Part XXXI

Part XXXI

Hello Aubrey.

How do you know my name?

I know the names of all things. I knew your Uncle. He was the only Unique who ever turned down my invitation to join the Fabulon. I choose my invitations wisely.

Her chuckle was warm and endearing and it passed through me taking all of my nervousness with it.

I was sorry to hear about what happened to him, and even more sorry to hear that you were allowing yourself to be dragged into it.

It's definitely not the smartest thing I've ever done, but I have to.

I know. What is it you want of me?

I need to know how to defeat the Tall Man.

There was silence, or at least as close to silence as there can be had with two people so close to each other in such a small room. Her contemplative sigh undid what her chuckle had accomplished earlier and I sat forward in the chair.

The one you call the Tall Man is very powerful. He is a product of of my battles with the Man of Shadows. He is fear and malice and cunning and avarice. He is the nightmare of a dying child.

The silence again.

He is, however, not all powerful. He can be undone with the very thing that makes him powerful.

What is that?

Fear. If you can turn it upon him, press it against him, his hunger for it will destroy him, as hunger does to all who let it define them.

I still don't understand how to do that.

Your Uncle will.

But he's dead.

Is he? I had understood that there is still an aspect of him, a whole that is now parts.

That's what I'm looking for.

Then you must find it, and make it whole again. It is the only way. You have everything you need.

The pieces, if I can find them, how do I make them whole?

They reside in a state of flux now, bound to objects like a djinn to a bottle. But be cautious, you can not simply release them and hope they remain, you must bring them together in a single object, something that will give them back their ability to be whole again.

You mean give them a body again?

NEVER!

The last word drifted with hot stinging breath to my face.

Once torn apart, they can never again be placed in a vessel of flesh, they would rot it and corrupt it like a virus.

Then, I don't know.

She chuckled again, this time more patronizing and lost of patience.

I have told you what you have asked, and you know more than I can give. The knowledge will come to you when you need it. Now, I must ask you to go. I have work that takes me away now.

Thank you.

How is Alexander?

Her tone, now thoughtful and full of motherly longing.

He looked...content.

She sighed deeply and I heard the unmistakable sound of her shifting her bulk in the chair, which adjusted itself with the sound of crackling timber.

I stood in the dark, wobbly and out of place, and felt my way back to the curtain. Upon opening it, the light split the room, and I turned back, but Mother was gone and her chair sat empty and silent. Then Father was there.

Yeah, she does that.

Back outside the trailer, Father paused for a cigarette and surveyed they dismantling Carnival.

She's talked about you, you know?

What do you mean?

She was a great admirer of your Uncle and how he chose to use his gifts. He even helped us out on a few occasions.

Father blew smoke rings and I looked at them expectantly, waiting for Dragons.

Did she tell you what you needed to know?

I don't know. She thought she did. Maybe I just have to let it sink in.

That's always best.

Father flicked his butt into the dirt beyond the porch and wheeled about to go back into the trailer.

You'll find your friend in the trailer that smells like a frat house, down at the end of the row. The Clowns are useful, but their deportment leaves something to be desired. Hopefully he still has some money left, or you'll find he has little else on him.

Father rolled back in and shut the door behind himself.

I stepped off the porch and walked the lines of the trailers, each seemed its own unique construct, modded and hacked by it's occupant. I knew I was at the right trailer when I began to smell the unmistakable odors of stale cigars and old beer.

Carl was sitting at a round table, dwarfed by the three Clowns sitting with him. He was down to his t-shirt, but looked happy, most likely due to the empty cans of beer before him. How long had I been with Mother? It seemed like mere minutes, but Carl had seven cans in front of him.

Time to go Carl.

But...I'm winning.

No, you're not.

Mr. Jingles stood up.

Let the man finish his hand.

I don't think so.

Jingles gave me the once over and thought a minute about what had brought me here, I'm sure, and finally he threw the cards down and cracked another beer.

Get out of here, games over.

Carl wobbled and looked up, then stood with the confidence of a stumble drunk. He'd lost his pants too.

I grabbed Carl by the t-shirt and dragged him out, behind us the sound of Clowns laughing, deep and mean, pushed through the door.

Back at the Van, I dug a change of cloths from Carl's bag and pushed them at him. He looked defeated and guilty, but about what I didn't know.

Did she tell you.

I guess.

Wha'd she say?

I've got to put all the pieces together. Find a single object that'll hold them all, if we ever find them.

Carl had fallen forward while putting on his pants and was steadying himself with his forehead against the van and trying to shove his foot into the pocket of his pants.

Wha' about the bowling ball?

I looked at Carl and a broad smile lit across my face.

I hate to say this Carl, but you're a genius.

Carl smiled and finally got his leg in his pants.

Part XXX

Part XXX

The Carnival was set off the road on a parcel of community land just West of Slaughterville. It hadn't been hard to find since all of the announcement signs were still peppered on telephone poles along the route. We pulled into the empty gravel lot and parked about twenty feet from the entrance.

I think you should stay in the car.

Why? It's a carnival. It's daylight.

It's daylight, but this isn't your run of the mill carnival.

I'm tired of sitting in the car.

Suit yourself, but no whimpering or crying when things go sideways.

Carl nodded, a look of worry skittering across his eyes.

My business here is not yours, so if you come, you're on your own while I take care of it.

Carl nodded and we hopped out.

The entrance to the grounds was pretty standard, a collapsible arch of wood announcing the a point of disconnect. It was a portal, like all carnival entrances, brightly colored with hints of the wonders inside. Along the main arch was MOTHER'S TRAVELING FABULON in fanciful script of peeling paint.

We'd just stepped over the threshold, when the biggest clown I'd ever seem stepped out from behind a rolling popcorn cart and moved wearily toward us, while he stuffed handfuls of corn in his face.

He stopped in front of us and looked down, surveying us.

I'm Mr. Jingles.

I'm Aubrey, this is Carl. I talked to Father earlier, I'm here to see Mother.

Follow me.

Mr. Jingles turned without pause and walked away. I followed, with Carl squirreling up behind me.

Dude, that is one scary clown.

Just try not piss him off.

We zigged and zagged through the Carnival proper, while around us the Carnies were deep in the work of dismantling the show. It was like being back stage in Vegas, watching the magic become pedestrian when the lights were up.

Eventually we came to the rigs, where everyone camped. And Mr. Jingles put out his arm and almost clothes lined me. I came up just short enough to keep my head. Carl of course slammed into the back of me.

I'll see if she's available.

Mr. Jingles went up the steps and disappeared into the trailer. While we were waiting I caught Carl staring at a pair of twin girls walking the grounds. They were Siamese twins, sharing a dress. I smacked Carl on the back of the head.

You see anyone staring at you?

Why would they?

They may never have seen someone with half a brain walking around.

Carl hung his head then took a sideways cursory glance back at the girls. I smacked him again. he yelped and the door to the trailer opened again.

Mr. Jingles stepped out and came back down the stairs.

She'll see you.

Thanks.

Mr. Jingles then turned his attention to Carl.

You want a beer half brain?

Carl stared slack jawed until Mr. Jingles pushed him away from the trailer.

I hope you brought money too, we're going to play poker.

Carl reached in his pocket, freeing a moth. I handed him a couple of bills.

As Mr. Jingles led Carl away I took the steps to the trailer door, unsure what exactly it was I was going to ask, or how I was going to ask it.

Stepping inside, I had to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. As the door closed behind me I found myself standing in a small waiting area replete with two wing-back chairs and a potted plant, like the waiting room of a doctor who has their practice in their home. To the right was a curtain under which bright blue and green lights pulsed. To the left was another curtain under which no light was visible at all.

The Right Curtain swung open filling the small space with the cold wash of the bank of monitors and communications equipment arranged in a spectacularly small but efficient space. I then heard a familiar voice as a man in a wheelchair rolled through.

You must be Aubrey.

You must be Father.

We shook hands.

Have a seat, it'll be a minute or two. She'll let us know when she's ready. I sat on the edge of one of the chairs.

Coffee?

Sure.

Father pulled a cup from the side of his chair and a thermos from the other and poured a cup, handing it over to me.

It's only about 30 minutes old. It should still have a decent flavor.

I'm used to road mud, so I'm sure it's more than fine.

When you spend as much time on the road as we do, it's the little things that make the difference.

I took a sip. It was probably the best cup of coffee I'd ever had, complex and balanced with almost no acid and warm under tones of chocolate.

It's single source. We roast it here.

It's good.

It's Ethiopian Blue Nile.

Our little back and forth was broken when a voice, simultaneously strong and quiet pushed through the curtain to the left.

Father?

Yes Mother?

Please show our guest in.

Father took the coffee cup from my hand and maneuvered himself to open the curtain. I stood and ducked through the curtain, just fast enough to glimpse the small sitting room before me, where a woman, dark skinned and large, sat in a chair; her white milky blind eyes fixed on me. Then the curtain dropped and the room was plunged into darkness.

Part XXIX

Part XXIX

The Old Man was pissed by the time we got back. He'd worked up a noxious combination of hair ball and hate, and had dropped it outside the sandbox, where it had festered in the heat and turned the atmosphere inside the van un-breathable.

We rolled down the windows and Carl lit match after match and flicked them at the Old Man trying to catch him on fire. I eventually put a stop to it. We pulled into the fist Hotel I could find, but not before we stopped into the S’Enivrer, the rotting corpse of a roadhouse, whose name meant "drink to excess".

I dumped the Old Man's sandbox just beyond the gravel parking lot and poured him a new landing strip. I'd given him his potion with just the juice from a can of tuna and told him he'd get the rest as soon as he quit pissing me off. He gave me the stink eye and a hiss and then curled up on the bed in the back.

I've heard people say before that beer tastes better in the heat of Louisiana. If they're talking about some dreck like Bud, they might just be right. What they forgot to mention is that from the moment the bottle is put in front of you, it's a race against time. You against thermodynamics. By the time you down the last, now tepid, sip, the outside of the bottle has enough condensation on it to drown a mouse.

We were two beers in before Carl said anything, and to be truthful I was grateful. I liked Carl, but most of what came out of his mouth was a mix of misinterpretation and stupidity.

You think that guy is actually part Gater?

No Carl, he's not, and I think you might not want to talk about it.

Carl had asked his question loud enough to garner the attention of just about everyone around us. We were being looked at like our our welcome was wearing thin. So I ordered another round and waited to see if anyone wanted to do anything about it.

It turned out they didn't.

Back at the hotel, I let Carl go under before I picked up my cell phone to call Father. I stepped out side onto the landing and leaned over the rail. I looked down at the swimming pool and wondered for a minute what lived beneath the fuzzy brown surface.

The phone rang through three times.

Donny's Donut Hole.

Gater hadn't said anything about a password, but I knew I had to say what I needed without saying what I meant.

I hear you make 'em from an old family recipe?

Where'd you hear that?

From a little girl and her brother.

He a big University of Florida fan?

Yes he is.

There was a click and then a squawk. The phone signal had been scrambled.

You must be Aubrey.

You must be Father.

How'd he look, we haven't seen him in a while.

He seemed content. Then again I'd never met him before.

There was a momentary pause on the line.

What can we do for you?

I need to speak to Mother.

Well, I can't promise you anything, but we're just outside Slaughterville, Oklahoma. We'll be here two more days, cleaning up, and then we're gone.

I'll be there.

That was it, phone call done, and a 13 hour trip to make.

I set the alarm and laid on the bed without taking my clothes off. I'd meant to, but I had just wanted to rest my eyes. As soon as the room went black, the alarm went off.

My eyes felt like they had bees trapped under the lids. I rolled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. By the time I had showered, Carl had woken up. I don't know for sure if he'd done it on his own, or if it was because I'd turned the TV on as I'd passed it.

I found him enraptured by cartoons.

Thirty minutes later we were eating breakfast and thirty after that we were on the road. While I drove, Carl looked up Slaughterville on the cell phone browser so he could be comfortable with its name. It had been named after a grocery store, not a slaughterhouse. As Carl poked deeper into the cities online presence, all of eight wikipedia paragraphs, we'd discovered that PETA had tried to get them to change the town's name. Sounded like a real swingin' place. In the back of my mind I kept hearing Father say they'd be cleaning up, but cleaning up what?

We passed the time listening to evangelical nut jobs on the AM, and playing sad games of I-Spy, that seemed to delve into the surreal of our subconscious. After about thirty minutes or so we'd just be making stuff up. The last thing Carl spied put an end to the game and made me take my eyes off the road to look at him.

What?

There's something not right about you Carl?

Part XXVIII

Part XXVIII

Gater, there's two men with bad sunburns coming up fast in a canoe.

Oh hell Aubrey, she's seen us.

We weren't sneaking up Carl. It'll be fine, just make sure that when you see Alexander that you don't say a single thing that comes into your mind. Ok?

I'll try.

As if on cue, the man they called the Swamp Devil stepped out of the small house. He was drying his hands with a towel. I could only imagine he'd been doing the dishes.

He was shirtless, and who could blame him in this heat. His skin was the color of cigarette ash, speckled with with bumps like a 70's spray foam ceiling. When he flapped the towel over his shoulder to give it a place to rest, it sounded like it was hitting concrete, not skin. When he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth were big and stained the deep rich color of saffron broth. Carl started to shake, and I was afraid he was going to start crying.

I took the advantage and cut Gater off before he could do more than clear his throat.

Alexander Delacroix?

How do you know my name?

It was told to me a long time ago by my Uncle.

I brought the canoe to a rest a respectful distance away. Carl whimpered in the front.

Did I know him?

No.

You've come a long way to find me.

I need your help.

What is it you think I can do for you?

I need to find the woman they call Mother.

Gater smirked and caught a small laugh from getting away.

What business do you have with her?

I need to ask her some questions. I'm hunting The Tall Man.

I saw what the name of the moniker did. Olivia quietly took her brother's hand, and the chill from her touch froze the moisture still on his hand.

The thing was that they'd probably never heard him called that, because everyone had their own secret name for him. But when someone said their name for him, the intonation was always the same, the understanding instant in its dread.

Come inside. Speak no more here. The Swamp is always listening.

The house was humble and sparce, but it also exuded charm. All of the furniture was handmade from the floatsum and jetsum of the world just beyond its front door. We sat at the kitchen table, whose base was a small cypress stump with a finished Oak door for a top. The chairs were similar to one's I'd seen in the Appalachian Mountains, tethered branches and logs manipulated with steam and held in place with wood pegs.

We don't have much, but I can offer fresh sassafras tea.

Sounds good.

Gater poured three glasses and Olivia went around the table and one at a time, she gripped the glass and chilled the tea.

Carl picked his up and took a long drink. It seemed to settle him.

Thank you.

Gater looked at him and dropped a smile of pity for Carl's obvious fear. Then, he turned back to me.

Your Uncle, was he a Magician?

You could say that I guess.

I think I have heard of him. There was a Magician twenty years ago or so, turned Mother down when she offered him a place among the Uniques.

Uniques?

Like me. People with the great gift of uniqueness.

The Carnival?

Gater nodded.

He never told me that.

You're unique too, aren't you?

Not really. There's a lot of people that can do what I do.

But not a lot who use it the way you do.

I couldn't answer that, so I took a sip of tea.

What is it you think Mother can do for you?

Help me figure out how to put an end to the Tall Man.

Gater leaned back and I could see him mulling it over. I was asking a lot, and I had a feeling it would probably come with a price.

Gater picked up a pencil and tore off a piece of newspaper from small stack lying on the floor behind him. He wrote phone a number on it and before he handed it across he locked his yellow eyes on mine.

How do I know I can trust you?

You don't.

Gater nodded and slid the piece of paper across to me. It wasn't much, but I memorized the number then turned the paper to ash with a green flame from my palm. It seemed to be enough.

I'll tell Father you're coming.

Thanks.

That little matter out of the way, we were invited to stay for dinner. I'd never known snake could taste so good.

It was dark out when we climbed back in the canoe. We hadn't brought flashlights, so I mumbled under my breath. At first I didn't think it had worked, but then they started to arrive. Around us the swamp began to pulse with the light of a thousand fireflies. I could hear the pleasured yelp of Olivia as they clustered around the canoe and then fanned out in front of us to guide our way. In a rare show of solidarity, they blinked in unison. As I lowered the paddle into the water and pushed us off and away, I was overcome by a feeling of well being, a sense that I was on the right path.

Part XXVII

Part XXVII

The first stop we'd made was New Orleans. It wasn't for Pirate Jane this time, but to get a few things at the VooDoo shops that I'd not picked up last time I'd left Jane's. I couldn't go back there, no one could. As we rolled by, I noticed the place had already changed hands, and it looked as though someone was going to wash away the years of bad mojo by converting it into a nail salon. Somewhere Pirate Jane was cursing the heavens.

I knew a few other shops, ones that Jane had actually turned me onto. I didn't know the Priestesses who ran them, but we shared a few memories of Jane as they bundled up my purchases.

New Orleans faded fast as I headed down 23 to Plaquemines Parish and Port Sulfer. As we rode 23 down, it looked so different from the only other time I had seen it. This is some of America's best fishing country, but Katrina had rolled through like a mistress drunk on Gin, and had busted all the pretty vases.

I wasn't even sure the person I was looking for was alive, or even here. Last I'd heard he'd been building himself a home out deep in the marshes where he went by the name of Gater.

He'd been persecuted most of his life for the visual transformation the ichthyosis had performed on him. Grey scaly skin, and a yellowing of the eyes, that while unrelated, had significance. He'd lost his family in a fire, when some drunken good 'ol boys had tried to kill what everyone else referred to as the "swamp devil". Some said it was the beer that made them do it, some the heat, but in the end everyone secretly knew that what had made them do it was fear.

Plaquemines Parish is home to the first seventy miles of the Mississippi river, or the last seventy depending on how you look at it. It's where the river disgorges into the sea. It's what made all the Voodoo and witchcraft so prevalent in the area. With all the moving water, the dead could be handled with ease. So could just about anything susceptible to the pull of the mighty Mississippi.

It took a while to find anyone to talk to, not because everyone was skittish, but because there was literally no one in sight. I finally found a gas station, and after mumbling a little translation spell, I had a short conversation in creole with a man who looked like he'd lost weight recently so his clothes were loose and crumpled. Problem was, while his clothes where a a bit big, it was his skin that hung loose.

All it took in the end was a simple question.

Where's the swamp devil?

He raised a claw and pointed down the road a piece and told me we could rent a swamp boat and that if we took it 30 minutes west, we'd know it when we came to it. He said after Katrina rolled in, only one stilt house had remained, and that was were the Devil and his sister lived.

He tried to tell me not to go, but then just gave up and sat back down in his folding chair, lighting a hand rolled cheroot and coughing out the smoke.

It took a few more dollars than the rental to convince the proprietor I knew how to drive the boat and didn't need a guide. I asked him to look after the van and told him no matter how much the Old Man complained through the cracked windows, to not let him out. I lied and said I was afraid he'd wander too close to the water and get eaten by a gater. Truth was, it was the gaters I was worried for.

Carl smiled as the wind slapped him and we ran full throttle through what was left of the still recovering marshes. I hoped Gater would be able to help me, I needed to find someone he was close to. I needed to find his former home, the traveling Freak Show they called the Fabulon. I needed to ask the woman who ran it a few questions, a few questions about the Tall Man. Her name was Mother, and she knew the Tall man very well.

It was almost thirty minutes on the dot when the marshes started to become thick again and I had to slow down to maneuver more precisely through the tangle. Eventually, the Cypress appeared and we switched from the swamp boat to the small canoe we'd rented as well.

We tied the swamp boat to a tree and marked it by hanging the extra life jacket tied as high we could on the propeller cage. Fluorescent Orange stands out in a swamp of green and brown. It took a few minutes to balance Carl in the front of the little canoe, that reminded me of the ones I'd paddled on many times before in the camps my parents had always sent me to for the summer. I was going in the back. I didn't trust Carl to paddle well, let alone steer.

Ten minutes later, soaked to the bone with sweat and pretty sure that every mosquito biting me was going to give me malaria, the house on stilts rose into our sight. Carl kind of choked on some spit as he saw it, and I could feel the vibration of his nervous leg rolling through the canoe.

It's just a house.

Yeah, but what lives in a house that takes two kinds of boats to get to, through alligator and mosquito filled bong water.

A friend's house.

You really know this guy?

Well, I know of him.

The boat almost rolled as Carl shot back as though a snake had crested the side of the boat and slithered up his shorts.

Carl. you roll us and I will feed you to the first thing with teeth that pays a visit.

Carl raised his hand and pointed just to the right of the house.

I looked past his arm and saw what had spooked him. Standing on the little cross bridge that lead from the house to the patch of dry ground across from it was a little girl. She was dressed in a nice pink frilly dress and patent leather shoes as though just back from church. Through her I could see the trees.

She's not going to hurt you Carl. She's just a little girl.

A little transparent girl.

She's a runner Carl. She's Gater's sister. I think her name is Olivia.

Part XXVI

Part XXVI

I parked the Van in front of the storage facility just as the sun was painting the world with magic. Carl had been glum the rest of the ride, so I left him wander away from the van to get his bearings. I worked the runes on the door to the storage unit and as it slid up, I heard Carl let out a yelp.

It's just an automatic door.

I turned to look at Carl who'd just had a wad of bugs vomited onto his shoes by the old infested guy.

While Carl freaked out and brushed uselessly at his clothes trying to knock off invisible bugs, I had a small chat with my infested friend. I mumbled under my breath so he could get a word in edge wise.

Been visitors...cough.

Yeah? what kind?

Night time...cough...shadows.

He was talking about the kind of shadows that don't have a body attached to them. They're all recon and can't do anything to you, but they're hell to get rid of. You have to push them into a corner, or somewhere they can't get away from and fry them with UV. If you don't keep the light on them until their entirely gone, they'll just grow back from whatever little bit you left behind.

I told him to wait for a minute and went back to the van. I opened the spice rack up and knocked together a sort of insecticidal tea mixture.

I put it into a zip lock back and took it back to the guy. I didn't know if he wanted to be rid of brood nut someone had convinced him, or forced him to swallow so long ago, but I told him if he did, this would do the trick. He thanked me, but the look in his eye told me he'd become accustomed to their company. I'd heard about it before, it was a form of Stockholm Syndrome, that most psychiatrists never knew existed.

I'd met someone who'd been cured one time. He was in an asylum and a witness to a case I was perusing. Unlike the guy down the hall from him who felt invisible bugs crawling all over him, and who was not allowed any sharp objects, this guy could no longer feel his insides move, and so he cried himself to sleep at night. He may have been the loneliest person I'd ever met.

Carl calmed down once I took him inside and closed the door. He and the Old Man hit the couch almost instantly. I wasn't sure how this whole thing was going to work out, but I knew that I wasn't going to get much help from the two dead beats I had watching my back.

Two weeks ago, I'd never imagined I'd be where I was now. That in its own way was weirdly comforting. It meant that there was no specific path that I had to follow. It also meant that I'd somehow, along the way, committed to giving up everything I knew to start a war with something that I wasn't prepared to do battle with.

There were five places I needed to visit, and along the way, I was going to be tracked, intimidated, hunted and basically pissed on. But if I succeeded, my Uncle could move on, move on to where he belonged. And if I made it out alive, my name would mean death.

After a beer or two, Carl came back from the dead and helped me transfer the gun rigs from the cabinet to the rack system already installed behind a sliding panel in the Van. In under two hours, the van had gone from a nostalgia trip to a death dealer.

It wasn't long before the Shadows started to creep in too. I noticed the first one trying to hide, balled under the desk like a bright light was casting the shadow of the Old Man onto the floor. Problem was, the light would have had to penetrate the table. I casually picked up the old man and walked him out to the van. I closed the door and mumbled under my breath.

Back in the storage unit I closed the door and took two pairs of goggles, tossing one to Carl.

What the hell's this for?

Put 'em on or go blind. Up to you.

Carl fumbled with the straps as I slid mine on. They were round aviator goggles, with the lens glass replaced with the same stuff found in Welder's masks. You could look an eclipse all day with these things on.

Carl finally got his on well enough for me to think he'd be OK.

You should also shut your eyes, just in case.

Carl's cheek bones rose as his eyes clamped shut under the goggles.

I mumbled under my breath, charming the shadows out like snakes from a basket. They were everywhere. As they rose through the air, diaphanous black sheets on puppet strings, I pushed a button on a small remote in my hand and the inside of the storage facility turned white. The shadows died, screaming like beetles being baked under a magnifying glass.

I let the button go and the room turned visible again. Taking the goggles off I looked over at Carl and realized I'd forgotten the sunscreen.

For the next two days Carl and I looked like Raccoons. By the end of the week, we'd started to shed our skin, molting into something to be reckoned with.

Part XXV

Part XXV

As we passed the gates leading into Island Home, I mumbled under my breath, to see if anything had gotten through. Nothing lit up, so I had to assume nothing had.

When Carl and I got back to my place, the Old Man was curled at Em's feet purring. Em herself was just sitting there staring straight ahead, oblivious to everything. I took a glance in the direction she was looking, but there wasn't anything but window.

I asked her if she wanted me to turn off the water, she nodded almost imperceptible and I went back into the hall and flipped the switch on the bannister. By the time I got back to the kitchen, she was gone and the Old Man was awake and hungry. I took care of him first.

As the Old Man lit into his tuna and potion, I opened the fridge and grabbed a couple of beers. When I turned to Carl to hand him one, he was frozen, staring at the exact same spot Em had been. When she'd left, she must have passed through the window. The change in temperature had caused the water in the air to condense and what was left was a message, a message that had been written on the window from the outside. I guess Em has seen who'd written it, and that's why she wanted out.

On the window, set against the condensation were the words, I'M WAITING.

Carl downed his beer in record time and asked me WTF was going on. I tried to explain to him how Em had lowered the temperature of the window when she passed through, but then I realized he didn't see EM, so he just stared at me like I'd crapped in his shoes.

Who's EM?

You know, the poet. Emily Dickinson.

Carl just walked to the fridge and grabbed another beer and headed for the living room. He called back to me like a hurt child before rounding the corner.

You don't have to tell me, but there's no reason to an ass about it.

The next morning, while Carl was still sleeping it off in the spare bed room, I loaded the van with everything, including the Old Man, his litter box and his jug of juice.

I scribbled a note for Carl and left it on the last bottle of beer in the fridge where I could be sure he'd find it. I flipped the water on before I closed the back door and locked it. I hated to leave Carl like this, but it was better this way. He'd hate for a few days, but then he'd sober up and forgive me while he raided my freezer and played my XBOX until his eyes bled.

I pulled off the road in Dothan, Alabama with the intent of buying some pecans, but when I got to where Troy Simms Nuts was supposed to be, I pulled into a dead parking lot. I'd blinked for five years and now it was gone. Something inside shriveled and died knowing that I'd never taste a good pecan again. That's when I remembered that I'd forgotten to stop in Chilton for peaches and the whole day felt like it couldn't get any worse.

But, while I was here I took the opportunity to chuck some of the Old Man's finest creation out into the grass by the lot's edge. Even with a charcoal filter, the van was small. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like there were pieces of finger nail in one. I guess it took time to pass fingernails.

Getting back in the Van, I slammed the door a little harder than I intended and the Old Man gave me a hiss, just before I heard Carl wake up screaming.

I turned around, and there he was, bleary eyed sleeping in my back forty.

What the Hell are you doing here Carl?

Car rubbed his eyes and reached down into the cooler near the foot of the bed and pulled out the beer with the note on it.

I got your note.

Carl cracked the top off and climbed up to the passenger seat. He pushed the Old Man off the chair before the Old Man had time to react and sat down. The Old Man looked back at him in sheer confusion to his abrupt arrogance. Then the Old Man gave him that look that I knew would require much diligence on my part to keep from coming true, before he turned and showed Carl his ass as he wandered to the bed in back.

All of this took place in a split second, none of which Carl even noticed. When I looked at him, the beer was half gone and there was a grin on his face that killed most of my anger.

I sure do love a road trip Aubrey. So, where are we going?

Straight to Hell.

I turned the engine over and launched back onto the road, while out of the corner of my eye I watched Carl's grin die.

Part XXIV

Part XXIV

Bruce opened a new terminal window and executed a search string. The monitors began to run trough an avalanche of data. One by one they settled, tumblers falling into place.

The last one settled on a map of the US. Each of the others was a pinpoint with longitude and latitude. The main monitor had five radiating ripple points, spread across the country.

Can you narrow it down?

Bruce swiveled in his chair and looked me straight in the eyes.

That is narrowed down Aubrey. He's in five pieces.

It took me a moment to wrap my head around it.

Reliquaries?

Bruce turned back to the bank of monitors.

Probably. But Aubrey, this isn't good. He can only last that way for a short period of time. Eventually the pieces will coalesce and then...

Yeah, then it's too late.

The printer next to the desk whirled up.

You starting from here?

Better make it Panama City. I need to gear up.

Bruce played the keyboard like a monkey plays a peanut. The printer started spitting out volumes. While it was running, Bruce reached down and pulled a flash drive from the USB port. He handed it to me.

Paper and secure, just in case. You can plug this in anywhere and bring the data back up. It's got a self contained Linux system on it. The host computer won't even know it's there.

I put it in my pocket.

What are you dealing with here Aubrey?

More like who. I'm pretty sure the Tall Man's behind this.

Bruce just nodded. He wasn't even going to allow my little moniker to pass his lips. He had a family.

What do I owe you?

A promise you won't get yourself killed. My wife likes you too much.

I'd be a liar if I gave you that.

Then give me a Sanctuary, in case word gets out I helped you.

That I could do. While Bruce bound the itinerary the printer had spit out, I pulled a piece of chalk from my pocket and got to work reinforcing his office.

As we climbed back up the stairs, I marked every step on the riser so the marks wouldn't get rubbed off. If something wanted to get down here, they'd have to fight every step of the way.

After Bruce closed the hidden door, I hit it too, the runes I was using were the oldest thing around. Once done I mumbled under my breath and the markings seeped deep into the surface. I did the same with the cooler door.

Outside, the crickets were awake, and the air felt thick and chewy. Bruce walked with me back into the bar. I stayed to the outside and he went naturally behind the bar. Around the corner, Carl was still in the corner booth. He had three more empty glasses in front of him. Bruce's wife just smiled at me.

I had one more sitting at the bar talking to Bruce and his wife. We talked about everything and nothing, just like regular folks. Cashing out, I said my goodbyes and grabbed Carl.

Just before the front door closed behind me, I mumbled under my breath and touched the door jamb. Only those who where welcome could walk through it now. It'd probably cause some confusion with people Bruce didn't like, but a few angry soon to be ex-customers were the least of his worries now. I'd implicated him and he knew it. If the Tall Man was behind this scavenger hunt for my Uncle's soul, then Bruce and his wife were probably going to get a visit soon.

PART XXIII

Part XXIII


She laughed and poured 'em.

How have you been?

I've been OK. I came to see Bruce.

He's in the back office.

I positioned Carl in the back corner booth so he could watch the front door. The back office was in a covered garage attached to the back of the bar. The place had been a printshop or something a long time ago.

I walked around the bar and passed the dart boards, pushing through the door that led to the back patio. Through another gate to the gravel lot and a hard left brought me to the garage door.

I knocked lightly and entered. Bruce already knew I was coming, his wife had signaled him with a little switch by the register that turned a small 25w red bulb on next to the cooler.

Bruce was waiting for me.

I heared you had a Congregation at your place. You should have let me know.

Bruce was refering to the Reapers. A group of crows is called a murder, and a group of ravens a congress. Well, when Reapers got together in groups, they called it a congregation. The irony wasn't lost on anyone.

You'd have come over there with a case of beer and that little DIY crossbow of yours and sat on my roof raising hell. I didn't want to wake the neighborhood.

Bruce smiled in agreement, then looked off for a bit like he was imagining shooting a bunch of the bastards dead while he slammed PBRs.

So what brings you around Aubrey?

I need some intel.

Well, step into my office.

Bruce pulled hard on the cooler door and we both stepped in. He closed the door behind us and the temperature dropped. We passed the short distance to the back where Bruce reached behind a Keg and pressed the release for the back door, which swung up revealing a sloping staircase. A neon sign came to life, just inside the stairwell, lighting the way. It read:

Fine Weapons
The Right to Buy Weapons
Is the Right to be free

Bruce had stolen it as an homage to F. Paul Wilson and his Repairman Jack novels. It was the same sign Jack's friend and arms dealer, Abe Grossman, has over his secret stairwell in the books. It comes from a libertarian bent Sci-Fi novel, written by AE van Vogt, called "The Weapon Shops of Isher".

The Door closed behind us as we descended into Bruce's office. At the bottom of the stairs Bruce clapped his hands twice and lights came on.

A clapper, Bruce?

Bruce turned to me and smiled, amused.

Yeah, pretty cool huh?

The room looked like any workshop you might see in someone's garage except that almost everything Bruce built was a custom made weapon for killing things that went bump in the night.

The DIY crossbow I'd refereed to was a pneumatic crossbow that cocked itself and replenished the bolts from a clip, just like an automatic, except for the pneumatic bit. It was practically silent. The bolts themselves were custom made. The tips were standard four blade configuration, but had their tips coated with diamond dust and little channels in them so that when they hit, the impact would shatter an ampule of mercury in the shaft and it would be guided it right where it need to go. Mercury killed Reapers deader than Christmas in Sri Lanka.

The thing with Bruce's gadgets though was that he made them more complex than they needed to be. He had a thing for Steampunk, so even The Big Sleep, as he liked to refer to the Reaper crossbow, was tricked out in odd sorts of ways. The compressed air tank was actually two tanks. One was packed with Dry Ice, the other full of pressurized CO2. Every-time you shot a bolt, and it could shoot 40 a minute with each clip holding 80, two things would happen. One, a tiny LED light hidden in old Vacuum tubes would go off, and two, a small puff of white vapor from the bottom dry ice container would come out a little chimney on the top making the whole thing look like it was powered by steam. The canister itself was housed in a polished mahogany backpack sort of thing, with the tubes on top. It was a truly insane thing to watch.

Bruce moved past the tables to the back where he had a bank of 6 really nice 30" Apple flat screens running probably one of the most sophisticated pieces of supernatural tracking software ever conceived. It was truly SOFTware, too.

His three G5s were paralleled and then attached to an older, wetter sort of processor. In the closet next to the machine were two shelves. On each shelf was 3 jars, in each jar was a brain, kept functioning through an odd combination of magic, electrical current, and some sort of zombie tea cooked up by a witch doctor in Haiti. All the brains had belonged to psychics that had once been part of the Russian Army's Occult research during WWII. Bruce had bought them online, one at a time, harvested within seconds of them passing away. Yeah, it was a little beyond me.

The whole thing came to life in an instant. Something about the combined processor power made boot-up nearly impossible to see.

What are we looking for?

My Uncle. I need to know for certain that there's no trace of him on this plane.

Bruce nodded, too much time had passed for condolences.

Part XXII

A couple of beers and Carl had returned to what passed for normal. There was a bit of a panic when he ran out of corn nuts, but I had him covered. I always had him covered.

I hadn't intended to tell Carl the bits of the story I'd left out earlier, but now that he was this deep in he deserved to know. He sat silently for about ten minutes after I finished, then he said what only Carl could say.

Dude, that's fucking boss.

Then he paused a moment and before he could open his mouth again I shut him down. I knew where he was going.

No, I'm a Wizard, not a Djinn. I don't grant wishes.

That's OK, it's still pretty boss.

The evening had begun to set in when I told Carl I need to go talk to someone and get some answers. I'd done little to find out who'd killed my Uncle in the past few days due to having to survive. But the Reapers had finally scampered off when nothing fun happened and I was getting a little cabin fever.

Em said she'd rather I left the water on for a bit longer and I told her to make herself at home, as much as a non corporal spirit could. I though about taking the van but then decided we should probably take Carl's car instead. As much as I liked the van it was a bit showy.

I took the keys out of Carl's hand before he could even think about driving and we burned out of Island Home. As we passed the pillars at the entrance I mumbled under my breath, setting a proximity alarm of sorts that would let me know if anyone who didn't belong came in while I was out.

The lights on the Henley Street bridge flickered on as we crossed and I kept to the right and took I-40 west. Most people who lived out here preferred to go downtown rather than to West Knoxville, but I'd grown up in West Knoxville and so I had a fondness for it.

The place we were going was a little bar off of Northshore. It sat between a bike shop and an upholstery store that never seemed to be open. If you didn't know where it was you'd most likely pass it. The sign that hung over the front door said it was an English Pub, but that was a load of bull. They didn't even have a deep fryer and the closest thing you got to fish and chips was salmon dip and pita bread, but it was good dip.

Union Jacks was where I spent most of my free time. I'd found it one day while tracking down a kid who'd been fencing artifacts to stupid people. One of the people who'd bought something off of him tried to use it in a summoning ceremony. That wasn't the problem, the artifact was genuine, the problem was that what they summoned was hungry.

I'd been asked by a friend of mine on the force to help track the thing down. She didn't exactly know what I was, but she knew I was good at tracking things down. The rest of the cops thought I was a phony psychic or something, but she always got her man, or thing. In the end we had to shave a dead dog and pump its stomach full of bits of the kids so the truth of what it'd been would stay hidden. Knoxville's a Baptist town, they like their hell where they can't see it.

It was a slow night, which was perfect for me. I hated crowded bars, and I hated this bar to be crowded even worse. This was my living room.

Bruce's wife was behind the bar when Carl and I walked in. She was pouring a Guinness with an odd smile on her face. She was German, so her name came with an umlout. She was also a Witch of the first order. I peered over the tap to see her finish the head with a little drawing in the foam. It wasn't a clover though.

Trouble?

She looked at me smirking.

Not anymore.

She walked the beer down the bar and set it in front of a guy who looked like he'd been there since open. They're a beer bar and don't open until 4, but some people drink fast, and then come here.

The guy turned around and looked at the Guinness.

What the fuck is this?

It's on me sweetheart.

Well if it's free then.

The guy grabbed the beer and took a sip and she walked back toward me like the cheshire cat.

What'd he do to deserve that?

He called me honey.

Fair enough.

The rune she'd drawn on top of the Guinness was going to make it turn into a semi solid before it reached his colon. It'd eventually work its way out, but it wasn't going to be fun. It was a very old bar trick and it only worked with Guinness, because it was the only beer you could draw in. She'd been kind though. I'd heard of a guy in Ireland who went home one night from a pub after making unwanted advances toward the owner's twelve year old daughter. They found him the next day covered in a green moss that'd eaten him from the inside out.

What'll you have Aubrey?

We'll have a couple of Table Rocks.

Part XXI

Part XXI

Watching the mayhem unfold on the map had been a little more than I wanted to see. It'd thrown Em into a deep depression and we both knew it would be a while before she would be able to leave. The Reapers were probably going to hang around for a while. I also couldn't shrug the feeling that it had been my fault. I never should have pulled the bowling ball out of the van until I'd known what it was.

We sat silently in the living room well past the time when the candles had burned down to nothing and hardened again in amorphous blobs. Like the world outside, the map was clear. I'd almost started to think the Reapers had moved on as well until I heard one climb the gutter and perch on the roof. Listening to it chatter and coo made me want to drop some tar magic on its ass and send it packing, but that wouldn't do anybody any good. Reapers knew when you killed one of their own and the last thing you wanted were a bunch of mischievous Reapers shadowing you for the rest of your life just waiting for the chance to digest your spirit.

As I sat thinking about what to do I could hear Em mumbling the beginnings of a new poem in her head. You could always tell when she was working on one because she would repeat the words over and over again, adjusting them just slightly, then she'd pause and begin a new line. I felt a bit sad for her because she couldn't write them down anymore. I'd offered once to help her get them down, but she said they weren't meant for anyone but her.

The Old man had gotten restless alone in the living room and padded into the dining room where he jumped up on the table and walked onto the map. He laid down across it and started to purr. He was an unforgiving bastard.

Just when we were starting to get use to the Reapers scuttling across the roof like squirrel playing, there three hard raps on the front door. I knew who it was right away and cursed under my breath. Stupid son of a bitch.

I walked out of the dinning room and crossed the living room floor feeling like I'd lost a friend. I got to the first door and opened it and stepped into the mud room. I peered out the eye hole and dropped my head. I turned the nob and before Carl could say anything I grabbed his sleeve and threw him into the house shutting the door.

This wasn't going to work out well. I kept too many secrets and Carl reminded me of a friend I'd lost in the past. He didn't know what was going on and he looked at me only slightly startled.

He'd caught himself against the interior door jamb. I knew he wanted to ask me what the hell I'd done ripping him into the house, but by the beads of sweat on his forehead I knew he was actually grateful. At that moment I knew Carl had made a fateful mistake coming back and I ached inside knowing that even though I'd try my best to keep him safe, he was just too naive to survive what was coming.

He stammered and threw some Korn Nuts into his mouth. He talked through the crunching, I'm sure all that activity in his mouth gave him courage, like sucking on gravel to survive in the desert.

What the fuck is that on your roof?

It's a big squirrel Carl. Why are you here? I thought I told you to go away for a while?

You're all I've got Aubrey. I couldn't just leave you. I know something's up. It bothered me all night. I want to help.

I sighed heavy.

Then get us a few beers from the fridge, OK.

Carl shook his head like a little kid being told how a rocket ship worked, but not having the slightest idea what's being told to them.

It didn't look like a squirrel Aubrey, it looked like death.

Yeah. Sorry about that.

PART XX

As I struggled to catch my breath I looked up and saw Em looking at me through the glass porch door. She looked upset. I tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, but the words froze in my throat.

Something moved to my right. I turned my head as I tried to lift myself up. It was more solid, this thing moving quickly through the front yard. It was a Reaper, and it scampered up the gutter and positioned itself onto the roof. I didn't know for sure what was about to happen, but when I saw another one jump along the back fence of the School for the Deaf, something about the way it was moving made me think of an Australian collie.

Reapers reminded me of something I'd seen in an old EC comic when I was a kid. It was a story about a grave hopper, this lanky wiry old man turned ghoul with tattered cloths and bare feet that hopped through the cemetery from grave stone to grave stone, occasionally stopping to perch atop one, knees at the chest. Reapers had the agility to move at astonishing speed. They never walked upright anymore, but scampered and jumped from perch to perch.

The creepiest thing about them though was that they had no lips and they communicated in a code akin to morse by chattering their teeth. The sad thing about them was they'd all been death runners at one time. If you survived long enough, you eventually became a Reaper. It was the price you payed for the extra time.

The death runners could feel their presence and started to scatter, the temperature rose drastically and by the time I'd made it to the door, it was almost balmy.

Shutting the door behind me I listened as at least two Reapers scampered back and forth across my roof, chattering their tactical strike. Back in the dinning room I hovered over the map and watched the whole sick thing play out. There wasn't anything I could do. There's a number of things you learn along the way, the first is never say the tall man's name, and coming in a close second is you never fuck with a Reaper when they've got work to do.

I soon realized why the Reaper on the fence had made me think of a collie. On the board there must have been twenty Reapers running the perimeter of the Island. They could be discerned from the death runners because in this particular conjure, they appeared on the map as small balls of light while the death runners were still just wisps of smoke.

I heard Em pull a deep breath, or at least the sound of one, when she picked up on their plan too.

Oh Aubrey, they're herding them to the River.

Well, you go to give 'em credit, it's a quick solution.

Only a few stragglers were able to penetrate and move through the Reapers lines, the others moved like lemmings to the final pull of the Tennessee. Some seemed to take it in stride and walked of their own accord into the final current. Others seemed to struggle and fight to the last minute. The worst was the three or four the reapers surrounded at the end. These poor bastards would never make it to wherever the final country lay. They were the prize the Reapers got for a job well done.

Reapers needed to eat too.

Part XIX

I woke in a nice cool pool of my spit. The Old Man was cutting logs in the crook of my arm. I lifted my head a little to ease the hangover in. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Em in the breakfast nook shimmering out of phase in the morning light.

What are you doing Aubrey?

I was trying to talk to the skull in the bowling ball.

Em laughed as I pushed myself up off the ground. The Old Man hissed and trotted off.

Now I know you've lost it.

No, I heard it say something last night.

Where am I?

I looked over at Em who broke out laughing. I just shook my head. I couldn't get angry this time, I'd deserved every bit of it.

I laughed a bit myself at the thought of talking to that damn skull. I don't know what I was after. Maybe I was grasping at straws, as the old saying went.

I'm sorry about last night EM.

I know Aubrey. That is why I came back. My reaction was a little questionable as well. When I got here though I found that I could not stop staring at you staring at that skull. I found myself riveted. I was hypnotized by the rhythm of you drinking and staring, for hours on end.

I get it Em, I looked like an ass and you enjoyed it.

Yes I did.

A few minutes later I had a cup of coffee in my hand and a wad of cotton in my head.

I'm not wrong though about the skull. There's something about it.

Em hesitated.

It's a nexus point Aubrey.

I almost dropped my coffee. The water under the house wasn't running. I walked quickly and quietly to the banister and flipped the switch. The pump kicked in. Back in the kitchen I looked through the window into the yard. It was nearly impossible to see, but out of the corner of my eyes I could see movement.

Back in the living room I threw the map of the Island back on the table, lit the candles, rolled the bones, mumbled under my breath and then waited for the death runners to form in the smoke.

I could feel EM in the room.

Sorry to lock you in EM.

You don't have to worry Aubrey, The nexus point has a fail safe distance, otherwise they'd have already entered the house. It is like a signal fire right now, it attracts them, but they don't know why.

I'd never seen anything like it. Usually on the Island I'd see five death runners at the most, but now, on the map, encircling my house there had to be forty or fifty.

They'll keep coming Aubrey. Before long the Island is going be the most most haunted place in the world.

I thought you Death Runners didn't cause mischief.

Most don't, it would be like striking a bright flare for the Reapers to see. But this many in one place and they'll be here soon enough anyway. The Island will become a battle ground, that much energy being released and even the blindest person will be able to see what is happening.

Then I have to move the Nexus, keeping it moving so they don't congregate. How the hell did I turn it on? It was in my van, and it didn't do anything.

Was it covered?

It was in a drawer.

That was it, it was like anything that broadcast a signal. All signals could be blocked. There must have been something in the lining of the drawer. My Uncle would have known what it was.

I grabbed the towel from the base of the bowling ball and used it to wrap it up. I went for the door that led from the kitchen to the deck. This thing was going back into the van.

As I opened the door I could feel the air in the yard was older than it should have been. It was full on summer, and I could see my breath. Instead of condensation forming from the humidity, my deck was starting to ice over.

I almost slipped on decking. I didn't think any of the death runners would try and stop me, and wasn't even sure they could if they wanted to. I made it the van with little incident and slid the door open. I'd never noticed it before, but my Uncle had even lined the inside of the van with a run of salt lick.

As I dropped the bowling ball back into the drawer and shut it, I felt what could only be the wave of psychic confusion that was now emanating from the gathered death runners as they all realized they had no idea where they were. I could almost feel panic in some of them who had never been this close to the fatal pull of a river the size of the Tennessee.

Getting back to the house proved a little more complicated. I now had to deal with a yard full of confused and angry death runners, all of whom probably now knew that I had something to do with why they were no longer where they used to be. They also realized that gathered in a crowd like this it would only be a matter of time before the Reapers got wind of it.

I'd barely climbed two of the steps leading to the deck before they started to close in. The temperature dropped so fast that the next breath I took almost crystalized in my lungs.

Part XVIII

I squinted as my irises dilated. As I moved my head down to get away from the sun, I saw where the Tall Man had been standing. Almost toe-toe, on the concrete front stoop were the prints of where he stood hadn't yet faded. They seemed almost burned into the concrete. I snorted, thinking about how I was now going to have to replace it. His steps had pulled all of the moisture out. There'd be holes full of crumbled concrete there in less than a week. What a prick.

I paused a moment, then stepped past them into the yard. I walked around the right side of the house, ducking under the tree limbs to see how the Van had faired. At first it seemed fine, until I made a full circuit around the back and noticed that the side turned from the street was sporting some punk's tag. I mumbled under my breath and the spray paint turned to ash and fell off the mural.

I admired the mural for a minute then went back around to the passenger side and opened the sliding side door. I climbed in and went straight back to the bed. I pulled out the drawer containing the skull bowling ball. I pulled it out and held it in my hands. I looked deep in its sockets and decided we needed to talk.

Back inside the house I cracked a beer, never talk to a skull in a bowling ball sober, that was just stupid. I took one of the kitchen towels and made a donut out of it on the mobile island, and rested the ball in the center. I righted it with a level of care I hadn't shown to anything in a long time.

I wasn't sure I could do it, but a yowl from the Old Man gave me confidence. I pulled a mouthful off of the beer and then stared deep into the sockets. The Old Man jumped up onto the island and hissed at the skull. I didn't know who this used to be, but if I was lucky I cold find out the basics.

The thing was, bones talked. Stuck in a clear acrylic ball though was a bit of a challenge to overcome. It was nine in the morning and I was sitting across from an acrylic coated skull trying to figure out how to make it talk, while my cat played lover to its smooth surface. The Old Man kept rubbing against the outside of the ball, completely confused why the lack of texture and surface couldn't satiate his desire to be loved.

By ten I'd cracked another beer and continued to sit shiva with the skull. I was sure the answer would come to me, I just wasn't sure if it would come before I passed out or choked on my own vomit.

I ate a sandwich around noon and settled back onto the stool to stare at the skull. The Old Man had long since given up on being satisfied and had made do with a spoonful of potion and something Carl had left in the fridge. I was pretty sure it was some sort of chicken dish, but when I'd put it down for the Old Man to eat he hit it like a drunk hooker pulling a drag off a sidewalk butt, so I stopped worrying about whether or not it was still good.

A case of beer later, the skull had become fuzzy, and so had I. The sun was running low and I was pretty sure that if my beer induced vision didn't come quick I'd have to chalk the days lesson up to being an alcoholic.

Just before I fell off the stool I heard a voice.

Where am I?

Part XVII

I called him the Tall man, because you had to call him something other than his name. I'd been a kid when my Uncle had told me about him, so I chose the scariest thing I could think of, the Tall Man out of the Phantasm movie staring Angus Scrimm. When I was younger I'd have dreams about the Tall Man and was pretty sure it was him pissing on the lawn that made the grass die.

My Uncle had taught me his true name, three actually, but the first was the most powerful. He'd written the name out, breaking it into syllables, each syllable written on a piece of Magician's flash paper. As I correctly pronounced each syllable, my Uncle put the page to the flame. He told me I could roll the whole name around in my head as much as I wanted, but if I ever let it past my lips there would be Hell to pay.

The problem with this kind of old conjur was that even a death runner like Em could summon him. The truth was, that you never got all of him unless he could find a weak spot, so almost as soon as he appeared on the lawn, he was gone. The thing was, neither Em nor I saw him there, the windows were still covered in plastic, but we both felt him, like tar in the veins. I'd even, in the little time I had to think, imagined Angus Scrimm reaching out to ring the front door bell. It made my balls make a beeline for my stomach.

It was too damn close for comfort, and when it felt like it was over I turned on Em in a way I regret.

Em was still a product of her time, even though she'd flittered through the decades since, I use the word flitter for a reason, it wasn't like she was watching the news everyday any worrying about the world. She just carried on in a kind of loop, stuck in the era in which she died. So I couldn't be mad that she'd rattled off his name like it was a ride at Disney World, But the fear in me made me less than chivalrous.

What the fuck Em? Why's everything a game to you, he could have ended us both and it wouldn't have been like having fun on the banks. You'd be split into so many disparate pieces, you'd be lucky to know you were dead.

I moved close, brooding and angry. If she'd been solid I might have even done something worse, but she just evaporated and reformed near the front door. I'd never seen her shaking, it was odd. Watching a thing made of cohesive dust reflecting the light shiver and shake with fear even though it was dead.

I'm sorry Aubrey...I was not thinking. Please, please let me go. I won't do it again, I promise. Just please...

Suddenly I realized Em wasn't scared of the Tall man, she was scared of me.

I walked to the banister and flipped the switch. Em faded with the sound of the last drops dripping from the pipes under the house.

I said I was sorry under my breath and walked into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. I hesitated, then put it back. I could wallow later. For the frst time in a week I truly didn't know what I was doing.

Something rubbed against my leg. The Old Man was hungry again. I picked him up and scratched him on the underside of his chin. He purred deeply. He started to drift off under the attention. I walked him into the livingroom and put him in my chair. He stretched then curled into a ball and slept.

I hesitated before I opened the front door, imagining the Tall Man, standing on the stoop in the morning sun grinning, his mouth full of yellow teeth.

I sucked it up and turned then knob and stepped into the morning light.

Part XVI

The Old Man got a can of tuna and a quarter teaspoon of potion for breakfast. I started some coffee and found that Carl had left a half eaten box of chocolate coated Entenmann's donuts on the kitchen counter. The day was already looking up.

I tried not to spend much time contemplating what had set the Old Man off. He'd not turned after two days with the corpse of Pirate Jane, but he'd turned within only one and a half days with me and no potion, so I had to assume that the potion suppressed his true nature, but could be exacerbated by the stress of having some goon enter his field of angry hunger.

I knew I needed to reconnect with Em once the sun went down, but before that I need to figure out who had gotten into my house and what they wanted. Cup of coffee in hand I went out front and took a peek at the van. Nothing had changed. There were no scratches or anything to give me the feeling anyone had tried to get in. But, when I looked up I noticed a car, parked on the street, I'd never seen before. That didn't mean anything though, I hadn't been here in a week.

Before I made it to the end of the stone path that led to the street, a wiry kid, who liked he was tweaking, jumped in the and sped away. I almost mumbled under my breath to make the car hit a tree, but it wasn't worth it. I took another sip off coffee and walked back inside.

I found Em Sitting in the living room. The dust in the room ran through her like it was caught in the rays of the sun.

What the Hell are doin' here Em?

I waited for you, but you didn't come back. I came over to see if everything was OK. I got here just in time for you to throw the switch. You looked tired so I spent most of the night looking around. You need a girlfriend.

I apologized and threw the switch on the banister that shut off the water and quelled the pipes.

Sorry about that. You should have said something.

Trying to see Em in the light of day was like looking for something out of the corner of your eye. Even with the windows of the living room covered in plastic she was elusive.

I moved to the edge of the sofa to finish my coffee.

What made you come all this way. You knew I would have found you again tonight.

Em paused a second before she answered.

After you left, I had a talk with what was left of the gentleman your cat ate. He was scared Aubrey. Usually what is left is not scared, but he was. It took me a minute to calm him down, by that time the hounds had already sniffed him out. He barely said anything before they dragged him away.

This was why I needed Em, she had access to those moments us meat sacks didn't. The hounds themselves were a rare occurrence, and didn't exactly fill me full of hope. Most people shuffle off with the help of a Reaper. Reapers are generally cool, they're just biding their time before they too get to move on, but when the hounds come for you it means someone doesn't want you to have a good trip. That someone has a thousand unspoken names.

What'd he say Em?

She went in and out of focus as the light from the other rooms grew more intense.

He said he'd been hired by a gentleman the name of...

The first syllable rolled out of her mouth before I figured out what was going to happen next. My coffee cup shattered on the wood floor as I ran again for the switch. Em finished uttering the name just after the switch kicked in. I heard the pump gear up and then the house began to shake as the water met itself in the pipes under the house, creating a loop of running water, seconds before the Tall Man materialized on the lawn and tried to gain entry.

Part XV

I picked up as many of the remains as I could and dropped them into a nice black contractor's bag. As I did, I tried to find anything I could use to identify who this poor rat bastard had been. I came up with nothing, no wallet. The Old Man was fast asleep, currled into a ball in my easy chair. He'd come back in a few minutes after he'd left the living room and acted like nothing had happened.

I used a small dust broom and pan to get as many of the big bits up as I could. I carried the trash bag into the basement. The basement was unfinished with little more than a washer and dryer, but what it did have was an old coal furnace that I'd never removed. When I'd first bought the place, the coal chute had shuttered out a few lumps when I'd opened the door. I'd had the furnace checked out, but never used it. It was still study enough to contain a good bit of heat.

I chucked the bag in and mumbled under my breath. The green ball of flamed formed in my hand and I shut the door behind it. The temperature was too intense to really make a smell, everything was ash before it even had a chance to give away my secrets.

Back upstairs I got a bucket and some good wood floor soap. If I didn't get the floor clean and the moisture up, the boards would warp. I used two rolls of paper towels and knew there'd be at least one more trip to the furnace. I could already feel the radiant heat seeping from the basement.

I wished I could wrinkle my nose and have the place flash back to spick and span, but that was only on TV. I'd never met anyone who could cast a cleaning spell. Magic had no practical domestic uses. What I could do though was knock off a bit of trickery to make all the blood splatters glow bright as phosphorous, at least that way I could make sure I got them all. It didn't just work on blood though, it was an old protein trick.

I cracked a beer two hours later and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my shirt sleeve. I'd had to open the upstairs windows the vent the excess heat. I'd also opened every window I had that wasn't facing the street and covered with plastic. I mumbled a small alarm spell and went as sat on the sofa. The Old Man was still in dream land and purred with the small guttural consistency of tectonic plates shifting.

This little escapade had cost me time, and an audience with Em, but I'm sure she was laughing about it. Truth be told though I'd learned a thing or two. One, Pirate Jane was a crafty old bird and number two, the Old Man was something to be reckoned with.

I was definitely going to have to rig something to make sure this didn't happen again. That'd have to be tomorrow though, because I could feel the sandman as he went down the street putting out the lights. My house was coming up fast. Putting the beer down I bid the Old Man a good night and gave him a quick scratch between the ears. I dropped the wards across the from door and flipped a switch on the banister leading upstairs.

As I climbed up to bed, I heard the mechanism of the house coming to life. Nothing was getting in now. This house was tighter than the gates to hell. The last cogs clicked and the water in the underground piping ran at a consistent rate, surrounding the house with moving water. It was the most beautiful white noise anyone could ask for. As I fell into bed I remembered everything that had happened over the last week and all of the pain and anger I'd endured. I remembered the promise I'd made to myself and to my Uncle.

Just before sleep finally took me, I mumbled under my breath and watched as my Uncle appeared before me in a bright green hologram. He smiled and I smiled back. Then, just before I drifted off, I told him I loved him, and even though it shouldn't have been possible, the hologram smiled and told me it was sorry.

I woke the next morning to a rumbling on my chest. The Old Man had shifted places during the night and had come to rest on top of me. I opened my eyes and he stared at me. He gave a soft yowl then got up and stretched. He was hungry, and he damn well sure expected me to feed him.

Part XIV

I eased onto the back porch, which was no larger than five feet wide and ten feet across, through the screen door and let it shut smoothly behind me as silently as possible. The truth is, this was one of the few aspects of the house that made no sense to me. It could barely fit a Parisian cafe table and two chairs, but it came with the house. Looking through the door that led to a small hallway that connected to the kitchen. I waited until I was sure nothing was moving beyond it.

I could hear every sound the knob made as my hand forced it to do its job painstakingly slowly. I was counting on Mr. Toots to be distracted by viscera. When the door finally cracked, I made a mental note to buy some WD-40 for the hinges, then slipped inside.

The Jug of tonic I'd taken from Pirate Jane's was next to the litter box. I grabbed it and popped the cap, letting it bounce on the floor. I wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but I was pretty sure Pirate Jane had written the instruction on the jug so she wouldn't forget. I didn't have time to ruminate on exactly what Mr. Toots was, or why Pirate Jane had him, but after everything I was pretty sure I knew how he'd lived this long.

Easing into the kitchen I almost went sprawling as my shoe lost friction gliding across a puddle of blood. I could hear something satisfying itself with food in the living room. The loud crunches had given way to more of a lapping sound and a deep guttural purr that would have made a pit bull piss itself.

Just beyond the portable island in the center of the kitchen I saw a possible remedy to my problem. An arm lay sprawled on the floor. The ball of the Humerus beckoned from the top of the shirt sleeve. For a second I flashed to the cantina sequence from Star Wars. Hopefully Mr. Toots liked Walrus Man.

I put the jug down for a second so I could remove the shirt. I was left with a nice length of arm that I could use as a bludgeon if I needed too. I held the arm by the wrist and turned it palm up so the elbow joint wouldn't flop. I took the jug and poured more than a quarter tablespoon onto the shoulder joint.

I held the arm in front of me and walked down the small hallway that ran beside the stair case. I tipped left into the living room and had to fight my brain from singing Rocky Top. "Half Bear the other half cat..." stuck in my head as I looked at Mr. Toots.

Rocky Top was practically a hymn in these parts and whether you liked it or not, and I hated it, you knew it almost instinctually by the time you were five or so. Truth is it wouldn't surprise me if someone were to tell me it's actually in the hymnals of some churches around here. But right now I really didn't need the lyrics taking up what little space I had for problem solving.

I stepped forward and the floorboards underneath ratted me out. Mr. Toots brought his head up from his meal and hissed. This time I almost wet myself. It was at that moment, as the smell of warm raw meat hit me in the face with the breath of the hiss that I knew I could never call him Mr. Toots again. The moniker of Old Man I'd given him was what was going to stick.

It's a bit hard to describe exactly how he looked, or what exactly he was. His dynamic true form was about three feet tall and four or five feet long. His hair was thick and bristly and all I could think of was he looked like what might be the side effect of a wild boar raping a bobcat.

He prowled left to face me. We stared at each other for a minute sizing one another up.

You left a wing Old Man.

I tossed the arm to him before he could think about pouncing on me. He caught it in his paws and then settled to the floor to give it a good gnaw. His purr changed to a low happy thing, but I could still feel the vibrations of it deep inside me.

The thing about transformative magic is that it generally defies the laws of science. That's what makes it magic and not physics. Where the mass of him went, I couldn't say, but about five minutes after he started on the arm he was back down to kitty size and looked like he should have.

He licked his paws and slowly padded toward me making me realize I'd not moved the entire time. My lower back screamed and my knee popped as I bent down to rub him behind the ears. He rubbed against my knee then padded out of the room, leaving me to clean up.

Part XIII

What're you doing Em?

She hesitated. At that moment I could hear the current of the river like a song rushing against the shore. It lapped the bank like a thousand desperate tongues reaching for a grain of rice.

I don't know.

I pushed forward and mumbled under my breath. My right forearm went translucent from my hand to my elbow and I reached for Emily. She reached out and our fingers locked. Knowing I'd only have an instant I pulled as hard as I could. Emily flew into the bushes lining the shore and I lost my footing, driving my right leg into the current, just beyond the bank of the river. The water was was cold as death and filled my tennis shoe making my toes spasm. I managed to pull my leg out again and stood panting on the bank, waiting for Em to stand up.

Dammit Em, this isn't a fucking game.

My heart tried to pry itself out of my chest as Emily began to laugh. Then, in her usual style, she drank up the moment as though no one was affected by it but her.

I've never gotten so close. The rush of it all was quite amazing.

She almost stopped laughing when she looked at me. I know what she saw on my face. I was pissed.

Oh Aubrey, where is your sence of adventure?

What Adventure?

While Emily basked in her new death rush, I shook my arm trying to make the feeling come back. The translucence faded slowly and I breathed a sigh of relief when finally the whole arm coalesced again and I was able to feel my fingers rubbing against the palm of my hand. It wasn't a trick I cared to do, and I'd known more than one person who'd lost a piece of themselves performing it.

My anger didn't subside until Emily and I were back at her house. The architecture had changed over time, but the essence of the house was still intact. The interior wasn't much and I never was able to figure out what exactly the house had been kept around for.

Emily had reverted to her age of death. She did that when she was done playing around. I knew she was thankful for me pulling her back. I even suspected she realized she'd gone too far this time.

I need to know what the word on the wire is Em. I need to know if my Uncles been felt.

He hasn't.

She didn't even hesitate in saying it.

But I'll tell you something.

What?

That cat of yours has found a few new play toys. I just felt one of them shuffle off.

Shit. Mr. Toots. Wait, what the hell could Mr. Toots do?

I left Emily at a full run. I told her I'd be back, but I couldn't doubt her ability to feel the truth of things, at least on the island. It was almost a mile to my place and the entire time I was running, I couldn't help but feel like whatever was happening was my fault. Too much too soon. I wasn't in control of the situation.

I vaulted the fence to the access road and then slammed myself against the small back garage at the edge of my property. Going in fast with no plan was stupid at best and fatal at worst. I caught my breath and tried to figure out what was happening.

Inside the house, I could see the shadow of a man backing away from what had to be the ceiling lights in the living room. Something large and nasty blocked the light and I heard a scream. Across the street the lights went on in the neighbor's house. I pushed away from the wall of the garage and walked toward them.

My neighbor Mrs. Caldwell came out of her house looking a freight. Her robe was wrapped tight against her dense body. Her hair was up in curls. I met her half way.

Mrs. Caldwell, I am so sorry. I didn't realize the TV was that loud.

She looked at me suspiciously and then pulled her robe tighter.

That didn't sound like a TV to me.

I know, Carl is over and we were catching up one one of those Horror films. I got spooked and thought someone was outside. Turns out I'm just easily frightened.

Luckily for me there weren't anymore outbursts from the house. Mrs. Caldwell did a few more quick looks toward the house and gave me the evil eye.

Those films aren't good for the soul.

I think you're probably right. They spook me pretty good, and I'm a grown man. I'm sorry, it won't happen again.

Mrs. Caldwell made one more sideways glance toward the house then relented to my rakish charm.

Honestly. Some of us have to get our beauty sleep.

I'm sure some do, but if I may say, all you're doin' is banking it for later.

That broke a sheepish smile across her face and she chortled a little under her breath.

Good night Aubrey.

Halfway across her lawn she turned back.

You won't let it happen again will you? Scared me half to death.

No ma'am. I promise you it won't happen again.

Her door clicked shut just in time. Something large, prowled across the light and then I heard the sound of bones cracking drift lightly from my house.

Part XII

It had started the day after I'd left to see my Uncle. It seemed to me that while I had been flying overhead, whoever had killed my Uncle had hit the road and made a beeline for me. Serendipity maybe, pure dumb luck more likely. At least I hoped it was the same people. It'd save me a hell of a lot of bother if it was.

According to Carl they'd drive by slowly at night looking for any sign someone was living here. Carl said he kept the lights off at night except for the TV and then pointed to the windows of the living room, where I hadn't noticed that he'd hung black trash-bags over the wood slat blinds so the light wouldn't leak out.

I winced a bit inside when I realized he'd used duct tape to do it. That was definitely going to remove the finish. I'd have to stain them again.

Now that the van was in the driveway, I could readily assume I'd be having visitors. I pulled a couple hundreds from the draw of the desk in the study and handed it to Carl. I told him to get a hotel room until the whole thing blew over.

It took two more beers and me having to listen to Carl apologize a few more times before I could convince him I'd be fine. After he left I annoyed Mr. Toots by rubbing him on the head then went out into the back yard.

One of the other reasons I liked this house, beyond the hardwood floors and trim was the fact that the back yard butted up against the School for the Deaf. All that lay between my property and theirs was a narrow access road. I liked the fact that even though my yard ended and their lawn began, that almost all I could see was a nice hill of green grass. This view wouldn't change any time soon.

Back inside I laid a map of the Island on the kitchen table. I doused the lights and lit four candles I'd placed on the north, south, east and west corners. It was adjusted to true north. The first time I'd done this trick I'd forgotten to align the map with true north and I'd spent a week walking in the wrong direction. Ever since then I used a compass. My internal sense of direction was for shit. I can't say why, or what started it or made it stick, but ever since I was about nine I thought whatever direction I was facing was north. The first day I learned to use a compass I almost fell in love with it.

The map and candles set, I opened the drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small silk bag. Inside were twelve chicken bones I'd won in a game of poker off the Carolina coast. I don't so much remember the card game as the man I won it from. His name was Black Earl, and these were his prize divining bones. Lord knows how long it took him to fix 'em the way he did, or where he learned, but these bones were as solid as anything I'd ever seen.

I mumbled under my breath and rolled the bones from my hand. They lay on the map a second then began to right themselves. Slowly, the smoke from the candles moved inward, drifting to the map and coalescing into human forms like tin soldiers on a field. It seemed that there were five death runners on the island tonight, but only one was Emily. It took me a second as I scanned the group. Picking her out wasn't too hard. She wasn't at the house, but by the river. She always was a bit of risk taker.

A half a mile from the house I remembered that I hadn't fed Mr. Toots in almost a day. While he hadn't complained or begged for food I felt bad just the same. He was relying on me now, I had to get that thorough my head. It'd been a long time since any body, or anything had relied on me for something so basic as food.

Emily was watching the lights from downtown Knoxville dance on the water. She'd crept close, but not so close she couldn't pull back if the wind kicked up a surge. Even a bit of the river water would rip her right off the land and carry her where she belonged. She heard me coming and turned to watch me as I made the last few meters to the water's edge. Her face went from fifty-six to twenty-five in half a second.

Aubrey, it's good to see you again. What brings you to the river?

I need to know Em, I need to know where my Uncle is. I need to find who killed him, and you're the only Death Runner I can trust.

Emily smiled and moved toward the river a step.

Part XI

Oh shit man, you OK?

My friend Carl was leaning over me. He'd been eating corn nuts.

I sat up, which was all I could do and felt the back of my head. The skin wasn't broken; his sap was a beavertail.

What the hell are you doing walking around smacking people on the back of the head with a beaver tail Carl?

You just got back, you don't know what's been going on around here. The Island's gettin' edgy.

The Island wasn't really an island. But, it had probably felt that way when Emily Dickinson's favorite cousin Perez had built a home across the Tennessee River from the burgeoning bustle of downtown Knoxville. His place still sat on the grounds of the Deaf School, and I'd chatted with Emily on more than one occasion. She still hung around the place. I'm not sure why. Maybe she split her time between here and The Homestead in Amherst. Her biographers would roll over in their graves if they knew she preferred it here. Most of them never knew she had visited.

I'd relocated here because of the river. It's always good to have a large body of moving water on at least one side of you at all times. If I had my way I's live on a real island. Moving water has a way of keeping dead things form gettin' too close. I actually have my suspicions that it's the very reason Emily likes it here too. It's not easy if you choose to stay behind when your time comes. Death doesn't work that way, but 'ol Emily was a pro at keeping ahead of the Reapers.

Carl eventually helped me up and into the house. Mr. Toots came on his own accord. I had Carl get the litter box from the van and put it in the downstairs bathroom.

You still haven't givien me a good reason for sappin' me.

I thought you were one of the guys whose been hanging out watching your place. I thought one of them had gotten ballsy all of a sudden.

They've been watching my place?

Yeah?

Wait, how do you know? You live ten miles from here.

Actually, the old woman threw me out. I came over to see if you'd let me stay here for a while. When I didn't find you here. I just sort of...

...moved in.

Yeah.

I had a soft spot for Carl. He was one of those people who worked hard all of their lives and never got a break. I'm not saying his drinking didn't have something to do with that, but he never missed a day of work and he was one of the most honest people I'd ever met. Plus his old lady was a real hard ass. She was the kind of woman that'd make a man work two jobs just so she didn't have to work at all.

I don't know what Carl saw in her, she catted around right in front of him. One time he told me she'd made him bring Ice Tea and sandwiches to her and some guy she'd picked up that night after they were done messin' up the sheets. When I'd pressed him about it he just looked away embarrassed and defeated and told me that marriage was a oath, and that meant his word. Carl never went back on his word.

Mr. Toots settled in on my favorite chair, so I took the sofa with Carl and a couple of beers. I told him most of what had happened. He looked glum for a bit, he'd known how much I'd cared for my uncle. When I was done it was his turn.

Part X

Back at the storage facility I took time to think about what I needed and what I didn't. I wouldn't be back down for a while and if I miscalculated it could spell trouble. So, as Mr. Toots wandered around familiarizing himself with the new interior, I took time to go over what I had.

I also took a minute to plug in my laptop and go online. I'd never really used my wireless modem account, but now I was glad I had it. I made sure I'd paid all of my bills and checked my e-mail for the first time in a week. Nothing earth shattering. I rolled some funds from one account to another and made sure nothing would bounce. I e-mailed the storage company and switched whatever payment scheme there had been to my credit card. It'd do for now.

I'd put everything I thought I'd need in a black duffle back I'd found in the storage room. I hoisted it over one shoulder. I felt bad waking Mr. Toots. He'd found a warm spot on the desk under the lamp. My hands were full when I approached the door. It went up without me doing a thing. I'm sure my Uncle had rigged the motion sensors for just an occasion such as this. Not the cat, but being laden down with things.

I had to put the bag and the cat down outside to rework the runes, but Mr. Toots knew where we were going. He sauntered over to the van and waited for me to open the passenger door. Somehow he jumped up into the seat. He was curled and purring before I even shut the door. I threw the duffle in the back and got behind the wheel.

I shot up 231 heading for Dothan, Alabama. I racked my brain trying to remember where the best boiled peanuts would be on the way north. It was the right time of the year for peaches too.

The trip would take about ten hours. Mr. Toots was asleep so there was no one to talk to. I turned on the radio and finally found an AM station with news of the Apocalypse. I could never really say why I loved listening to AM radio evangelists, but it was a road trip habit. It had something to do with their delivery. They spoke with passion and conviction about something so muddled and convoluted it had a truth of its own. My favorite part was how they would shift gears every ten to fifteen minutes and ask for donations. What the hell did they need donations for? The world was coming to an end.

I finally found some good boiled peanuts two hours into the drive. Something had changed in the last twenty years or so. It was almost impossible to find plain ones anymore. All of the signs now said CAJUN or RED HOT. The only spice I wanted on mine was salt. Nothing like sucking a boiled peanut out of its shell with a couple of drops of its briny embryonic boil.

Mr. Toots didn't seem to care for them, so I pulled into a grocery store and bought a couple of cans of cat food and a couple cans of solid white albacore tuna in water just in case he turned out to be snobbish. He'd probably grown old on left over gumbo and Creole butter shrimp. It turned out I was right. He turned his nose at the cat food but got damn near apoplectic when I cracked the tuna. I plopped it into a bowl and grabbed the jug. I added my best approximation of a quarter teaspoon of his special tonic from the jug. He'd lived this long, who was I to take his tonic away.

An hour later I realized I'd thought of everything but one thing. The smell of Mr. Toots taking a toot drifted into my nostril and started burning my hairs.

Dammit 'Ol Man, the least you could have done was warn me. Whew, you sure you ain't dead?

Mr. Toots hissed and lay his head down. I found his little gift at our next stop and promptly pulled into the next pet store I could find. I bought a hid-a-way number with charcoal filters and placed it in the back of the van as far as I could.

We made it Knoxville just after 11:00 PM. I pulled up my driveway about ten minutes later. Getting out of the van I took a minute to breathe the air. It was fresh and smelled of home.

If I hadn't had my eyes closed I probably would have seen the bastard that'd hit me in the back of the head with a black jack. Everything went dark. The last thing I smelled was Sassafras and wormwood.

Part IX

Since I hadn't been here in so long it was hard to tell if anything had been taken beyond her eye. At first glance the room looked undisturbed. But as I started getting closer to things I realized there would be a quick way to tell if anything had.

Dust is a wonderful thing, especially if it occurs in a place where no one feels the need to remove it on a regular basis. Pirate Jane obviously had no compulsion to do so. If I had a keener eye I could have read the levels of dust like rings in a tree, but right now all I needed to look for was anywhere the dust was not, or at least where a surface had only been exposed to a few days accumulation.

Admittedly Mr. Toots and I were stumped after about half an hour gazing around with the shadow inducing bare bulbs over head. Mr. Toots gave up before me and lay on Pirate Jane's chest purring longingly. He didn't hiss when I picked him. I think he knew it was over. As I held him in my arms I knew I couldn't leave him here.

Back upstairs I put him on his mat and told him to watch the door. He hissed and I smiled. We were going to get along fine. Back downstairs I loaded up on a few things I thought I might need, as well as an old gallon milk jug with something I couldn't make out inside. Written on the outside in marker was "1/4 tsp. for Mr. Toots with food." Jane wasn't going to mind at this point. I still hadn't found what I was looking for when I pulled the Van around to the alley behind the store.

After I had loaded everything into the van I returned for the last time. I left Jane where she lay, but closed her lids over where her eyes used to be. It was only right. As I shut the door to the cellar, I locked it with the same bit of encryption that was on the storage space, then hit the door with a bit of concealment. By the time someone got around to renting the space, Jane would be gone back into the earth and no one would disturb her.

I left Mr. Toots for last and he instantly gave into me. With him in one arm, his claws extended just enough to pierce my shirt and remind me he was there, I grabbed his bed thinking it would help in the transition. As I pulled it off the counter, it dragged something underneath, which fell to the floor. It was a book. It was a journal. I moved the cat bed into the hand holding Mr. Toots and bent down to pick it up. I put it on the counter and opened it mid way. My Uncle's writing filled the pages. I was an idiot. It was the least obvious place to hide something. I should have looked here first.

I didn't have time to hang around and read it so I picked it up and carried it with me. I put Mr. Toots bed on the front passenger seat of the van and then put Mr. Toots on top of the bed. He walked around twice kneading the top with his front paws. He finally lay down facing the driver's seat.

I got in and stuck the key in the ignition. I reached past him and put the journal in the glove compartment. I looked at Mr. Toots.

You ready to go old man?

Mr. Toots hissed and laid his head down, closing his eyes. By the time I reached the city limits of New Orleans Mr. Toots was purring in time to the engine. I headed back toward Panama City, from there I was going home. Back to Tennessee. Back to Knoxville. I had a few things I needed to take care of before I finished my Uncle's business.