by Laura Wylde
“It was deserted,” coaxed Jamie.
“Yes, completely deserted, which is strange. And the sound of the machinery was muffled. There was a sudden breeze and the lights flickered. At first, all I saw was a shadow moving deep inside the tunnel, then suddenly, it was right on top of me. I beat it off with my backpack, then called 911. I think that’s how it found me. I was hiding behind one of the pillars, but it tracked my voice.”
She sniffed and squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, her fingers pressed against her temples. “You said on the phone you thought it was a harpy,” I said, watching her with a little more fascination than I usually reserve for our clientele. I guess I’m just a guy who likes girls with spunk.
She opened her eyes and fiddled with a pair of glasses. They didn’t have much magnification. I suspected she used them to hide behind. “That was silly, wasn’t it? They have drones now that can do all kinds of amazing things. It was probably some kind of weird experiment. Or a very large bat.”
I shrugged. “There are a lot of crazy things that go on in New York City. You’d be surprised. You can tell us, Tanya. We won’t judge you. What made you think you saw a harpy?”
She grimaced. “Because that’s what it was!” She crossed her arms defensively and continued. “You may think I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I do. The first recording of harpies was three thousand years ago. A group of fishermen were fishing off a small island close to Crete. They nearly starved to death when harpies began stealing and spoiling their food and did not escape the island until they had battled the harpies with spears and wounded two of them. I could show you the script, but the point is, I study them. I study all mythological creatures and that one was a harpy.”
“How did you escape it?” I pressed.
“I didn’t,” she said, her voice sounding a little surprised. “She had me. She was just inches from my face when she was suddenly hit what looked like a red, flaming ball. But the flame was alive. When she fled, it chased after her.”
I pretended to take notes. “So, the harpy was driven off by a red ball of fire?”
“No, not a fire. It was more like a flame. Actually, like a bird. A fiery, red bird.”
“A gorgeous red bird chased off the harpy,” I agreed, scribbling on my pad.
“Fiery,” she corrected automatically. “It happened so fast, I only got a glimpse. I guess you could say it was gorgeous.” She gave me an odd look that plucked right at my heart-strings. “Are you going to take me to your precinct for a psych evaluation now?”
I put away my pad and helped her to her feet. “I don’t think that will be necessary. You’re not crazy, but you do need police protection. Whatever is out there, targeted you and it might not give up easily.”
“Yeah,” agreed Lenny glibly. He doesn’t always consider beforehand what to say, but he’s young and when you are young, mistakes are more forgivable. “Especially if it’s a harpy. They develop fixations on the targeted prey and won’t stop until they have it.”
It wasn’t the most reassuring thing to tell her. Although she clung to my arm, she looked around like she suspected we were all crazy. “If I’m not being detained, I’d like to just go home,” she said weakly. “I’ll call a cab. That will keep me out of the subway.”
I patted her arm. “Save your money. We’ll ride with you. Nobody is going to attack four armed police officers.”
Something flitted through her eyes that wasn’t exactly rebellion; more like pride. I mentally kicked myself. I had probably sounded too condescending. “It looks like I picked my own battle,” she answered softly. “I shouldn’t get others involved.”
Tanya
If I had been a police officer, I would never have believed such a wild story. It was coming from my own lips, and I had a hard time believing it, yet all four of these gorgeous defenders of the peace apparently accepted every word as the truth and only the truth. It gave me enough confidence to tell my story to the end, but when they offered to accompany me home, I felt embarrassed. How would they write a police report? Would they say they were accompanying a young woman on a subway train to protect her from mythological characters?
I sniffed, feeling a bit cynical. They would probably write that I was so hysterical when they arrived, I was hallucinating, and they accompanied me home to make sure I arrived safely. “I should fight my own battles,” I said, looking Sergeant Richards in the eye, which wasn’t easy. His eyes were like blue, tempered steel and could slice through you just as deeply.
The train whistled into the station and the doors slid open. I entered the car, thinking they would just stand and watch me get whisked away, but they didn’t. They slid through with me and sat down on the plastic seats, surrounding me as tightly as they had when we were sitting on the steps together.
The sergeant sat next to me, taking nearly the entire bench. He was a burly guy, over six feet tall with the shoulders of a championship boxer. His fiery, red hair was cropped short, but so thick, it still appeared a bit long at the top. His facial hair, evident in short, curly sideburns and a three-day old beard, was the color of a sunset; bright and golden. If he held a giant hammer in his hand and said he was Thor, I would have believed him.
He smelled like cinnamon. They all did. Cinnamon and other aromatic, woodsy scents. He leaned across the bench to talk with honey-voiced Jamie about protocols or something boring and tedious. I quit listening to their words and just the musical sounds they created together, one like a bass drum, the other like a melody. There was something familiar about Daniel Richards. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was because with his looks and his coloring, he’d stand out, no matter where he was at. He was like a bit player who never received any real billing, but whose face was so memorable, you began noticing it in movie after movie.
I liked the logic, but it still didn’t feel right. The events of the evening played back in my mind. I geared them into slow motion as I tried to remember every single second. There was the harpy swooping closer, her lips raised in a snarl, long talons extended. I pushed myself to see beyond the horrid, naked body, the skin tough as shoe leather, and concentrate on the red ball of fury streaming closer.
When the bird creature collided with the harpy, its body twisted around hers and its wings beat in time with her own. She screeched and slipped away from his grasp, pummeling herself straight up, then out through the tunnel. Just before following her, the bird turned its head and looked at me. It had icy blue eyes and an oddly human face superimposed over the bird-like features. In the next second, it was gone, speeding after the creature.
The sergeant noticed that I kept glancing at him. “Have I offended you in some way?” He asked.
I looked at the sign of the subway station coming up. One more stop and they would arrive at Washington Square. The further away I got from the scene of the attack, the more unrealistic it felt. “No,” I said quickly. “You just remind me of someone, and I can’t quite think of who. In fact, the answer that is the most persistent is the answer that is the most implausible.”
“Try me,” he said pleasantly.
It seemed enough that they were indulging me in my monster fantasy. I didn’t want to make things more complicated than they already were. “No, I don’t think I will. You and your men have been great sports. I’m going to get off just ahead. You should probably go back to preserving the peace.”
“I think we’re doing a good job,” said Officer Jamie laconically. He had his own kind of cute. He wasn’t as buff as Sergeant Richards, but he had the kind of long, muscular legs you see on men who are good at tap dancing or running long distances. It wasn’t hard to imagine him doing both. He had that faux lazy slouch of someone who can jump from a dead sleep to a cowboy with a blazing gun in an instant. It was a gambler’s pose, made to inspire a false sense of confidence in the other players.
It was certainly peaceful enough on the train. There was only a handful of people in the car, plugged into their music or
texting on their cell phones. They didn’t even look up when we entered, which isn’t surprising. A five-hundred- pound toad with a British accent could enter a New York City subway train, and nobody would look up.
It didn’t seem to matter what I said. When the train pulled into the Washington square platform, the officers stood up and followed me out as though we were all one gang with one collective mind. Secretly, I was a little thrilled. I hadn’t had much time for dating in the last couple of years. The specialized courses were getting harder and the evidence for supporting my upcoming thesis, more difficult to find. I spent more time in a classroom or at the library than in partying down with my classmates. Even if my escorts didn’t really qualify as a date, they were still something to talk about. I could imagine Miss Cranden, a forty-five- year -old spinster living just two doors down who thought she got lucky by scoring the attentions of the bald, sixty-year old janitor maintaining the apartments, peeking through her doorway, eyes bugging out with surprise. I could even hear the rumors falling off her tongue before she had even shut the door.
If they wanted their reputations ruined by the vipers of Washington Square, it was their funeral, I supposed. The worst backlash I would receive was the undying envy of Miss Cranden and her gaggle of hens. My patrol followed me all the way up to the fourth landing and stood politely to one side while I unlocked the door. I opened it wide in case there really was something lurking behind it and gave a sigh of relief to see everything completely undisturbed.
“Would you like to come in for a minute?” I asked. The least I could do for these brave cavaliers who fought the imaginary demons of others, was offer them a cup of coffee.
I was beginning to learn their decisions depended primarily on the sergeant. As soon as he nodded agreement, they piled in simultaneously and made themselves at home.
I don’t have an impressive apartment. Too high up for convenience, not enough for a good view. A single large window in the living room looked down on a narrow footpath between this building and the next. Its only advantage was in the summer, when shaded from the sun, the grass on both sides of the footpath was deep and green, a refreshing refuge for children and young lovers. The window remained covered by drapes hung so strategically, they shot straight up and down in carefully measured sheaths, without a single wrinkle.
For me, the selling points had been a kitchen designed in modern Danish and a spacious living room. This allowed me to own a large, U-shaped couch, a decent entertainment center, a computer module and a wall to wall book shelf without scrunching everything together. The sergeant prowled around the room, checked quickly into the bathroom and the bedroom for signs of unwanted activity, then sat down edgily in the middle of the couch, pouring over his cell phone.
The youngster, Lenny, sat back on one of the extended-couch ends, crossed his ankles and flicked on the television. After giving him a frown, Officer Jamie made himself comfortable at the other end and ordered, “find the sports channel. I think there’s a wrestling match tonight.”
The three of them looked like the league of red-headed gentlemen. Lenny’s hair was ginger, and his eyes soft and brown, while Jamie’s hair was chestnut. The fourth officer, though, introduced as Jack Cardinal was a black man, with the skin tones of burnished mahogany. He was beautiful, elegant and powerful at the same time. He didn’t sit down with the others but strolled over to the wall containing my collection of books, his eyes appraising them, his hands behind his back.
I went into the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and ground some coffee for my French Press. While waiting for the water to boil, I went to my bedroom to change clothes. I showered off my runner’s sweat rapidly and slipped into a pair of loose, silk slacks and an off-the-shoulder pullover. I glanced at myself in the full-length mirror before returning to the kitchen. Not bad for a quick change. It was sexy without looking needy. With long legs and narrow hips, I always did look good in slacks.
The water was boiling when I returned to the kitchen. I filled five mugs from the French Press, added a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar to the serving tray, and carried them out to the coffee table. There was plenty of room on the couch for at least two more people. I took a seat between Lenny and Sergeant Richards, trying to appear completely nonchalant. I also tried not to notice the incredible amount of sugar they all added to the perfectly blended, fair-trade, organic Costa Rica coffee. “Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “As you can see, no harpies at my door. No harpies outside my windows. No harpies hiding in my apartment. Oh! Did you check the closets, Sergeant Richards?”
“I did,” he answered as gravely as if I had asked him a serious question. “And under your bed. If you’ve been trying to locate some missing socks, I believe you’ll find them all there.”
“My socks are always running off and getting divorces. Did you happen to see a couple of missing shoes, as well?”
I waited for him to laugh at my sense of humor, but he only gave me a wry grin. “There’s a slipper at the bottom of the linen closet. I think you will find a high-heeled shoe behind the drapes.”
“Now you see how I am – scatter brained. My mother used to tell me I spend too much time reading and not enough paying attention to what’s going on around me. She said one day I was going to get my wires crossed and there you have it. I did a complete short circuit.”
The sergeant tasted his coffee, then added a little more sugar. “I don’t think you’re scatter-brained. I think you just get in a hurry when it comes down to your shoes and socks. Your apartment is well-organized, dishes are clean, laundry folded. You like to keep your feet comfortable and that’s more important to you than what you wear on them.”
He was a regular Sherlock Holmes, so why couldn’t he see I was delusional? Although, there was nothing I would like better than to keep these fine-looking officers at my beck and call, they had a duty to the general public, and I shouldn’t be taking up anymore of their time. “You know, you’re a very nice man. In fact, all of you are nice. Really nice. That’s why I need to be completely honest with you. I study fantastic creatures; a lot. My liberal arts degree includes a four- year study into the origins and history of mythological characters. When I graduate, I plan to teach World Mythology.”
“I noticed while looking at your books,” said Officer Cardinal. “A bit of a collection on early Mediterranean history. A lot of anthropology, studies on Egyptian Hieroglyphics, even Celtic symbols and Druidic runes.” It was the first time I had heard him speak. His voice was cultivated; just the right pitch and temperature to keep it warm and alive without being too familiar. His treatment of the “o” sound was British, but I suspected not from the British Aisles.
“Yes, yes. I had been doing some follow-up work at the library for my thesis paper. I was going to call it, “the gods among us”. It was meant to prove that not only were these creatures real, they continue to exist today. I found some very compelling evidence for my theory and I was consumed by it. I really don’t believe I saw anything in the subway more supernatural than a bat.”
“Why not?” Pursued Richards.
“Because if I did, I’d be crazy. It’s that simple. I’d been studying too much. My mind was over-stimulated. I promise it won’t happen again, officers. I’ll keep my imagination in check.”
The sergeant stood up and sighed. He stepped back about five feet from me, his steel-blue eyes gazing into mine. Once more, he reminded me of someone, or his eyes did. I had seen them earlier tonight. I had seen them on a bird. I shook my head, but the image stayed put. Slowly, I realized it was because the image in front of me was changing. It was shifting into bright orange, red and golden colors. It reminded me somewhat of a peacock with a tail flourishing in flaming colors and a bright golden crest on its head. It reminded me… I looked again at the fiery image, my heart pounding. It reminded me of a phoenix. I gasped. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I probably would have fainted.
Daniel
In all the time I’ve spent ar
ound humans, I never really understood them. They can spend their entire lives looking for something that others swore didn’t exist, but as soon as they find it, they don’t believe their eyes. If humans are illogical, at least they are predictable. Tanya was trying to deny her experience, which wasn’t a good idea. The harpy would be back. Tanya was its prey and it wouldn’t give up until it had her. The girl needed to stay on her toes. I had to make her see the truth.
The only solution was to shape-shift in front of her. She didn’t take it very well, which was also predictable. She jumped up as though she had been hit by an electric shock, a small, strangling cry in her throat that was meant to be a scream but didn’t come out that way. Jamie tugged at her arm and pulled her gently back to a sitting position so she wouldn’t hurt herself. “In through the nose, out through the mouth,” she chanted, breathing noisily. “I thought I saw…” Her eyes shifted from Jamie, to one corner of the room, then to where I was still standing in front of her in my phoenix form. “Oh God, you’re still there. Maybe I should drink a glass of warm milk.”
“I’ll bring you a glass of warm milk,” volunteered Lenny. He hasn’t had any real training with trauma victims. He just wanted to be helpful, which, I guess is all it takes. He went out to the kitchen, completely unaware of the extent of the girl’s alarm and put a glass of milk in the microwave while whistling cheerfully.
I think she was so amazed at his lack of concern that she began to relax as well. She squeezed her eyes shut, the warm glass cupped in her hands, then opened one experimentally. “Does everybody here see the same thing I’m seeing?”
“Oh yeah,” said Lenny. “He’s a show-off. We can all do that, but he thinks he has the best plumage. Vanity, you know. We all have to struggle with it.”
“Can you not be so vain?” She asked timidly.
