Escape to the Fringe (Fringe Chronicles Book 1)

by Adam Drake

  I must have been more tired than I realized because it then hit me that the object being lowered was Detective Oswall.

  “Well done, Constable,” I said.

  Fairfax looked around the lot. “Where are you going to... uh... store him?”

  “He's too heavy to move inside, might ruin the new floors, so the Chief suggested we put him over there under the awnings. Should keep any rain off of him. We'll be moving the woman out of the townhouse tomorrow.”

  I looked at the canvased statue of Oswall. His outstretched hand poking out, forever trying to ward off his doom.

  We left Webster to his task and went inside. As we passed Sergeant Constable Maginhart's desk I snatched another biscuit from the tin. I had not eaten all day.

  The kennel area was full of constables going about their business. It was a shift change, with a handful of them staying on for the night. Crime never sleeps.

  “Chief's here,” Fairfax said, and I saw the rock lights in his office were on.

  As we entered the Chief saw me, stood and rounded his large desk. He took my hand into both of his and for the briefest of moments I thought he would kiss it. Now wouldn't that have been a thrill at my age?

  “Beeweather!” Chief Constable Kyrill said. “Such a pleasure to see you again. I do wish it was under different circumstances though. How are you feeling?” He noticed how tired I was.

  “I'm fine, thank you,” I said. I blushed at his attention. “It has been a rather long day.”

  Kyrill released my hand and motioned to a chair. “Please sit,” he said, and I did. It felt good to relax a little but my mind was still heavy with thoughts of the case.

  Kyrill looked to Fairfax, “So, any progress?”

  Fairfax opened his mouth to answer when a voice from the doorway behind us cut him off.

  “That is what I want to know!” It was Sigwald Archambault looking flush from hurrying through the kennel to confront us.

  Behind him arrived his lick-spittle of an assistant, Davlon Blythe. Upon seeing me, Blythe sneered, which only emphasized the ugly birthmark under his left eye.

  “Mister Mayor,” the Chief said with a sigh. “To what do we owe this interruption?” He had no admiration for Archambault, of which I was grateful. It would only make the lives of the entire Constabulary that much more difficult.

  Archambault glared at me. “What is she still doing on the case? I made it perfectly clear that reactivating retired personnel was against regulations unless approved through a committee -”.

  Kyrill stopped him with a raised hand, annoyance on his face. “Enough Sigwald. We know why you are really here. You are sore at Beeweather for throwing your crooked business partners into a deep, dark hole. And now you see an opportunity to vent your spleen.”

  Archambault's face was near apoplectic. “How dare you make such a vile accusation, sir! My concern is only that the rules are followed. Allowing an old woman to trollop through a very important case with her little animal show is not one of them!”

  Blythe sniffed approval at his master's tirade.

  Kyrill took a step closer to the mayor, looming over the smaller man. “Who I assign to a case is my responsibility. Not yours. If you wish to file a formal complaint then please do.”

  “I will!” said the mayor, wide eyed.

  “Although,” the Chief said, “it would be a complete waste of time as the case will most likely be solved by then.”

  The mayor's eyes bounced between the Chief and myself as if looking for a hint of deception. “Is this true? Do you have a suspect?”

  I spoke for myself. “We have leads, but I believe we will have something soon.” That might not have been true, but if felt good to say it to the mayor.

  Fairfax leaned forward. “And most all the progress we made today was thanks to her little animal show.”

  Archambault's eyes glanced at my satchel and for a moment he looked worried. He turned to Chief Kyrill. “Then this time tomorrow, Chief Constable, if a suspect is not in custody, I will have your badge.”

  Chief Kyrill blinked in surprise. But before he could respond in kind, Archambault whirled around and marched out the office, with Blythe scurrying close behind.

  Once the two were out of earshot everyone in the office let out a sigh of relief.

  “What an unpleasant little man,” I said and not for the first time that day.

  “No matter how many times he is reelected,” Chief Kyrill said, “his manners never improve.”

  Fairfax said, “Can he do that, sir? Just take your badge away on such a whim?”

  The Chief shrugged, “Perhaps. But not without a fight from the Constabulary's supporters on the council, few they may be. Oh, he'll raise a stink and make life a little more difficult, but he's been doing that for years anyway.” He looked hopeful for a moment. “Do you have a lead?”

  I looked to Fairfax who could only offer a supportive smile. “Well, Chief Constable, we are working on that as hard as we can.”

  Kyrill raised a hand. “That is all I ask for. But for now I think you two should get some rest. You both look drained.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Fairfax. “Thank you, sir.”

  As we left the Chief's office and went back to the buggy a sensation of cold dread washed over me. There was more at stake here than an old detective's professional pride.

  If I could not close this case and the Chief was replaced with a puppet of the mayor, then the entire future of the Constabulary would be at risk.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After Fairfax dropped me off at my home I immediately went to the kitchen and made myself a cheese and beet sandwich. A favorite of mine since childhood I found some small solace in the ritual of eating it. The taste was wonderful.

  As I ate my eyes wandered to my satchel which sat open on the kitchen chair beside me. Next to the knitting bag was my little pistol. I took it out and, not for the first time that day, checked to ensure it was loaded.

  I wondered at such an odd life I had led. To be at such a stage in my later years that a pistol was required for my safety. When was it fired last? During the case of the wolfmen pack that stalked the Hearts district? No. During the case of the demon which took over the King of the Rats? No, that was too far back in the past.

  As I tried to conjure the memory I yawned. Such things were best to not think of before bed. It would only create nightmares, and of those I already had plenty. I put the pistol on the table and looked at how the rock lights played across its steel surface. I hoped, that before this case was over I would not need to use it.

  Tired, I picked up my satchel and went to my bedroom, turning off the rock lights along the way. I readied for bed, and as I climbed in I looked at the knitting bag in the satchel on the night stand. Now that brought back memories. Strong and fierce. My old mind did not need coaxing for those.

  I turned off the rock light by my bed and closed my eyes. Sleep claimed me quickly and the vision of Oswall being lowered by the crane haunted my dreams.

  xxxx

  I woke with a start and sat upright in bed.

  My heart thumped in my chest as my eyes searched the darkness for what yanked me from my slumber. Was it a noise, or a nightmare?

  The room was pitch black, but I resisted the urge to touch a rock light. I had lived in this house for decades and I knew all of its creaks and pops when its old wood shifted. Now I listened. I sensed something was wrong.

  Then it came. A slight creaking of the floorboard at the end of the hall that bordered the kitchen.

  Someone was in the house.

  My mind raced with the implications. No one had broken into my house before. I had taken precautions. Yet, with another creaking noise, this one closer, the fact was undeniable.

  I fought down the panic that threatened to overwhelm me. I was, after all, a little old woman who lived alone. But this old woman had bite!

  I realized I had an advantage, albeit temporary. I knew this house very well; the perpetrator did
not. Also, based on how he or she moved, they were unaware I had woken. I could prepare for them.

  In the darkness I eased across my bed until I was up against the night stand. I reached over to my satchel and placed my hand inside, searching. Where was my pistol? Then it hit me. Like a fool I had left it on the kitchen table. Maybe the person skulking in my hallway had it in their possession and sought to shoot me with it. How fitting.

  Cursing inwardly I tried to think. There was my rifle in the closet next to the night stand, loaded but stuffed behind a bunch of clothing. Not very helpful yet I had little choice.

  I moved off the bed and placed a foot on the cold floor. The wood beneath my foot crackled loudly.

  Suddenly, the intruder gave up all pretense of stealth and rushed down the hall.

  I lunged for the closet door in a last desperate gamble to grab the rifle but I knew I would be too late. I slipped and in my effort to maintain balance I lashed out with one hand. My fingers grazed the rock light on the night stand and it flicked on. I bumped against it as I fell to the floor. The light flung across the room to land spinning at the bedroom doorway.

  The rock light spun around casting swirling shadows and light around the room. Then I saw him. A man, tall and lean, covered in black clothing. His face was covered with a black mask but his eyes were wide with anger. He held a pistol in his hand.

  I gasped and reached up to right myself. If I was going to die, it would be on my feet.

  The man entered the room and kicked the spinning rock light to the side. Its dim illumination cast him almost completely in shadow, and his eyes flickered like hateful jewels.

  I stood but my old body defied me one last fight and I sagged backward. My hand landed in my satchel and that's when I touched the knitting bag's clasp.

  What happened next was nothing short of miraculous.

  A cat leapt from the knitting bag and it was unlike any I had seen previously. It was a mottled gray color and absolutely huge. One instance the bag was open and the next a cat the size of a small horse stood in the space between myself and the man in black.

  The gigantic cat arched its back, long fur standing on end, and hissed so loud the sound shook the house.

  Stunned, the man in black froze, eyes wide in shock. He fired his pistol, and I flinched at the sound. The man backpedaled and raced back down the hallway.

  The cat ran after him, or so it tried. Due to its size and the slippery nature of the floor, the giant cat slid into the door frame, cracking it. A painting flew from the wall with the impact.

  I heard the man keening with fear as he fled, neither yelling nor screaming but a sound of utter terror.

  The cat's claws scrapped at the floor as it scrambled to get proper purchase and give pursuit. It soon vanished from sight thudding against a wall out in the hall.

  I gathered my wits, hurried to the closet and pulled out the rifle. In the kitchen I heard the back door being flung open with a load crash. I hobbled into the hallway, my side hurting from my fall.

  I saw the open back door and the blackness of night beyond it. The huge cat stood at the edge of the door hissing into the night but it would not step over into the back yard. The man had fled.

  Once I made it to the kitchen I headed for the open door. The large feline whirled around and hissed at me. I froze. Had the beast become so fired up from the attack that it might hurt me?

  I realized the meaning of its consternation. The one true limit of these cats was that if summoned from within a building or domicile, they were then bound to that place. This cat could not go outside. Had it been summoned outside there would have been no such limitation and I do not doubt it would still be chasing after the petrified man.

  And since going outside was not an option it could not protect me if I left. Which is why it now refused to let me pass. Touched as I was by its sentiments I found myself a little annoyed. I had looked forward to firing a shot at the black hearted cretin who defiled my home and tried to murder me in my sleep.

  The cat paced back and forth at the open door, agitated. I took the moment to touch several rock lights and assess my situation.

  I was safe now, at least for the moment. Whoever had broken in would not be foolish enough to return. I was wide awake, armed and angry. And now accompanied by my horse sized guardian I doubted another attempt would be made on me that night.

  To the cat I said, “I'd like to shut that door. It's letting in a draft.”

  The giant feline paused and regarded me. With a swish of its long bushy tail, the door slammed shut and the dead bolt slide into place, locked.

  I then realized that it had been shot when the man fired the pistol. “Are you all right? I thought he might have hit you.” I saw no obvious wounds and it did not act as if it hurt.

  The large animal began to wretch as if to cough up a fur-ball. And for a cat that size it would have been quite the sight. Instead something small fell from its mouth to clatter on the floor. With a cloth from the kitchen I picked it up. A small caliber bullet, and still perfectly formed. Almost as if it had been absorbed intact.

  I looked to the cat in amazement. It stared back with rainbow eyes then resumed its march back and forth.

  I thought it wise to avoid the windows for the rest of the night on the off chance the man may try to shoot at me from the dark. Paranoia, I know. But considering someone just tried to kill me I allowed for the safe guard.

  Snatching my pistol off the kitchen table I went into the sitting room which I kept it in complete dark. I sat in the big easy chair in the far corner. From here I would detect if the intruder returned. And I'd be ready.

  The cat paced up and down the hallway, making stressful warbling noises. Soon, it calmed a little and padded over. The large feline flopped onto the rug at my feet and stretched out.

  I contemplated going up the lane to the Elderbright's residence, who had a phone, to call the Constabulary. But that would have required me getting dressed and stumbling around the dark with a potential murderer skulking in the trees. And I did not think my new friend would have any of that nonsense.

  With the loaded rifle across my lap I fought against my tired body and waited for the morning sun.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I woke to the sound of knocking at my front door.

  Bleary-eyed I looked around the room. My large guardian was gone. Apparently satisfied that my safety was not in question it had returned to the knitting bag. I stood with an audible creak from my bones and waddled to the front door. With the rifle at the ready, I opened it.

  Fairfax was standing there, smiling and holding a tin of biscuits. The smile vanished when he saw my state and the rifle in my hands.

  “By the Gods, Mayra! What happened? Are you all right?”

  I waved a dismissive hand, but was still touched by his concern. “Nothing an old woman like me couldn't handle, along with the help of an immense cat.”

  At his confused expression I chuckled. “I'm okay, Fairfax, I promise.”

  As I told him what happened his face became more and more grim. When I finished Fairfax did not match my gaze. This appeared to affect him more than it did me.

  He said, “You should have called the Constabulary. I would have come right away.”

  “Agreed. But I had little choice now didn't I? Come now, let's go inside and I can put on proper detective clothing. Morning wear doesn't help with interrogations.”

  While I dressed in the bedroom, Fairfax paced around the house, checking and rechecking the latches on the windows and grumbling to himself. He even walked the perimeter of the yard looking at every leaf and blade of grass.

  Once I was ready I emerged with my satchel over a shoulder and met him outside.

  “Let us check the woods further back,” Fairfax said. “He may have left tracks or something of note.”

  I would have pointed out such an effort was useless but acquiesced. He was upset he had not been present to protect me. For that I could entertain a short jaunt
through the woods. “Very, well, Constable,” I said with a smile. “Lead the way.”

  My property bordered a nature preserve which was a polite way to describe land that no one wanted to buy. Thick with trees and underbrush it had thwarted my last adventurous attempts to hike through it. Instead, I went to the park a few minutes away. This time the forest did not yield its secrets any easier than before.

  After several minutes I lost my patience. “Fairfax, I do not think we will find anything in this mess. Let us return.”