Oracle: A Story from The Reels

by Brian Ewing

  Sisto allowed the adrenaline to lead him all the way to the door of apartment thirty-seven. Gasping for breath, he leaned along the outside of the doorframe, banging open-handed as Caden approached just moments behind him.

  “Ama!” Sisto yelled, his voice echoing down the empty hallway of the third floor. “Ama, open up, it’s me, Tom Sisto from the fifth floor!”

  He continued to bang open-palmed until the sting registered with him.

  “Ms. Navarro, this is Detective Caden with the SCPD, can you please open the door?” Caden spoke with authority backing her tone.

  Turning the corner from exiting the elevator were two patrol officers accompanying a very panicked Super Dave with them. Dave looked like he hadn’t found a good hiding spot for his drugs and had decided to ingest them to dispose of the evidence. His pupils, wide as saucers, darted all over, focusing on Sisto while trying to use his shaking hands to remove the key ring from his belt. The shorter officer who guided Super Dave to them explained that Detective Bell had directed them to bring the superintendent up to meet them with keys so they could do a wellness check on the old woman that lived in the apartment with Ama. Sisto felt a blanket of gratitude that while Bell was not physically equal in the alliance the three had formed, he was smart enough to use the resources at his disposal to assist Caden and Sisto from the ground level. Dave finally got the key set off and fumbled around, looking for the key that matched Ama’s door, trying Sisto’s patience to the core. Relief fell on his face as he identified the correct key and gave Sisto a shaky handoff so Sisto could proceed.

  Sisto, grabbing like he was a drug addict and the only item that could feed the fix was that key, shoved the key into the deadbolt and turned counterclockwise. Hearing the clunk of metal return to its home within the actual door, Sisto then applied the key to the knob. The second he felt the vibration of the click on the other side, Sisto opened the door to see the apartment in pristine condition. Looking to the side table on the left of the sofa, he saw the sage brush was smoldering, as if recently extinguished. A reading light was on in the corner and the overhead light on above the stove. It looked as if there was nothing to be concerned about. Sisto walked to the coffee table and swiped his fingers across the television remote, hoping to pick up on a vibe. Denied of any visit from The Reels, Sisto was slightly thankful. He noticed the two uniformed officers and Caden spread out in formation to clear the apartment of any lingering danger. Announcing themselves in each room they entered, there were no sadistic killers caked in blood to be found.

  Sisto, emotionally drained from the presumption that he would be walking into a horrific scene, was now confused beyond his means. How could he have read the intention so wrong, with two extra sets of eyes and opinions from the think tank that resided in Interrogation Room Two? Caden came out of the back room, Ama’s bedroom-office, with flashlight in one hand, crossed underneath to support the aim of the Glock-19 in her other hand, both pointing towards the ground upon exiting. She wearily shook her head, letting Sisto know that there was nothing to convey that a struggle or crime had been committed. Now the question arose for Sisto: If it was Carson’s perspiration of grape excitement he’d smelled in the stairwell, where had he been hiding? And where was Ama? Caden walked out through the sliding glass door to get fresh air and reached out via radio to Bell to explain their lack of finding anything.

  Caden spent a few minutes out on the ledge of the balcony patio, letting the slight breeze hit her face and neck, turning her mist of visible perspiration into a cool chill on her skin and wrapping a loose strand of hair behind her ear to accompany her signature ponytail. Sisto had sat on the couch, watching her alternating her radio position from her mouth up to her ear. Feeling her heartrate start to normalize and body heat start to resume normal temperatures, she walked in and walked over to a recliner chair, part of the set from the couch Sisto had been sitting on, and looked at him with concern. The look on her face didn’t hold anything secret, just a vulnerable concern for a man she’d grown to enjoy being around.

  “Bell has one unit on the top floor working their way down and another walking the perimeter of the building. So far, there is nothing to indicate Carson is here,” she finally spoke.

  “Well, where the hell is she? And where is Ojibwe?”

  “What’s an Ojibwa?”

  “Ojibwe,” Sisto corrected, “Her grandmother lives with her. Where is she?”

  “Look, Tom.” The concern was rising in Caden’s voice. “Maybe we missed the mark on this one? Why don’t you take the night off and I will keep a unit here and call you if we find anything?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sisto refused. “I am not doing anything until we find Ama and Ojibwe.”

  The two reluctantly sat a few more minutes, then Caden insisted they could go up two more flights to let Sisto change and freshen up. The idea had been tempting— to change his shirt and wash his face—and he figured he could show Caden the perfect cut in his emergency stairs window and where he’d found the post-it hidden on the inside of the closed laptop. Caden directed the pair of officers that accompanied them with the search to remain outside the apartment and notify them once either Ama or her ojibwe showed up. Closing the door behind them, the two walked towards the stairwell, but Sisto cut Caden off, deciding last minute that he would endure whatever putrid smell the elevator had to offer that night and conserve what little energy remained in his body. Sisto’s synapses shot on all cylinders with thoughts and possibilities of what was happening the entire ride up to the fifth floor. Turning the corner in a daze towards his apartment, a distressful sob broke Sisto out of his trance. Looking at the end of the hall by his apartment door, he saw Ama standing right there in the flesh. She was in her torn black denim jeans, a shirt with an emblem Sisto didn’t recognize, and her leather jacket all fashionably accenting the stream of mascara running down her face.

  The feeling of exhaustion vanished as adrenaline jumped back in the driver’s seat of Tom Sisto’s brain. He sprinted towards her, happy to see her physically unharmed.

  “Where have you been?” Ama managed to get out, in between bursts of trying to recover the air that was stolen from a hyperventilation session. “I called you and texted you a million times!”

  “My phone died. I am so, so sorry,” Sisto replied, “I was so worried—”

  “So, you haven’t gotten any of my texts?”

  “No, like I said . . .” Sisto said, confused by the direction of her emotions. “Is Ojibwe okay? Where is she?”

  “Ojibwe?” Ama looked confused, “She went to Blackout Bingo at the Casino. She won’t be back until well after Midnight. Tom—”

  “So you’re both alright?” Sisto was not sure he could believe it, leading him to his next question, “Why are you upset? What’s the matter?”

  Swallowing a lump that had been gathering in her throat, Ama remained silent.

  “Ama! What the hell is going on? I thought Vinnova was coming after you. I thought—”

  “I ran that print like you asked.” Ama spoke softer than he had ever heard her before.

  Sisto was confused. Ama paused to look at Caden, recognizing what she was going to tell him could be considered illegal, and gave a look to Sisto that spoke a thousand words.

  Sisto turned to Caden. “Give us a second, please.”

  “Whoa,” Caden started to refute, hands coming off her hips to rise up in disbelief.

  “I will explain it to you, but in all honesty, you probably don’t want to hear what she has to say, for honor of the law and all.”

  “Jesus . . . two minutes,” Caden replied, her voice laced with fury.

  Walking back to the elevator, Sisto turned back to see the puffy, bloodshot eyes of the emotional Ama.

  “What is it, Ama? You’re freaking me out.”

  She hesitated, as if trying to figure out how to say it. “I called and texted you twenty minutes ago when I got a hit on that print you asked me to look into—”

  A gasp for
air cut her off, and she coughed from the instinctual urge her lungs craved. She then calmed down and continued, “I came up here as soon as I saw it and I tried, I really tried to get a hold of you the second I found out—”

  “Found out what?” Sisto demanded.

  “The print,” she squeaked out, “the print belonged to a person I recognized. I couldn’t pinpoint it at first. I ran the name against the DMV and when I saw him, I knew I had to come find you. I had recognized him from some of the surveillance footage I have wired throughout the building. Sisto, I have cameras all over here, including the roof. It’s your friend I see you having beers with up there sometimes, Craig.”

  CHAPTER 20

  A wave of emotions assaulted Sisto with unrelenting force. Ama’s voice faded to the background as Sisto started to self-analyze the trail of mistakes, which led to him to the conclusion that he was an unqualified thirty-one-year old asshole that had put his best friend in the crosshairs of a killer. Carson, Jackie, it didn’t matter who was at the reigns of the twisted game—the kill now presented to Sisto was nothing less than poetic justice. Eight years ago, Tom Sisto had refused to die. Taking one breath, one surgery, one physical therapy session at a time, until he was strong enough to enter the courtroom and tell his truth and ultimately put Frank Vinnova away to prison for conspiracy to commit murder. The testimony, paired with the hours of wire taps and photos the FBI had facilitated, locked the case rock-solid, a final nail not only in Frank Vinnova’s empire, but also his life, as he was murdered behind the cold walls of a federal prison. Carson and Jackie had both lost their best friend because of Sisto, and now, Sisto had lost his best friend.

  His face told a story Caden could read from a mile away, let alone the fifteen feet where she had been circling near the elevators. She stopped, as Sisto froze after Ama stated something too muddled between tears and mucus for her to hear. Caden had registered the expression Sisto wore to be a gut shot of information. Taking her years of experience into play, she approached the two civilians with intent to extract information. She knew that whatever Ama had discovered and relayed to him had to have been intense for Sisto’s marble-blue eyes to start looking around in every direction for a savior. In that moment, Caden didn’t see Tom Sisto, quirky consultant psychic. She saw a friend that was hurt by something he’d found out. Caden, compassionate to all, realized that her heart had broken a little looking at him. The feeling scared her as a realization swept across her that she may have blurred a line she normally kept firm in the invisible sand of partnerships.

  The guilt stung like a hot poker in Sisto’s heart as he turned towards the apartment door across his own. Caden approached as the intuition that served her well in her detective career advised her to speak with caution. Both Corden Palisades residents looked at Detective Caden as she softly extended her hand, placing it over his left arm to comfort Sisto.

  “Tom?” Caden asked as gently as possible, considering the intensity the last half hour had presented.

  A bloodshot-eyed, snotty mess of an Ama cleared her throat. “Sisto asked me to run a fingerprint for him.”

  Caden hesitated, knowing if she pursued questioning the wrong way, she may have to have an uncomfortable conversation with Ama Navarro down at the SCPD police station for breaking an encyclopedia worth of cyber laws. “Who?”

  Just as cautious, Ama pointed towards apartment fifty-two. “Craig Allman.”

  “He was a friend.” It was more a statement from Caden than a question.

  Sisto nodded.

  The tugging in the detective’s mind overtook her as she whipped her sidearm out of its holster and pointed it towards the rickety apartment door. Barely whispering, she radioed to Bell for him and backup to join her on the fifth floor. Ama and Sisto, in a symbiotic movement, moved behind his apartment door to give room to the additional bodies that were converging in that exact spot. The emotional wind knocked out of him, Sisto used his apartment’s doorframe for support while his other arm wrapped around Ama in a consoling gesture. While Ama didn’t know Craig personally, Sisto felt bad as the entire ordeal had affected her psyche. Her body, still trying to regulate a consistent air flow, hiccupped sporadically in an attempt to find a normal pattern. Sisto looked down at the woman in his arms to see her smooth hand with black fingernail polish trembling involuntarily. Sisto reassured himself that this would also pass with time.

  The ding of the elevator indicated that the backup had arrived. As Sisto turned towards the noise, he saw three uniformed officers—one he recognized from earlier, and two that must have shown up since he had been on the fifth floor. The two new additions were in tactical gear and were accompanied by Calvin Bell. A look of anger drawn on his face, Bell pushed passed the tactical officers twenty years his junior, and made a beeline towards him, Ama, and Caden. Detective Bell was too old and too tired to put up with some bullshit serial killer trying to play games and gave his partner a cold stare to relay that information. She nodded, reading his face like a book, and signaled for the tactical officers to fall in behind them. The one officer in regular uniform Sisto recognized from the third floor in Ama’s apartment approached with what looked like a metal log with handles. Sisto recognized this battering ram as what the guys around the breakroom once called “The Big Red Key,” presumably allowing them into any door they needed. The side of the brute tool had white spray paint stencil Enforcer #2 on it.

  The officer in his blues, Hook on his nametag, with one graceful motion, slammed the tool’s blunt end into the left midsection of the apartment door just aside from the knob. The splintering of the wood sent a snapping sound echoing across the hallway. Hook stepped out of the way with his tool and allowed Caden and Bell to enter, the two officers in tactical gear right behind them. Sisto, still leaning against his apartment door, saw the team spread in different directions, shadows overlapping as they cleared each room, leading them towards the master bedroom. Sisto had to remind himself to breathe as he waited for a voice from inside the apartment to state they’d found his good friend, Craig, butchered. About two full minutes went by and after no one came out or said anything, Sisto broke free from his shock, which turned to curiosity. He looked at Ama, signaling her to wait for him as he slowly approached the busted door.

  Sisto grabbed the handle to push the useless door out of his way when his friend The Reels shifted him out of his reality and into a memory. Sisto felt a breeze against the face of the occupant whose memory he was intruding on. He looked around to see the occupant was on the roof of the Corden Palisades, the sun still peeking out from the skyline of buildings towards the west. Sisto looked down to see the body grab of the blue Rubbermaid ice chest that revealed with no doubt whose eyes and body Sisto currently wore. He felt his left hand reach up and shove the wild mane attached to his head out of his eye-line. His right hand, golden bronze as the rest of the surfer’s body, opened the lid and threw the empty cans, bottles, and caps in it for a swift clean up. Sisto was being directed by Craig’s motions, and watched from a first-person view as he grabbed the first lawn chair and started to fold it. Behind him, Sisto heard the creek from the roof door opening but to his surprise, felt no sense of surprise from Craig. Re-living what was most likely Craig’s final moments, he felt his voice box throttle as he heard words come out in Craig’s voice.

  “Always forgetting something, huh?” came out of his mouth.

  Jesus, Sisto realized. Carson had to have shown up right after Sisto left, probably watching and waiting to strike. There was no reply to the statement Craig said, causing Sisto to follow the motion of Craig looking up after folding the first chair and towards the roof access door. Sisto felt Craig’s heart sink to his stomach as the first thing he saw was the serrated blade gleaming off the last few splashes of sunlight. The terror whooshing over Craig, and Sisto in that moment, gave them a complete chill, resulting in Sisto feeling Craig’s legs turn into noodles. Craig looked from the blade up to the face of a man who would have to shit rainbows if he wanted
anyone to think he could be happier than he currently displayed. The crooked smile presented a mouth full of gleaming teeth as Carson Vinnova stood blocking the exit. This was the first time Sisto had seen what Carson looked like presently, being the previous visions from The Reels had Sisto with Carson as a meat suit, following acts from his point of view. Carson, in his early to mid-twenties, not only owned prison ink running down his arms to his hands, but through Craig’s eyes, Sisto saw Carson had two tattoos of equal quality posted on each side of his neck. Carson had changed the parted hairstyle Sisto saw in the photo from Angie’s Marina and was now sporting a tight buzz cut and beard to match. Looking from Craig’s perspective, Sisto got a full view and understanding of how the prison workouts had given Carson the full physique to perfectly pair with the intimidation he drew with every step towards a victim.

  “Hey man, I don’t know what you want, but my friend is coming right back.” Sisto felt and heard Craig’s voice come out of his mouth. “I would recommend you scoot and head off before he calls the cops.”

  Sisto could understand, but it was still difficult due to The Reels side effect of putting the audio on his visions through a funnel, which made the conversations sound far away.

  “I am leaving.” The ice in the tone of Carson’s response scared the focused Sisto to the core. “I just need to complete this piece of the puzzle for our mutual friend.”