Crossroads

by Alexie Aaron [Aaron, Alexie]

  “I’m worried about the lady in the van.”

  “She’s fine. My boss delivered her twins in the graveyard. Mother and daughters are doing very well.”

  The man’s scarred hand grasped his large crucifix, and he said, “Praise God. I would never have been able to live with myself had something bad happened to her.”

  Chambers skimmed the file before he spoke. “I’m having a hard time understanding what happened to put you in that situation in the first place. Your labs didn’t show any alcohol or illegal drugs in your system. Your cell phone was off. I’m still waiting on the state getting back to me on the examination of your truck. Our guy on the scene didn’t see anything wrong with the brakes. Do you want to explain why you were close to entering that intersection going eighty miles per hour?”

  “I’m a good driver. Check my record. I’ve never been sighted for anything other than a heavy load when I was driving for that discount chain.”

  “We checked your record and couldn’t find any careless driving. I’m a bit puzzled that a man with your record would find himself working for Big John’s Lumberyard. I understand he’s cheap.”

  “I wanted a local day job. My wife’s mother is dying, and I’m called upon to take care of the kids when she’s spelling the hospice nurse. I used to drive the late-night triple trailers on Interstate 80,” Klein explained.

  “Take me through your day.”

  “I picked up my rig early from the yard. I headed up to Eagle’s Nest, the old eagle sanctuary. We’ve been given the contract to cut down some of the mature trees to thin the woods out for the next generation. I made a successful run in record time. Please don’t misunderstand me, I was driving the speed limit. A lot of time is lost in traffic and the unloading of the trailer. If we are down a driver, all I have to do is leave the full trailer, pick up an empty, and head up to the site. Then someone, usually Pete, loads the logs and secures them. This way I can get three, instead of two, runs per day.”

  “What happened in your second run?”

  “We were held up, waiting on the foreman who was arguing with a young woman. I think she was taking photos of the eagles. Anyway, on my way into town, everything went fine until after the bridge. Oh, I did pass the photographer on my way down. She was cycling, and I had slowed down because we were hitting the bridge near the same time. I saw she chose to run up onto the pedestrian walk, so I felt it was safe to cross the bridge.”

  “Did you see her after you crossed the bridge?” Chambers asked.

  “Not in my mirrors. I assumed she turned off after the bridge. There is a little dirt road that runs on the south edge of the river. Lots of hikers and bikers with sturdy tires use that to get to the falls,” Klein explained.

  “When did you realize you had a problem?”

  “The cab got chilly. My truck doesn’t have air conditioning. I usually just keep the windows open for a breeze. I remember looking west, thinking that maybe a rainstorm was coming.”

  “Why?”

  “It would explain the sudden drop in temperature. When you’re hauling the weight I am, you must take all conditions into account. The large hailstones that sometimes precede a thunderstorm can mess with the control lines to the trailer. But aside from a few fair-weather clouds, there was nothing to explain the chill. I then felt an icy weight on top of me. The ER doctor thinks it’s possible I had a neurological incident. The inside of the window started to fog. I signaled that I was pulling over and proceeded to slow to a stop. I geared down and pressed on the brake, but there was something in the way of my foot controls. Instead of slowing, the truck went into a higher gear. I grabbed my extra shirt on the seat and swiped at the window. That’s when I saw I was approaching the intersection of the state road by the cemetery. I don’t know what came over me, but I ripped my cross out and screamed, ‘BEGONE DEMON!’. The brakes were freed. And this is where I’ll admit my error, I should have downshifted and maybe run off the road into the fallow land across from the graveyard. Instead, the back locks up, and I saw, to my horror, the tail end of the trailer come around and hit that van in back. I saw the woman’s face and will remember the terror on it for the rest of my life.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, there were minor injuries and no loss of life. Who’s to say, under the circumstances, that you didn’t do the right thing. I’m sure the accident board will come up with their own verdict.”

  “Is there any way to get a message to the poor woman my trailer hit?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Tell her that I’m sorry. I’ve been told I did my best to stop a horrific accident, but I still am sorry that she was injured and had to have her babies in the graveyard.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets the message,” Chambers promised. “While I have you here, can we revisit the lumber operation?”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know,” Klein promised.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The house wasn’t completely dark. There were photosensitive nightlights in every spare outlet. The hallway looked like a runway. Had Macario a full human form, he would have strutted down the fourteen feet of carpet. Instead, he floated and lifted his hand and banged on the door of the woman’s room, three distinct raps. Three raps tolled like a bell, heralding the coming of evil. Three echoing strikes on the door before he plunged the knife three times into Demetrio’s wife’s chest.

  The door remained closed. He twisted the knob, conscious that it would reduce his energy. He needed his body closer. He needed to feed off the putrefied flesh. Macario was on a mission. Where his kin failed to kill the family with their poisons, and then their bomb, he would not fail because he was the god of his domain. He bore the promise of the devil upon his face. He was death.

  The door freed from its jamb moved inwards, displaying a room that the woman tried to make homey, but the cheap rental furnishings stuck out like boxed pasta under homemade sauce. She wasn’t in the room. He backtracked to the bathroom and found that it too was deserted. He forgot his need to scare first and moved into the little boy’s room where he found it empty. There were still clothes, toys, and art supplies, but the small child was nowhere to be seen. How dare they not wait and cower as he visited. He loved to terrorize, especially Demetrio’s loved ones. Where were the ways of old? It was a sign of bad parenting if you didn’t have your children to bed before midnight.

  “You are a bad parent, Paula!” he shouted as he plunged the knife into the boy’s pillow.

  Tom and Whit sat in Tom’s parents’ kitchen drinking beer and eating the pizza they had brought back with them.

  “Each time I come back, she’s changed,” Whit said, rubbing his late-evening beard.

  “She as in?”

  “Mia.”

  “Oh, I thought so, but I didn’t want to assume,” Tom said, snagging the last large slice of peperoni and mushroom.

  “She’s always had a smart mouth, but she used to be softer. She reminds me of these government babes who’ve been passed over for promotion. Bitter.”

  Tom lifted his tall boy and set it down again. “I don’t see Mia as being bitter.”

  “Bitchy.”

  “Not bitchy either. I think you’re confused. I see her as strong, careful, and, yes, suspicious. You’ve played her a few times. You almost got her killed in the Caribbean, and she lost Murphy for a few months when that explosion blew the poor guy into another dimension.” Tom stopped talking when his phone vibrated. He looked down at the caller ID and answered. “Yes, Jake?”

  “PEEPs remote access computer is picking up movement inside the Glynn house. Are you anywhere near so you can investigate?”

  “Next door.”

  “Please take your ghost deterrents. We’re not picking up any rise in temperature which would signal humans on premises. We’ll watch you from our end.”

  “Any chance to get PEEPs or Murphy to back us up?” Tom asked.

  “Help is en route,” Ja
ke said and disconnected.

  Whit looked over at Tom.

  “We can wait for them or…” Tom started.

  “How reliable is this Jake?”

  “Very,” Tom answered, getting up and buckling his service belt on.

  Whit took a moment and pulled an expensive looking black bag out of his supply bag. He opened it up and pulled out a bottle.

  “Holy water?”

  Whit nodded. He also pulled out a strange-looking pistol. “This fires iron pellets.”

  “At least it’s not Mia’s sawed-off salt gun. That was one horrible experience,” Tom related. “Ryan peppered me with it, and I thought I was going to die.”

  “Does she still have it?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom answered honestly. “She has other tricks, but I’m not a lad who hunts and tells.”

  Whit narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying me being out of the loop, aren’t you?”

  “Immensely.”

  Macario heard the back door open. He moved quickly into the shadows. He regretted expelling his vitriol upon the boy’s pillow. Had he not, he would still be able to push the knife through the child’s chest. Instead, he would wait and loom up and tell the boy how his father really died.

  Tom led the way in. The house was set up similarly to the house he grew up in. He wished that Whit hadn’t banned PEEPs. Tom could really use the comfort of Ted’s voice guiding him down the long hall. Instead, he had Whit, who he really didn’t trust not to fire through him at the ghost, if indeed a ghost was going to show itself.

  Tom stopped their progression down the hall. He had walked by Noah’s open door and saw something catching the moonlight which poured in from the open drapes. He waved Whit back and entered the room.

  There, pinning the hypoallergenic foam pillow to the bed, was a butcher’s knife. He whirled around and saw the beast that lurked behind the door. “Marcario Franco, I demand you leave this residence and never return.”

  Macario was stunned. This cop could see him! He pushed towards the cop and was rewarded for his effort by the blast of something that penetrated his visage.

  Tom saw the face droop. He had only just ducked; otherwise, he would have had the iron pellet resting somewhere in his ear canal.

  Unexpected pain filled the head of the entity. Macario moaned and started to dissipate. He moved quickly out of the house before receiving another painful wound. His face hurt. The pellet had moved through his cheekbone, and the rust that remained was eating away at his ethereal face. He needed to get back to his body before he lost his hold on this side of the ether.

  Tom picked up his phone and called. “Jake, Macario is on the move.”

  “So soon?”

  “Quickdraw has a hair-trigger finger,” Tom said, glaring at Whit.

  “Copy that,” Jake said and hung up.

  Macario had made the graveyard and was moving through the place.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” a creature with glowing orange eyes asked.

  “Back to my body.”

  “You can’t go this way. You are moving through the crossroads.”

  “What’s it to you?” Macario challenged.

  “I own the crossroads.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Macario said, holding on to the right half of his face.

  “What happened to you?” Takemi asked.

  “If I tell you, will you let me pass? I don’t have much time.”

  “Yes,” Takemi said, watching the arrival of the blur that accompanied the ghost farmer.

  “I came to claim my revenge and, instead, found a cop that could see me and another who fired upon me. I’m dead, yet I feel this pain.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “I told you, the gun.”

  “No, what are these markings?”

  “They give me power over death. I am dead, yet I live.”

  “You are dead. Dead is dead,” Takemi said. “Hell awaits you.”

  “I have a promise from the devil.”

  “Lucifer makes no bargains with the dead. The dead are dead,” Takemi continued.

  “I have power!”

  “You have magician’s tricks,” Takemi said, bored.

  Mia appeared behind Macario. She nodded her assent.

  “You may leave, but never return. If you do, I’ll have a hellhound waiting for you.”

  “I will return and kill you and your hellhound!” Macario vowed. “You will cower and plead for your existence!”

  “Leave. Dead is dead,” Takemi said, waving him off.

  Macario passed the crossroads demon, and Mia followed him unseen. Murphy skirted the edges of the road, being careful not to anger Takemi.

  Mia slowed herself to follow Macario, but once his power faded and he became part of the ether, his spirit moved incredibly fast. Macario had no control over this. This was the pull of the veil. Murphy said the return to his power source was quick, but he didn’t remember the trip in itself. Mia ran to keep the disruption of the ether in sight. At one point, she thought she had lost the trail, but she looked down and found a metal door.

  “Another fallout shelter?” she questioned. Mia tested the door and found that she could ooze through the crack in the seal where time had left it vulnerable. Mia stopped herself from proceeding and waited. She stood very still, hoping that Ted would get a read on her location.

  Murphy showed up very near the end of his power. He took the time to bring forth the power of Mother Nature through the trees and vegetation that had taken over what appeared to be an old factory.

  “I don’t know where I am,” Mia admitted.

  “Simpsonville, a little town north of Big Bear Lake. It’s not but a petrol station and a few cottages now. There used to be Simpson Tool and Die located here. They dumped pollutants into the water table, and the town died out.”

  “Died as…”

  “Moved away.”

  “Phew!”

  Murphy looked at Mia. He didn’t understand her concern over something that happened before she was born.

  “I can only imagine what kind of angry ghosts they may have around here,” Mia said.

  Now it made sense. “I’m here, Mia. I’ll protect you.”

  “Thanks, Murph.”

  He knew that Mia wasn’t comfortable without her ability to draw a sword. Sure, she could disappear by moving fast, but she still had many of the same constraints ghosts had without the benefits of the power that ghosts could obtain. All an OOBer was, was a disembodied soul. Not much strength unless you were powered by crystals, as Komal was on the island in Lake Michigan.

  “We’re looking for a body, and to spy on the humans within. I don’t want anyone getting hurt if we can help it.”

  “I think you’re being very optimistic and naïve,” Murphy said.

  Mia studied her friend’s face a moment. “You’re right on both counts. Shall we?”

  Mia flowed through the break in the seal, followed by Murphy.

  Gaspar Franco rubbed some feeling back into his legs. Sleeping in this damp cold cellar was difficult. He yearned for the hot sandy beaches of his homeland. He needed to see rounded dark-eyed women, not these pale skinny women who ate very little and were cross because of it. He needed the lust that wine and wealth brought him. If it wasn’t him who vouched for that traitor Demetrio, he would have convinced the family to let the dead lie. Macario was determined to exact the revenge owed to him, and not even death was going to stop him. Huge amounts of gold had been paid to the demon Udo so that Macario could have his deathbed wish.

  Gaspar looked at the long box with loathing. He hated the smell. The moving and storing of it had become problematic. He would have destroyed it long ago, but he was warned by the Quimbanda priest, who performed this ritual for Udo, to protect Macario’s remains. Gaspar had asked him, why?

  “Because he needs to return to his body to power up,” the priest sai
d aloud as he pressed a folded piece of paper into Gaspar’s hand as he shook it. “Good luck, my son.”

  Gaspar opened it and gasped as he read the warning. He moved to leave.

  “Where are you going, cousin?” Macario asked.

  “To smoke, I know how you hated it in life.” Gaspar moved quickly and destroyed the note, making sure to smoke a cigarette at the same time.

  Gaspar heard the familiar small movements coming from the box. Just little shifts that indicated that Macario was back with him. He walked over and woke his guards and sent them outside. These men were brave when it came to facing bullets but were uncomfortable when Macario manifested.

  “You’re back too soon,” Gaspar said.

  “The woman and child have been moved again. There were men that could see me. One shot me. I was in pain and lost power. I will kill him and his family,” Macario vowed.

  “Did you find the codes?” Gaspar asked.

  “No. I don’t think they exist anymore. We have looked for them since I took Demetrio’s life. I don’t think he kept them.”

  “Then let’s leave here and find a way of recovering our money. Maybe you can breach the bank’s security and get us into the vault.”

  “What bank? Demetrio never said what bank he put the excess funds into. Or what vault holds the contracts that prove our ownership of the shell corporations.”

  “Why did you give him so much freedom with our information?”

  “He was a family man; he had much to lose,” Macario said. “I need to rest, and then I will find his woman. She is never far from the gift I gave Demetrio. Once I kill her and her child, there will be no reason for the Feds to hold on to Demetrio’s things. They will destroy them, and maybe then you will breathe easier, yes?”

  “Yes.”