by Joshua Brown
“What? No, I don’t know nothing about that,” Oscar shook his head. He started shifting and squirming in his chair in a somewhat frantic frenzy.
“Well, they did. And they made some pretty serious threats to her, too.”
“I just write letters and take them to people. I don’t know nothing else,” Oscar said again.
“Who tells you to write these letters, Oscar? And do they tell you what to write?” I asked. I never broke eye contact with him, even when he turned away or tried breaking my gaze.
I read his face like the open book that it was. The subtle changes in his expression, the way his eyes opened and closed at certain words, how his jaw sunk or clenched depending on what was spoken about. I could tell he wasn’t lying, that he didn’t know what was going on, but he also knew far more than he was letting on.
And now, with an admission of guilt that he delivered those letters—wrote them too—we had him for as long as we needed him.
“I don’t know—”
“Nothing?” I finished his sentence. “Then how do you know where to take the letters? Or who to send them to? Why are you so clued up on how the whole operation works if you really don’t know anything about it? Don’t play innocent, Oscar. You’re the mastermind behind this whole thing, aren’t you?”
With every accusation I sent his way, Oscar broke down a little. He was hurled into a further panic, now trying to break free from the bonds wrapped around his hands. He pulled so tight that the table bolted to the floor shifted at his attempts to get free.
“You know, they’re going to send you away for a long time, Oscar. The guys behind that window over there, they think it’s all on you. Look, I’m trying my best to be on your side here, trying to get them to leave you alone, but you’re not helping me here.”
I could see it in his eyes. Oscar Carlisle was on the verge of breaking point.
“You just have to tell me who it is, and I can turn those dogs off your scent. So, come on, tell me what’s going…”
“I don’t know who it is!” Oscar shouted. “It’s a man dressed in all black with a mask. The man comes to my house, gives me the names and the places, and tells me to write.”
Oscar started blubbering and sputtering as the tears rolled down his cheek. He finally cracked.
“How do you know what to write?”
“The man says I’ve got a gift. A gift from God. That he speaks through my writing. I don’t know how it happens… it just happens,” he sniffled.
That made sense with the situation, but it still didn’t explain his corrections and mistakes. I supposed that didn’t have anything to do with the case and decided to ignore it for the time being, but I'd have to return if it came up in the future.
“So, you can’t tell me anything about the man that comes to your house?”
Oscar shook his head.
Knowing that any further questioning with Oscar in his blubbering state was pointless, I got up from my chair. Though there wasn’t much to go by from this meeting alone, at least it confirmed that it was the same man that attacked Gwen in her home.
In a case like this, baby steps were better than no steps at all.
Chapter 19
Gwen
Entering Jack’s house after all these years was strange as if I’d stepped through a time machine that took me back ten years. The L-shaped black leather sofa, the blue and white TV cabinet and lampshades, the silver curtains—all unchanged after all these years.
After my scare, I didn’t want to be home alone. It didn’t matter if the masked man and his cronies weren’t going to come back or how prepared I was for them if they did, I didn’t want to be alone in that house. Instead, being out here in Jack’s place felt right. He was always a protective rock when I needed it, and it seems little has changed.
Being alone in his place, I decided to make him a dinner. Nothing fancy, but when I went through the fridge and cupboards, I wasn’t met with anything other than a few rudimentary ingredients for easy sandwiches or take-out boxes. So, with that plan out of the window, I opted for take-out myself—as a small ‘thank you’ for his kindness.
It wasn’t surprising to see him living like this. Jack was never the kind of man that looked after himself. In some ways, I always hoped he’d find a woman, settle down, and relax. But he was a dedicated man who strived to better the world one case at a time.
I didn’t know how long he’d be, so I curled up on the sofa, ate a couple of slices of pizza, and watched TV.
A few hours later, Jack stepped through the door. I hopped to my feet, and without needing to say a word, Jack wrapped his arms around me. He brought me in tight, squeezing softly.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Gwen. I promised you that, and I’ll make sure it happens,” he said.
I lingered there longer than I ought to have. Maybe I was going soft the older I got, but I guessed that sometimes everyone just needs a good, long hug.
“I’m feeling better,” I said after pulling away from him. “It just came so unexpectedly.”
“We’re dealing with a bunch of freaks and screw-ups, I guess it was only a matter of time until they made a real threat,” he replied.
“But what does that mean for everyone else? I could’ve defended myself, but what about Lauren or anyone associated with them?”
“I don’t think they’re really making any moves on Lauren or Aaron. They’re the small fish and we’re the sharks, right? But it does mean we have to kill this before it goes too far,” Jack replied.
“How did the interview go?” I asked, realizing how much it was starting to get to him. Jack liked to control every situation; he wanted to stay in charge and stay ahead. But with something like this, with all the unknowns, there was no way to know the outcome before it happened.
“Oscar doesn’t know anything about the men that tell him to write the letters. He’s just a pawn in all of this, but he’s something,” Jack replied. “But let’s not worry about that tonight. You need to take your mind off of what happened, and I have just the thing.”
Jack smiled, sliding a hand into his coat pocket and drawing a small bottle of bourbon. He collected two glasses from the kitchen, pouring me one, and we walked over to the living room.
“I can’t believe that you still have all this stuff, and it looks like it never gets used, either,” I teased him.
“That’s because it doesn’t. This place is pretty much where I sleep; the office is my home,” Jack laughed.
“You can say that again,” seeing it from someone else’s perspective made me realize how similar my situation was. My house, as much as I loved it, was little more than a bedroom. I was there maybe ten hours a day, just to eat and sleep before getting back to work.
“But look, you stay here as long as you need to. We’re going to get through this, Gwen. I know we are,” he said, collapsing into the sofa. I dropped beside him.
“I know we are, Jack. You’ve never led me astray before, and I know you won’t now,” I said, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. I don’t know why I did it, nor did I expect this to go anywhere else.
It just felt like the right thing to do.
Jack and I spent the rest of the evening on his sofa, watching terrible, old black and white Western movies. We drank whiskey, and he pretended to be a cowboy. If nothing else, it took my mind off the events of the evening, and that’s all I wanted.
But I knew tomorrow would be another day, and hopefully, it would be better than today.
Chapter 20
The Witchfinder General
As was my business, I knew the Williamson family’s routine as though it were my own. Every morning, Spencer would walk his children to school. Any typical day, they would walk themselves, meeting friends along the way. Now, with the threats from the Order’s letters, Spencer took it on himself to make sure they arrived safely.
These morning walks with their father became a habit for the children, a boy named Jackson—after Spencer’s adopt
ive father—and a daughter named Sarah, after no one in particular. Once at school, Spencer took the ten-minute return with great haste, readying himself for work and driving off to his office. There, he’d be busy all morning, going out for lunch with the boys every Thursday, lying to his wife that they were with his boss.
Spencer was a driven man, though work never came before play with him.
Caroline Williamson shared a very different morning routine. A housewife, living her dreams of old, traditional values, spent the morning lazing in bed. Once Spencer returned from dropping the children off at school, she got up, pretended to be busy, but once he left the door, she got back in bed. She lay there most mornings until noon, watching TV and getting lost in the mundanity of her existence.
Lunchtime, she’d often make herself the same sandwich, a humble peanut butter and jelly, eating it outside beside the pool. She always brought a book with some motivational self-help piece but opted to play on her cellphone instead.
On Tuesdays, she’d spend time with a lover—a Scotsman named Henry Graham. Far too old for Caroline, but he gave her money, and gifts, and trinkets. Much like Spencer’s lies of being with his boss, she told him she was out for pilates with the girls.
I found, on more than one occasion, that Caroline would see Henry some evenings. Caroline would make excuses, saying she was going on a girls’ night out. Spencer would often stay home and watch pornography on the computer. They rarely spent time together, even when they were both home.
Their lives were in tatters, and I had a front-row seat to the show.
Caroline was in charge of picking the children up from school, around two in the afternoon every day, apart from Wednesdays and Fridays. Their son, Jackson, practised football, and their daughter, Sarah, did choir. On said days, she’d leave the house at a quarter past three.
They lived uninteresting lives, spreading nothing but hatred and lies without ever realizing it. Had they been more in line with the Dench family, better people, perhaps I’d feel more towards their situation. Though I didn’t believe I would, not really. My task was to clear the world of these sinners—these monsters, and I’d never stop until the world was pure.
They were the descendants of the devil himself, and soon, they would no longer plague my city.
I waited in my car, dressed mostly in my black outfit all apart from the mask. Today, I opted for a clown. A simple plastic mask with a white face, red bushels of hair coming off the top, and a bright red nose. The cheeks were decorated with splashes of blue and yellow. A wide smile appeared on the lips. In a few minutes, I knew Caroline and the children would step around the corner. The boy would be gasping for air, having just run laps while the girl would be humming a tune. Caroline would be rolling her eyes, ready to crack open a fresh bottle of sparkling wine the moment she stepped through the door.
As predicted, the children came around the corner first with Caroline not a few steps behind. With her phone in hand, she paid little attention to where the kids ran off to. I supposed she didn’t believe the threats coming through her door, nor the potential attacks on her family.
How foolish.
I waited for them to enter the white fence surrounding their land border, with Caroline disappearing into the house. The children went inside, but I knew shortly after, Sarah would step out once more, dressed in some comfortable afterschool clothing.
I knew the kitchen had a full view of the front garden where Sarah played. When she stepped outside with a ribbon in one hand and a dolly in the other, it was time to make my move.
I pulled the clown mask over my face, collected a balloon, and my cane from the back seat, and stepped into the street. Sarah had her back turned to me when I stepped up to the white fence. My step was light, cautious, not to cause any suspicion until I was close enough. When I was, I placed three gentle taps against the wood of the white picket fence with the end of my cane.
Sarah turned around, screeching at the sight of the man wearing a mask.
“Oh no,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t scream. I’m just a friendly clown.”
I put no effort into a voice, nor did I try and make myself sound more hospitable.
“M-m-momma!” she shouted out. I could see she was ready to turn tail and run.
“Don’t you want a balloon?” I asked, holding the red balloon out.
In hindsight, I realized how foolish it was. With all those Stephen King horror stories about clones with balloons, most children wouldn’t be so eager to rush over to a friendly neighborhood clown. But that’s why I was here—to let the Williamson family know that I was coming.
Sarah shook her head, stunned and stuck in place with me standing before her. From the window, I saw Caroline shuffling through the kitchen.
A few seconds later, Caroline burst through the front door, running up to Sarah, who stood midway between me and her front door. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her hands around her daughter before screaming, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”
I said nothing.
“I’m calling the police,” she shouted, shuffling into her pants pocket for her phone.
“Caroline Williamson,” I said, releasing the red balloon into the air. I grabbed the silver ball atop my cane with both hands setting it in front of me. “Your time of reckoning is nigh. Your husband, a stain on this earth, will meet the full force of the Order of the Phoenix. His blood is blackened by history, and so are your children.”
Caroline looked up at me, away from her phone that no doubt already had 911 dialed. “You’re not going to get away with this, you sick son of a bitch.”
“You may think so,” I was grinning just as wide as my jester’s mask. “But it’s already far too late for you.”
I spun around on my heels, taking long, drawn-out steps back to my car. Every second step was met with a tap of my cane against the floor.
Caroline Williamson yelled obscenities while Sarah cried out into the empty silence of the afternoon.
Chapter 21
Jack
“Jack, did you hear about what happened to the Williamson family?” Aaron burst into my office. I was so lost in a day-dream that his sudden entry gave me a fright, nearly jumping in my chair.
His shirt was stained with coffee, wrinkled, and he looked exhausted. If anything, I was sure that Aaron put the most hours into this case. I’d leave to go home at night and see him in the office the next morning without a wink of sleep. He’d tell me he was fine, go for a shower, and come straight back.
The determination to the cause was amicable.
“I did. Just got off the phone with Gwen about it,” I replied, gesturing that he come in and take a seat. “These bastards are going after the kids now? The problem is, we’re stuck in the water without a paddle, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Something’s going to break soon, I can feel it. We made headway with Oscar Carlisle, right? It’s small, but it’s going to snowball,” Aaron replied.
He gave me a smile, a small gesture to reassure me that this was going to work out in the end. But for the first time in my career, I didn’t believe it. Everything was stacked against us, and we were falling hard. There’s a point of no return, and without anything on the men that were attacking the families, we lose. They were no longer just threats… the Order made a move on Spencer and his family.
It was going to kick off soon, that much I knew.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I suppose I should,” I let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Gwen was attacked at her home yesterday by the men. She’s not hurt, that’s why you saw her around earlier, but the threats are getting more serious to the outsiders, just as much as they are to those involved in the attacks.”
“What?” Aaron near-shouted. “What did they—”
“Just scared her. They’re trying to set us off here, make us scared. They started with Lauren, and when that failed, they stepped it up to Gwen. Whoever they’re going for next, well…”<
br />
“It’s a good thing I sleep with a gun under my pillow,” Aaron chuckled.
“Same,” I replied, giving him a half-assed smile.
But I knew deep down they weren’t going to target Aaron. If anyone was next, it would be me.
“Let’s think about everything we have here, Jack. Sometimes just spitballing ideas is the best way to come to a conclusion on something,” Aaron said, leaning back in his chair. “So, we know that these people believe in some ancient bullshit, right? They’re chasing down the families because of their lineage that goes all the way back to some witchcraft nonsense hundreds of years ago.”
“We have a man in custody that wrote letters for them, trying to scare the families into submission. The Order of the Phoenix is going after both the Williamson and Dench families,” I continued his train of thought. But I spent days pondering these things. I knew the ins and outs of everything, even without anyone trying to give me a freshen up on it. There was nothing, these people didn’t exist apart from on paper, but the threats were so real.
“They don’t even leave fingerprints or hairs at the scene. Even the letters didn’t have Oscar’s prints on them, and he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to care about those things,” I said, grabbing for my box of Lucky Strikes on the table.
“There can’t just be nothing,” Aaron replied, I could see the frustration on his face.
“Sometimes, you’re just shit out of luck, right? Look at the Zodiac killings, some bad men just get away with it.”
“I’m not going to accept that,” Aaron spouted. “I’m not going to believe that we’ve lost this one. There’s got to be something we can do...”
Aaron paused as my cellphone began to ring.
“Jack Mercer speaking,” I answered.
“I need you to get over here right away,” I heard Jane’s voice on the other end. “There are people outside my house.”
