by Bo Luellen
Her eyes rolled as she thought, Good old Pastor Greyson is at it again. Count on him to turn a tragedy into an opportunity for Eastland.
This was her second time to walk into the same hospital in the last two days, but this time it was surrounded by a swarm of police and Federal Agents. Amanda stopped at the nurse's desk and asked for Terry Johnston’s room. After a few more checks and an Officer probing her for why she was visiting the injured policeman, she was given directions to the ICU. Her heart quickened at the thought of what his condition might be and how close her husband came to ending up just like him or worse.
As she approached double doors to the Intensive Care wing, a pair of patrolmen held up a hand and ordered her, “Stop right there. No one past this point.”
Amanda felt a tap on her leg and heard John Utterson’s gruff voice, “You should be at home with Larry.”
Lanyon turned to see the detective looking haggard and tired. His clothes were the same from the morning, but sported wrinkles and an off-center black tie. Even through the man’s reading glasses, she could see the dark circles under his eyes that weren’t there before.
Pushing her purse under her arm, she replied, “Larry’s mother, Eve, is watching after him. I wanted to see how Terry was, and couldn’t get an answer from the Department.”
Utterson turned his chair towards the waiting room and remarked, “The Feds are in charge now. I’m locked out completely. I was told that our task force is at their disposal, not as a cooperative team. I’m not holding my breath for my phone to ring.”
As they traveled, she asked, “Did they tell you how Terry was?”
He rolled around the corner and parked his wheelchair next to a lime green bench. Amanda took a seat next to him and noticed a black family in the corner of the room, staring intently at Utterson. They seemed tense and on edge. One of the men paced as he drilled holes at the detective with his eyes.
Utterson set the brakes on his chair and answered, “The right arm has second-degree burns, and some of the shrapnel from the device used was embedded into his abdomen. His lungs took some smoke damage, but your husband got him out before it could kill him. The other officer Larry saved said the explosion came from the refrigerator. My guess is that Jekyll booby-trapped it. The FBI took over the crime scene, but I’ve been told I’ll get a courtesy call with a rundown of what they found.”
Dr. Lanyon shook her head in disbelief and remarked, “Jekyll has a sordidd past and has a nearly cult-like upbringing. The last time I saw him, he was a different person. He showed up wearing new clothes and had a new attitude. Part of me hoped this was just his way of processing the death of his friend and that the loss of Turner sparked some kind of fire to ignite. Now, thinking this through from a psychological perspective, he could have found the money and means via an association with a well-financed organization, such as the Crimson Brotherhood.”
The detective agreed, “In my experience, rigging his place to blow up isn’t the action of an innocent person.”
She gave a defeated sigh and admitted, “I can’t argue with that.”
Utterson rubbed his eyes, grumbling, “Jekyll is now a suspect for the murder of Lewis Turner. The FBI is also tacking on the death of the two officers, the attempted murder of Terry Johnston, and is wanted for questioning in connection to homeless disappearances. The Feds have quietly put the Crimson Brotherhood on the board as an active terrorist organization within Oklahoma, with Jekyll as public enemy number one. Dr. Lanyon, I need to know you are firmly on board with bringing your student in and that you will do everything in your power to help me track him down?”
She understood where he was coming from. Henry had been one of her special cases in class, but these were facts she couldn’t ignore. The damage to the apartment building and the people he had hurt were all too much to ignore. She had to help stop him before he could inflict more harm.
She reached out a hand to his forearm, answering, “John, whether he is directly or indirectly involved, Jekyll was involved in nearly killing my husband. I swear to you, John, I’ll help you catch him.”
The young man that had been pacing like a cat changed course and made a beeline towards Utterson. Boldly, he sat down on the bench directly in front of the Detective and patted the knee of his injured leg aggressively. Utterson went stiff with pain, as Amanda stood up and took a step back away from the angry teen.
The youth exclaimed, “Hey, Uncle John! Long-time no see. How’s the leg?”
Utterson’s face went vacant as the stranger continued, “Let’s see, when did I see you last? Oh yeah, that is when you killed my Uncle David. You know it almost slipped my mind; after all, I was only thirteen at the time. They told me that time would heal all wounds, and my parents didn’t need to worry cause kids bounce back. I suppose that’s true until someone tears that wound back open. You know, now that I’m sitting here next to you, in the hospital, with my Uncle Terry in ICU, it reminds me of something. I recall a night four years ago when you and my Uncle David decided to get high on some shit you lifted off a drug dealer? Cocaine, wasn’t it, Uncle John?”
The waiting room was deafeningly quiet, and Amanda was afraid to move as the black man added, “That night, you lost your partner, and I lost my Uncle. Funny how it all works out. You keep your job, and my Uncle OD’s on your living room floor. No pension check for my Aunt, you’re now a hotshot detective, with his name in the newspaper as the man who single-handedly discovered a terrorist cell in Oklahoma. All it cost was my other Uncle. Just like old times. I can even smell the alcohol on you. The Department covering your ass, my family in a hospital room, and you are out here sitting with us again.”
Amanda began to talk, but the man yelled at her, “Shut up, bitch! This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you!”
Utterson’s voiced cracked as he ordered, “Leave, Professor. I’ll call you later.”
The youth gave him another painful pat on the knee as he repeated the Detective, “Yes! Leave. We just need some family time.”
She grabbed her purse and affirmed, “Okay John. I’ll see you later.”
As Amanda left, she passed by a patrolwoman and thought, Maybe I should tell the cops what’s going on? No, this has to do with John’s past and he can handle himself.
The cold air hit her face as she walked outside to her car. The events of the day were swimming in her head with overlapping layers of complexity. The stress was starting to make a crack in her usual stoic and professional appearance, as she dreaded coming home to a house full of in-law drama.
Her mind was centered on her husband when the phone rang, and she answered, “Hey, honey, how are you feeling?”
Josh Dyer’s voice sang out on the other end, “Well, I’m fine, Love, just a touch of jet lag. Perhaps you would be good enough to come to pick me up at the airport?”
She stopped in her tracks, saying, “Josh, what do you mean, ‘pick you up?’ Are you here in Tulsa?”
She could hear a car honking in the background as he responded, “Yes, I just landed.”
The professor gave a confused, “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”
The man gave a hushed reply, “Mandie, I don’t think you know how dangerous this Cthulhu cult can be. They are like trapdoor spiders; they make a burrow and lay in wait. For them to make a public move like this means they are making a statement. It has a purpose. Have you seen the news lately?”
Lanyon crossed her arms against the cold and replied, “Yes, people are going crazy. The FBI is involved and…”
Dyer interrupted with, “No, Mandie. You’re out in front of this now. I got off the plane and saw Larry’s face on TV and yours. They are calling him the hero and you a lead consultant on Utterson’s task force. Your family is in grave danger.”
As she restarted her walk to the car, she replied, “I’m on my way.” On the drive to the airport, she was filled with nervous energy and thinking, How did the press find out about my involvement? The media finding out about
Larry is understandable. You don’t save two officers after the largest terrorist bombing in Tulsa history without finding a cop willing to talk about it. The average beat cop doesn’t even know my name, much less my involvement.
As she turned the corner into the pick-up lane of the Tulsa International Airport and saw him standing there. The man was six foot tall, lean with shoulder-length blonde hair that was tucked under an Aussie slouch style hat. The tan cargo pants he had on were faded by the sun to a dull color with tiny rips in odd places.
She parked beside him and felt a rush of excitement, as his smile ignited her feelings of nostalgia. He dropped his hiking pack and embraced her in his strong arms. It was a long time before either spoke, and in the afternoon sun, Amanda let herself enjoy the moment.
He pulled away and looked into her eyes, gushing, “You look great, Mandie.”
She gave a tearful smile and replied, “Oh, I look like a mess. It’s been a day.”
He picked up his large backpack and requested, “Pop the trunk. We need to head to Muskogee, right away.”
She yelled out over the engines of a jet that was taking off, “What?! Why, Muskogee?!”
He walked to the back of her car and shouted, “That’s where the answers are, Love!”
A few minutes later, they were on the highway headed out of town as he explained, “I tried to contact you back, but I lost service, and that got me worried. I broke camp immediately and trekked down the mountain all night and part of the morning. From the trailhead, I caught a cab to the airport and where my assistant had a red-eye ticket waiting for me.”
As she finished getting him up to speed on the details of what happened at Henry’s house, his phone rang, and he answered, “Hey, yes, I made it…. I’ll be out of pocket for a while…. No, don’t cancel that, just send Fakuda in my place…. Yes… will do.”
Amanda threw up an eyebrow and asked, “Was that your wife?”
Josh stowed his phone in his shirt pocket and replied, “That was Linda Jenkins, my assistant, although she acts that way sometimes. How’s Larry recovering?”
She felt a flash of guilt for having momentarily put her husband out of her mind as she answered, “He’s recovering okay. He ran into the building without a second thought. You should have seen him go, Josh. He switched on and ran like he was back playing college ball. Speaking of Larry, I’m going to need to call him and let him know where we are headed. Considering our past, I’m going to need a better reason than, ’That’s where the answers are.’
Josh put on a pair of glasses and started thumbing through his phone, as he reassured, “Yes, of course. I don’t want to cause you any problems. Quite the opposite, actually.”
He held up his phone that showed a Google Map location in Muskogee and added, “We are headed here. That is the home of the Arch Druid of this region. If there is occult activity in the Oklahoma area, he will know about it.”
She glanced at the phone and asked, “Josh, are you taking me to a hippie commune?”
He laughed and replied, “Well, I guess it would need several people there to be a commune. While I lived in Scotland, I became a member of an underground Druidic organization called The Line of Merlin. My teacher, Sine MacUradaidth, keeps records of all the practicing Druids in the world. According to Ovate MacUradaidth, the man’s name is Thomas Booth, and he doesn’t enjoy the company of people.”
She put the car on cruise control as they traveled the Broken Arrow Expressway and asked, “And why couldn’t you just call this Booth guy?”
Pulling off his hat, he answered, “Like most Druids, he prefers to be isolated. I had Linda use our company’s access to the local carriers. We found out this guy hasn’t owned a phone number for almost fifteen years, and that was in Washington, DC. A PI firm I use found out he lives in a house he inherited from his deceased parents. No social media accounts, no criminal record, and he has zero credit history for the last ten years. My investigator said he had some college, and it looked like he did some work up North. Beyond that, his life has been off the grid for over a decade.”
Lanyon shot him a hard stare and observed, “So, we are headed to a dedicated introvert’s house, uninvited and not knowing if he actually can tell us anything. Why would this guy even open the door?”
As she picked up her phone, Josh answered, “The Line of Merlin still has some name recognition in Druidic circles. Enough to get a foot in the door.”
Amanda called Larry’s cell phone, but it quickly went to voice mail, which caused her to think, That would be Eve, pushing me to voice mail. When this is over, I’m going to have another talk with her about boundaries.
During the rest of the drive, the two were catching up on old times when Josh asked, “Tell me, do you remember those times in the Grove when we were dropping acid and communing with the spirits?”
She smirked and replied, “I remember you getting me high so you can get me naked.”
His head cocked back in fake indignation as he bantered, “Try? My dear Professor Lanyon, I dare say you were incorrigible in those days, and the acid was just a way of enhancing our sex. Honestly, I thought I had you, but there was Larry. He won you fair and square. Tell me, did you ever tell him about you and me?”
They exited the highway into Muskogee, as she replied coldly, “No. Let’s keep it that way if you would please.”
He nodded and gave a reassuring smile as he replied, “No need to worry. Water under the bridge. We’ve all grown a bit since those days. Sins of the youth and all.”
Josh cleared his throat and changed the subject, “You’ve done so well for yourself. A Ph.D., tenure at Eastland, marathon runner, and advocate for wayward students who turn out to be in a murderous cul. How does Larry keep up with you?”
She glanced at the GPS and replied, “We have a good partnership, and he is a great Dad to the kids.”
Josh pointed towards a street they needed to turn down and remarked, “Partnership? That’s dry.”
Ignoring him, Amanda gave an exuberant, “Wait! Why are we going to see a Druid in town? Shouldn’t he live in the country somewhere?”
He grabbed a book out of his pack and answered, “You’ve been watching too many movies. This isn’t an ancient druid we are going to see. Like many of the modern students of the Green Path, this guy is probably sitting in an air-conditioned house and living off his inheritance.”
Minutes later, the two were driving through a depressed area of town, with dilapidated homes on either side of them. Busted out windows, plyboard over the doors, and broken down cars stretched up and down the road. Amanda suddenly felt exposed and more than a little worried, as they passed a woman wearing fishnet stockings and not much else.
Finally, Josh pointed at a two-story home and announced, “That’s the one.”
She turned into the cracked driveway of the house, then opened her door to a greeting of loud hip-hop music that was thumping from a car parked a few houses down. They looked up the front stairs and saw the front door was wide open, with only a screen door blocking the entrance. Every window in the house was open, with mosquito netting tacked over the openings. The blue paint on the home was flaking and falling off, and the roof had several shingles missing.
Lanyon let out a long sigh, then asked, “So what, we go up and yell, “We’re looking for a 10th level Druid, then make a Charisma check? ”
Josh froze and beamed, “For someone who hated playing Dungeons and Dragons with me in college, you sure remember a…”
A man with glasses so thick they made his eyes look comically large came stomping towards the front door. Shirtless, he peered out of the screen door, sporting an out of shape, milky white upper body. He had on a pair of worn-out denim pants, frayed at the ends and with holes in the knees. Around his throat was a silver medallion that had three joined spirals, and a thick braid of leather made up the necklace. In his dirty hand he was carrying a small gardener’s shovel that had the pointed end turned around, and the man looked ready
to use it on them.
Josh moved up towards the door and asked, “Thomas Booth, Arch Druid of the region of Tulsa and its surrounding woods?”
The bare-chested man made a mud line on his nose as he pushed his glasses up and asked, “Why are you in my day?”
Josh took the lead and answered quickly, “My name is Josh Dyer, and this is Dr. Amanda Lanyon of Eastland College. I’ve studied with the Scottish section of the ancient druidic ways. I’m an apprentice to the Ovate Druid, Sine MacUrardaidh of the Line of Merlin. Your name is listed as the current Arch Druid in this area.”
A trail of sweat made a clear path down his forehead as he remarked, “This is about the bombing in Tulsa.”
Amanda’s heart jumped with surprise as Josh answered, “Both of us are consultants on a case for the police, and we need your help.”
The man studied them both for a long moment then invited, “Come in. Walk where I walk. Don’t touch anything. Lock your car, some crazy people live on this block.”
Josh and Lanyon shared a wide-eyed look at the notion someone could be crazier than the man they just met, then quickly walked into the home. She was immediately hit with the smell of compost and a variety of other unpleasant scents. The home's living room was filled with vegetation; the walls had planters sitting along the bottom edges, and vines were growing up to the ceiling. Sections of the walls had rotted away, and the floor had a thick covering of clear plastic.
They turned a corner into a large parlor where a makeshift greenhouse had been built along its center. Lights were strung up above the various plants and shined downward, causing the room to feel oppressively humid. She pressed herself between the vegetation-filled tables and the vine-covered walls as she followed the man through the home.
They ended up in a kitchen where stacks of fertilizer were being stored on top of a beaten-up wooden dining table. The smell was horrific, and Amanda couldn’t stifle a series of gags and coughs. Dyer took out a handkerchief and covered his nose as flies buzzed above the fertilizer.