by D. C. Gomez
“Ms. Isis, nobody’s safe anymore. A gypsy came from New York yesterday. The same thing happened there. All they found were dried-up bones. He left town.” Wow, I really had underestimated the underground community. They had a better communication system than the gossips on Facebook.
“That’s right. Nobody’s safe, Shorty.” We stood in silence, staring at the Salvation Army. “Shorty, do you have a phone?”
“Obamacare, baby.” Shorty pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Blessings for government programs. If Bob had a phone, we could have used the GPS to track him. But no, he had to be a paranoid vet. I was going to strangle that man.
“Good. Here’s my number.” I handed him a card. “Save it in your phone, then burn the card. We don’t need anyone finding it on you.”
“Oh, nice. This is very Mission Impossible–like.” Shorty was easily amused.
“I would love for this to be simple.” I reached for my wallet. Shorty looked malnourished.
“Whatever you say, boss.” He was already busy programming his phone.
“Shorty, when was the last time you ate? Besides the orange.”
“I eat all the time.”
I was sure it wasn’t anything healthy, or even enough. “Here, Shorty, go get some food, and maybe take some of your peeps with you. I normally work at Abuelita’s on the weekend. Come and see sometime.” I handed him a stack of twenties. I didn’t care how he spent the money. I didn’t want to disrespect him, but I knew what it was like to be hungry.
“You don’t have to pay me.”
Now that I had a job that paid over the top, giving away $200 didn’t hurt. I was glad I had made an ATM run on Wednesday. I needed to do another one today.
“I’m not. Just buying you lunch.”
“Where? At Tao?”
I had to smile. I had never been a blessing to others. I hated receiving charity, but I always welcomed a meal. Shorty was the same way.
“If that’s what you like, why not? My boss pays me well. I’m sure she would appreciate me buying lunch for our friends. We are friends, right?” I didn’t want to insult him.
“Yes ma’am, we are.” He pocketed the cash and smiled brightly.
“Good. Now get off the car. Don’t you ever dare tell a soul you were sitting on Bumblebee, or the owner will kill you.”
Shorty’s eyes got really wide, and he hopped off the car. “This is not your car? Why didn’t you say something?” He was actually polishing poor Bumblebee.
“I wish it was. Those witches blew up my minivan.” My poor Whale.
“They did you a favor with that one.” Shortly was shaking his head at me.
“Thanks, Shorty.” I was glaring at him. The nerve of the man, and he was walking. “Don’t you have to get to work now? Be careful, and try not to get kidnapped.”
“Leaving, boss.” With that, he turned around and headed down Hazel Street toward the train tracks. He looked like a man without a care in the world.
Maybe my day wasn’t a total loss. I watched Shorty for a minute and then got in Bumblebee. Now that I knew the world was watching, there was no point in hiding. I was hungry and had music to make. I decided to make a few more stops before heading back to Reapers.
CHAPTER 27
Sacred Heart Catholic Church was not far from downtown, less than ten minutes away. I decided to make a quick trip to the church before heading back. Hopefully, my stomach would not growl. Lunchtime was a horrible time to be driving around State Line, but it was the most direct path—drive north on State Line to Texas Boulevard, and then a quick right on Elizabeth Street. I didn’t know the church schedule, but I was sure I could find somebody in the church’s office. If I was lucky, maybe a priest.
I made really good time and got there in less than seven minutes. I had to force myself to drive past the smoothie shop, which was a test of dedication today. When I pulled into the parking lot, only a few cars were there. I parked to the farthest left, overlooking the cemetery. I had learned living in Texarkana that both Catholic churches had cemeteries. The one at Saint Edward’s was not attached to the church, like this one. Graves and cemeteries always creeped me out. The irony was not lost on me. Of all the places to work, I worked for Death. I got out, with a quick prayer that this would be a short trip.
“Isis.”
I looked around for the person calling me. It was almost a whisper, but I swore I had heard my name. I had a really unusual name; nobody was going to say it by accident—unless they were talking about the terrorist group, but somehow I doubted it.
“Isis.”
There it was again. This time it sounded like multiple people saying my name. Almost as if the words were carried by the wind. “Isis.” The voices were coming from the cemetery.
“Damn the devil to hell. Why me?” I couldn’t help it. Was I really going to go in there?
“Isis.”
My job sucked. Obviously, the voices were not going to give up. I took a steadying breath and marched forward. Ever since I had taken this job, all I had done was take deep breaths.
It didn’t take long for that cold feeling cemeteries gave me to kick in. I barely managed to cross the threshold, and it was there. The way this day was going, all I needed was a fog to come in, and the sinister effect would be completed.
“Isis.” Those stupid voices were still calling my name. I was surprised at the number of people wandering around the cemetery. There were at least a dozen or so around the place. There were not that many cars in the parking lot for all these people. Had they all carpooled?
I was told people at cemeteries wanted solitude and privacy. I made it a point not to look at anyone in the eye and to move quietly around the tombs. It took me a minute to realize I was literally walking around on the tombs, not on the little trail. Before I could change course, I saw a priest kneeling by one of the graves. I had a choice: wander around till I found the boogeyman calling my name or talk to the priest. I hated interrupting his prayers, but I really needed to get out of there. Trying not to step on any more graves, I hurried forward.
“Excuse me, Father.” I was so happy priests wore uniforms, or else I would have never seen him.
He made the sign of the cross and looked at me. “Good morning—or is it good afternoon?” He was an older priest, maybe in his late sixties, with a fabulous head of white hair. If he grew a beard, he could pass for Santa Claus. He even had dimples on his cheeks.
“I don’t think it matters, Father.” He just smiled at me. He had a contagious smile, and I smiled back.
“Oh, good. It’s been years since I wore a watch. Telling time by the sun is really hard.” He looked at the sky, and I followed. This poor priest needed a cell phone or maybe a better secretary.
“I bet, Father.”
“How can I help you, dear? I’m sure you’re not here to indulge an old man in his fancies.”
Oh, good. At least he was direct. Now, how to explain this. I doubted that Constantine had sent him my info.
“Father, my name is Isis, and I have a few questions for you. They might sound odd.” Odd was probably an underestimation as well.
“Isis, my dear, we’ve been expecting you.” I didn’t think it was possible for his smile to get any bigger. It was so brilliant. He could have passed for a human flashlight.
“You were? Why?” Honestly, that was creepy. I had never been to this church. How did he know who I was?
“Father Francis mentioned you might be coming.”
“Oh, thank God for Father Francis. So you know who I am and why I’m here?”
“Yes, dear, I do.” He was still smiling, but not as brightly. I really liked Father Francis. This just made my life so much easier.
“Great, ’cause we’re running out of time. Father, have you seen anyone around here?”
“You look a little flushed, dear. How about we stand under a tree and get out of this hot sun.”
“Sure thing. Thanks.” I was starting to sweat. The Texas sun was no joke, even in late Se
ptember. The weird thing was, the priest wasn’t sweating. He was probably used to wearing so many layers already. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
“Sorry, dear. I’m Father George.” He extended his hand.
“A pleasure, Father.” His hand was freezing. Father George probably needed the sun.
“We had some strangers stop by a few months ago. They were wandering the grounds during the day and came back at night. This church is my place of duty, and I will protect it above all else.” He looked over the grounds with a sad smile on his face.
“Did they come back?”
“No, dear. Once they realized I was here, they stopped coming.” He directed his sad gaze at me.
“So if both the Catholic Churches are secure, there’s no way they can get into purgatory, right?” Purgatory was very confusing to me, and I was Catholic. At least I could use the excuse that I hadn’t been a Catholic all my life.
“I wish, dear. The gates to purgatory are always open at the churches, but you can force a hole to it at any other location.” He was very matter of fact.
“How is that possible?” Between the dogmas of the church, other religions, and now the supernatural world, it appeared my education was very limited.
“Think of a house. It is always easier for a thief to break in through a window or door. What happens when all those are secure and well watched? What would a thief do?”
“If he wanted something bad enough, blow a wall up or dig a tunnel. I guess like those bank robbers in movies.” That would be extreme. I would just rob a different house.
“With enough energy, and the boundaries between the worlds thin, you could do almost anything.”
I slapped my hand on my forehead. Father George just smiled.
“Of course. Hence, the equinox.” I really hated those witches.
“Remember, Isis, faith makes the impossible possible. Hence, purgatory. This equinox is especially dangerous because it falls on a Saturday.”
“How could they use that to their advantage?” Why did it matter at all?
“Not only are the Wiccan communities celebrating the equinox, but Catholics and Jews hold their services at that time on Saturdays. They will be tapping into the collective power of the universe.” Father George was looking thoughtful again.
“Great. No pressure at all now.” I was so screwed.
“No pressure, Isis. They’re going to be even more dangerous once they’ve tapped in to all that energy. Please be careful.”
“Thank you, Father. How do you know all this? Father Francis wasn’t this helpful.” No offense to Father Francis. I really liked my priest.
“I’ve been around longer. Nowadays, people just talk to me outside confession. I don’t have the same vows to keep, and I can share information more freely.” Who would be dumb enough to give that much information to one person—even a priest?
“Thank you again, Father. I really appreciate it.” I wasn’t too excited about shaking hands with him again.
Father George saved me the discomfort. He raised both of his hands over my head and did a silent prayer instead.
“Go in peace, my child.” With those last words, he walked away. He headed across the cemetery toward a couple who were crying by a tomb. I felt creepy watching, so I left.
The voices, mercifully, had stopped. They could start calling somebody else.
I headed outside the cemetery, and a light breeze picked up. It was as if time had stopped, and the only thing I could feel was the sun. For some strange reason, my heart was racing. I was staring at the ground when I almost ran into a lady on the sidewalk.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” This was the second time in less than two hours that I had been surprised by people because I was lost in my thoughts. According to the army, complacency kills. They should add absent-mindedness to that list.
“It’s OK, dear. Are you OK? You look upset.”
I had never met my grandmother, but I imagined she looked like this lady. Short with white hair, and full of compassion. She was wearing a pair of stylish capris, sandals, and a pink shirt. She made the whole outfit look good and even age appropriate. I was so jealous. Maybe style came with age.
“I’m good, ma’am. I just finished talking to Father George, and he gave me more than I could handle.”
Before I was finished, she was doing the sign of the cross and looking pretty pale. “Child, bless your soul. Father George has been dead for over a decade.”
I dropped my chin to my chest. Of course he was. Only the dead and the hoboes talked to me.
“Do you need me to take you inside, sweetie?” I knew grandma was not being patronizing. It was the South, and everyone around wanted to be helpful.
“No, I’m good. I probably didn’t hear him correctly.” How could I sav this without sounding crazy or wild?
“Sweetie, you probably did see Father George.”
OK, now I was really confused. “You don’t think I’m crazy?” Because I was starting to question my sanity at times.
“I don’t think you’re crazy. There are too many unexplainable things going on. If you said you spoke with Father George, I believe you. You’re not the first one to say that.” She looked at the cemetery with hope.
“You think he’s stuck here on earth as a punishment?” Why would any soul want to stay in this place after passing?
“I believe his calling was so strong, he’s still serving after his death. Now run home, dear. None of our priests are in. You’ve already experienced enough for one day.”
In agreement, my stomached growled. I was so embarrassed. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a good day.”
She patted my cheeks and sent me on my way.
I rushed to Bumblebee and climbed in. Constantine needed to explain how to tell the difference between the dead and the living to me. I couldn’t be having conversations with dead people and not know it. Those things were helpful to know so I wouldn’t share things with the wrong person. It appeared the dead were a lot more helpful to me than the living.
My stomach did one more loud protest, and I headed for food.
CHAPTER 28
I was having lunch at my favorite place in Texarkana, Big Jake’s on New Boston Road. I had no idea whatever possessed me to start going there. For someone who didn’t eat meat, a BBQ place was almost sacrilegious. The smell of cooked meat never bothered me; the taste, on the other hand, made me sick. Another reason I was weird. Someone who didn’t eat meat in Texas: I was an endangered species.
I remembered the first time I had gone in. It was a Saturday night, raining, and I was starving. I prayed they would have some side dishes I could eat. To my surprise, their baked potatoes and chili potatoes were to die for. I was hooked. To make the addiction complete, this place was like Cheers, where everybody knew your name. Big Jake’s was pretty busy for lunch, but most people didn’t stick around too long, so finding a table wasn’t hard.
I walked in, and I immediately relaxed. It was probably the only normal thing I had done all week. I was fourth in line, but I didn’t care. After my crazy day, I was going to indulge in a fried pie. It was like an oversize empanada with fruit filling and deep fried. Nobody could ever say Texans didn’t know how to eat. I learned that in Texas, they fried everything. This included veggies. Amazing taste, but I was sure my arteries were collapsing.
The people in front of me were obviously new in town, because they had been staring at the menu for over five minutes. Thankfully, the staff at Big Jake’s were the happiest I had ever met. They actually loved their jobs, and I later learned they got paid really well. Maybe I should had looked harder for work before settling on Abuelita’s. Not that I was complaining—I loved working at Abuelita’s, and her hours were more my style.
It felt as if I were in line forever, probably because I was starving.
“Hi, Isis. The usual?” My day had just gotten ten times better. My favorite Big Jake’s staff member was on the register, TJ. TJ wa
s at least six feet tall, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and mocha complexion. I was sure he was mixed, but I had no idea with what.
“Make it a large and a pie.”
“Wow, you’re living dangerously today.” TJ laughed at me. For the last three months, I had always ordered the small chili fries. On most nights I barely finished my order.
“It’s been a long day and an even longer week.” I normally could stare at TJ’s eyes for hours. Today they had a different hint to them. There were specks of gold I had never noticed before and an intensity that was a bit overwhelming. I had to look away.
“Isis, you OK?” I had a horrible poker face, and most people could easily interpret my moods.
“Yeah. Sorry, TJ. Just hungry and tired.” At least that much was true.
“You’re having a hard week.”
I handed TJ a twenty and tried to smile. He handed me my change and a cup. “Here you go, girl. Grab a seat. I’ll bring you your food in a minute.”
“Thank you so much.” I was so hungry I was sure I looked pitiful, because TJ just shook his head.
I walked over to the drink area. Between the drink area and the register, they had a barbecue-sauce-and-baked-beans bar. I filled my cup with ice and sweet tea. Only in the South would I ever drink sweet tea. Some things do not make the crossover well across the country. It was like asking for clam chowder in Texas. You were looking to be disappointed. Then I grabbed some baked beans. They were free if you dined in. I made it a point to pay attention to scooping my beans; I had once made the horrible mistake of grabbing some of the sausage that was cooked with the beans. Not pretty when I took a bite of it.
Customers were making their way out. Big Jake’s wasn’t too big—just the right size for a small joint. Two rows of tables and booths ran the length of the place. With enough aisle space so people could move comfortably around, the place always felt homey and inviting. I was also a sucker for locally owned establishments.
“Here you go, dear.” I was barely seated at one of the booths by the window when TJ brought my plate to the table. “I really would like to see you finish all that today.”
