by Paul Seiple
“You infested me with a demon,” Sam said, without looking up from the paper. “I wouldn’t call that good parenting.”
“Debbie said you’re the reason for the ghost, not demon. It was all the negativity from your cases,” Derek said.
Debbie ignored the bickering. “I’m going to ask again… are you sure you can take care of Lanky?”
“Yes,” Derek said.
“Yep,” Sam said.
Debbie looked at Lanky. He smiled. “I wouldn’t believe them either. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself though.”
The front door opened. Remi walked into the study and waved.
“Thank God, will you please take her away. All she does is nag. Imagine that, a witch that nags,” Sam said.
“You’re pushing it, Sam,” Lanky said.
Debbie ignored them. “The flight is in an hour. We need to get to check-in. If we miss it, the next one isn’t until two in the morning. I don’t want to be in the air during the witching hour.”
“What’s the rush? Can’t you just take your broom?” Sam asked.
Lanky exhaled, turned, and limped out of the room.
“See, what I have to deal with?” Derek asked. “He’s the magnet for negative energy.”
“Let’s go,” Debbie said.
Lanky hobbled from the kitchen to study without spilling his coffee. It was a small victory. Most days he left a trail of java in his wake. He eased into a chair beside a window overlooking a small garden. This had become Lanky’s sanctuary during recovery. There was a bird identification guide on a small table next to him. Bird watching was a daily routine for Lanky now. Putting the paranormal out of his mind had become a peace that was no doubt good for his health. But this case was different. This was a widespread, “end of the world as we know it” threat. It was something Darkness always threatened but never produced. Until now.
“How’s the leg holding up?” Sam asked.
“Some days are better than others,” Lanky said.
“Sounds like my arthritis,” Sam said. “I’m really glad you’re OK. Out of this weird group, I like you the most.”
“More than Kim?” Lanky asked.
“I haven’t accepted her resignation from the real world yet,” Sam said.
“I hate to tell you this, but you’re a part of this weird group now, Sam,” Derek said, taking a seat at a desk at an opposite window that overlooked a small creek. The scene was an aesthetic explosion of orange and yellow provided by the changing leaves.
“Just do your research. No one asked for comments from the peanut gallery,” Sam said. He turned his attention back to the conversation with Lanky. “Did that thing that was following Kim really cause your accident?”
“That thing was a demon. And yes, it caused the wreck,” Lanky said.
“Are you mad at Kim? You know, she thinks you’re mad at her,” Sam said.
“I knew fully well what I was getting into many years ago when I chose to confront and fight Darkness. I don’t blame Kim for what happened to me,” Lanky said.
“That’s different from being mad at her,” Sam said.
“I’m not mad at her,” Lanky said. “That’s exactly what Darkness wants. Its biggest strength is tearing down relationships. It feeds off the sadness.”
“So, you’re telling me, I need to be better to Derek?” Sam asked.
“Got something,” Derek said before Lanky could answer. “I found a question from someone named Julian Chaos on Reddit about conjuring the True Self.”
Derek read through the answers in the thread. Most were from want-to-be witches or trolls. But one from someone going by the handle, The Ghost laid out a detailed ritual on how to summon the True Self.
“Figures. Someone by the name The Ghost would be involved with this somehow,” Derek said.
Lanky leaned over Derek’s shoulder and read the question and answers. “It’s Baudelaire,” he said.
“Who?” Sam asked.
“Charles Baudelaire?” Derek asked.
“Great. Now that we have a name, let’s find this guy and go get some hot dogs,” Sam said.
Derek laughed.
“Baudelaire was a French poet,” Lanky said. “See the quote at the bottom of The Ghost’s answer?”
Just like an angel with an evil eye, I shall return to silence thee.
“It’s from a poem called…”
Derek cut Lanky off. “The Ghost. From ‘Flowers of Evil.’”
Sam returned the laugh, but with a hint of sarcasm. "I know who Baudelaire is. But what does a nineteenth-century poem have to do with this True Self?”
“Maybe nothing. I was just flexing my literary knowledge,” Lanky said.
Sam shook his head.
Derek researched posts by Justin Chaos. The history was bare. His only post was the question about the True Self. Derek dug deeper into Justin’s profile. There was no bio or location, but the post was made on east coast time.
“Anything?” Lanky asked.
“Not yet.” Derek typed JUSTIN CHAOS into a search engine and pulled the results. There weren’t any social media accounts, just a few reviews. One from a Marilyn Manson album. The other was about a local mom and pop restaurant in Cleveland. “Well, this is promising.”
“Cleveland,” Lanky said. “This could be our guy.”
“How do we find out the real identity?” Sam asked.
“We have a secret weapon to deal with internet mysteries,” Lanky said. He glanced at his watch. “I’ll make a call.”
“It better not be Scooby Doo. Hell, we already have a Shaggy.” Sam pointed at Derek.
Derek stayed silent and never took his eyes away from the laptop.
Twenty-Five
Debbie spent most of the short flight studying a man a few rows ahead on her left. There was something about him that seemed off. The man was agitated. Maybe it was the flight. Maybe he didn’t care for flying. But Debbie didn’t deal in maybes. She saw a problem with his behavior.
“What is it?” Remi asked.
“Three rows up. The balding guy on the row seat,” Debbie said.
“What about him?” Remi asked.
“He’s giving me a bad vibe,” Debbie said.
“Maybe he can’t handle his alcohol.” Remi watched as the man downed a mixed drink. “That’s at least his third.”
Again, Debbie didn’t deal in maybes.
“Hey, gimme another,” the man said, grabbing the flight attendant’s arm as she passed by.
“Excuse me, sir. We’re going to be landing soon. All services have ended.”
“That’s bullshit,” the man said.
Debbie fidgeted in her seat. Remi caught the same vibe Debbie was feeling. There was more to the man’s rage than alcohol.
“Is it following us?” Remi asked.
“It’s shown itself to you at the Tate house. It’s possible. I hate not truly understanding what we are dealing with,” Debbie said.
The man stood up. “I need a goddamn drink.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat,” the flight attendant said.
“I’ll take this seat and shove it up your ass sideways if I don’t get a drink soon,” he said.
“Sit down,” Debbie said.
The man stepped out into the aisle. “Make me, you bitch.”
“Look at his arm,” Remi said.
Black lines that looked like worms moved underneath the man’s flesh. His pupils blackened. He started toward Debbie. She flicked her wrist. The man moved a few inches back. He grabbed onto the back of the seats to slow the movement.
“What are you?” he asked.
Debbie ignored his question. “I told you to sit down.”
“I’m not going to take orders from some woman,” the man said.
“Oh… OK,” Debbie said.
She stood up, pointed her palms upward. The man elevated a few inches off the floor. He reached for an older lady sitting beside him. His hand froze i
nches from her shoulder. He looked back at Debbie.
“You’re a witch,” the man said. He’s voice was much deeper than before.
Passengers panicked and moved away from the man.
“Can you hold him for a minute?” Debbie asked.
“I can try,” Remi said. She closed her eyes and waved her palms toward the man.
“There’s two of you,” the man said.
“Got him?” Debbie said.
Remi nodded without opening her eyes.
Debbie stood and waved her arms from left to right. The passengers fell asleep.
“I fucking hate women like you,” the man said.
“You mean you fear women like me,” Debbie said. “What are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” the man said.
Debbie laughed and shook her head. She closed her eyes. Debbie found herself in darkness staring at a faint orange flame. She crept toward the glow. The temperature rose as she got closer to the fire.
“What are you?” she asked again.
The flame grew larger and swayed until it took the shape of a human shadow.
“I am the True Self. The Inner Shadow. The part of humanity that embarrasses you. The part you try to keep locked away. The part that no longer will remain silent.”
“And why are you making yourself seen now?” Debbie asked.
Debbie felt her throat close. She gasped for air. Her chest tightened. She fell to her knees. The flame faded, leaving her in complete darkness.
“Debbie,” Remi said. She held Debbie’s shoulders and eased her into the seat.
Debbie blinked. Her eyes burned as if smoke irritated them. She blinked again. Water trickled down her cheeks. She saw a dark shape above her but couldn’t get a clear view.
“Are you OK?”
Debbie recognized Remi’s voice, but her vision was still blurred. “What happened?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. You went under…”
“The man. Where is he?” Debbie asked.
Remi peeked into the aisle. The man was lying on his side.
“He’s out,” Remi said.
“I can’t see,” Debbie said.
“What happened when you went under?” Remi asked.
“It identified itself as the True Self of humanity,” Debbie said.
“What did it do to you?” Remi asked.
Debbie ignored the question. “Check the man. Check his arms for the mark.”
Remi tightened her grip on Debbie.
“I’m fine. Just check for the mark,” Debbie said.
Remi got to her feet and inched toward the man. His arm was pale with faint signs of the black marks. Remi bent to a knee.
“Don’t touch him,” Debbie said.
Remi popped back up to her feet. “The marks are fading.”
“Good. He was never truly infected. It was a projection similar to what you saw at the Tate house,” Debbie said.
“Is he dead?” Remi asked.
“No. He fell under the sleeping spell when the shadow exposed itself to me,” Debbie said. “He’ll have a hangover when he wakes, but he’ll be fine.”
“What about your sight?” Remi asked.
“If the True Self thought it was disarming me by taking my vision, it’s sadly mistaken. I don’t need sight to see the truth,” Debbie said.
Twenty-Six
“What’s taking so long?” Sam asked, staring out the front door.
“Give him time, it’s only been a couple of hours,” Lanky said.
“Sorry, my detective blood is boiling. I can’t turn it off once it gets going,” Sam said.
A older station wagon pulled into the driveway. A plume of dark smoke trailed behind the car. A kid popped out from the passenger side. He slung a backpack over his shoulder and started toward the house. An older woman stepped out from the driver’s side and followed the kid.
“False alarm. Looks like someone selling candy bars for school or something. This can’t be your secret weapon,” Sam said. “But, I could go for one of those caramel-filled bars.”
The doorbell rang. Sam opened the door.
“Who are you?” the kid asked, walking past Sam.
“I’m sorry. He’s like that with new people,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Pamela.”
“Sam.”
“I have a biochemistry test tomorrow, Lanky. This better be good,” the kid said, tossing his backpack to the couch, nearly hitting Derek.
“You weren’t studying for a test, Jack,” Lanky said. “You’ve never studied for anything.”
“OK, you got me. The new level of ‘Stalking Death’ came out. I was downloading it when you called,” Jack said. He sat on the couch and pulled a laptop from his bag. He balanced the computer on his knees. “What'cha got?”
“I’m Derek,” Derek said, leaning over the couch.
Jack nodded without taking his eyes off the laptop.
“Jack’s a bit of a IT wizard,” Lanky said.
“I’m a hacker. Let’s call it like it is, Lanky. We’re all adults here,” Jack said.
Derek shot a puzzled look at Lanky.
“Jack’s twelve,” Lanky said. “He had an incident with the FBI, so we kind of adopted him.”
“You kidnapped me,” Jack said. “And there was no incident. I was researching how bitcoin worked.”
“He stole three-hundred-thousand dollars' worth of bitcoin,” Lanky said.
“Do you have a job for me or not?” Jack asked.
“Be nice, honey,” Pamela said, following Sam into the study.
“Pamela is Jack’s legal guardian,” Lanky said.
“I was raised by wolves,” Jack said.
“Jack’s parents died in a car crash when he was five," Lanky said.
“I’m his grandmother,” Pamela said.
“Don pulled some strings and got the federal case dropped,” Lanky said. “In turn, he promised we’d make sure Jack didn’t do anything like that again.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m using my powers for good now. Do you have someone for me to find or what?” Jack asked.
“Forgive him, he hasn’t had his nap today,” Pamela said.
Derek showed Jack the Reddit thread started by Julian Chaos.
“Want me to email you the link?” Derek asked.
“No need,” Jack said. He typed the URL into the search bar on his computer.
“Jack’s got a photographic memory, too,” Lanky said.
“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” Jack said. “Give me a few minutes to find this guy.”
Sam took a seat beside Jack. “You know, I’m a retired detective. Research was one of my favorite parts of the job.”
Jack looked away from the computer at Sam. “I work alone.”
Sam tossed up his hands. “Kids these days are just jerks. Real kids and the demon ones. I’m going to go watch television.”
“Kid, I’ve never been able to get rid of him that easy. Can I rent you from time to time?” Derek asked.
“You can’t afford me,” Jack said.
Pamela’s cheeks darkened underneath her makeup. She tapped her foot against the wooden floor and rocked with her arms crossed.
“It’s no need to feel embarrassed,” Derek said, noticing Pamela’s awkwardness. “Sam’s much worse.”
“Let me get you some tea,” Lanky said.
Pamela noticed his limp as he turned away. “No, I’m fine. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
Lanky smiled. “I need the exercise.”
Pamela shrugged her shoulders and followed Lanky out of the study.
“I know who you are,” Jack said, without taking his eyes away from the screen. “You wrote that book about Elvin Hayes.”
“That’s right,” Derek said. “Isn’t that a little too adult for you?”
Jack sighed. “I can read ‘The History of the Peloponnesian War’ by Thucydides and teach you about it.”
Derek laughed.
“I
liked your book,” Jack said. "You’re a talented writer. Which is surprising because you’re horrible at research.”
“What?”
“This is the guy you’re looking for.” Jack handed the laptop to Derek.
“Julian Paulsen,” Derek said. “How did you find him so fast?”
“Basic research 101. I took the avatar Julian Chaos used on Reddit and ran it through a reverse image search.” Jack reached over to Derek and clicked an open tab. “These were the results. Most were nothing. But this one lead me to a Sloth account for Julian Paulsen.”
“Sloth?” Derek asked.
“It’s a social media site for people to post photos about their perfect lives and to write witty little paragraphs to cover up the lies,” Jack said.
“Kid, you’re bitter,” Derek said.
“I’m a realist,” Jack said. “Anyway, that led to more social media accounts. This is your guy.”
Derek scrolled through the results. “How can you be sure?”
“Well, he’s in Cleveland.” Jack dragged his finger over the mouse pad. “Look here, this person calls him Chaos. And there are several links below that to witchcraft.”
“I’m impressed,” Derek said.
“You really shouldn’t be. A newbie could have found this,” Jack said.
Twenty-Seven
“I’ve known these things existed since I was a child, but I’ve never seen anything like that,” Jaime said between sips of water.
“This is an extreme case,” Don said. “Darkness doesn’t spread this fast.”
Kim took a seat beside Jaime. “You’re sure Wayne Rusk didn’t come in contact with anyone else?”
“Aura read his energy. She’s never wrong,” Mason said, unwrapping a Peppermint Patty.
Noah stood with his back against the wall in silence.
“Do you have any questions?” Don asked.
Noah chuckled. “No, not at all. I fully understand what’s happening.” He didn’t hide the sarcasm.
“We understand that it’s a lot to take in,” Mason said.
“Sorry, I just…” Noah walked across the room and planted his back against another wall. “I’m supposed to protect people and there’s nothing I can do to save them. Bonnie Rose was only doing her job. She didn’t deserve to die. None of these people deserved what has happened to them.”
