M Sellars - Blood Moon

Ben pulled out his badge case then rolled down his window and waited as the trooper approached on a wide arc.

“I’m sorry, but this rest area is temporarily closed,” the officer stated, still standing several feet back and to the side with his hand now resting on the butt of his pistol.

“Detective Storm,” my friend announced, offering his badge and ID. “Major Case Squad.”

Angling the light on my friend’s hand, the trooper relaxed, but only slightly, before stepping forward and taking it from him.

Even though it was well away from Saint Louis proper, the rest area was located in Warren County. Since the Major Case Squad was handling this investigation and both the Warren County Sheriff’s office and Missouri State Highway Patrol were participating agencies with the MCS, Ben was still operating within his jurisdiction.

The uniformed man inspected the ID then handed it back to him with a nod. “Thanks. They’ve been expecting you,” he said then beamed his flashlight along the road. “Veer right to the car park area and head straight back. It’s on the other side of the lot behind the facilities building. Can’t miss it. You’ll sign in up there.”

“Thanks,” Ben told him.

We waited as the trooper returned to his vehicle then backed it up a few feet to allow us room to pass.

“Whatever ya’ do, stick close to me. Both of ya’,” my friend told us as he rolled up his window and started nudging the van forward. “I don’t feel like gettin’ into a yellin’ match right now.”

“Why would that happen?” Felicity asked from the rear seat. “Didn’t he just say we were expected?”

“Yeah… And we are,” he replied. “But since the hubcap chasers found the car, they’re gonna wanna take the lead on this. We just gotta let ‘em think they’re in charge while we do what we’re here to do. So that means hang close, let me talk, and you two just do the Twilight Zone thing.”

“In other words, we’re dealing with inter agency politics,” I offered, my voice flat and emotionless as I was still intent on keeping my inner turmoil under wraps.

“Yeah, the big, nasty P word… that’s about the size of it. And as usual everybody’s gonna want the credit on their resume.”

I wasn’t surprised by his commentary. Jurisdiction alone didn’t mean cooperation was going to come easy, and I had first hand experience with that. I’d actually witnessed the backbiting he’d just described on more than one occasion.

“What about you?” I asked out of idle curiosity. “Don’t you want to bolster yours a bit?”

“Yeah, right, and risk a fuckin’ promotion? Hell no. I already sit behind a desk long enough as it is,” he replied. “I move up too much farther I’ll be stuck in a goddamn office with no windows, spendin’ all day lookin’ at crime stats on a friggin’ computer screen and gettin’ a chronic case of numb ass.”

I forced myself to chuckle lightly. “You’ve said yourself that we’re both getting too old for this stuff. I thought maybe you’d be ready for a desk job.”

“No,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Old’s one thing, but I ain’t dead yet.”

We cruised through the empty expanse of parking spaces then rounded the backside of the rest area, heading for the far end of the lot as we had been directed. The moment we reached the beginning of the bend and just before the turn toward the left, a chaotic dance of luminance blossomed across the windshield. The cluster of flashing emergency lights had not been visible from the highway as we approached, but from this vantage point they lit up the night.

Several squad cars, both from the state patrol and the sheriff’s office were stationed on either side of the vehicle in question. Crime scene tape ran between trees, lampposts, and bumpers in order to cordon off the area. A second flashlight-wielding officer waved us toward a parking space beneath one of the light standards and began walking in our direction while Ben pulled the van in and shut off the engine.

I unlatched my seatbelt then climbed out of the passenger side and jerked open the sliding door for Felicity. The cold night air was a crisp shock against the bare skin of my face after sitting in the warm interior of the vehicle for the past hour. In that moment I was very glad we had stopped by my wife’s Jeep to retrieve my jacket before heading out.

Dusk had fallen hard, and even though we had recently been through an abnormally warm stretch, a cold front was encroaching, and the temperatures dipped quickly as soon as the sun went into hiding below the horizon. Since the day had been clear and no cloud cover had yet to roll through, there was no insulation to keep in what little heat the ground had accumulated over the past few days. Therefore, the outside temperature was making my memories of the earlier chill in the morgue seem almost warm by comparison.

My wife levered the van door shut then turned to me with a concerned look on her face. “Rowan… You’ve seemed a bit out of it for the past few minutes. Are you feeling okay then?”

I sighed as I reached up to rub my temples. My short reprieve was over, and lying to her wasn’t going to do any good, so I gave in. “The headache is back… But, it isn’t Emily… I’m not sure who it is… It feels familiar…too familiar…but foreign as well… Does that make sense?”

“You don’t think it’s…” She allowed her voice to trail off.

I could tell by her words that she was thinking the same thing I had been. I shook my head and muttered, “I’m trying not to.”

Ben was already talking to the state trooper by the time we hooked around the back end of the van and joined him. They both looked over at us, and my friend gave a nod in my direction.

“I was beginnin’ ta’ think we were gonna hafta send a search party lookin’ for ya’,” he quipped.

“Just getting situated,” I replied.

“Here,” he said as he held a clipboard out to me. Then he directed his words to the trooper. “They’ll need ta’ sign in too. They’re special consultants for Major Case.”

“No problem,” the man replied with a nod.

I stepped forward and took the proffered crime scene log, signed my name, and then under the heading for title entered exactly what Ben had just called us, “special consultant.” When I was finished entering the “time in” I handed it to Felicity so she could do the same. When she gave the clipboard back to the officer, he glanced at the signatures then looked us both up and down.

“The crime scene guys are already here,” he stated. “What kind of consultants are you two?”

Without missing a beat I replied, “Reluctant.”

Once again he gave the clipboard a one-eyed stare for a second then mumbled something not quite intelligible.

“Wait a minute,” he finally said. “Gant… Yeah, I knew I’d heard that name before. You’re the psychic.”

I wasn’t surprised at what he said. Between media coverage and word of mouth, I didn’t meet too many cops in the state who hadn’t at least heard of me-in one sense or another. Unfortunately, the rumors weren’t always true or particularly flattering either.

“Yeah, something like that,” I half agreed rather than launch into an involved explanation.

In truth, his assessment was probably closer to the mark than I really wanted to admit. Witch or not, my facility was at least as much psychic as it was magick, probably even more so. The big difference was that I didn’t make a career of bilking grieving families out of money to tell them vague and ambiguous stories about their departed loved ones with whom I was supposedly conversing. Instead, I worked for free to offer the police vague and ambiguous clues in order to stop the voices inside my head. Unfortunately, my payoff never lasted long.