by S. L. LUCK
Hoss drew a giant X over the notes he’d taken and looked at Dan. “I’m going to forget all this and let you tell me what you need me to do.” The station’s ‘90s-era air conditioner was failing miserably to maintain a comfortable temperature during the ridiculous heatwave and Hoss’s shirt had sprouted a number of small sweat marks that darkened it.
Ernie Stiles, Dan’s other right hand, nodded in agreement. “I’m with Hoss, Dan. They want that kind of work done, they can come and do it themselves, as far as I’m concerned.” With his empty coffee cup in hand, Stiles pushed back from the table. Now over a week without a decent night’s sleep, Stiles’ own exhaustion showed in the twitch of his right eye.
“We’re going to be good boys and do as they told us,” Dan said respectfully. “They may be a pain in the ass, but—like it or not—we need them. Whatever’s going on here isn’t in my handbook and, the truth is, if anything else happens I’m not confident we’d have the resources to handle it. We need to play their game until things are stable enough to maintain ourselves. For all I know, a hurricane could run over us tomorrow and I don’t want to drown before it starts, get me?” His men nodded and turned to leave. Dan stopped them. “Before you go rushing into their paper dump, however, we need a welfare check across the usual sectors. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t an extensive list, but with the river and the heat and the animal attacks, there’s a good chance some of our most vulnerable need assistance, at least assurance to know we’re still here. I’d like your teams on it as soon as possible.”
“It’s going to hold up the reports,” Hoss said..
“Let it,” Dan told him. “People are more important than paperwork, whatever those assholes believe.”
Respect reflected in their eyes. Dan dismissed them and went to his own office, where the air conditioning seemed to have died altogether. The apology chocolates he’d received days ago from the woman whose German Shepherd attacked his cruiser were now a wet puddle in the open box. Thankful that Marty had fixed the window so soon, Dan opened it now and let the breeze—a lesser kind of heat—percolate into his space.
He was just settling into his chair to begin the information gathering when his cell phone rang. Readying himself for another unavoidable summon, he tossed down his pen and ground his teeth until they crackled in his mouth. Reluctantly he looked at his phone, but the name appearing on the screen was much worse than he expected: Brandy.
“What is it this time?” he said.
“Real nice, Dan,” his soon-to-be ex-wife answered. “We’re still playing like that, are we? Here I am, giving you a courtesy call, and all I get is sass.”
“You got hurt feelings, why don’t you go see Shane about it? That’s not my department anymore, remember?” The headache he’d managed to keep at bay now rioted inside him, and he popped two Tylenol into his mouth, dry-swallowing as Brandy went on.
“I heard you saved that reporter.” Dan didn’t respond, knowing his face had been all over the news since he’d tackled Jessica Chung away from that speeding Winnebago. She’d lost a shoe, but because of Dan she would live to buy another pair. “Did she thank you for it, Dan?”
The implication was clear and nasty to Dan’s good senses. “I wouldn’t have run so fast if it was you standing there.” He didn’t enjoy sinking to that level, but the insult brightened him a little.
“Grow up,” Brandy snapped. “Do you want me to tell you what I called to tell you, or do you want to fight until I hang up?” She paused, waiting for Dan’s retort, but he stayed silent, listening to the pop of her gum through the receiver. “Okay, then. Better. Now, what I have to tell you concerns Shane, but I don’t want you to get all high and mighty like you do, hear me?”
“Go on,” Dan said, if only to speed up the conversation.
“He’s got an issue I think you should know about, given … everything … around here.” Briefly, Dan wondered if she was going to tell him that Shane had given her an STD and that it would be wise for Dan to get tested, then he remembered that he hadn’t slept with Brandy in so many months that he’d almost forgotten what sex was like. Still, he braced himself for such a revelation until Brandy said, “You know he’s got a roofing business? Well, he told me that he’s had quite a number of unusual calls this week. He gets these kinds of calls from time to time but never so many so close together, and never, ever as bad.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re going to tell me I’m reading too much into it, but I’m not, Dan; I swear I’m not. People all over the city have things in their roofs. Infestations like you’d never believe. The Johnsons must have had three hundred mice eating through their attic. They had new shingles put on during the summer. It’s not like they weren’t taking care of their property.”
“Maybe they didn’t close the space properly,” Dan reasoned. “Mice’ll find a way in through anything. With the weather turning the way it did, they were probably just looking for a new home.”
“And what about the bats?”
“Bats?” Dan asked, growing more alert.
“Loads of them in one of those apartment complexes near Mitton. Exterminators had to tear a huge hole in the roof, and that’s when Shane got called.”
Though he was not convinced, Dan said, “Could be a coincidence.”
“Maybe, but then he got a call about snakes, and there were four about termites, and one hell of an earwig infestation in that crappy little nursing home where your grandpa used to be.”
“Shane an exterminator now, is he?”
“I’m telling you, Dan, Shane said the roofs were destroyed. Not quick fixes, but full-on reconstruction work. There were so many termites at one property that the roof actually caved in. And there was a horde of cockroaches at another that broke through the ceiling right into someone’s bedroom. You know the Pushkins?”
“Your parents’ friends,” Dan remembered. “They okay?”
Brandy’s earring jangled against the phone. “Yes, thank God, but they’ve had to move out of their house while they take care of the spiders.”
Though it was stifling in his office, a chill swept up Dan’s spine. “Spiders?”
“Uh-huh,” Brandy confirmed. “They heard noises, so Andrey went outside to inspect and saw a whole bunch of heaves all over their roof. Their shingles were bunched up in places and he called Shane to come fix them, thinking it was the strange weather we’re having. And—”
Dan interrupted, “This happen today?”
“A few hours ago. Shane sent a crew right away. They weren’t up there for more than a few minutes when one of his guys nearly broke his back jumping off the roof. He said the heaves were moving, Dan, can you believe it? So he poked a shingle and they just came pouring out from a hole underneath. He was tied off, thank God for that, but he’s got a bunch of cracked ribs. He said he’d rather have that than have ten thousand spiders crawling all over him.” Silence fell between them while Dan digested the news. Finally, Brandy said, “I’m not lying, Dan.”
“I wish to God you were,” he told her, and sighed into the phone.
“Are you all right?”
“I have no choice but to be,” he admitted. “Can you do something for me?”
“I’m not getting samples or anything, Dan. Please don’t ask me to do that.”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ll get Jesse out to look at some of those properties. Maybe he’ll notice—I don’t know—a pheromone or something that’s making the wildlife go nuts, but I want you to stay home, hear me? Stay home and stay away from the river and the hospital. Check your roof if you have to, but for God’s sake, stay home until this all blows over, okay?”
“I didn’t know you still cared,” Brandy said, and the way she said it, a bit whiny like a teenager, made him realize her hold over him had softened. He cared, but cared a little less than before, though he’d never tell her that.
“Mind if Jesse gives Shane a call?” Dan asked now.
“
Please,” she said, and after taking Shane’s phone number with a promise that only Jesse would contact him, Dan ended the call. He leaned back in his chair, messaged Jesse the particulars, and decided his paperwork would have to wait. Then Dan left the station for the short walk to his and Brandy’s old church.
Nestled in what the locals called Old Town, St. Thomas was a tidy, gray brick blessing on an otherwise unkempt street. The once formidable heart of the city, Old Town had deteriorated with the death of its older residents and the exodus of its young. The first bank in Garrett—the Bank of Montreal—now housed a strip club and adult-video store. The old post office had turned into a vape shop and the original city hall, before its escape three blocks north, had since been subdivided into a pawn shop, a Payday Loan, and a tattoo parlor, from which St. Thomas was directly across the street. Dan ducked into a pizza shop holding its ground among the discredited, ordered a large pepperoni to go, and walked up the stairs of the church with his pizza fifteen minutes later. Through the open doors came the sounds of the pianist practicing, and Dan hummed the tune to himself as he headed toward Father Bonner’s office.
“I smell Daniel Fogel,” said the old priest through his partially closed door.
“I’m not sure I should be offended or pleased,” Dan said, nudging the door open with the pizza box.
“Come closer and I’ll let you know.” Father Bonner grinned jovially. Taking in the shadows under Dan’s eyes and the sheen on his skin, he added, “Actually, forget I said that. Come, sit and share your treasure while you tell me what’s on your mind, Daniel.”
He flipped open the box Dan set down and licked his lips. Dan laughed, recalling similar reactions when he’d visited and sought counsel before he and Brandy separated. While he’d never been an especially religious man, Dan grew to appreciate the principles of the church that Brandy’s family introduced to him, so he continued to attend when he felt brave enough to be in the proximity of her parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and too many cousins to count. Respectfully they would wave and smile with downturned mouths, then gather around Shane as he assumed Dan’s old position in the fifth pew of the middle row. Since the first and only view of Brandy and Shane’s onscreen encounter, Dan avoided attending the after-service fellowship, instead preferring to visit Father Bonner away from the crowd. Pizza became their ritual.
“You look thin,” Dan said without preamble.
Father Bonner waved his hand. “Busy times, you know. A bus goes over a bridge, and people need comfort. A river dries up and they need the sacristy wine.” His own breath smelling faintly of whisky, Father Bonner sighed. “It’s what I’m here for and I’m glad to be of God’s service, of course, but I do wish it didn’t take these kinds of things to fill the pews.” He took a large bite of his pizza and closed his eyes, relishing the moment.
After a time, Dan retrieved glasses of water from the kitchen, already feeling the weight on him lift a little, and settled back into his chair, trying to suppress the pressures competing for action inside his head. “Thanks for this, Father,” Dan said, finishing his second slice.
Father Bonner shrugged. “You’ve brought lunch, I should be thanking you. Tell me, besides the little concert Glenda has put on for us, what brings you to the company of an old man in the middle of the day? Something bothering you, Daniel? I know you were hoping for reconciliation …” His voice trailed off.
“I’m past that, Father. You see she’s—"
“With the little guy?” the priest’s thick white eyebrows went up. “I do. I admit, when I see the space beside your wife, I find myself hoping that she’d ended it with that fellow. But then when I step up on the chancel, the little fella is still there. It’s a mystery to me, but there it is. I’m sorry, Daniel.” In truth, Shane was only a few inches shorter than Brandy, but the Father’s comments warmed Dan, nonetheless.
“Not your fault, Father,” Dan said honestly, then grew serious as he rested an arm on Father Bonner’s desk. “And it’s not why I came to see you. I assume you know the rest of what’s been happening around here?”
The priest opened his palms, interlaced his fingers and rested them on his stomach. “I believe I might. Our community is quite the sharing bunch, as you understand. The crash and the river are common knowledge, of course, but I’ve also heard something rather peculiar about young Ms. Cheever. My instinct is to dismiss the talk; a rumor spread does not make a rumor truth, understand, but I would be lying if I told you I didn’t somehow believe it, Daniel.”
“May I confess something to you, Father?”
“Of course.”
“I haven’t read the whole Bible yet. I’ve been meaning to, but I’m still on the Old Testament.”
“It can be tricky, yes,” Father Bonner said. “That’s why I always suggest beginning with the New Testament. It’s easier to digest until you get your sea legs, if you get me.”
Dan sipped his water and finally arrived at the purpose of his visit. “I suppose I was wondering what the Bible says about all this. Is there something in the pages I haven’t read that might, I don’t know—”
“Explain all this?” Father Bonner offered helpfully. Dan nodded. The Father took a napkin to a speck of pizza sauce on his lip. “I’m expected to say there is an answer for everything in the Bible, and for the most part that’s correct. As to the electrification of a young girl, there’s no specific reason I could give that might satisfy you. I’m afraid that the apostles didn’t have that one in their manual.” He crossed himself and Dan did the same. “But when you finally get to read their works, you’ll see that they all speak of the will of our common enemy.”
“The devil?”
“Who else?” When Dan didn’t respond, the old priest said, “If you believe in one, you must believe in the other.”
“I’m trying,” Dan confessed.
“Do you have a better explanation? I might add I have heard of the animal attacks as of late and the problems the little fella is facing with his roofing business, not to mention the mysterious turn in the weather. I’ll refrain from calling it the apocalypse, as I’m not sure quite what it is, but I do not believe it to be the will of God. I fear the other has settled into our little town and just does not want to go away.”
“I feel ridiculous for asking this, Father, but is there an exorcism or something you can do?” Dan blushed.
“I can do better than that,” Father Bonner said. “I can pray. I can get the congregation to pray. I know it sounds simple, but it’s rather not. There is power in prayer, Daniel. You must thrust your faith to God, all of it, because even a little doubt opens a door to the other.” The old priest put a hand on Dan’s wrist and squeezed it gently. “I suspect it’s not the answer you wanted, Daniel, but it’s the only one I can give. We’ll do our best.”
“Thanks Father.”
“Now, may I confess something to you?”
Dan smiled. “Please.”
Father Bonner turned to look out the side window, where an accumulation of fast-food trash had scattered over the parish green. He frowned. “I’m an old man, Daniel. I’ve encountered a lot in my time, so there is little that surprises me. The river is a curious thing, but not altogether shocking. I’ve seen waterways come and go, most not quite as suddenly, though there was a drilling incident I remember—Lake Peigneur, if I recall correctly—that managed the reverse. Woke up a lake, went to bed a small sea. Though rare, these things happen. I believe that even Ms. Cheever’s condition will eventually be explained; as human education is still in its infancy, we don’t yet have the tools to figure it out. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe it’s the devil, maybe it’s a mystery that will never be solved.” He fiddled with a string on his sleeve, then said, “The animals, the weather; plagues come and go, but lately I’ve been having dreams, Daniel, terrible dreams. They shock me awake and keep me up. If I manage to fall asleep, my dream begins where the last one ended, like a dark narrative insisting I follow to the end.” His hands shook slightly, an
d Dan saw a genuine fear fall over the priest’s face.
Dan said, “What kind of dreams, Father?”
“Have you—” Father Bonner hesitated. “Have you decided what presence you’ll have at the Fall Festival?”
“You think something is going to happen there?”
“I do,” the priest replied.
22
In the early evening hours, a strange wind began to pick over the city, and the warmth that had settled like a cattle brand began pulling away. A slight chill now wound over the streets so that windows were closed and sweaters were donned and fireplaces were lit.
With her back to the wind, Adhira snuck a few puffs of her cigarette and dashed it out with her shoe before flipping up her collar for the walk through the parking lot into the hospital. She didn’t enjoy coming on her time off, but that wasn’t the reason for her displeasure. After a nap and a long bath, she’d decided that the news of the Cheevers’ pending litigation against the hospital couldn’t wait the few hours until her shift actually started. As a doctor, she’d long known that bad news was best delivered in person, so here she was to deliver it, exhaustion and all.
She scooted through the sliding doors, deciding to drop her purse and jacket in her office, when she spotted Abe, jacket in hand, on his way out.
“You’re early,” Abe said, yawning.
“And you should be sleeping by now.”
Abe shrugged. “There was a little movement with our patient. I thought she was going to wake up.”
Adhira raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t call.”
“Because you would have run here like you did now. Why is that, anyway? Did Huxley call you?”
“I don’t understand, Abe.”
The doctor tugged on his coat. He spied the swaying of trees through the window and fastened the buttons all the way to his neck. “She moved a finger, if you can believe it.”
“You saw this?”
Abe nodded. “The nurses first reported it a few hours ago, but Hux and I weren’t convinced so we waited by her bed until she did it again. And there it was. A little twitch of her pinky.”
