by A. J. Aalto
Scraps of her shirt, Schenk had said. A leather shoe. That ruled out the kelpie, now that I thought about it. In my overdue expert opinion, a kelpie would have eaten the shoe. Kelpies love the taste of cured skins. I made a mental note to stock up on pork rinds if I ever had a case where one was in the vicinity.
Forgetting about cops and news helicopters for a moment, I looked again for the glittering ice sheet, but the water was only showing a uniform bed of ripples in the freshening wind. I had probably imagined the oblong surface disturbance.
Or maybe I hadn't. Two feet closer to me, a sheet of milky white crystals was breaking apart. A few feet to my right, another patch began to form before my eyes, crystallizing and then dissipating. It looked like an invisible ice dragon was leaving tip-toe footprints as it crept toward me on the surface of the water.
For a second I thought I saw a wiggling, teasing flicker, a white worm of light within the black depths. I leaned forward to squint past the reflection of the streetlight above, ignoring the new ice forming close to the edge, trying to see deeper into the water, thinking it was unlikely that any light source was down there, but holding my breath with genuine expectation of seeing it again. A diver’s helmet? No, marine rescue divers had finished with this area and were safely in a group at the lake-end. There couldn’t be anyone down there alone, right? Not anyone, my annoying brain piped up. Anything. No, there shouldn’t be anything either. But there was. Part of me was sure of it. I felt myself leaning further and further forward, as far as I dared, ready to dart backward if a hand or claw or tentacle lashed out at me.
That’s when I discovered that a scuffle behind me can make me squeal like a toddler on a kiddie coaster. I spun around, readying my fists of fury in case I had to fist and fury my way to freedom. My sudden spin caused my frog hat to flop forward into my eyes and I shoved it back desperately with the aforementioned furious fistitudes. Without punching myself squarely in the kisser, even.
Schenk stood there with his arms crossed, looking like an unimpressed but surprisingly well-groomed yeti. His eyes were calm and blank, but his lips wanted to do that upwards twist-pucker they did. This time, I couldn’t tell whether he wanted to mock me or demand answers. Probably both.
I slapped a gloved hand over my hammering heart and accused, “I thought you were a ghost.”
“Ghost, eh?” he repeated.
“Or an invisible ice dragon.”
“Ice dragon in a leather jacket?” he clarified.
“I know, right? How scary would that be?”
He shook his head. “You snuck onto an active crime scene without police authorization.”
“Well, erm…” I squinted up a foot and a half at him, and made it a question. “No?”
“How are you trying to pull off a ‘no’, eh? You’re here.” He demonstrated my here-ness by waving a hand in front of my face.
“Are you sure?” I stepped back two full steps. “Maybe you’re only imagining me here. You’re a man, you’ve probably imagined me all sorts of places: bed, shower, hockey rink—”
He interrupted me. “I caught you at my crime scene.”
“Caught is such a loaded word. How about 'bumped into' or 'joined'? It’s friendly to join. It’s also friendly to bring your cop a donut.” I held the brown paper bag up.
He gave me a withering glare. “I don’t eat donuts.”
I didn't even need the Blue Sense to call him a liar; nobody went to a donut shop and walked out with just their coffee every time, no matter how good the coffee might be. I just nodded solemnly, like he had me totally convinced.
“What kind?” he asked.
“Maple dip.”
“You’re a maple dip,” he told me as I handed up the bag. He looked into it. “There’s a bite out of it.”
“Ghost did it.”
“Mmhmm. Remind me why I put up with you?”
“Your boss said you had to?” I guessed, beaming him my best smile. “Malashock owes me one. Besides, she likes me.” I shrugged. “She doesn’t hate me, anyway.”
He rolled away the tension in his shoulder and studied the black water of the Welland canal. “Here to do your thing?”
I grimaced, and said reluctantly, “I was thinking about it, yeah.”
“This work the same as it did at the café?”
“Unfortunately for me, it’ll probably work better,” I said. “Impressions of violence stay pretty vibrant. You’ve got your scene reconstruction sketched out, right?”
Schenk made an affirmative noise but made no move to show or tell me anything. I nodded once; I preferred not to know any details before I started. In this case I knew a little, but it would have to do. I removed my gloves and stuffed them in my pocket. The night air nipped at my sensitive hands and I felt it right through my knuckles.
“Now I tell you how it really happened,” I promised.
“Not too close,” he growled, hooking me by the hood of my parka.
“Gotta go where she went, Constable FunTimes. Not all the way, but…” I shot him a look up over my shoulder. “I have to get close. That’s my job.”
He considered me for a long beat then released my hood. “I don’t want to fish you out of the drink.”
I looked at the canal where another icy patch was just breaking up. “Yeah, that’d be bad.”
He did something with his right hand; I didn’t realize what he was up to until the handcuff closed in on my right wrist. He linked the other end to his left wrist with a jingling click.
“You’re pretty quick with those things,” I said. “Is magic your hobby?”
“Nope. Told you, I knit.” He smirked liked he was joking, but the Blue Sense disagreed; there was a thread of the truth, there. Interesting. But I’d investigate that later. Horrible end-of-life stuff always comes first. Because that’s how awesome my life is. I'm handcuffed to a giant cop, and my libido has nothing to say about it. Now I've seen everything.
I took a moment to pull cold air deep into my lungs and relax. Until this moment I hadn’t given much thought to Britney Wyatt as a living, breathing person; I’m fairly good at staying emotionally detached during a case. I’d let my mind flit upon how cold her dive into the canal would be in November, especially this brutal November, but when the thoughts got too grim, I’d let my mind shy away and get clinical.
There would be no shrinking back, now. If the Groping worked as well as I was expecting, I’d share whatever happened to her just before she went into the drink. If her boyfriend shoved her, I’d share her surprise, confusion, sense of betrayal. If something snagged her, something unnatural, I’d share her terror, her desperation to escape it, her fight to live. I’d read disturbing things on objects many times before. I’d Groped the wedding ring of Chief Deputy Neil Dunnachie, who had been accidentally raised as a zombie; I’d felt his unholy hunger, his faint recollections of life, a bare trace of his own self remaining trapped under the strong urge to devour flesh, and his horrible, one-track thoughts (“Eat wife. Eat Paula.”). I’d Groped through the entire apartment of another Paula, Paula McKnight, survivor of a serial killer, to find her when she’d gone missing from witness protection. I’d felt panic and hatred and despair. This wasn’t going to be any better, I feared.
I stared down at the toes of my boots, stuck in some slush, covered in a white film of road salt. Harry would have a fit, the best part of that being that I was alive for him to yell at. Neil Dunnachie was not. Britney Wyatt was probably not.
The Blue Sense reported Schenk’s uncertainty at my side, and the longer I took to work up to the task before me, the more his mood swirled into a blend of impatience and concern. It was the concern that was unique to Schenk; I’d encountered sympathy from SSA Chapel and Sheriff Hood on more than one occasion, but unless you counted Batten’s angry-at-my-risk-taking attitude, I didn’t think anyone except Harry had been worried about my well-being like Schenk. I sensed an overprotective streak in him, which could have come with the responsibility inherent in
his badge, but felt like it came naturally to a man his size, accustomed to being physically able to offer a wing to hide beneath to anyone in his circle of friends and family who might need him.
I waited a moment longer, curious to see if his patience had an end, and he’d prod me to hurry up. When he didn’t, I began an uncomfortable game of crouch-and-touch, putting my bare palm to the ground to find traces of Britney, moving a foot to one side or the other to touch again. It was awkward with the handcuffs. Schenk had to crouch with me, mirroring my movements. I’d seen the crime scene notes, but only briefly, and I hardly had a photographic memory. Standing here in person, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where she and Simon had been. I tried to remember where the little yellow markers were in the photographs, pointing out footprints and tire tracks in the snow and grit. I was beginning to lose faith in my abilities when the first trace of her fluttered under my right hand. I stopped in a knee-straining crouch near the edge of the canal, willing the swell of psi to amplify any connection.
She was like a wisp, teasing at the very edge of my senses.
I took a long, deep calming breath, then motioned at Schenk to back off as much as the cuffs allowed. I clenched both hands, feeling my cold knuckles ache, promising myself I’d seek out more hot coffee as soon as I was done here, and blocked out the scree-ting from the boats. I dropped my palms to the asphalt.
Britney filled my mind’s eye, laughing, handling a clothes hanger with a white silk robe on it. A store. A friend with her. Holding up big pink satin granny panties. A lingerie store. Tiger print thongs. The vision started to fade and I clung to it, spreading my fingers to cast a wider net on the broken pavement, summoning more psi to do my bidding, cramming it down the pipeline of the Blue Sense, dragging Britney back to center stage. A close friend. Spritzing different perfumes, helping her pick one out. A special occasion coming. Some sort of… sexual celebration. Girl talk between racks of lace teddies and leather corsets. Private consultation in that hushed, out-of-the-corner-of-your-mouth voice used in public. Giggling, two heads bent together. My lips opened softly and I suggested quietly, so as to not break the spell, “She knew Simon was going to propose.”
Schenk said nothing, but I sensed his attention. He gave me the space to do my job.
They’d spotted Simon at the jewelry store, marked the place where he’d been talking to the salesman for so long. Ducked their heads together, whispering excitedly. Ordered frozen yogurt they never wanted, just to have an excuse to linger across the mall hallway and watch him. Hurried into the store after he left to check the glass case where he’d stood. Rings. Diamonds. Engagement rings. Two girlfriends, stunned by happiness. Linking arms and hurrying out to the parking lot. Jumping up and down. Celebratory hugs.
I shuffled forward. Schenk lurching awkwardly with me but not complaining. I could hear the water in the canal now. Britney walking on cloud nine. Too excited to feel the cold. The only things on her mind the young man strolling nervously on her left, and the new lace bra digging into her side. Simon. Broke and lovely. Moody and brilliant. An artist’s hands. Magic fingers. Simon and his guitar. His sweet voice, singing to her while they lay on the couch together, her head on his chest, his hands playing through her long hair. Now the ice crunching under his boots. Her heart soaring. Was it healthy to love someone this much? His hand in his pocket. She knew the ring was there. Waiting patiently, chewing her bottom lip.
Something intruded, and in the process of trying to trap Britney in my vision, I let out an involuntary noise. The Blue Sense swelled, and I knew that Schenk’s knee-jerk reaction was to reach out to me, but he wisely reined that in and waited.
Tiny pricks of light. Appearing only for a heartbeat. Britney pausing, her vision blurring slightly. Mind soft. Her heart tugging her back toward Simon, but her eyes… Tiny pricks of light. Drifting under the water. Skimming the surface, they wink at her and snuff out. Britney leaning closer. A face. It grips her.
COLD! COLD! COLD! A dark plunge. No control. Body heat fleeing quickly. The side of the canal, upside down, darker, darker, darker. Head down. Deeper. Must get out. Must get out. Deeper. So dark. SO COLD! Can’t move. Can’t breathe. COLD! SIMON! Don't breathe, don't, don't don't haveto... The pain, the pain, ohgodthepain — rocked me out of the vision and I gasped for breath, hauling air into my lungs loudly, falling out of my crouch to my backside.
I was about to tell Schenk what I saw when his wrist yanked me to my feet. I gaped up at him. He stared at the still, ebony canal water. When I scanned the canal with him, I saw them.
Tiny pricks of light.
Schenk moved to step closer to the edge and I slapped one hand around his arm. Our cuffs rattled. He paid me no mind.
“Where ya goin', Thag?”
He just stared at the water in an absent way that made my guts drop.
“Schenk?” I shook his arm a little. “Longshanks?”
His eyelids did a sleepy flutter. His body leaned toward the canal almost imperceptibly, but the movement made the nape of my neck prickle and I shook him more forcefully. Our cuffs rattled again. The wind picked up to shriek through the rigging on the boats, a somber refrain.
“Schenk!” I barked.
“Hunh?”
“Wake up.” I stepped between him and the edge of the canal, and used my iPhone flashlight app to shine light in one eye and then the other. His pupils were huge.
He blinked rapidly, frowned, and stared down at me. “Eh?”
“Sure you’re all right?”
Schenk frowned, squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed them. “Tired,” he said.
Part of me knew that wasn’t entirely true. I glared at the seemingly-calm canal. “No. There’s something in there.”
“Something?”
I looked up at him again, unhappy with his single-word answers, even though he’d never been the chattiest guy in the world. “Yes. I’m sure of it. It wants you.”
“Wants?”
“Yeah,” I said, my tone warning. I shook his arm again; if he was going in the water, I was going with him, cuffed as we were. I wasn’t going to be strong enough to hold him back. He outweighed me by nearly two hundred pounds. “Let’s talk in your car. Where did you park?”
He had to think about this and closed his eyes. It took longer than it should have, and when he answered, his voice was groggy. “Behind your car. On Cumberland.”
Five words. Better. “I don’t know the way back,” I lied, watching the lack of reaction on his face. There should have been a yeah-right lip pucker. There wasn’t. “You’ll have to take me there.”
“Right,” he said, and turned away from the canal.
And stood there.
Back to the water. Boots in place. Not budging.
My breath left me in a punch of wind, and I felt my eyes grow large and darting.
“Patrick?” I whispered.
As though he was frozen everywhere but his eyes, his gaze slid down at me. I thought I saw fear in those slate-hard eyes.
“It’s okay,” I told him, not sure of that one bit. I peeled off his left glove. “It’s going to be fine. I’ve got you. Just don’t…”
He swung his gaze at the black water of the canal. His whole body rocked with a shudder.
“No, no,” I scolded, my panic ramping up. “Look at me, officer. Eyes forward. Right here. Chin forward.” I moved to stand on his toes, pointed at my face, waited for his eyes to join mine, and then took his left hand. It was wrapped in a hard fist and vibrating like he was holding a live wire. I tried to wriggle my fingers into his. It was a real battle, but finally they unclenched, and I dug my hand into his sweaty clutch, shook the hand, making a lot of noise with the cuffs. “Okay, take a step with me. Forward, not back. Don’t break this.” I used two fingers on my free hand to point between my eyes and his.
For a heart-strafing moment it looked like I might lose the battle, and all I could think about were Britney’s last moments (The pain, the pain, ohgodthepain--). Without thinki
ng, I reached up with my free left hand and slapped him as hard as I could. It felt like hitting a frozen side of beef, and for a long moment, nothing happened. Then, mercifully, he began a slow shuffle forward, like a physiotherapy patient learning to walk again; I kept a tight hold on his hand, although it felt like his was crushing mine. I didn’t let up until we got to the tree line. His grip loosened enough for my pulse to roar back into my fingers. For a second his eyes rolled back, and then he shook his head. His pupils were big, to see in the darkness, but not spooky-huge like they'd been, and there was some calm awareness returning to them.
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I need a high five. In the mouth. With a pie.”
When we got through the stand of trees and came out at the cars, he pointed at his to indicate I should get in. I did.
“What was that?” he asked, digging out the key to his cuffs and releasing us both.
I rubbed my wrist, and hurried to put my gloves back on. “How do you feel now?”
He stared at the steering wheel. “I heard your voice coming from the water.”
I felt my entire body go still, as if any movement would alert chaos and disaster to my presence and make me a target. While the defroster cleared the windshield, I stared at the side of Schenk’s face. “My voice?”
“Yeah,” he barely breathed, more exhale than speech. “The part of my brain that was telling me that you were still handcuffed at my side got real quiet. What the hell is that?”
Siren? my preternatural biology side suggested. Mermaid? “We’ll figure it out,” I promised. “We got you out of it, right? It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
