by B Branin
* * * * *
I braved my apartment for a new change of clothes; black slacks, white shirt and a long jacket with inside pockets which I used to store my hipflask and a handful of painkillers. Combining my new clothes with a clean shave, I managed to make myself look moderately presentable instead of the walking mess I had been the last few days.
Anyway, feeling rather rejuvenated from a good night’s sleep (even if it was on a jail cell cot) and fresh clothes, I left my apartment and walked a few blocks before changing my mind and flagged down a taxi. I usually did my best brainstorming while walking but I felt too exposed at the moment. That made me anxious and anxious people made mistakes.
After the several attempts on my life, I decided I couldn’t risk making mistakes.
Once inside the cab I began to brood, pondering what the best course of action would be. Should I sit back and let Zotkin and his boys clean up this mess? Should I try to sneak back to Ellen and squeeze more information from her? Should I get the fuck out of the city?!
Great options but with my life hanging in the balance, I needed to get to a place that was safe, familiar and where I could do some critical thinking. The answer was obvious: The Booze Bin. After giving the cabbie directions, I pulled out my cell (ignoring the missed calls once more due to lethargy) and punched in a number I had saved last night
It rang twice before an overly perky voice answered, “Dr. Spriggan’s office. May I help you?”
“Um, yeah. Shit….um…I seek shelter from uncertainty and the unexplained?” I spoke into the phone, feeling rather foolish.
“Please hold.” The perk had left the secretary’s voice.
I listened to piano music while the cabbie battled traffic.
“Who is this?” Demanded a deep, brass voice.
Bodyguard no doubt.
“Broker.”
“Broker who?” The bodyguard growled.
“Just Broker.”
“Hold up.”
I was bounced between the secretary and bodyguard twice more before a soft and intelligent voice finally came on the line.
“Hello Mr. Broker.” Dr. Spriggan greeted me warmly, “It’s been…well, almost a day. I trust you are alive and well?”
“Alive.” I replied bitterly, “Hey, I got some supernatural news for you. I was attacked by a transparent replica of a dermatologist and its hand went right through me. Not only did it freeze the breath from my lungs but it also caused my shirt to turn to dust.”
“Indeed? Interesting...” Dr. Spriggan mused, infuriatingly casual, “Sounds like you had a run in with negative or wraithlike energy.”
“I used holy water to trap it inside eighty or so cents.”
“Intriguing.”
“Yeah.” I agreed, “Intriguing. Does that mean holy water works against the things that are attacking me?”
“It’s hard to say. Many believe that anything associated with the divine have special properties. Others believe that these items only have any significance because of the actual belief the human spirit puts in them.” Dr. Spriggan explained and then thankfully summed it up, “Faith, as it were, being the energy that makes the divine possible. So it’s faith itself that’s important, not the object or medium.”
I thought of Father O’Brawley. If faith were an energy source, that old priest would be a nuclear power plant. Was it the actual holy water that made it possible to destroy the phantom or was it the faith that Father O’Brawley had put into his prayer?
I was too sober to deal with this crap.
“I have two quick questions.” I replied, “With you being a busy man and all.”
“Please, I’ll be happy to answer the best I can.”
“Thanks doc. First off does the name Soul Scream mean anything to you?” I crossed my fingers on this one.
“Soul Scream? No…not that I can recall.” Dr. Spriggan replied, “Is it important?”
My heart sank. If Dr. Spriggan, who received thousands of emails from supernatural buffs daily hadn’t heard of Soul Scream that meant that there was a possibility this drug was an isolated problem. Mainly my problem. Pawning this mess onto someone else was going to get even trickier if my city was the sole victim of a new drug pandemic.
“Only to me it seems.” I sighed, “Second question and let’s keep it hypothetical. If you were hunting down someone’s dead sister who was mysteriously resurrected, stole a dance from you and might be a drug lord/cult leader, where would you look?”
There was a long pause on the other line.
“Hypothetically?” Dr. Spriggan asked.
“Yes.”
“Some say the dead haunt places in life that haunted them. Places that had a profound impact on their own lives. It could be the place of fear or joy but the common consensus claims its more often then not the place of their deaths.” The good doctor informed me without the slightest hint of condescension in his words which was more than I would have given anyone who had asked me something so bizarre, “If I were to hunt down a ghost, that’s where I would start looking. That is, if she was really dead. Even when dealing with the paranormal, it’s best to work from the simplest solution to the more extreme possibilities.”
Clicking my tongue I saw the wisdom in the good doctor’s words. Despite everything I had experienced this last little while, I wasn’t about to accept that Faye Ambrose had been brought back from the dead. My logic-wired brain still wanted to bank that there was some semblance of sanity and normalcy in this entire affair.
“Thanks doc.” I replied, “One of these days I will have to read one of your books.”
“There are several book signings coming up next month,” Dr. Spriggan said with a light laugh, “I’d be honored to meet you in person.”
“Let’s not mark up my calendar until I’m certain I’m going to survive the rest of this week.” I grumbled.
After thanking him again, I hung up and sighed. The cabbie tried several unsuccessful attempts to lull me into a conversation about American football versus soccer but I didn’t rise to the challenge. I was too busy lost in thought, trying to hatch a plan.
A good plan.
Finally arriving at the Booze Bin, I hurried inside. Despite my not-as-helpful-as-I-had-hoped conversation with Dr. Spriggan, I was still feeling pretty good. All I wanted was a frosty beer, bourbon chasers and talk to the Twins about past events that didn’t involve the paranormal. And, if fate was willing, find a barfly that I could drink pretty.
In short, a normal night.
Of course all my dreams of a night that didn’t involve cultists, phantoms and dead relatives were thrown out the window the moment I set foot inside the Bin. Upon entering the bar, I was greeted by a shrill cry of relief and Fiona darting across the room and giving me a big hug that caused my various injuries to flare up (though I ignored the pain and enjoyed the physical contact with a young woman of Fiona’s caliber).
“Mr. Broker!” Fiona cried, her words coming so fast that they rear-ended each other, “I-I thought you were dead! After what happened at the lounge a-a-and that woman saw you and everything! I tried getting a hold of you and you didn’t answer! I was so certain-!”
“Shh…” I said soothingly, giving her a heroic smile, “Please…just…hold that thought.”
Nearly shaking with relief, Fiona stopped mid-sentence and gathered her wits.
I ordered a beer.
“We told her that if she waited long enough,” West called as I made my way to the Twins’ table, Fiona in tow, “That you’d show up.”
“She didn’t believe us.” Kurt added dryly.
“How can you two be so calm?!” Fiona hissed, her voice nearly shaking with a multitude of emotion, “We were attacked, found a room of bodies and we killed someone!”
That last part of her sentence was loud enough to be heard above the din of the sports playing on the TVs around the bar. No doubt everyone inside this fine establishment had heard what Fiona had blurted out but the only person to acknow
ledge us was the barkeep, Frankie.
“Shush.” Frankie grunted from across the bar, “It’s the bottom of the ninth.”
As for the Twins, if they took any insult from Fiona’s remark they hid it well. West simply cracked another peanut between his teeth (he ate the entire damn thing, shell included) and Kurt let out a less than riled burp.
“Welcome to the Booze Bin, sweetheart.” I grinned, putting my hand on Fiona’s shoulder and guiding her to a seat at the table, “Your sin never enters the Bin.”
Fiona stared at us all, flabbergasted. I found it highly amusing; it had been a long time since I had been around someone normal for extended periods of time. And by normal, I meant where murder, breaking and entering, and other heinous crimes only existed on the late night news and crappy TV shows.
“She won’t stop talking about that flying freak.” West informed me, washing the peanut shells out of his teeth with a slurp of beer, “Like that’s the freakiest thing ever.”
“Go to Vegas.” Kurt offered to Fiona, “They got some really freaky stuff there. A couple of guys can make a tiger disappear.”
“Okay guys, we’re a little off track here.” I declared, tapping my beer bottle against the table to get their attention, “Let’s address one problem at a time.”
“Problem?! Problem?!” Fiona exclaimed in hushed tones, “Mr. Broker, a man is dead! And those poor girls! This isn’t a problem! It’s…it’s…”
“A catastrophe?” The Twins added helpfully at once.
“Yes! A catastrophe!” Fiona agreed, slumping in her seat.
This wasn’t the first time I’ve had to calm someone down. You see, what Fiona was feeling was very common. I liked to refer to it as the Innocent’s End; A potent cocktail of emotions, spiked with confusion and poured over ice cubes of bitter frustration. You could see the same cocktail in the bloodstream of someone who has just experienced their first firefight, made an ugly discovery, or even someone who had just ended a relationship.
“Listen,” I cooed soothingly as I focused on Fiona, an easy task, “You need to calm down. All the nervousness, all the excitement and dread you feel now? You’re letting it spin out of control. Don’t think about yesterday. Don’t think about tomorrow. Focus. Why are we here?”
I took my time to pronounce each word, my breathing nice and even. As Fiona listened, her own breathing began to mimic my own. Long breath in, long breath out. A calming method of mimicry.
“Faye.” Fiona finally replied, her voice cracking just a little under the strain of emotions welled up inside her, “I’m here to find Faye.”
“Correct.” I nodded, “We are looking for your sister. Now, just calm down. It’ll be alright. Just relax…”
Fiona nodded, her lips pursing together tightly.
Hell after this was all over maybe I should become a therapist…
Before I could even finish that thought, Fiona burst into tears. Her shoulders shook as her entire body was racked with semi-silent sobs.
“Way to go, Broker.” West commented.
“Nice job.” Kurt deadpanned.
Believe me, I have made plenty of ladies cry before but only when I did something wrong! I was just trying to sooth Fiona and calm her down and what do I get? Tears?! Honestly I don’t understand women (outside the bedroom that is). It’s like you’re playing with a full deck but the only card she has trumps yours.
“What did I do?! What did I say?!” I exclaimed, utterly exasperated and throwing my hands up in frustration.
“I-It’s not you!” Fiona sniffled, “I-It’s just…Faye…and…”
Instead of forming a verbal explanation between sobs, Fiona reached under the table and pulled out a carrier bag. Apparently she had figured her belongs would be well protected under the table being used by the Twins. Nearly tearing the bag in half, she dumped out a bunch of files, neatly bound together, onto the table.
Glancing at the paper mess on the table, I gave Fiona a blank look.
“I haven’t…I haven’t been truthful.” Fiona finally confessed, “I know things about the Daughters of All that you don’t…”
Fiona started to sort the bound papers into different piles, slowly and methodically. Her hands were shaking so badly that it looked as if she were trying to fan us with the files she picked up.
“This is all of Faye’s work on the Daughters of All before her…end.” Fiona informed me, “It was shipped to us along with all the stuff in her apartment. I’ve read it all and it’s what led me to the city…and brought this huge mess into my life.”
Of course these files being thrust into my lap was a blessing but that still brought up some mixed feelings because there was no easy way to accept these folders. I felt giddy with hope thanks to the potential secrets within them but I also felt rather upset with Fiona. If she had given these documents to me sooner, I might have been able to avoid plenty of stress and abuse!
I locked eyes with Fiona sternly.
Dammit. Those eyes! I felt trapped inside them! Some claimed the eyes were the window to the soul but in Fiona’s case, her eyes were goddamn doors. Instead of peeking into her soul you were invited inside. With a single glance she created an instant bond of trust, kindness and hope that I found rather…well, unfair.
“Okay.” I grunted, taking a deep, calming breath to prepare me for what came next, “Start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
* * * * *
Quote attributed to Dr. Spriggan from the Rising Sun Supernatural Magazine.
“Arthur Broker? No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the man. However, if only half of the rumors I keep hearing about him hold an ounce of truth, then even I might be wary of approaching him for fear of getting caught up in the supernatural disasters that plague him so.”
