturate his visions and thoughts, and then he passed out just before watching two men surround him, catching his limp body before it hit the ground.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Jake began to feel the stinging sensation that was left after the tranquillizer bullet had been removed from his neck. He found his body feeling normal, other than the stinging pain and a kink in his neck, usually caused from sleeping in a strange position. He couldn’t quite open his eyes, but sat and listened, finding that someone was talking.

  “Hey I think he’s coming to,” one raspy voice commented.

  “That’s good; I think he’ll really be able to help us find Taylor, especially given the proper means.” Another more gentle voice responded.

  Jake rather curious now, found the strength to open his eyes and look around the room. He was slumped over, in a large brown leather chair, which would explain the cramp in his neck, arranged along with two large leather brown sofas and another chair around a coffee table. The room was large with an old den style fireplace, and tanned walls supporting various hunting trophies, including a large five point buck head hanging above the mantle. The carpets were deep red, tying the room together, giving it that after dinner retire to the men’s parlor for drinks and smokes, feel.

  There were three men gathered in the room, one on a sofa, one in the other chair, and one standing beside a window.

  “Jacob Anthony Stevens? Am I correct?” The man sitting in the chair asked.

  Unwilling to argue, and not entirely sure what had happened, or what was going on around him, he answered the older man, politely. “Yes, that’s me. May I ask what this is all about?” Jake fumbled with his question, unsure of whether he had any right to ask questions in the first place.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute, I’m Mike O’Neal,” the man standing by one of the windows butted in, moving over towards the couch, where one of the other men were sitting, and continued to speak with the raspy voice he’d heard earlier. “This here’s Jim, and the man over on the chair is Russet.” He pointed at the man, lounging in the brown leather chair, smoking a cigar. He stepped over to Jake with a glass of water and some pills, which he’d lifted off the coffee table.

  “Take these please, they’ll help ease the stinging in your neck.” He waved his hand forward opening his palm, revealing the two pills that looked exactly like extra strength Tylenol that his mom always took around that time of the month to relieve cramps, or at least that’s what she’d say.

  Jake glanced up and down at the man, acting as if inspecting the man’s features would trigger some form of trust, or at least quell the distrust that shuddered through his mind. The man was tall and pronounced; carrying himself with the utmost confidence. He had a military high and tight hair cut, keeping his receding brown hair close to his head and matching brown eyes of no ordinary brilliance. His face was featured naturally, and if the man was younger and they were friends, they would always have had to compete to get girls, but the man was much older with lines of experience displayed on his face and knuckles.

  With no sudden bursts of trust flowing into Jake’s mind, he snatched the pills and chased them down his throat with the glass of water, fearing that ignoring the man’s gesture might cause extra avoidable tension in the room. Once he was finished with the water the man reached over to the coffee table, picking up a folder from a small pile and dropped it onto Jake’s lap.

  “Taylor Saskia,” he commented, dusting off a place on the couch and then sitting down against the side arm. “What do you know about her?” He asked?

  Jake flipped open the folder and browsed through all the paperwork nestled inside. He found records of Taylor’s birth, school’s she attended, personal incidents that occurred with her parents that put her into foster care, which he’d never known, and paused to read more specifically through the information.

  Date March 1st 1999: Police arrived responding to house call at 3:45 am. No one answered the door, officer entered house, found mother: Eleanor Mandy Trevor – maiden name, behind couch dead on arrival, with large puncture wound on chest and kitchen knife coated in blood beside body. Young child was found name: Taylor Saskia; age eight, grasping the body, with a large bruise along forehead and several others found along the arms and inner thighs. Child was given to the on sight EMT and later tested for rape. Continued search on house and found in back room, father: Paul Martin Saskia, dead o
n arrival as well. Found large empty bottle of whisky on reading table beside empty bottle of sleeping pills.

  Wow, that’s horrible, he thought to himself. He’d never known anything as detailed about Taylor as this, she always told everyone that her parents died in a car accident when she was little and that she didn’t remember much about it. Both him and Joe considered that enough information, and never bothered with troubling questions about her parents, but this police report was much worse.

  As if a light just clicked on in his head, he suddenly understood why Taylor was so hard to read, why every time he looked into those beautiful black eyes of hers, he would see a hollowed pit of pain; such an unfathomable pain that it would cast a shadow over her soul to hide the very essence of her being. She was hiding the pain of her life, the murder of her mother and the evil crimes of her father, and she was probably hiding them so that she could endure her life, empty and alone.

  Jake interrupted his own thoughts and closed the folder sprawled on his lap. He looked up to the man, now sitting on one side of the couch, Mike was his name, and asked, “all this stuff, um, personal information” he paused. “What does it have to do with me?” He was confused and began to wonder how angry Taylor would be if she ever found out that he knew about her parents.

  “Well boy,” the man in the chair, Russet, responded. “Taylor has gotten mixed up into some pretty serious business, bad sort of business, you see. She’s come into possession of a very powerful object, one that she stole from our labs. It’s extremely powerful and ultimately very dangerous, especially in the hands of a kid who is just trying to sell it for some money.”