How did this happen? The car’s safety protocols had been overridden. It should have slammed head-first into that pile-up she had created. Nor did she witness any other deities in the area which might have helped him. That didn’t mean it was impossible, though; some gods were better than others at concealing their presence. It didn’t make any sense.
Gradually, though, she managed to calm herself down and return to her office. No doubt Mary would be in shortly to deliver the news on Martin’s latest brush with death and Serika needed to make sure she looked shocked.
6
Detective Stephens got to the scene of the accident as fast as he could, which wasn’t fast at all because of all the gridlock. Eventually, though, he made it and found a shaken Martin McDonnell. Paramedics wanted to take him straight to Mercy Hospital which was just down the street, but they couldn’t get through all the cars, so they did their best for him at the scene.
Stephens questioned McDonnell inside the ambulance (somehow, no one else had been hurt). McDonnell explained about how his car had gone out of control.
Stephens left and found the officers who had attempted to stop McDonnell’s car before theirs mysteriously had a blowout. They were currently speculating about something behind McDonnell’s car.
“What’s going on?” he asked them.
The taller of the two, a thin cop by the name of Nichols, pointed at the ground behind the car.
“What the hell?” Stephens said.
Starting from the ground below the center of the vehicle, two dark lines stretched out for about a hundred feet. A bewildered Nichols shrugged helplessly. “It looks like the car was dragging something.”
As Stephens looked closer, he noticed something. “No,” he said. “That’s not it. Look closer. Don’t those look like handprints to you?”
Nichol’s partner said, “Yeah, they do.”
Above the lines, imprinted on the car’s bumper, was a set of handprints. An unbelievable scenario began to unfold in Stephens’ mind. However, there was no way he could give voice to it. He simply muttered to himself, “He did say the car seemed to stop on its own.”
Nichols and his partner didn’t seem to hear him. “What do you think happened?” Nichols said. “What stopped the car?”
“Who knows,” Stephens said. He was now dreading filling out the paperwork on this one. What the hell would he even say? The questions just kept piling up and he had no answers.
* * *
Mary once again sat before the silhouette of Amenominakanushi. “Report,” he said.
“Another attempt was made on Martin McDonnell’s life. Someone sabotaged his car to make it go out of control while he was at work. Furthermore, another series of ‘accidents’ occurred along the route back to his apartment which nearly killed him.”
“I sense alarm in your voice,” he said. “What has disturbed you so?”
There was no hiding anything from this man in his presence, that was for sure. “Security cameras at McDonnell’s office building had a clear view of his car. No one approached it. No one mortal, anyway.”
“So, you have concluded the culprit is a god.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded. “There is no other explanation. Some deity wants him dead. Robert Simons even said so.”
“A dangerously unhinged man,” Lord First reminded her.
She didn’t like challenging the ruler of Yomi. Still, she decided to stick to her guns. “Nevertheless, the evidence points to the divine. How else can we explain the security footage?”
“Security footage can be altered.”
Anxiety crept into her body as she had to keep challenging him. “The police haven’t found any evidence of tampering.”
There was silence for a moment. Then, “Let us skip to the heart of the matter. You already have a suspect. You don’t want to consider anyone else because you feel strongly about her.”
“I…” He wasn’t wrong. She did have a suspect.
“You have no motive. Why would Serika want Martin McDonnell dead?”
More silence passed while she contemplated her answer. “I can’t explain it. It’s just a feeling I have.”
“Your hunches were fairly reliable when you were alive. However, things are very different here in Yomi. You must take that into consideration.”
She bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
“Continue your investigation and keep a closer eye on Martin McDonnell.”
“Understood.”
“That is all.”
* * *
That night, for the second time in twenty-four hours, Martin helped himself to alcohol. However, his nerves were even more rattled this time, so a simple beer wouldn’t do. No, he decided to break out the hard stuff. This time, the drink was as stiff as he could make it. It burned like a backdraft going down his throat, but he didn’t care. He needed to forget his troubles and fast.
He wouldn’t be going to work tomorrow. The culprits knew to target him there. He had called his supervisor, who was very understanding. Also, although it was not explicitly stated, he figured management didn’t want him around if he was going to be attracting killers.
He took his drink and collapsed onto the couch to try and wrap his head around this whole situation. Most people encountered their own mortality very rarely. Martin McDonnell had been forced to do it twice in two days. You didn’t know how much it could terrify you until you were face to face with it. A lot of people had their belief in the afterlife to comfort them, but not Martin. The Japanese afterlife was supposed to be a very unpleasant place, and as a Shintoist he was expected to believe in it. But he really didn’t know if there was any sort of afterlife, so the concept held no comfort for him. For all he knew, when you died you simply ended. No more thought, no more being. And that, more than anything, was the most terrifying scenario of all.
Some people faced this threat by having children or creating some other great legacy to be remembered. Martin didn’t have any children, nor did he have the talent to create anything. He was as average—boring—as they came. When he died, he might as well be dust in the breeze. No one would remember him. No doubt about it—he wasn’t living up to the McDonnell name.
Feeling restless, he looked out the apartment window at the cop car out front. The police were keeping a minimal presence to watch out for another murder attempt. Martin felt no confidence in this; they had already failed once today.
Now desperate for any sort of comfort, he went over to the butsudan he had erected in the living area. This consisted of a Japanese altar table with a picture in the center, flanked on either side by candles. While technically more Buddhist than Shintoist, he found a certain measure of peace by kneeling before it. He didn’t feel it was a proper butsudan, but it helped him nonetheless.
He stared at the person in the picture. “Please forgive me for appearing before you halfway drunk,” he said. “I’m lost. I need guidance. People are trying to kill me and I don’t know why. If you were here, you’d know what to do. You always had the ability to light up this apartment.
“Things haven’t been the same since you left. My life is… gone.” He laughed bitterly. “What am I even living for? Without you, I’m nothing. People come in and out of my life, and they mean nothing to me. Well, except for Betty. I… I might feel something for her. Don’t worry; she could never replash you. She probably doesn’t even have any feelings for me. I just… sometimes I think it would be kinda nice to have someone in my life again.
“Once again, please forgive me for the night I failed you. Of course, I cannn’t even forgive myself for that. You’re gone because of me and I have to live with that for the resh of my life. I miss you. I miss your smile, your warmth. You just… you shone so bri-lliant-ly. You lit up my life and I don’t think it can ever be as good as it wash.” He laughed again, though there was still no mirth in it. “Look at me. I’m twenty-four and my best years are already behind me. I feel so miserable. Maybee I should jush let whoever they are ki
ll me.”
“OKAYY, I’m getting… pretty drunk nowww. Think I’m g’na go to bed now. Good night.”
And with that, he staggered off to the bedroom.
* * *
Yomi wasn’t simply a giant building, it was an entire world with its own day/night cycle. By pure coincidence, its night corresponded with that of North America.
Most Shinigami didn’t confine themselves to the Bureau. They went out and enjoyed themselves. Yomi was actually fairly similar to Tokyo. It had karaoke bars, conbins (convenience stores sans gas pumps), pachinko parlors, ramen stands, etc.
Serika, however, was far from the typical Shinigami. She mostly stayed in the building and kept to herself. She told herself she did this as a sort of rebellion to the status quo of this world. In truth, she was afraid of accepting the afterlife. She thought if she went out and had a good time, it would be a betrayal of her former life. She had unfinished business and was dead set on wrapping it up.
Like all Shinigami, she had her quarters in the Bureau. It was night time now, but with today’s failure weighing on her mind, she couldn’t sleep. So, with nothing better to do, she left her body and checked in on Martin McDonnell. This was different from the astral projecting she had been doing; rather than going to him even in astral form—Mary surely had someone watching him—she merely spied on him from afar. He was getting drunk in front of his altar and talking to the picture he kept there. She wasn’t surprised to find he still blamed himself for what happened. “You’re gone because of me and I have to live with that for the rest of my life,” he was saying.
He was only half right. Things were so much more different than he realized and very soon she would explain that to him. She couldn’t do it now because the Shinigami were currently watching him and it was against the rules to appear before a mortal before they died. I can’t wait until you die. I’ll be so much better off then.
She would be patient. Tomorrow would bring another opportunity.
Wednesday
7
A little before 7:00 am that morning, the Shinigami assigned to watch Martin McDonnell left his shift a few minutes early and went back to Yomi. His replacement had not yet arrived, and, coincidentally, the police escort also left to get a quick breakfast. This meant that for a few minutes there was no one watching McDonnell. When the cops and Shinigami returned, they separately discovered a dangerous situation.
Martin McDonnell was gone.
Mary scrambled all available Shinigami to find him. Her very next action took her to Serika’s office where she found the latter had just arrived for her shift.
Serika saw her concerned face at once. “Mary, what’s wrong? Oh no—is it Martin?”
Mary nodded grimly. “He’s vanished.”
Serika’s face crumpled into a look of despair. “Martin…”
Mary almost believed it. But she didn’t have time for this. “Think, Serika. Where would Martin have gone?”
Serika’s hands flailed about as she seemingly wracked her brain for an answer. “Um… let’s see… His sister lives in Crescent.”
“Crescent? Where’s that?”
“A little ways northwest of Guthrie.” Guthrie was straight north of Oklahoma City, just up I-35.
Having gotten a (hopefully) solid lead, Mary headed back to her office and pulled up a map of Oklahoma on her computer.
* * *
With Mary off her back, Serika turned her focus to the matter at hand. She knew exactly where Martin would go, but it wasn’t where she said. With his life in danger, he wouldn’t risk exposing his sister to a very real assassin. No, he would go to the place very few people knew about. It was the perfect hiding spot.
Too bad Serika was one of the people who knew about it.
* * *
On the western edge of Guthrie was a stretch of farm land with plenty of crazing cattle on either side of Waterloo Road. It was also home to Rainbow Lake, a small body of water hidden from view on the other side of a hill on the western side of Waterloo.
It was a spontaneous decision, really. Early that morning Martin just decided to pack up and leave when the cops did the same. He didn’t know where they went; all he knew was he wanted to be away from everyone who knew where he was. After all, why sit around where his would-be killer could easily find him?
That didn’t mean it was easy. He had a raging hangover and could barely keep the car on the road. Nevertheless, he managed to drive all the way from Oklahoma City to Guthrie.
He had grown up in this town of about ten thousand people, leaving it only when he went off to college. He remembered the good times (getting his first girlfriend) and the bad (pretty much all of the cesspool known as Guthrie Junior High).
He took the northeastern exit, getting off the interstate and hitting Noble which would take him through town. He hated that road because most of it was one lane and the people there drove well under the speed limit. Thus, he had no choice but to grin and bear it every time he went through here.
He made it past the town proper and soon arrived at the outskirts past even the suburban areas. It was pure country at this point. He got onto Waterloo and followed it to Rainbow Lake Drive where he turned right, proceeding up the dirt road to a certain cabin which overlooked the lake. At last he had arrived.
The cabin didn’t actually belong to him. It belonged to a friend of his who had given him a spare key and let him stay whenever he was in town. Nor did the friend live here; he had moved to Texas and only came back infrequently. Which was good because Martin didn’t want to drag anyone else into this.
He found the key right where the owner kept it hidden. By the time he dragged himself into the cabin, he was about to drop dead from the hangover. He quickly found the couch in the living room area and collapsed onto it, sinking into sweet nothingness.
* * *
Molly McDonnell lived up the street from the park in Crescent. The advantage of this was every year she had a great view of the fireworks celebration on the Fourth of July. She was tiny at just under five feet tall, but made up for that with a fire that constantly burned within. She had curly ashy-brown hair that never went below her ears and slim physique.
She had formerly lived in Guthrie, but moved here four years ago to be with her boyfriend. It was his house she currently lived at. Steve was at work right now, but Molly had woken up with a high fever and subsequently stayed home today. It was noon now and she was attempting to have some soup. She found she had an uphill battle ahead of her; the soup, while emitting an irresistible aroma and having just the right consistency, still couldn’t get the approval of her stomach. For every spoonful she swallowed, twice that volume threatened to come back up. Nevertheless, she soldiered on, downing mouthful after mouthful, albeit at a glacial pace. She was a McDonnell, after all. People with that name got what they wanted through sheer goddamn determination.
Her brother Martin, despite all appearances, was no exception. He had gotten all the things he wanted at an early age. He had gotten excellent grades in school, a full college scholarship and a good paying job.
And the girl. He had gotten the girl. Hell, yeah, he had. Even though it didn’t last, he would always have the memories of her. And one day, when he was ready, he would get another girl.
That was what the name McDonnell meant. You’d go through hard times, but your persistence would always pay off as long as you had that name.
When the bowl of creamy deliciousness was finally finished, she slammed it down onto the kitchen table in triumph. Her newly acquired lunch fought back with a vengeance, desperately wanting to escape her stomach like the Israelites from the Pharaoh. Fortunately, her willpower was like Moses slamming his staff down and keeping everything in check.
She was about to resume lying down to let everything digest when the doorbell rang. Oh, for Christ’s sake. Can’t a girl get some peace around here?
She hobbled over to the door, being careful not to upset the already volatile hostage situation going
on her stomach. When she answered it, alarm shot through her. Standing on the other side was a blonde cop with a very serious expression.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Officer Mary Rhodes from Oklahoma City Police Department. Are you Molly McDonnell?”
Between the anxiety of being face to face with a cop and the burning fever, maintaining composure was difficult. But Molly was a McDonnell, and she got what she wanted. “That’s me. How can I help you, officer?”
The cop’s expression softened but remained serious. “It’s about your brother.”
Oh, God, something had happened to Martin. Panic surged through her like uncontrollable electricity. “What about him?”
“He’s missing.”
“Missing?” Panic began to rise within her. “What do you mean, he’s missing?”
Mary Rhodes paused for a moment, apparently debating what to say. “How much do you know about the last few days?”
“Huh? Nothing. I’ve been here in Crescent. Why? What’s been going on?”
The cop’s expression almost became that of death itself. She then told Molly a terrifying story. As it progressed, Molly’s head began beating like a jackhammer. When she finished, Molly abruptly realized McDonnells don’t always get what they want.
Because her lunch burst from her stomach and out her mouth.
* * *
Molly McDonnell didn’t take the news as well as Mary had hoped. The Shinigami had just assumed Martin had told his sister about the attempts on his life. Clearly, he hadn’t. He must not have wanted to worry her.
Now, watching Molly empty the contents of her stomach onto the floor, Mary realized she had miscalculated more than she thought. As Mary studied her face, she realized the girl wasn’t just puking out of shock and worry. She was very pale. Mary held her hand to Molly’s forehead; the girl was on fire.
Molly McDonnell was sick and Mary had just made things worse. So, the Shinigami ran over to the phone and called 911. This was possible since she had come in person instead of astral form.
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