by J. R. Rain
“O-okay.” She nods rapidly, and jumps back in the BMW.
I run to the Silverado and pull a U-turn since there are still no cars in sight. A moment later, I stop behind the Beemer in a strip of grass and weeds wide enough to be reasonably safe. After pulling on an orange poncho from behind my seat, I hop out and approach the driver’s window. The infant is still screaming, but the older child has scaled back to mostly-silent crying.
She rolls the glass down, her face covered in runny mascara. “I’m so sorry, officer! I’m not sure what happened. Someone jumped out in front of me. I tried to avoid them and the car lost traction.” The woman can’t seem to stop shaking.
I peer in and glance to the rear. A pair of child safety seats holds an infant and a boy around three. Both appear unhurt, but upset. “You saw someone on the road?”
“Yeah. A man I think. He came out of nowhere so fast. I…” She stares at the wheel. “I have no idea how we didn’t crash into you. The car went sideways and I panicked.”
Eyes closed, I offer a silent moment of thanks to the Goddess. The ward dangling from my rearview mirror protected all four of us. I’m sure of it. “It’s all right. I didn’t see anyone on the road, but they could’ve been long gone into the trees already. Or maybe it was a deer.”
“Bigfoot!” yells the older boy.
“Maybe.” The woman nods. “Not Bigfoot. I mean maybe you’re right about the deer. It all happened so fast.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No. I don’t think so. Just scared out of my mind.” She presses a hand to her chest, gulping air in huge breaths.
“All right. Since you’re not hurt and didn’t hit anything, try to calm down and go home as soon as you feel ready to drive.”
The woman nods. “Thank you, officer.”
I smile. “Detective, actually. Just be careful pulling out. Drive safe.”
She nods. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, ma’am. Look, I’ll wait until you get going. If you decide you’d rather not drive, I can have someone send a tow truck.”
The woman twists around to check on the kids. When she slides back into her seat, she appears noticeably calmer. “That’s quite kind of you. I think I’ll be okay to drive. I just need a minute or two to let my heart slow down.” She takes a few more big breaths and glances at the rearview mirror. “Yeah. I can put off the nervous breakdown until I’m home.”
A blue sedan goes by a little slow, a blonde tween girl in the passenger seat staring at us. The orange shade of my poncho is probably visible from outer space, even in this gloom.
“All right.” I nod. “You have a good day.”
“I’ll try.” She apologizes again with her eyes, then rolls up her window.
I head back to the truck and sit there dripping for a few minutes until she gets up the nerve to pull out onto the road and drive off. I follow her only as long as it takes me to reach a side street where I can turn around and resume heading home.
As I approach the same bend, I slow down, half expecting another car to come side-sliding at me, but nothing does. No sooner do I straighten out than a shadowy blur lunges out of the woods on my right.
Cringing, I slam on the brakes, fully expecting the sickening whud of a body striking my grille, but the figure disappears under the front of my hood without a sound. The Silverado twists as the rear end slides out to the left; I let off the brake and steer into the slide, leveling out before I drift too far over the line. As soon as I bring the truck to a stop, I grab the door handle. Before I can open it to check for a body, inky black smoke wells up over the hood, gathering against the windshield.
The instant the vapor hits the glass, the talisman dangling from my rearview mirror lets off a tangible pulse of energy. As if annoyed, the inky cloud retreats a few inches and hurls itself at the glass again, causing another tingle. I let my fingers slip off the handle, and clutch my pentacle amulets in my right hand. Seething darkness roils over my windshield. Despite a lack of eyes or face, it’s glaring at me.
The radio flips itself on, cycling from station to station so fast it floods the truck with noise.
Oh, this thing’s pissed.
A single word in a deep, demonic voice issues forth from the static.
“Death.”
I squeeze my amulets and focus my desire for this thing to go the eff away.
“Dire cloud of inky black,
“Heed me now, I send you back.
“In Goddess’ name, I have spake
“Your hold upon this world break.”
A tug of energy radiates outward from my chest. The talisman on my rearview starts swaying side to side like a metronome. With a faint howling shriek emanating from the radio, the mass of shadows on the hood blasts backward as if sucked up by a vacuum, spiraling and whirling off into the forest. In seconds, there’s no trace of it anywhere. The radio stops leaping stations and country music blares.
For a minute or two, I sit paralyzed, staring at the spot where the vapor disappeared.
“All right.” I shut the radio off. “You want to play, do you? Let’s play.”
Chapter Ten
A Wish That Warped
Wednesday Evening – July 12, 2017
In a surprising twist, I’ve forgotten entirely about my current murder investigation. I hadn’t planned to, but having the equivalent of a giant spectral dick waved in my face wasn’t on the schedule either. It’s obvious what that thing is. Well, not specifically what. I mean more in the sense that I know it’s the entity that’s been chasing Elise for the past four years.
Since I know that, I also know it’s capable of killing, and quite eager to do so. A normal person looking over the police reports of what happened in her hometown would think a whole bunch of random people all decided to go insane at the same time. Maybe a more enlightened individual might consider a better rational explanation to have been exposure to some unknown environmental toxin that had a behavioral influence upon the victims. An even more woke person could entertain the idea of demonic possession.
Me? I just see dark energy.
And no, I’m not saying the Catholics or the Christians are wrong. This sure does sound and act an awful lot like a demonic possession. I’m sure there are many examples of genuine paranormal influence that’ve been cleared up by priests, though our understanding of the mechanics differs. They think prayer works; I think they’re casting spells without realizing it.
Tomato/tom-ah-to.
I poke the screen in the middle of the dash and call home on the hands-free.
“Hey, babe. Staying late tonight?” asks Caius. ‘Dreamfall Destiny,’ a song by Sombre Nocturnum―the biggest band he manages―is on in the background. Even though the track is like three years old, he’s listening to it because he likes it. Probably why he puts so much effort into that band.
If I hadn’t had a pissed-off cloud trying to break into my truck and possess me a moment ago, I might’ve decided to sing along with Marja’s lilting vocals. Instead, I say, “Not exactly. I’m heading to your mother’s.” I explain what happened with the shadow entity. “We need to do something about this damn thing, Caius.”
“We will. Why don’t I head up there, too, and we can make dinner out of it?”
“That works.”
“Did you call her yet?” asks Caius.
“No. That’s next.”
“I got it. You’re driving. If I don’t ring you back, assume there are no complications and I’m on my way.”
I smile. “Thanks. Love you, babe.”
“I love you, too. Goddess protect you.”
“She did and does. See you soon.”
About twenty minutes later, I turn off Route 101 onto the long private road that snakes deep into the woods of Thurston County. It’s unpaved and not terribly forgiving to drive on. Caius doesn’t like taking his little sports car up this way if he can avoid doing so, but if he goes slow enough, it won’t suffer any damage. Most times, driving up t
his road fills me with the happiness of a young girl going to visit a beloved grandmother. I suppose that analogy is proving truer than usual. While I’m not a little kid, Abigail’s going to be my mother-in-law soon. No slam on my parents, but I love her to bits. Guess that puts me in a pretty rare minority of people who don’t hate their in-laws. Or maybe that’s only a cliché joke? I know Isabelle and Owen are okay with the in-laws, but I don’t have much more reference than that. My partner Rick isn’t fond of his wife’s parents, but I don’t blame him. They wanted their daughter to marry a doctor, lawyer, or someone swimming in money. A lowly homicide detective didn’t scratch that itch for them.
I sigh.
Soon, the rolling grounds of Abigail’s estate stretch out in front of me, the enormous house surrounded by tree ‘walls,’ with a huge open field behind it. The setting sun glimmers on the surface of a pond way off at the back end of the property. It’s so far away from the house I’m not actually sure if it’s Abigail’s, but they sometimes go out on boats, so I guess it is.
Bouncy dirt road gives way to nice, smooth paving at the outer gate. I drive up and around the little fountain and park where I usually do. Charles Price, Abigail’s butler, opens the door before I’m halfway to the porch.
“Good evening, miss,” says Charles with a broad smile.
Though he works for Abigail, I think of him more as ‘Grandpa’ than an employee.
“Hi, Charles. How are you?”
“Oh, fine, miss.” He cracks a hint of a smile. “I’m surprised the boy didn’t arrive first, what with that peppy little auto of his.”
I start to grin as a bumpy dirt road quip circles my brain, but I can’t shake a nagging worry the shadow might’ve tried to scare him off the road, too. It’s tempting to call him to make sure he’s okay, but he’s driving. Damn. “Yeah. I think he’s just being careful. It’s raining, and that thing isn’t as awesome on wet paving.”
He nods. “Come inside then. You’re a bit drenched yourself.”
Abigail, her super-long grey hair trailing after her, glides down the hallway past the stairs and approaches with her arms out wide. “Maddy! What’s happened?”
“Careful, I’m soaked.”
After a tentative hug to minimize water-transfer, she points off to the left. “Go on in there, dear. I’ll get you something to change into and we can run your things in the laundry.”
No sense resisting when she gets into ‘Mom’ mode. I head into a small study off the side of the main foyer. Abigail arrives soon after with a roomy dress somewhere between hippie tie-dye and a laundry accident of epic proportion. If someone asked me what color it was, I’d say ‘yes.’ At least it’s dry.
I peel off all the wet stuff until I’m standing there wearing only my amulets, rings, and bracelets. Abigail hands me a towel, then collects the wet clothes in a plastic bin. Soon, I’ve dried and put on the dress, which is clearly meant for a much larger-framed woman than me. It’s shin-length, which I’m not used to―most of my non-work wardrobe stops at or above the knee―but this dress is comfortable as hell. And did I mention it’s dry?
Laura Black, a Nisqually woman who works as a housekeeper, steps in as if she magically knew the moment I’d gotten dressed again. “Hi, Maddy. I can get that for you. Such a nice surprise to see you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Abigail hands her the basket of clothes.
“Wow…” Laura walks closer, eyeing my curly, red floof. “How did you dry your hair so fast? It’s so thick and long.”
A tiny version of Rick sitting on my shoulder whispers, That’s what she said into my ear. Ugh. I spend entirely too much time around male cops. “Guess she didn’t want to stay wet.”
The woman gives me a weird side-eye look. Either she thinks I had an umbrella and I’m messing with her, or she’s unnerved by the suggestion my hair might have attained self-awareness. It can’t be a distaste for paranormal. People who can’t tolerate such things don’t last in the employ of Abigail Craven for very long.
“You should be careful if you’ve summoned a spirit into your hair,” says Laura. “Might be mischievous.”
I smile. “She’s not. Saved my hide a few times already.”
Honestly, I’m not sure if I even have a spirit inhabiting the mane or if it’s a subconscious thing I’m doing. Laura’s got a point though. If it is a spirit that’s attached to me, it might play some annoying games… like slamming my hair in a door. But I doubt it. If anything, I suspect my hair is attuned to Mother Earth much like those divining rods used to find water or gold. The Native Americans believe their hair allows for extrasensory perception, and I think that’s probably where my belief falls, too. That, or there really are hair gremlins out there.
Laura smiles, relieved, and carries the basket out. This dress has nowhere good to put a belt or a gun, so I wind up holding both. I’d run it out to the car, but it’s still raining. And I don’t want to leave the gun sitting around. Oh, hell. It looks stupid but, I put the belt on over the dress. Not that I expect a firearm is going to be of any use for what’s about to happen tonight, but until I retire―or, Goddess forbid, get suspended―I kinda have to keep it around.
“Ahh, there you are. The two most important women in the world,” says Caius as he walks into the study, his arms held wide. “Mother…” He hugs her in a much different way before embracing me. After, he takes a step back and cocks his head at me. “Babe. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“What happened to your clothes?”
“Just rain. Lots of it.”
“Tell me about this encounter,” says Abigail, hands on hips. “Caius said you crossed paths with a shadow entity?”
A gasp from the doorway announces Elise arriving at the exact wrong moment. Or maybe the right one. She freezes in her tracks two steps into the room with her hands clutched together at her chin. An oversized white sweater covers her to the middle of the thigh like a dress and leaves her right shoulder bare. Along with the outfit, her huge eyes and frightened posture make her look like a slightly taller version of ‘child-Cosette’ from a production of Les Mis―minus a coating of street dirt. The girl’s twenty, but she looks eighteen―closer to sixteen when scared, which is most of the time.
“It’s here?” asks Elise in a small voice, her toes gripping the rug.
She’s still wearing the enchanted ankle bracelet she showed off the last time I visited, which is good. I’m sure that shadow won’t be able to get past Abigail’s wards, but additional protection never hurts. Ever since she showed up here four years ago like a terrified cat crawling in from a storm, Abigail’s taken a strong motherly role toward her. Initially, some of us (particularly Colleen) suspected the kid might be playing a scam of some kind, but I’m sure now that Elise is genuine… and genuinely terrified. Constant nightmares about a ‘Shadow Eye’ watching her have persisted the whole time she’s been staying here. Not to mention that madness surrounding the death of her father and the son of her foster parents having ‘episodes,’ which stopped after she ran away.
“Here, no. Out and about? Yes.” I move around to the front of the sofa and sit, waving Elise over.
The more frightened she gets, the younger she looks. By the time she’s crept up to the sofa, her hands have migrated to grip the hem of the sweater in front of her legs and I think I’m staring at the face of a tween who accidentally opened a doorway to hell.
“Elise,” I say in a tone I’d once used to coax a child out of a closet she’d hid in while a murder happened elsewhere in the house. Long story. “Please sit. I know it’s difficult for you to talk about, but I also know you don’t want other people getting hurt.”
She sinks to sit on the edge of the sofa cushion beside me. The faint scent of lavender wafting from her hair fills my nose. Abigail sits to Elise’s right and takes her hand. Caius flops at my left, putting his arm around me.
“I didn’t mean for it to…” Elise whispers.
Abigail gives
me a look of gentle warning. She’s quite the mama bear when it comes to Elise.
“No one is blaming you,” I say. “This thing has been haunting you for far too long. It’s gotten frustrated since it can’t hurt you, and it’s causing trouble for other people now.”
Elise lifts her gaze off the rug and shoots me a pleading stare like I’m about to suggest we should kick her out. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want anything to hurt you, or to hurt anyone else, and it pains me to watch you living in permanent fear. This is your home now, but it shouldn’t be a prison.”
“Aye.” Caius leans forward to smile at her past me. “We’ll all do anything to protect one of our own.”
She glances at Abigail for reassurance.
“As Maddy said, this is your home, child.” Abigail squeezes Elise’s hand, then looks at me. “Tell us what happened.”
“I wound up soaked because I almost T-boned a BMW…” I relate the story of what happened on my ride home. When I mention the billowing cloud of black trying to come through the windshield, Elise squeaks, pulls her feet up on the sofa, and clings to Abigail, crying.
Caius pulls me into a protective embrace, my back against his chest, his arms around me. “Damn, Maddy. It tried to make that Beemer hit you.”
“Yeah. Figured as much.” I lean into him, enjoying the comfort. This dress really is nice, even if I feel like a hippie grandmother.
Elise calms down a few minutes later and lifts her head from Abigail’s shoulder. “It killed my parents. It almost got Derrick, too.” She wipes her eyes. “After my parents died, I got put with this foster family. Derrick’s their son… he’s a little older than me, and it went after him. Made him do stuff. Bad stuff.”
Abigail rubs Elise’s back.
“It got into his head and made him attack his father. He tried to kill me like ten times, but his parents only saw one.” Elise shakes her head hard. “I had to run away before I ruined that whole family. It followed me here. It watches me at night, gives me dreams. Whispers about how it’s going to hurt people if I don’t leave the house and let it have me again. It wants to take my body.” She shrinks in on herself, trembling. “I’m scared.”
