Tuesday, November 20, 2018

16:40 Hours

"Central from Six-Three-David. Show us out on South Bridge moving a vagrant," said Max as I pulled to the side of the road.

"Central copy, Six-Three-David. 1640. Do you need a unit to back?"

"Negative at this time," she said, turning on the overhead flashers. We left the RMP and walked toward a homeless guy lying where the dented metal guard rail met the gang-graffitied concrete wall. He slumped against the town welcome sign, surrounded by overgrown weeds and garbage.

The once vibrant green background had oxidized. Its bronze letters chipped and cracked, rusted to a pale blue. Both posts were tall and thick and capped with the cross of Saint James.

PROSPERITY AND ABUNDANCE

WELCOME TO THE HEIGHTS

"HEIGHTS OF KING JAMES COUNTY,"

FOUNDED IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 1650

Maxine tapped the vagrant on the leg with her gloved hand and motioned him to move on. He stood, his fireball bottles spilling from his lap.

"Let's get a move on, Skippy," I said as Maxine glared at me for taking a harsher approach.

He took a swipe at me, missed, and fell. He tried to straighten up but couldn't find his equilibrium. Max and I stood there and watched him fumble around in a stupor. He finally sat up, brushed himself off, and looked at me. His glazed eyes were bloodshot, and his face was red.

"You're a freaking pig! I'm not going away," he paused. "Take me to freaking jail, you asshole." He stood waddling while using the signpost as a crutch.

"Shoo-shoo, old McDonald," I said. "You're not getting a free pass tonight."

On wintry nights like this, guys like him tried to get arrested. They knew we wouldn't send them to Central Booking, and they could stay the night in our holding cells. Charges against them meant nothing. They never paid the fines and had warrants from multiple agencies. For them, a win-win. For us, it proved to be a futile use of our time.

He finally straightened up and staggered away in compliance. He kept looking over at me. His eyes filled with rage and tempted me to engage in a fight, but it didn't justify the effort.

Then, his entire demeanor changed. It seemed like he had a moment of complete lucidity. He was steady and in full control of his faculties. He turned, walked back towards me, and looked me in the eye.

He stepped closer. I could smell his breath, which reeked from whiskey and tooth rot.

"Stand back, man," I said. I scowled at his pungent odor.

"" he said.

"Wait. What? Piss, cork, and —"

"Place a cardinal thread from a sprite trap. A bottled spell to ward off the Inquisitors of Black Easter. A Witch's Bottle." An eerie look wore his lips as his eyes glazed red and feral. His face was pallid, sharp, and cruel.

I laughed from nerves, trying to dismiss the uneasiness.

"Just move," I said, waiting for Maxine to respond. I looked at her as he started toward the bridge.

She trembled.

Her face was pale, and her lips turned purple. I believed it to be the biting creek wind, but my heart warned of something else. Careful not to take my eyes off the homeless guy, I saw Maxine hurry for cover in the RMP.

When I turned, he was close, almost touching my nose.

"You, seer," he shouted, his voice grim. I stepped back, pushed him away, and bladed. He followed at the quick step while laughing and roaring, wanting to get in my face. "Rid your wife of her languishment and trouble using a fire shovel."

I grabbed fistfuls of his collar, gritted my teeth, and moved him to arm's length. "Listen, asshole," I snapped. "Stop talking about my partner and get out of my face, or I promise you will regret—"

"Bury it in the ground," he said with a low voice, dark and cunning. "Bury it, or she will suffer a lamentable outcry."

I shoved him back as he stumbled. The move seemed to release him from his trance.

The streetlights glowed as the traffic on the bridge increased with the beginning of rush hour. I watched him stumble his way down the sidewalk. Then, cursing and shouting, he braced himself against the wall, and his drunken normality returned.

22:30 Hours

"Okay, Max. I've had it. Let's go."

I pushed the phone at her, threw money on the table, and went to the door. Max trailed behind, trying to catch up.

I lept the stairs and rushed to the RMP. When Max got in the car, I had the gear in reverse. When she closed the door, I hit the accelerator to back out of the stall. I put the column shift in drive, put on the overheads, and raced from the parking lot.

Startled, Max got angry.

"Kelly...What in the hell are you doing? Are you freaking crazy?"

"I'm going back to the bridge. I have to find that homeless guy. Keep reading from where I left off."

"But there came a woman from a town some miles off to their house, with a lamentable Out-cry, that they had killed her husband. They askt her what she meant and thought her distracted, telling her they knew neither her nor her husband. Yes, saith she, you have killed my husband. He told me so on his deathbed. But at last, they understood by her. Her husband was a wizard and had bewitched this man's wife. This counter-practice prescribed by the Old Man, which saved the man's wife from languishment, was the death of that wizard that had bewitched her."

She backhanded me on the shoulder.

"See... The way you treat people? You and Keegan, boy. Nice. Now we're screwed. Maybe if you were nice to the old guy, we'd have an answer right now."

She was flustered and hit me again. "You better pray to God we can find this guy."

Three anxious minutes passed before we arrived at the Welcome Sign. I parked on the shoulder and left the overheads running. He wasn't there. I thought he'd return as soon as we went.

We got out and started down a path that led to the creek. With our flashlights, we looked for anything to help us understand what was happening.

We split up. I went north, and Max went south.

It had been twelve minutes. I was cold, tired, and exhausted. The breeze from the Shenandoah was chilling, and I was ready to call it off.

"Kelly!" Screamed Max. I saw the glow of her flashlight as I sprinted down the hill toward the edge of the creek bed. Something frightened her. Maxine's arms crossed as if trying to comfort herself, and her eyes filled with tears. Her voice cracked as she pointed towards the creek bed and turned away.

"Look."

A mason jar sat nestled among the rocks. I kneeled and picked it up. It weighed down and had an ancient appearance. The discoloration and filth made it impossible for me to see inside. After clearing the sediment at the top, I found the bottle sealed with a rotted cork. I tried to wiggle it loose, but it crumbled in my hand.

Taking the knife from my utility pocket, I dug it out and spilled the contents on the ground. With my flashlight, I sorted the objects. Nails, small bones, and a clump of dried hair were present. I lifted the jar to my nose, sniffed, and threw it into the Shenandoah.

Oh Shit. Moritz's warning.

"Urine."