Fallen
PART 3
The only person who might be able to help me out might not even be speaking to me these days. Tim McManus is an old acquaintance from my prison days, and a specialist in the occult, but he doesn’t exactly like me for having an affair with his sister then dumping her. Cassie was a nice girl, but she wasn’t what I needed when I left Oswald. I was on the rebound from my wife, and my drinking was out of control, the last thing I could cope with was a woman as fragile, and needy as Cassandra McManus. But, now is not the time to be a wuss, so I search out Tim’s number, and press dial.
It’s not until a bleary voice answers, that I realize it’s still only seven a.m.
“Hello?”
“Er, Tim, this is Toby, Toby Beecher.”
“Holy fuck, Toby, do you know what time it is?” his angry voice snarls down the phone.
“Yeah, sorry about that, but I really need your help.”
“Tell me something fucking new!” he snaps, “What is it?”
“I’m investigating this case, and it has us baffled. I thought maybe someone with an intimate knowledge of the occult might be of help?” I try for the pleading tone as I add “Please, Tim?”
Silence.
Maybe this time he’s just going to tell me to go fuck, and it’s not like I’d blame him.
“My office, at ten a.m,” he says and ends the call immediately.
Well, at least he’s willing to see me, so that’s one miracle already today, and it’s only seven a.m.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pick up the examiners report on the way to see Tim; it contains pretty much what Catherine told me on the phone, lots of confusing data with no answers.
Tim McManus’ office is so typical of his nature. It’s modern but cluttered, new age and stuffy at the same time. He’s standing at the window when I walk in, and he doesn’t turn around.
“Tim?” I say tentatively, hoping that he doesn’t have a gun in his hands.
“Toby.”
“How you been?” I sound lame, even to me.
“Busy. You?”
“Oh, pretty busy. Look I’m sorry I called you so early this morning, it’s one of the drawbacks of working the graveyard shift.”
“Was that a pun?” he groans, turning slowly towards me.
“No,” I laugh, “I think I’m too tired for puns right now.”
He looks at me with those accusing eyes, and I know that he still hasn’t forgiven me for dumping Cassie.
“What is it you want from me, Toby?” he asks, “You’ll excuse me if I’m a little abrupt, I’m kind of tired, some asshole woke me early this morning.”
“I wondered if you could look at this report for me, the sample came from the…’thing’ that attacked a vampire owned club earlier tonight. It went back later on and killed several humans and vampires, and almost made sushi out of the big bad vamp who owns the place.”
I hand him the report, which he skims.
“The M.E can’t work out why the sample ‘reactivated’ when it was given electric current. She says that dead samples don’t do that, not even from vampires?”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I’d like to know what can leave dead flesh at the scene and still be big and bad enough tear vampires apart?”
Tim bites his lip, and flicks through the report, “There are things other than vampires that classify as ‘dead’ to a medical examiner,” he explains, “Some demon species, zombies, and voodoo slaves for example.”
I find myself grimacing, it’s still hard to come to terms with vampires being real, the rest of this stuff still makes me squirm at times.
“Demons, zombies and voodoo slaves?”
Tim glares. “Yes. Demons are non-human species, many of which look humanoid, but they rarely show up in civilized areas like big cities. Zombies are the dead, raised by witchdoctors, or necromancers, to use as mindless slaves. Voodoo slaves are the almost dead…”
“The almost dead? Isn’t that like being ‘slightly pregnant’?” I ask with a grin.
“Toby, you asked for my advice, if you’re going to behave like an asshole, go fuck up somebody else’s time!”
“Sorry.” I consider myself figuratively slapped in the mouth for that one.
He continues, “These people are taken to the edge of death, until their conscious mind has released its grip on this world, and they’re…” he searches for the right word, “…frozen in the moment. Probably terrified, and confused, their bodies are controlled by a voodoo priest. They can only be used for a short time, because very slowly, the body dies, inch by inch, but in that time period, they are remarkably strong because the body is flooding itself with adrenaline to try to keep on living.”
I swallow hard; all of this stuff turns my stomach in a big way. I sometimes wonder if we weren’t better off when we didn’t know about this shit?
“Could they tear vampires apart like paper dolls?” I ask.
Tim leans back in his chair, “Theoretically, I guess they could. If they were big strong guys in life, they’d be pretty powerful in this state. What you should be looking for is the guy controlling them. They can’t do this alone, they have no conscious thought.”
“A puppet master?”
“Yes, probably a voodoo priest. Not the new, politically correct, ‘Vodun religion’ types, I mean an old style Sevi Lwa master, who enjoys the power and control. Like all religions, Vodun has a dark side, where they don’t play nice.”
I suddenly feel a wash of tiredness, all of this is sounding kind of crazy, and I’m not sure that my weary body can cope. “So, where might I find one of these guys, one of these ‘Sevi Lwa’ masters?” I ask.
“I don’t know, I’m not an expert on voodoo, but I might be able to point you in the direction of someone who is. His name is Father Ray Mukada, he’s a Catholic priest living at St Xaviers mission on the corner of 5th and Beaumont.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Tim,” I say, and I really mean it.
“Easy, don’t come back, Toby, ever.”
I know it’s dumb, but those words really sting. Tim and I became really good friends… until Cassie.
“How is she?” I ask, wishing I hadn’t the moment the words leave my mouth.
“Don’t fucking go there, Toby, just leave, now.”
I retrieve the report he’s just thrust in my face, and I walk out of the office. He watches me leave with undisguised contempt in his eyes. He’s just another casualty in the train-wreck that is my life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time I reach St Xavier’s Mission I’m really beginning to tire. I’ve been on my feet for twenty-four hours, and the bar across the street is just calling my name. Maybe on little drink might help sharpen me up? I can almost taste the bourbon on my lips, the warmth of it sliding down my throat.
No!
I’m dealing with vampires and fucking zombies, the last thing I need is to be drunk before breakfast.
I ring the bell at the mission house, and a small, elderly woman answers the door.
“Could I see Father Mukada, please?”
“Who are you?” she snaps.
“My name is Tobias Beecher, I’m a Revenant Officer, I called about twenty minutes ago, and he said he’d see me.”
Muttering under her breath, she allows me inside the door. “Take your shoes off, I just polished the floor!” she growls, and I obey without question.
Crazed vampires I can handle, but pissy old ladies with tongues you could flay a demon with, I treat with respect.
She leads me down a corridor into an office. Behind the desk is a small, Asian man, who stands up to welcome me as I walk in.
“Officer Beecher, please come in,” he gestures to a chair and I sit myself down before I begin to tell him what I want from him. He listens intently as I explain what happened this past night.
“So, what do you think, could it be some voodoo guy looking to move in on the vamp clubs, or what?” I ask finally voicing the idea I’ve been playing with all the way over in the car.
He steeples his fingers and looks thoughtful, “Somehow I doubt that. Vodun is a genuine religion, very much like Catholicism in many ways. Its practitioners are mainly peaceful and devout. It is unlikely that they’d crave the kind of ‘entertainment’ that most vampire clubs offer. The use of ‘slaves’ in this way is a terrible breach of religious protocol. In ancient times it was used as a punishment for those who attacked Vodun strongholds. They would ‘reanimate’ the wounded and dying soldiers from the opposing forces, and send them back to fight their own people. Most armies fled when faced with their own soldiers attacking them. Even then religious leaders condemned it as extreme, these days, it would be considered a terrible heresy. I think if someone is using people in this way, they are looking for something very specific, and working for a voodoo practitioner who has no ties to the religion. Have you discovered what it is they were looking for at the club?”
“No, the vampire in charge isn’t very forthcoming,” I try not to laugh, “At least, not about the crime.”
“Who is he?” Fr Mukada asks.
“His name is Keller, he owns ‘The Choirboy’.” I swear that the guys face pales at least three shades. “Why, do you know him?”
“Er, yes, I know of him,” Mukada looks away, and shuffles papers.
“Really, what exactly do you know about him?” I ask now intrigued.
“He’s very powerful,” Mukada says quietly, “And very dangerous.”
“All vamps are dangerous, Father, even with government legislation controlling their actions.”
Mukada looks up into my eyes, and I see genuine fear. “But this one is clever, manipulative, and very old, Officer Beecher, please don’t take him for granted, not even for a moment.”
Now I’m curious, “What do you know about him, Father?” I ask.
The look on the priest’s face says it all. “Nothing, not really,” he mutters, “I’m sorry Officer Beecher, I wish there was more I could do to help.”
“Thanks, I appreciate your help,” I reach over the desk and take Mukada’s hand. There’s still something about him that looks nervous. As I turn to leave I hear him call my name.
“Officer Beecher?”
“Yes?”
He holds out his hand, and I walk back across the room. He tips a silver chain into my hand, an on it is a small solid silver charm.
“What’s this?” I ask. Hey, it’s been a long time since another guy gave me jewelry.
“It’s a talisman, you should wear it. But first, you need a small amount of your own blood, then spit in it, and rub the talisman through it to activate the power.”
I stand there speechless. A Catholic priest is equipping me a pagan relic, and asking me to perform rituals over it?
“Are you supposed to be telling me this stuff?” I ask, “Isn’t that against the church’s doctrines?”
Mukada looks uncomfortable, and his cheeks have turned pink, “There are more things on earth than any one religion can handle, Officer Beecher, it doesn’t hurt to arm yourself with whatever protection you can get when facing these things. Another thing…you might suggest to Mr Keller that a trip to the library of Gil’Hamnan might be beneficial to your investigation.”
“What is that?” I ask, now quite honestly baffled beyond reason.
“I’ve said enough, I’m sorry, I can’t help you any further. May God go with you,” he makes the sign of the cross in my direction, and I feel a little uncomfortable. I’m a failed Episcopalian, and I’m not sure that a Catholic God wouldn’t just love to kick my ass as readily as any demon.
“Thank you, Father.” I clasp his hand once more, and walk out of the door, still clutching my talisman. Retrieving my shoes at the door from a snarling senior citizen with a broom, I find myself out on the sidewalk in the chilly winter sunshine, and all of this suddenly seems like a really bad dream.