by D. C. Gomez
“How did he end up in New York?” I was still not following that part.
“A couple of shelters in the city started reporting suspicious people and their clients missing. It was the only lead we had.” Bartholomew looked at us this time. “Teck went to New York to track leads before more souls were lost.”
“Then I threw him off a balcony, and that never happened.” My cheeks were burning in shame.
“In a nutshell. The next day the police had a report of twenty dead bodies in the ground at a Catholic Church. We assumed cult killing.” Constantine was focused again.
“Why not witches?” I needed the CliffsNotes on the supernatural world.
“Witches were an option, since it took place on Ostara,” Constantine said. “The spring equinox and a major Wiccan celebration. But the Catholic angle made that hard to connect.”
“So what do we do now that we know witches are involved?” I needed marching orders before I went crazy.
“Constantine contacted the Order of Witches, but they’re a little short staffed, with Mabon being this weekend.” Bartholomew was pulling up a calendar on his monitor.
“Let me guess—the fall equinox.” Both Bartholomew and Constantine looked astonished. “Don’t be too impressed. My godmother knew a little bit about every major religion and its practices. That included major holidays. So what does that mean for us?”
“It means we need to find them before Saturday and stop them. With Texarkana being a much smaller city, a large group of people missing, even homeless, would be noticed. So far we’re tracking seven, including the girl from today and your friend Bob, but there could be more.” Constantine hopped over to Bartholomew as he spoke.
Bartholomew pulled up a series of photos of the missing people, including Bob. My heart skipped a beat. I had seen most of those people around town, and I had never paid them any attention.
“OK, so what do I need to do?” I had signed up for this madness; I might as well earn my pay.
“You need to start checking all the shelters in town. In other words, you need to start investigating. It’s not like humans are going to talk to Bartholomew and me.” Constantine was right about that.
“We’ll compile a list for you. You should rest. We got lots of work.” Bartholomew was ready to work, all night.
“Are you guys sure about that?”
They both looked at me as if I were crazy.
“OK, fair enough. Good night.”
With one last look at the boys, I headed to my new room. I wanted to help, but I was exhausted. On top of that, I had a lot of stuff to process.
CHAPTER 13
It appeared I didn’t have that much to process after all. I lay down on the bed, and I was out before I knew it. Constantine woke me up at 5:30 a.m. for our regular training session. He proceeded to inform me this would be our normal time every day, including weekends. He had lost his mind. Day two on the job, and it was obvious this was interfering with my regular life. I needed to ask Abuelita to change my schedule if possible. I was a morning person, but I still needed at least six hours of sleep to function.
Bartholomew was definitely a night owl. He had left me a nice list of potential places to check out on the kitchen counter. He had even prioritized them based on their hours of operation. Most of the shelters, food kitchens, and service organizations were downtown. Downtown was a ghost town at night, and even during the day, it was fairly deserted. Unfortunately, it didn’t have enough residents for one to notice if people were disappearing. Most of the businesses had moved west following Interstate 30. Many boarded-up buildings and closed-down stores were downtown. The local museum, the Perot Theatre, and funky restaurants were also there. In general, downtown was a bizarre mixture of art district and forgotten town. I totally loved it.
Too bad I couldn’t start directly on my list. Before I could leave Reapers, training needed to get done. I was convinced new torture devices had been built in the middle of the night. This morning we had a set of pull-up bars. I had no upper body strength, so the concept of pull-ups was hysterical to me. Airborne school had been hell, but I had managed to survive it. Constantine’s boot camp, on the other hand, was likely to kill me. His first instructions were to dangle from the bars and work on doing high kicks. The cat was nuts. I was a musician, not a gymnast.
After an hour of psychotic pull-up exercises, we moved on to balancing exercises. This area I didn’t mind so much; I didn’t want to fall off a balcony anytime soon. We practiced some weird routines using Pilates ropes that I was sure Constantine had made up. According to Constantine, I needed to master the art of suspension. I had no idea what he was talking about. Where was I supposed to be suspended from? It was probably a good thing I never got around to asking him, since we moved to cardio for another hour. Constantine was easily offended if you were able to talk during his cardio sessions.
For the second day in a row, I was soaking wet and smelled like hell. I prayed the evil overlord would have mercy on my soul, but no. Last hour, we went underneath the loft next to the vehicle entrance. With Constantine in the lead, I was prepared to enter another medieval torture chamber. I was pleasantly surprised. The room underneath my sleeping chamber was a high-speed firing range.
For a group that is forbidden to killed, they sure had violent devices. I was afraid I was going to be out of practice, but, like most things the military teaches, shooting was another muscle-memory activity for me. I was in heaven. It was a sad thing to admit, but I missed having a real gun with me, and specially an M16 rifle. That had been my buddy. Constantine actually had to kick me out of the range. According to Bartholomew’s list, I needed to be at Saint Edward’s Outreach Center before it closed at noon.
It was past eleven in the morning by the time I hit the shower. Good news that I could shower in under three minutes—thank you, Uncle Sam. Bad news that I was starving and the only thing quick was Constantine’s odd shake. I asked what was in those things, and he told me I’d rather not know. I called them Constantine’s protein shake. They tasted like a peanut butter shake. Whatever the secret ingredient was, it was supposed to help me heal and develop muscles.
The reality was that I did not want to know what I was drinking. With my luck lately, I was probably drinking mouse droppings or some other disturbing ingredient. I grabbed the suspicious bottle and ran out the door. I took one last look around and found Constantine getting ready to nap on the couch. No wonder he was always ready to go—he napped all the time. I wasn’t hating on him—just envious I couldn’t do the same.
By the time I made it to the outreach center on Ash Street, they were getting ready to close. The outreach was known as the Blue House to its clients. It shared the house with something else that I had no idea about. If I went to church more often, I might know. The highlight of my day was being able to find it. The outreach was located on the back side of Saint Edward Church. They provided daily lunches to anyone who showed up, Monday through Friday.
Honestly speaking, I had no clue what I was doing. I was not an investigator and had no experience getting information out of people. It wasn’t as if I could just ask if anyone had seen a bunch of witches stealing people. Bartholomew’s paper said to look around and be sociable. Driving the Whale made me look more like a person in need than like someone looking for a friend. That stupid hole did not help at all.
I climbed the four short steps in front of the house and entered. Inside the outreach, the first thing I saw was a large counter in front of the entrance. There was a small corridor that opened up to a back area. The room was divided by a set of curtains blocking the view to the left—unfortunately not very well, since I saw a work table and pantry shelves in that area.
At the entrance a pretty blonde, maybe in her early twenties, handed me a plastic bag. The food was set up like an assembly line on the counter. You took a bag and grabbed an item from each stack. It was a pretty efficient system, since they were only open for two and a half hours.
; “Please take only one item from each basket. You can get your coffee at the end of the table.” She pointed to the coffee station, where a lady in her late sixties with gray hair was pouring cups.
I handed her back her bag and looked around the room. There were only four people, including the pretty blonde. The servers had little name tags that read Volunteer. I couldn’t find anyone who was actually staff.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I was actually looking for a friend of mine. He’s about six feet two inches and maybe two hundred pounds. His name is Bob. He’s an army vet. He might be hurt. Have you seen him, by any chance?” I was, technically, looking for Bob, so I could use that angle to start.
The outreach was made up of volunteers of different ages and genders. On a Tuesday morning, most of the people there were probably retired. A handsome man in his sixties moved closer to the serving counter. He had a fabulous head of shining silver-gray hair and a great mustache to match. I was sure he had been a heartbreaker in his youth. Then again, by the look on the faces of some of the older ladies in the room, he probably still was. He just didn’t know it.
“On any given day, we normally see between a hundred and a hundred and fifty people. Unless he was a regular, it’s hard to say.” He had a strong voice to match his confident demeanor. I was hooked—he had my vote for sexy mature man of the year.
“Do you have a last name? Maybe we could ask some of the clients. Bob is a bit generic,” the little blonde holding the bags said. Next to the pile of bags, she had a clipboard with names. She looked out of place and way too young next to everyone else. I wondered why she wasn’t working or at school.
“Unfortunately, I don’t. Maybe I could talk to the people who stopped by, if you guys don’t mind.” Why hadn’t I ever asked Bob his last name? Oh, yeah—because I never thought he would get kidnapped.
“Sure, but most of our clients are gone. We’re getting ready to close. They know anything special is passed out early,” the last lady in the room said. She was in charge of passing out the entrees. The lady was in her early seventies; maybe older. She had that grandma look that was kind but stern. I had no idea why she was still there. She looked as if she should be home resting.
“That’s true. Thank you anyways.” I was getting ready to leave when the handsome man spoke up again.
“What happened to your friend, if you don’t mind my asking?” He looked as if he was used to being in charge and having people listen to him.
“We think he was abducted. He’s been missing since Sunday.” I felt a lump in my throat form.
“Oh, Lord help him,” I heard the lady by the coffee whisper. The elders did the sign of the cross, but not the blonde. Interesting—a non-Catholic volunteering at a Catholic shelter. That was really unusual for this area.
“Have you checked the library? A lot of our clients hang out there. Maybe somebody has seen him there,” the blonde said. She was very helpful and actually looked concerned.
“Thank you. That’s a good place to start. I’m sorry to have bothered you all. Have a great day.” I walked toward the back door. The flow of the place was one way; you came in one door and left through another. As I said, very efficient.
Outside, I was standing on a ramp at the side of the Blue House. A picnic table was set by a large tree, and a few people were still waiting around. I took a deep breath and headed their way. Their conversation stopped as soon as they saw me. There were three men, ranging from midtwenties to early fifties; at least that was my best guess. They all looked as if they had had rough lives and had been exposed too much sun. Their skins were leathery looking. As I got closer, I realized they were probably younger.
“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you gentlemen, but could you help me? I’m looking for a friend of mine.” The military had done a great job training me in saying “sir” and “ma’am.” A little respect goes a long way, especially if people aren’t used to receiving it.
“Yes, young lady. How can I help you?” the oldest of the three, a tall black man, asked. The other two looked at him in shock.
“Who made you king? She said ‘gentleman.’ She was obviously talking to me,” the youngest man, in his twenties, a blond boy with hunting eyes, said.
“I’m the wisest out here,” the older man said with a devilish grin.
“Wise, wise my ass. You’re just old,” the middle one, a Latino guy in his thirties, said.
“Thank you, Juan. You tell him,” the blond said.
I was staring at Texarkana’s own United Nations. One thing I had learned from the military was that when you stopped looking for differences in people, you were always surprised at how alike everyone truly was. At the end of the day, a poor person was a poor person regardless of race. These three men understood that and embraced it. I wanted to hug them. Instead I just smiled.
“Don’t be jealous. You’ll get there one day,” the black guy said. By the look of their postures, they were ready to banter all day.
“Sorry. Maybe all three of you could help me. I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s been missing since Sunday.”
The three men suddenly got very quiet. They all looked around, worried.
In a hushed voice, the black man told me, “You look like a smart girl. Stop looking around and asking questions. Bad things are happening to those who ask questions. If your friend is missing, I’m sorry, but he’s not coming back. Go home and get away from here.”
Before I could say anything else, they all got up and left. They headed north toward Seventh Street. I really sucked at this investigation gig.
CHAPTER 14
It was not meant to be that I would make it to work at a reasonable time this week. The library was a total bust, in more ways than one. The Texarkana Library was on the Texas side of downtown, with the entrance on Third Street. It sat in the center of the block. If you parked on Oak Street, as was my custom, you got to enjoy the unique design. One wall was made of glass, and it curved around itself almost in a semiarch. From Oak Street, you had to walk down a flight of stairs to reach the library. It had parking spaces on almost all sides.
The library was a favorite location for a lot of people, especially those whose resources were low. It had AC and heating all year long, free computer and Internet access, bathrooms, and a drinking faucet. You were out of the elements, and nobody bothered you. As long as you were quiet and stayed in your lane, the staff left you alone. It wasn’t a huge library, but the couches were cozy, and, like most Southern places, the staff was friendly. I knew the library very well; I was a regular. Remember, it wasn’t till the day before that I actually had a real income.
Unlike some of the people around town, I wasn’t bothered by the library’s location. I was an avid reader. I could afford the ten dollars for the library card rather than hang out at Books-A-Million. I did love Books-A-Million’s coffee. If the library ever opened a coffee shop, I would never leave. I was blaming my love for books for my giant disaster.
I spent over two hours at the library. Hey, no need to judge now; the first hour, I conducted business, which translated to scaring the hell out of everyone with all my questions. Bob had never mentioned going to the library. I was pretty sure none of these people had ever seen him there. On top of that, they were doing a reading day at the library. The place was packed with moms and little Mini-Mes. The few people who did talk to me said the same thing: stay away, and don’t ask questions.
I was tired, and my cheeks hurt from all my smiling. Trying to look harmless and sweet was a lot harder than I had thought. You have to move slowly, look submissive, and not attract a lot of attention. When you’re five feet eight inches and have plenty of lady lumps, as the Black Eyed Peas described them, it’s hard to blend in. Even with my baseball cap, I managed to draw lots of stares. I gave up after an hour and decided to take advantage of the trip. I checked the mystery aisle and then the fantasy aisle. I needed to do some research on this magic crap.
I was walking on cloud nine. I had books
and plenty of time to change before work. The Whale had no AC, and it was still in the eighties and humid for September. I wasn’t complaining too much. I could handle the heat better than the cold. After the short walk back to the parking lot with all my books and movies, I was sweaty and sticky. By the time I reached the Whale, my plans were shattered. Someone had slashed all my tires. Really? Who does that kind of stuff, and especially to a minivan? I could have been a mom with four kids.
Bartholomew had programmed his number into my phone, as well as the Reapers main line. I called the main line, in case he was still asleep. Constantine picked up; no idea how. I was so mad I didn’t even care to know how he did it. I managed to ramble off my disaster without screaming. It was my lucky day. Constantine was bored and had a million questions. After the interrogation was over, he told me to stay put and wait for his buddy to show up. I had to admit, Constantine had connections. In less than twenty-five minutes, a wrecker showed up to fix my tires. Let’s be honest. One tire I could have managed on my own. But all four—that wasn’t fair. Nobody carried four spares in the trunk in case of emergency.
Two very large men got out of the wrecker and went to work. I was impressed with their speed, but it still took them over forty minutes to change all four tires. By the time they were done and I was able to leave, I had less than forty minutes to get to work. No wonder people thought interns sucked. We were never on time for anything. There was a conspiracy against me. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. The only thing productive I did while I waited was practice my third-eye exercises. I focused on the Kidtopia Park across the street. The park was empty. I wanted to avoid being traumatized by the vision. I was definitely not looking at the guys working on the Whale.
It was 4:10 p.m. by the time I made it to Abuelita’s. Abuelita was busy working her magic by the stove. I dropped my keys in their usual place and grabbed my apron. I was still mad.
