Dead Sleeping Shaman (12 page)

Little by little I pulled myself back. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t anything I believed could happen. I could see what was going on. I didn’t want my mind taken over by this huge, brightly lighted figure standing above us. I didn’t want worms of thoughts I didn’t want to think crawling in my head.

I pulled my hand hard against the one holding mine. I pulled and then pinched the hand still fumbling for a hold on me. I got away though someone yanked at my jacket.

“The ‘latter days’ are here, folks,” the Reverend Fritch was falling into his words, moving his body to a beat he’d created as I pushed back through the crowd. “The Apocalypse is upon us as Daniel said in chapter ten, verse fourteen: ‘To make thee understand what will befall thy people in latter days …’ And that is my burden. Daniel’s heavy load is mine.”

I looked around but I couldn’t find Dolly or Crystalline. I was alone in a sea of robes.

“ … to make you understand that if you have not renounced the earth and all its delights, if you have not renounced Satan, if you have not given your soul over to God—the END is coming. The END is near. The END OF DAYS will find you sniveling and crying and begging and pleading but the ear turned your way will be deaf, as yours has been unto Him.”

I pushed through the people. They didn’t notice me. Their eyes were fixed on the reverend.

“The twenty-seventh day of October, precisely at twelve o’clock, the judgment of the wicked will begin,” the man on the stage cried out to answering groans and screams. “There will be fire and blood running in the streets. There will be a great gnashing of teeth as children are torn from their mother’s arms; men from their wives. In Gehinnom will the wicked burn forever.”

I turned for a moment to watch him. He lowered his head and paced across the stage, stopping finally to turn a terrible, wild face toward the people. “I dream to tell you my visions. ‘And the number of the army of the horsemen was two hundred thousand thousand and I heard the number of them …’ ”

Something dark chased me. That voice rolled up behind …

“… but then there are the saved, the cleansed who will march on to the post tribulation Rapture. There will come the time of Resurrection; the Glorification of the Righteous. That’s where you all will be, along with me. The Saved, together!”

There was a cheer, then pandemonium as people cried, then shouted they were with him.

My chest hurt from trying to draw deep breaths. I forced first one and then another of the people out of my way. No one noticed. Their eyes were fixed on the man, their lips moved, they were transfixed. No wonder the man had so many followers, I thought as I pushed between them. No wonder people were prepared to follow him to death. He gave them no choice. They were trapped like flies in the snare his words made.

Face after face. Couples. Children. Old men and women with their arms around each other. I thought I saw the mysterious old woman from EATS, staring up at the stage as intently as the others. I couldn’t be sure. Faces melted around me, one into the other. Words blared until I had to cover my ears. All I wanted was to get out to my Jeep, climb in, lock the doors, and shiver.

It was another half
an hour before people began making their way back from the clearing, past my car where I sat waiting for the other two. There would be no seeing the minister tonight. I couldn’t imagine interviewing him after so emotional a service. He had to be exhausted. I knew I was. Exhausted, a little angry, and feeling used. I was mostly angry at myself for getting caught up in what was obviously one man’s ego-centered delusion. I couldn’t figure out what had come over me. Maybe that hand holding me in place while Dolly and Crystalline were pushed away. It was the kind of thing where you were afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings even as you sensed yourself being pulled into a dark place you didn’t want to go.

More and more people came out to their cars. After a while, the crowd dwindled, became a couple or two walking by. I waited, wondering if I’d been wrong and Dolly and Crystalline had gotten backstage after all, maybe were talking to him even now, and I’d wimped out.

The door opened, finally, and the overhead light snapped on. Crystalline plopped herself into the back seat with a “Whew! That man is
good
! I sure can see why he’s got so many people ready to die.” She laughed. “Almost had me with him. I was yelling back I wanted to be among the Righteous and go on to heaven. Ready to follow that man down the long road to Armageddon, until somebody stepped on my skirt, tore it, and made me mad.”

“Where’s Dolly?”

“I don’t know. Last I saw her she was talking to one of those people in the robes. I stood around, waiting. I had no clue but that you’d gone off with them, too. Then I figured I might as well wait in the car.”

“Hope she gets out here so …” Just as I was about to complain the door opened again and Dolly got in the front with a shuffle of her boots and a clunk of her hardware against the seat.

“Took you guys long enough,” I growled.

“Yeah … well …” Dolly didn’t look at me. She took off her hat and set it in her lap. “Let’s get going then.”

“Are we coming back tomorrow?”

Dolly took in a breath. She hesitated. “I’ll let you know in the morning whether you need to come with me.”

Her distracted tone put me off.

“What do you mean, ‘I’ll let you know’? I thought that was the deal. We’d see if Marjory was connected here in any way. There’s got to be some reason …”

Dolly nodded her head then let her chin sink to her chest. She was obviously tired. “I have to go easy here. The reverend’s got a lot of people following him.”

“And I’d stomp all over your questions?”

“Nope.” Her shoulders slumped. “Let me think it out, ok? One of the women back there, Sally, invited me to lunch tomorrow. Nice folks, far as I can see. I asked if I could talk to the reverend and she said she didn’t see why not. She said he’d be happy to talk to me. Just not tonight.”

In the back, Crystalline was silent.

“I’m not invited?” I was mad and hurt. For some reason I didn’t understand, Dolly was cutting me out of something important.

“Don’t go off crazy, Emily. We don’t know anything at this point.” In profile, I could see her face was serious. This was a very different Deputy Dolly Flynn Wakowski.

I turned the car around and drove out to US131 saying nothing for a minute or two. When I couldn’t contain myself, I asked, “What the heck’s wrong with you, Dolly?”

She raised one hand but didn’t turn to look at me. “Calm down. Let me think, ok? I’ll give you a call in the morning; tell you one way or the other. It’s … well … that these are nice, friendly folks. I wouldn’t want to hurt them. Sally says they’d really like to have me come around and learn some more.”

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Tell me it’s not that ‘family’ thing of yours. Please. I’d like to think you’re not falling for some line of …”

“Fallin’ for nothin’,” she snapped back at me. “Plenty for the two of us to do. But I can’t get anywhere with you hanging on to the back of my coat, draggin’ along.”

“Do what you want to do,” I snapped back at her. “If the world does end, I can guarantee you won’t be among the angels. As I go sailing up, passing you on your way down, just remember who said you’re too mean to go to heaven.”

She was quiet. Even Crystalline said nothing from the back seat, probably wondering what she’d gotten herself into and how two hopeless fruitcakes could ever find who murdered Marjory Otis.

Sorrow woke me the next morning by landing, four-paws splayed, in the middle of my back. This was no longer a puppy but a full-grown dog, and grown to stupendous proportions. Doc Crimson, Sorrow’s vet, said he thought Sorrow was part Afghan and part black lab, with maybe a bit of standard poodle thrown in. Of course, he changed his mind every time I took Sorrow in for a booster shot or to have his long, curving nails cut, or get his hair untangled and the burrs out.

Since I wasn’t sure what breed
I
was, I figured we belonged together, me and Sorrow. We didn’t quite fit anywhere else.

I let Sorrow out, made a cup of tea, then filled a bowl with Special K and skim milk. I set everything on the table in front of my large front windows. The world had turned a brilliant gold overnight. The maples and oaks between the house and Willow Lake glowed. Mornings like this one, with the sun sneaking blood red over the trees from the east, with every golden leaf reflected in the still water of the lake—I could almost believe the world might come to an end. Outside my windows, it was too lovely to last. Perfection—the kind that philosophers claimed struck ordinary people blind.

I watched the light move and grow as I ate and thought about death: my Mom’s, when I was a kid, and how that hurt in a different way from my Dad’s death. Dad died after my divorce, after I’d decided to leave Ann Arbor and move to Northwestern Michigan. His death was kind of expected, a heart attack for a man with heart disease. I’d been sad, lonely, but not angry. Mom’s, when I was twelve, had been a deep stab inside of me, very personal. What I’d felt most at first had been anger—how dare she do that to me! Then the ache of missing her.

I set my dishes in the sink for my make-believe cleaning woman to take care of and let a woofing Sorrow back in. I filled his dish with dog food and his bowl with water. In the living room I sat at my corner desk to make a list of the things to take care of then called Lieutenant Brent. He’d talked to Dolly already but grudgingly gave me what he had. “Toxicology preliminary,” he said. “Nothing except a blood pressure medication.”

“So, she was strangled. That means somebody got that close and she didn’t fight hard enough to scuff her heels?”

“Looks that way.”

“She must’ve trusted whoever it was.”

“Her fingernails got skin under them. She was fighting the rope the killer got around her neck. The skin’s going down to forensics for DNA. Probably be hers, the way it looks, with her clawing at her neck to loosen that garrote. Hope she scratched him.”

“What about the rope?”

“Ordinary. Cotton. Three strand. Twisted.” He coughed away from the phone. “So, what are you two doing today? Dolly says going out to talk to that Reverend Fritch. I hear some friends of the deceased are in town. They might know something. And remember, Emily, don’t use anything in the paper that could jeopardize the case. Don’t print too many details. I know you’re careful. That’s why I trust you, but I just want to put in a reminder here. We don’t want trouble with the prosecutor when the time comes. Tainted evidence. Things like that.”

I promised, yet again, that I would check with him before every story, going over the facts.

“And Emily. Officer Winston—remember? He’s the one who took your statement. He knows your special circumstances—you and Dolly—and he’s fine with it, as long as you keep him up-to-date on what you’re doing and what you find out.”

I opened my mouth to object. I remembered Officer Winston too well. Officious little jerk with his eye tic and moony face. I’d leave him to Dolly.

“Almost forgot. Dolly found Marjory’s car this morning. Parked behind the IGA there in Leetsville. Locked up, keys gone. Purse inside.”

“She talk to people at the store? See if anyone saw anything?” I asked.

“Already took care of it. Nobody saw anything but she left a message on the bulletin board in the store. You might want to put that in the paper. You know, ask if anybody remembers seeing the woman around the car. That kind of thing.”

I agreed. It gave me an angle for the story I would get to Bill while pushing down a growing uneasiness—Dolly hadn’t called to tell me she found the car.

I took a shower, toweled my hair dry, and secured most of it on top of my head with tortoiseshell combs. I thought of Molly, my hairdresser in Traverse City, and how it was time to visit her before I began looking too much like a hermit, with wild hair and nervous eyes. I brushed my teeth, rolled on deodorant, lipstick, some blush, then dressed in jeans and a fuzzy yellow shirt that dipped maybe a little too much in the front but I figured if you’ve got it, flaunt it. What little I had needed flaunting. I was feeling old—maybe that revival last night. All those people thrilled to death that the world would end and so many wouldn’t be saved, wouldn’t go on to glory, would suffer agonizing deaths. Seemed like that kind of small-souled glee was a big enough sin to throw all the smug of the world into a fiery pit reserved for them alone.

Sorrow and I walked up to the road for the newspaper and yesterday’s mail. There was one letter from people inviting me to a financial seminar that would give me a terrific retirement—if I had money to invest. And there was a gas bill from DTE Energy. I opened gas bills with a lot of fear, knowing what can happen by January—how the numbers escalated and I would gasp and hide the bill until I had the money. September’s bill would be ok. I didn’t have air conditioning to boost use over the summer. Heat came on rarely, as I kept my thermostat set at 60. Poverty was making me live a green life.

I stuck the mail in the back pocket of my jeans and waved to Harry, who stood back in the trees beside his driveway. I got a grunt in greeting.

He shuffled over my way, eyes going back and forth, scanning the road for racing cars. I knew he was scavenging—in case an animal was run over during the night. The only thing I’d never seen him make into a stew was skunk.

Harry nodded politely when he joined me on my side of Willow Lake Road.

“I’d like to talk to you about somethin’, when you got a minute,” he said, dipping his head at me, setting his long white hair to bobbing.

I checked my watch. “How about in a couple of hours? I’ve got some work to take care of, then I’ll be over.”

“Good. You come to my place.”

“I’ll do that, Harry. I’ve got some things I’d like to run past you, too.”

He nodded a couple of times as if we’d made a deal. “Might have a jar of stew for ya.”

“Wonderful. I think I’ve still got a loaf of my homemade bread in the freezer. I’ll bring it with me.”

Harry threw both misshapen hands into the air and backed away, shaking his head. I’d taken Harry a loaf of my bread before. I thought it was good, but Harry was a gourmet and they often have tastes above all others.

I got down to my studio, dashed off my story for the newspaper, and emailed it to Bill. I expected Dolly to call. She didn’t.

I finished the cover letter to the agent and began going over the manuscript one last time. Always so many dumb errors. I found where I’d given someone blue eyes in chapter two and gave them brown eyes in chapter fourteen. There were a few dropped plot twists. Nothing was ever perfect, but I wanted to send off the best manuscript I could put together and not kick myself later for dumb mistakes. After an hour I chucked the whole thing, printed out a fresh copy, stuck the letter and manuscript in an envelope and sealed and addressed it. Done. What would be, would be.

When I turned off the computer, Sorrow got up from the rug beneath my desk and stretched long and hard. I took him back to the house—waiting patiently through a dozen squats and attempts to mark fence posts. I gave him water then spent a little extra time at his side, brushing his hair out of his eyes with my hands and looking deep into those worried doggie eyes. There were days, like this one, when an extra dose of love didn’t hurt either of us.

I still had time before going to Harry’s, so I called the police station in Leetsville. Lucky answered. “Dolly’s just pulling out of the lot. I’ll stop her,” he said, and put down the phone.