Fiona Frost: Order of the Black Moon

by Dr. Bon Blossman

  “Don’t you teach an afternoon class, Mom?”

  “Yeah, I canceled it. Put a note on the door for them to read chapter five,” my mother said, grabbing a strawberry from the fruit tray.

  “Oh my gosh, Dad. Do you think that Gerald Smith was working with Haley in any way? I mean, it seems coincidental she was at school in my lab, and then Gerald is spotted there. Two criminals at the high school in one morning—a bit obvious, huh?”

  “No, I don’t think Haley is involved with Gerald Smith, Fiona,” he said, handing my mother the newspaper. “I’m going to see if they have any updates,” he marched intently towards a cluster of black suits in the foyer.

  “Didn’t get the chance to read the paper this morning, had a faculty meeting,” my mother said.

  She fanned out the pages of the newspaper, put on her reading glasses, and swept her legs onto the loveseat. I looked around the room for Luminal before remembering he was still at the vet. A bout of sadness filled my head like a cloud of smoke. I avoided asking about him for fear of getting more distressing news. I realized if he wasn’t home, and nobody was saying anything, it couldn’t be good.

  “Oh wow, Fiona. Parker Thomas, Sr. died last Wednesday—the story of his estate just came out,” she said in a curious tone.

  “And, who is that?” I inquired, not having the slightest idea who she was babbling about.

  “Parker Thomas, Sr. is that millionaire guy from Silver Springs. He is part owner of an NBA team, has jets, mansions, and all kinds of fancy stuff. Well, it appears the sole heir of his estate is none other than Godley Grove High School’s Mr. Parker Thomas, III. He just inherited everything—including over three million dollars cash. Crazy, huh? I wonder if he’ll still teach.”

  “The teacher? Yeah, I know Mr. Thomas. He’s friends with Mr. Zuptus, my favorite bio teacher. I think he teaches math, but I’ve never taken his class. He teaches ninth grade, I think. Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if he quit.”

  My phone ringer sounded; I pulled it from my pocket—Detective Chase.

  “You heard the news?”

  “Certainly, Fiona. You alright?”

  “Of course, I am. Gerald Smith was just spotted; I never even saw him. Did you hear about what my cousin Haley did this morning?”

  “Yeah, that was what I was referring to. I’ve already put in a call to the grant administrator. I’ll get this taken care of for you with the superintendent. I know this was not your fault, although they say she had a key to get into the lab. That’s not good news.”

  “Knew it, I bet she stole my spare. I’ll check my writing desk in a minute. Any updates on the case?”

  “Yeah, we found out Damien Lee lives next door to the victim’s trailer at the Lakeside Trailer Park. There have been a few domestic disputes reported by the victim to the police regarding Damien, but no official report was ever filed. Just a bunch of arguments over frivolous things such as a trash can placement, parking, dogs barking and stuff.”

  My mother put her newspaper down and was trying to analyze my conversation with the detective. I found this to be slightly distracting, so I nonchalantly sauntered towards the kitchen. I’d come back with a bottle of water, and she’d think I was just thirsty.

  “Anything else new?”

  “Well, Victoria Newsted reported Dimitri LeMorte is the leader of the Order of the Black Moon, and Damien was the leader of the House of the Nightmare Army.”

  “And that guy lives with Victoria, right? How old is he?”

  “Mid-forties, but I did get confirmation he is not in a relationship with her mother. But there’s something else. He is a really big creep.”

  “Why do you say that—other than the obvious?” I laughed.

  “He was arrested this morning on a traffic warrant we discovered after running his record. I went to see him in jail to ask him a few follow-up questions from when I spoke to him on Saturday.”

  “And?”

  “He chanted a strange voodoo vampire curse on me and used oils he smuggled in—he wiped them on the jail cell bars.”

  “You have to be joking, Detective.”

  “That’s not the half of it. You’ve got to see this guy. I’d bet you’ve never seen anybody like him.”

  “Can’t wait!”

  “Let’s set up a meeting tomorrow afternoon after school here at the station. It will be a good time because we’ll have more data to discuss, and it will be after my daily lab meeting with my group. I’ll arrange it with the agent assigned to you.”

  My mind was in a whirlwind and after a few hours of the feds trying to sort out if our family was in imminent danger; I took off to the pink palace in hopes of a decent night’s sleep.

  6 CURSED

  A thunderclap awoke me, followed by an unrelenting alarm only seconds later. I hated waking up with a startle. It took my heart a while to calm down and the disorientation to subside. Stormy skies had darkened my bedroom; merciless wind gusts throttled my windows. Gazing at the black clouds in the sky, the pouring rain clouded my vision of the front yard, the wind rudely blowing my trees at strange angles.

  Deciding it was best to allow Agent Bronson to drive me, I said goodbye to my car and my corresponding freedom. Dashing through the rain into his Lincoln, I climbed into the passenger’s side, the ambiance relaxing me with the crisp aroma of spicy pine, ultraclean surfaces and soothing, classical music. It was a clear bonus that my assigned black suit was the most handsome adult I had ever put my eyes upon. It was minutes before we pulled up to the front steps.

  “So, this is what it’s like to take your kids to school, huh?” he chuckled as I climbed out of the car. “I guess I should tell you to have a good day and to eat your veggies at lunch…or something.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” I laughed and opened my umbrella as lightning struck in the distance, causing me to recoil. Shrugging it off, I laughed, waved goodbye, and jogged towards the front of the school, the wind nearly knocking me off course.

  The clock’s minute hand seemed to spin faster than usual throughout the morning. During a class change in the hallway, I spotted Wolfe speaking to his new best friend, Camber Johnson. They were growing closer, and Wolfe certainly wasn’t paying attention to me—it was as if I no longer existed in his eyes. With the lab suspended, we were unable to have club meetings at school, so I decided I would schedule one at my house. That way, I could be around Wolfe and evaluate what was going on between us, if anything.

  I knew it would eventually affect our working relationship if I didn’t get my head on straight. However, the absence of him in my life certainly wasn’t helping, but rather it was driving me insane. I knew why my parents had warned me about falling for boys while I was young. The reason was becoming crystal clear. Glancing at the clock, two minutes until the bell.

  “Fiona,” a familiar raspy voice called out in the hallway.

  I spun around to see the inseparable duo. Willow, dressed in a red wool blazer and khaki slacks, struggled to keep up with Lauren as she sprinted towards me.

  “What’s up Lauren? Hey Willow.”

  Lauren, donning a camouflage hat that was restraining her gargantuan, bushy locks, shot a quick stare to Willow, who shrugged her tiny shoulder, raising her eyebrows with a contrite intensity, pushing her blazer sleeves to her elbows.

  “Well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your trouble-making cousin’s at it again,” she said, adjusting her backpack to put a hand on her hip.

  “Yeah, she’s a menace! First your lab, and now this!” Willow squeaked, shaking her head.

  As if on cue, a muffled thunder rumbled. I braced myself, feet apart, trying to sort through the dread that flooded through my head. I was unable to speak until my brain decoded itself. Hearing the words that Haley had done something else was enough to tangle every thought that was dancing inside of my head. I stared at the thin carpet.

  “What did she do?” I reluctantly pushed the words out. “Are you talking about how she broke into m
y lab? Or something else?”

  “Uh, well, you know how she’s suspended from school and all?” Lauren rasped before stealing a side-glance at Willow for support.

  Willow nodded, folding her arms across her belly.

  “Yes. She might be expelled. One could only hope,” I said with a bitter tone, shifting my hair over my shoulder as a group of sophomores walked by at a slow pace, grimacing at me as they attempted to overhear our conversation.

  “Well, some people saw her in the student parking lot talking to Camber Johnson,” Lauren said.

  Immediately my mind responded with a scream. I stared into Lauren’s eyes. I couldn’t speak. The crowded hallway morphed into a haze, faces turned into prisms. Lauren was the only thing in focus.

  She hesitated before continuing, “Supposedly, she asked Camber if she could be a member of the vampire cult.”

  My neck hinged downward; I shook my head in disgust.

  “I don’t even know what to say right now,” I trailed off.

  Popping my head around Lauren to view the hall clock, the time was quickly diminishing before the next bell. I said a quick goodbye and sprinted towards my next class. Calculus.

  Wolfe nodded at me in a formal manner as I crossed the threshold and passed by his new seat at the front of the classroom. The room was darkened by the black clouds; the wind gusts battered the windows along the wall—the storm added to the gloomy aura that perpetually surrounded me.

  We had become strangers. During class, he sneaked on his phone every time Mrs. Garcia faced the whiteboard. I assumed he was sending text messages by the amount of typing he was doing. Figures. A new relationship was forming, and they probably couldn’t get enough of each other.

  My phone vibrated, and for a moment, I thought I might have been a lucky recipient of one of his text messages. I wasn’t. It was from my father about Janice being transferred into the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital. Great. While Wolfe talked to his new love interest, I received word about my sick nanny.

  The rest of the day, the clock’s minute hand barely trudged along. I couldn’t keep my mind off Janice and wanted nothing more than to visit her in the hospital. I felt I could make her better if I were there with her. Eyes on the window, I gazed at the relentless rain, anticipating the lightning bolts and thunder rolls. Unable to listen to the teachers’ lecture. Incapable of participating in the busy work.

  Finally, when the bell dismissed school, I rushed out the front, throwing myself into the car with Agent Bronson—completely forgetting to use my umbrella, I was drenched.

  We headed to the police station for my meeting with Detective Chase. The agent supplied most of the conversation during the car ride, which made it less awkward for me. After a few minutes, my phone vibrated for a text message. My mother. She asked me to call her. She answered in a solemn voice, which made my lungs seize.

  “Mom?” I said cautiously. “What’s up? Janice okay?”

  I was so afraid it was grim news about Janice—I almost didn’t want to ask. My subconscious mind thought it couldn’t be distressing news as long as I was oblivious.

  “Fiona, where are you right now?”

  “I’m in the car with Agent Bronson, going to the police station to meet with Detective Chase. Why, what’s wrong? Is it Janice? Can I go to the hospital yet?”

  “I heard from the vet this morning. It’s Luminal. I don’t know how else to say this, Fiona. He’s dead, he died late last night, during his sleep, I’m so sorry.”

  At an instant, I was catapulted into a vivid nightmare. Tears streamed down my cheeks, following each other like cars on a highway. A sick spasm of unease settled in my stomach. I lost control, barely getting the words out to tell my mother goodbye.

  After gasping for air, I dropped my phone on the floorboard, head dropped into my hands. I launched a full-blown, hysterical sobbing session. The agent pulled into the nearest parking lot, parking the car.

  “Fiona, are you alright? Can I get you something? Here,” Agent Bronson said, pulling a handkerchief from the inside of his coat. He leaned down to the floorboard to pick up my phone.

  “Thanks, Agent Bronson,” I sniveled, gasping as I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “My dog died,” I said, sadness incapacitating my emotions with a crippling intensity.

  He stared at me for a cold minute, his eyes abruptly focused, the murky rain accentuating his somber face.

  “I’m so sorry, Fiona. I lost my dog two days ago. I know exactly how you feel,” he said, rubbing me on the shoulder, placing my phone on my lap.

  Hearing the news about Luminal hurt me so badly; I didn’t think I could pull together. This was the most powerful, painful emotion I had ever been subjected to, and I was at a loss at how to handle it. I never said goodbye to him.

  After a few minutes of crying my eyes out, I decided I would be strong. I grabbed my phone, apologized to my mother and told her I’d be okay. I felt sorry for Agent Bronson to have to deal with me while I behaved like an irrational toddler. The hysteria wore off, embarrassment followed.

  As I collected myself, I apologized multiple times for making it awkward. He refused to accept my apology, stating it was a rite of passage to grieve for our pets. Pets were part of the family; he understood that. However, I didn’t remember any signs of him grieving a couple of days before when he said had lost his dog. The man clearly had his emotions in check, but I guess to be a federal agent, you’d have to be that way.

  We pulled back onto the road, and I did my best to calm myself by the time we arrived at the station. I realized my cheeks were probably red and puffy, and I’d have to explain what had happened. I forced deep breaths before exiting the car.

  Like the gentleman he was, Agent Bronson walked me with an umbrella and held the door open for me to enter the station. He elected to stay behind and wait in front, under the awning. I didn’t blame him; the police station reeked.

  As usual, as I entered the front waiting area, the aroma of dirty socks and strawberry cream freshener assaulted my senses. Strolling by the randomly assorted chairs in the waiting area, I made my way to the elevated, rounded reception desk.

  “Hello, Fiona. Are you doing okay, darling? You look mighty upset,” Ms. Spinks, the elderly police station receptionist, said with a crackled voice.

  She grabbed the edge of her reading glasses and harshly yanked them from her face with her neon orange acrylic nails.

  “I’m fine, Ms. Spinks. Just bad news about my dog. I’ll be fine,” I choked out the words as she hit the button to open the green door that led to the back of the station.

  “Oh, my. I’m so sorry, dear,” she said, giving me a pout of sympathy. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine. It happens, it is to be expected,” I tried to quote my father, channeling him so that I could stay strong.

  “Detective Chase is expecting you, dear. Try to keep your spirits up. And I’m so sorry about your pup,” she said grimly.

  I treaded along the industrial hallways of the police station to the detective’s undersized office. He was sitting at his desk with his head buried in a file, pen in his hand. I slipped in and took my place in his wooden guest chair in front of his unadorned plywood desk. He folded his hands on the file as his head snapped up, gazing at my puffy, reddened face. He arched his overgrown eyebrows in concern.

  “What is wrong, Fiona? I can tell you’ve been crying. Is everything alright?” he said, studying my face, watching my reaction carefully.

  “It’s Luminal. He died at the vet’s office. He has been there under critical care with an aggressive salivary gland tumor. I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” I struggled to get the words out.

  I quickly tried to focus my attention on the case before I commenced another crying spasm. The rain picked up the pace after a succession of shrill thunderclaps. I peered out the large window behind his desk, and the sky had grown darker, the wind was unremitting as it bowed the tree branches.

  “I’m s
orry for your loss, Fiona. Well, you seem to be holding up, nonetheless. It’s always difficult to lose a loved one, including pets. My dog died a couple of years ago. He was only four and was hit by a car when he ran out of the house and into the street. It was one of the most difficult things to deal with, so I deeply sympathize with you,” he said, taking a box of tissues from his drawer and placing them at the edge of his cluttered desk.

  I nodded my head solemnly, swallowing to clear my throat, folding my arms across my chest for added security.

  “Thanks, Detective. I’ll be fine. So, let’s get to the case—what’s up with the curse you spoke of?”

  “Ah, the curse! Well, let me update you on Emily Vance first, and then we’ll get to Dimitri LeMorte.”

  I struggled to remember the details of the suspects through my cloudy head.

  “Emily Vance is the homeless lady who discovered the victim, right?” I said feebly, keeping my eyes focused on his face to remain in the conversation and to not drift off to the island of despair.

  “Yes, and remember her latent fingerprints were found on the sword. She admits venturing down into Dracul’s Den while the teens were not there and looking through their stuff. She was probably seeing if anything was worth taking to the pawnshop for money—it’s not as if she has a job or anything. I suppose she didn’t want to have to explain where she would have acquired the sword from, so she passed on stealing it.”

  “No doubt. Will she be arrested since her prints were on the murder weapon?”

  He hesitated for a few seconds.

  “Not for now. The rest of her story checks out, and that was the only thing we didn’t have the answer for with her.”

  “What about this Dimitri guy?”

  “Well, it seems Dimitri LeMorte is not my biggest fan, Fiona. He blames me for his traffic arrest and says he didn’t accrue the parking tickets that led to the warrant. I had nothing to do with his parking tickets; I’m the medical examiner and director of the crime lab, for Pete’s sake, not a beat cop. I can’t help it he became a suspect for murder, his background was checked, and it led to an arrest of something he should’ve took care of,” he panted, expressing a genuine passion about the subject. “He wasn’t that nice of a fellow when I met with him and Melanie Newsted on Saturday. The meeting was very brief, slightly hostile, and rather uninformative.”