Forgotten Realms

by Cassidy Raine Wolters

  The more he thought about, the more the former New York City detective realized this was just what he needed. He wasn't cut out for retirement. He needed the thrill of the chase. First thing tomorrow morning he would head out to Tyrone to meet his nephew.

  *****

  Kurt had gone into law enforcement out of admiration and respect for his uncle, so he was thrilled that they'd be working on a case together.

  "Sorry for dragging you all the way out here."

  "Nonsense. I was growing lazy and senile. I'd lost something valuable that I seem to have found again."

  "What's that?"

  "My motivation," the Inspector said with a grin. "Now then. I assume some new evidence has surfaced. Otherwise, why contact me."

  "Yes and no," Kurt said. "Old evidence has recently surfaced."

  "Tell me more."

  "Elsie was last seen in the woods between Watkins Glen and Tyrone. That's how our department got involved. But it became a pissing contest over jurisdiction."

  "I've seen it all too often."

  "It took the better part of a year to reclaim several boxes of evidence from the Watkins Glen impound."

  "And what did you find?"

  "All sorts of stuff that makes me think Jameson Lucroy was nothing but a patsy."

  *****

  For the next several weeks, Inspector Rooney immersed himself in the case.

  Doug Bartlett had grown up in Watkins Glen, the scion of a powerful family that had accumulated a fortune in the lumber industry. Working through some back channels the Inspector Rooney that Bartlett had gambled away most of his inheritance.

  Doug Bartlett was a writer, albeit a failed one. He had some middling success after college but that faded rather quickly. Inspector Rooney was nothing if not thorough, so he read all three of Bartlett's novels: Rock Solid, Jupiter Rising, and Too Soon. He found the writing rather pedestrian and the stilted dialogue completely unbearable.

  "One thing about writers," Rooney pointed out to his nephew. "They'll reveal their souls to a blank sheet of paper in a way they won't to another human being."

  "So you've found something?" Kurt asked. "Reading between the lines, so to speak."

  "Perhaps," the Inspector said noncommittally.

  Adele Bartlett was a dark-skinned beauty. Like Doug, she had jet black hair. Unlike her husband, who never really took his grades seriously in high school, she was a top-notch student who got accepted into Cornell's prestigious School of Hotel Administration. In fact, the family had been living off her income for quite some time.

  The truth of the matter between Adele and her old flame was much harder to parse out. What led to the falling out between her and her blonde-haired, blue-eyed lover remained shrouded in mystery.

  The deeper he dug, the more Rooney began to question the expediency in which the investigation into Elsie's disappearance was closed. To all appearances, Watkins Glen seemed like the kind of town you'd see in a Norman Rockwell painting, but there seemed to be a far different reality just below the surface.

  "I would very much like to speak to Doug Bartlett."

  "It's a longshot," Kurt said. "But I'll see what I can do."

  "In the meantime, we should take a look at the area where Elsie went missing."

  Lost & Found

  Part 2 - The Stuff of Legend

  "Tell me everything you know about these woods," Rooney instructed his nephew as they entered the forest between Tyrone and Watkins Glen on a mild autumn afternoon.

  "Do you want fact or fiction?" Kurt asked.

  "Let's stick with the facts."

  Kurt proceeded to explain the physical parameters of the area, along with its known history. "Now for the fantasy?"

  "I'm not given to flights of fancy, as you well know," the Inspector said. "But go on, if it pleases you."

  "As you know, the woods of New York are steeped in strange tales. The most famous is set in a secluded glen just outside Tarrytown."

  "Where the Headless Horseman wandered Sleepy Hollow," the Inspector commented.

  "And it was right here in the Catskills where Rip Van Winkle took his twenty-year nap."

  "Another classic by Washington Irving."

  "Those are the well-known examples," Kurt said. "But there are many more fantastic tales, most much darker in nature. Take this grove, for example. We're in the heart of what used to be the great Iroquois Confederacy. They were a proud, war-like nation that believed in swift and powerful retribution."

  "An eye for an eye," the Inspector chimed in.

  "Local legends claim that these woods were home to a sacred circle, a powerful nexus of magic."

  A man of science, through and through, the inspector scoffed at the idea, but as Kurt continued to spin his gothic yarns, the Inspector became increasingly apprehensive. From time to time, he shot a furtive glance into the shadowy areas beyond the beaten path where the ancient trees, those silent sentries of old, continued their age-old vigil.

  As they trekked deeper into the forest, the common trees—the hemlocks and red oaks and maples—gave way to specimens that were not easily identifiable. A bevy of contorted specimens with long strands of moss that dangled from the twisted, akimbo branches became the new norm.

  A powerful mustiness overtook them. Rooney became aware of curious trails snaking through the underbrush. More than once, he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. But rather than fill him with apprehension, these vague shadows brought back memories of better days, the excitement of the hound as it chased down the fox.

  They were now so deep in the woods that cobwebs stretched from tree to tree, giving an impression of great antiquity. Only an occasional listless ray of light penetrated the canopy, meandered through the lattice of leaves, and made its way to the forest floor.

  But all that changed rather suddenly when they entered a clearing set off by tall, shadowed pines. The relief of seeing the patchy sky made Kurt admit that he'd grown quite uneasy. "We know Elsie was here at some point. Bits and pieces of her clothing were found in this clearing. Where else she might have ventured is pure speculation. We had plans to canvas the area with bloodhounds, but the boys in blue over at Watkins Glen wouldn't allow it."

  "We may not have the capabilities of our canine companions, but let's continue the hunt," Rooney suggested.

  They left the clearing and ventured further into the dark forest. It wasn't long before they began to feel the weight of oppression. The air grew stale. Trees swayed with hushed whispers of hatred as overhanging limbs seemed to reach out and grab them. They traversed stunted coppices and misshapen thickets that were offensive to eye, ear, and nose. Hoary tree knots stared at them like baleful eyes.

  The Inspector and his nephew entered a gloomy hollow. In this remote part of the woods, they found the remains of an ancient causeway, though the waters it crossed had long since evaporated. Beyond was a cyclopean rock wall far too gigantic to have been raised by human hands.

  They found an ominous-looking, contorted tree unlike any other in the entire forest. Around it stood a circle of stones that were cracked and splintered with age.

  "Surely these pre-date the Iroquois," Kurt said.

  "By many eons, if I'm not mistaken," his uncle replied as he took a closer look at the bizarre cavalcade of images that covered the stones. "What an odd menagerie of animals, like some dark zodiac."

  Suddenly a caterwauling sound somewhere between a tortured cry and a despairing screech echoed through the woods.

  "Horror of horrors," Kurt mumbled. "What do you think that was?"

  "Best not to speculate," his uncle replied. "I think I've seen enough. Let's get out of here."

  Lost & Found

  Part 3 - Retribution

  The audience Rooney requested with Doug Bartlett never came about because something totally unexpected happened.

  Elsie Bartlett had been found!

  Inspector Rooney and his nephew watched the coverage of the family reunion on the local news.<
br />
  "I don't think this is going to end well," the Inspector said.

  "What makes you say that?" Kurt asked but he received no reply.

  *****

  Several weeks later Kurt called his uncle to say that Doug Bartlett had been murdered and that Elsie had gone missing again.

  "I don't think she'll be back this time," he said. "Was there, by chance, a necklace found at the scene of the crime?"

  "Why, yes," Kurt replied. "How did you know?"

  "A hunch. I noticed Elsie wearing it during the news conference. It bore some of the peculiar symbols we saw on the circle of stones in the woods."

  "What do you think really happened?"

  "I don't think anyone will ever know the facts, but I have an interesting theory. Would you like to hear it?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "I don't think Elsie Bartlett was Doug Bartlett's daughter."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Both Doug and Adele had dark skin and dark hair. Elsie had blonde hair and blue eyes."

  "Who do you think was the father?"

  "Adele's old college flame. Jameson Lucroy."

  "I see," Kurt said.

  "Let me guess," the Inspector added. "Doug Bartlett was sodomized before he was killed."

  "Yes. And the gruesome things that were done to the body… I've seen a lot in this business, but never anything like that."

  "I'm not surprised. Elsie had likely received similar treatment from the person she thought was her father."

  "What makes you think that?"

  "His story was problematic at best. You can posit certain facts, but that doesn't mean they'll hold up under scrutiny. I believe Adele Bartlett lost interest in their marriage and sought comfort in the arms of her former flame. Unrequited love is a powerful aphrodisiac."

  "So I've been told."

  "At some point, Doug most certainly became aware of the sham his marriage had become. He most certainly realized that Elsie wasn't really his daughter. I suspect from his writing that he suffered from impotence. No longer able to satisfy his wife, he began to molest Elsie at a very early age. As the years went by, his behavior became more and more reprehensible."

  "Why didn't Adele just leave him?"

  "Why does any woman remain in a toxic relationship? Fear, no doubt. Who knows what he threatened to do to her, to her daughter, or to her lover?"

  "It does make sense. And I suppose the power and influence of Doug Bartlett's family could explain how Jameson Lucroy was framed for Elsie's disappearance."

  "The clincher was the press conference. Adele was thrilled to have her daughter back, whereas Doug's body language told a different story. He was baffled. After all, he'd killed Elsie and buried her body deep in the woods. Most likely in the vicinity of that unusual tree ringed with those mysterious stones."

  "Hold on," Kurt said. "You mean to tell me—"

  "That the real Elsie Bartlett never returned."

  "Then who or what was—"

  "Your guess is as good as mine."

  The End

  18 - Not a Happy Camper

  "McDermott!" a booming voice yelled.

  A short, middle-aged man hurried from his cubicle to the main office. "Yes, Boss?"

  "I need you to work again this weekend."

  "But I was going camping," he protested meekly.

  "Quit mumbling, McDermott! Speak up so I can hear you."

  "But Mr. Axelrod, I was going camping," he said in a slightly louder voice. "Saturday is the first day of spring…"

  "No can do, McDermott. Maybe next weekend. Business is booming and I need you here. It's all this paranoia. Everybody's worried about World War Three."

  "But sir—"

  "Tension is good for business! It makes people want to buy more locks. Padlocks. Combination locks. Deadbolts. Remember, that's what we do here at Axelrod International. We sell locks!"

  "Yes sir, I know. But—"

  "Oh, for god's sake! What now, McDermott? You complained about losing your office, you complained about losing your private phone line, and you complained about your pay cut."

  "Sir, I just feel like—" he began, but stopped, unable to find the right words to express his gnawing anxiety.

  "Like what, McDermott? Spit it out! I don't have all day. Like what?"

  "Like I'm shrinking," he said.

  "You're not shrinking, McDermott. The world's just getting bigger, more complicated." The phone on Mr. Axelrod's desk rang. "Get back to work," he barked as he picked up the extension and began schmoozing one of his top customers.

  McDermott left the office and returned to his tiny cubicle where he grabbed a list of clients and got in a long line to await his turn to use the company phone.

  *****

  Spring bloomed, summer came and went, and the fall foliage had appeared before McDermott finally got a chance to go camping, and even then it was only for one day. Mr. Axelrod insisted that he be back in the office by Sunday afternoon.

  Downtrodden by an especially frustrating day at work, he listened to the news as he jockeyed for position on a crowded highway jam-packed with people trying to get away on a Friday afternoon.

  "More trouble brewing in the Middle East as warships gather in the Red Sea. Meanwhile, the British Prime Minister is trying to act as a liaison between Washington and Moscow. The two superpowers are once again in an escalating disagreement over the number of nuclear bombs allowed under the latest pact."

  McDermott turned off the news and drove in silence. Time passed and traffic slowly thinned as he put the big city farther and farther behind him.

  He pulled into the campsite two hours later. It used to be a bustling place, but not many people came here anymore. In fact, there wasn't another car in the parking lot. A large clump of bird poop landed on his front windshield just as he turned off the engine. He sighed and shook his head in quiet resignation. At least it was a cheap getaway. You put five dollars in the mailbox on your way out of the park. Strictly honor code. It was the only vacation he could afford since Mr. Axelrod cut his wages.

  McDermott felt the stress slip away as he lugged his gear into the woods to his favorite spot in the park, not far from a small pond where he liked to fish. He whistled a happy tune as he set up his tent and built a small fire. The sun eased its way towards the horizon as he enjoyed a simple meal. Afterward, he went to clean his dishes and silverware in the pond. As he approached, a few startled frogs jumped back into the water and disappeared. On his way back to camp, he spied an eagle returning to its nest and stopped to admire the majestic bird.

  It was a nice night, so he decided to sleep outside rather than in the tent. He crawled into his sleeping bag and watched as the stars gradually appeared in the cloudless sky. Looking at the night sky always put things in proper perspective, and he felt more relaxed than he had in quite some time. After all, we're just a small part of a vast cosmos. Our world and all its petty problems are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He listened to the sounds of the frogs in the pond as he drifted off to sleep.

  *****

  The tension between the most powerful nations on the Earth reached a boiling point that night and the immense nuclear arsenals stockpiled in the decades since the last world war were finally unleashed. Mushroom clouds billowed in the skies as the major cities of the world disappeared in the blink of an eye. Caught by the wind, the radioactive dust drifted away from the metropolitan targets into the countryside.

  Oblivious to the destruction, McDermott slept under the stars. He was unaware of the ash that drifted down from the sky and landed on his skin. He knew nothing about biology or radioactivity, and it wouldn't have made any difference even if he did. That knowledge couldn't stop what was happening as the mysterious radiation from the ash penetrated his skin, entered his bloodstream, and circulated to every cell in his body.

  The changes began, but McDermott still dozed. He didn't notice as his body slowly started to shrink.

  His pleasant, untr
oubled dreams slowly transformed into nightmares. He was drowning in a sea of accountability, suffocating under a blanket of responsibility. He couldn't breathe!

  He awoke in a panic, his heart hammering against his chest. He looked around but all he saw was darkness. He tried to move, but he was stuck. He couldn't get out of his sleeping bag. Terror set in as he tried and tried to free himself. Finally, he felt some fresh air and gratefully gulped it down as he rose to his feet in the early morning light.

  What was going on here? He was only three inches tall. Three inches! How could that be? What had happened?

  He heard a sound and turned to see a frog approaching him. Its tongue shot out, snagged his arm, and yanked him forward.

  The terror of the situation flooded his body with adrenaline as he broke free from the amphibian's grasp and ran away. He could hear the frog pursuing him and his mind raced for a solution. He noticed his silverware, grabbed the knife, and turned to face his enemy. The utensil felt awkward in his hands, obviously not designed for someone so small. Wielding it like a sword, he struck at the animal time and time again until it turned and fled.

  McDermott dropped the knife and fell to his knees. "What's going on?" he screamed. "This is madness!"

  A loud screech brought his attention back to reality. An eagle swooped out of the sky, grabbed him with its sharp talons, and soared off into the air.

  Blood poured from several wounds as he was dropped into the eagle's nest. The great bird eyed him curiously, before it took off once again, leaving him alone.

  McDermott turned his head and threw up. This can't be happening! The world has gone crazy! Hot tears streamed down his face as he cried in frustration.

  I have to get out of here before it comes back. There has to be a way. He looked around for something, anything, that could help him escape, but all he saw were piles of bones from small creatures unfortunate enough to encounter the eagle.

  But wait, what was that over there? It looked like some string. He cleaned away some bird droppings. Yes, he could use it as a rope and climb down to safety.

  He stumbled to the edge of the nest with his prize, his deliverance, in his hands and peered over the edge. If I tie it here and swing over there, maybe I can make it.