Sierra Woods - The Resurrectionist

With trembling hands, she slid a picture of an engaging-looking, happy little boy, about the age of six or so, with one front tooth missing. I didn’t touch the photo because I was certain I would end up on my knees in pain. I don’t like to do that in front of clients. Kinda puts people off when the expert loses her mind.

“When did you last see him? Is it possible he’s simply run away?” The truth is, if the cops don’t find a kidnapped child right away, the kid is probably already dead or out of state and unlikely to be recovered.

“He didn’t run away. He didn’t come home from school. My cousin, Filberto, was to get him because I had a dentist appointment, but Roberto never came out of the school.” She covered her face with her hands. “He’s gone!”

Never came home, my ass. If I had hackles they’d be standing straight up. You didn’t need to be a resurrectionist to smell something foul in the story. “Was Filberto questioned by the police?” Something in me sizzled when I said his name, and I jumped as if I’d been stuck with a cattle prod. Bad sign for Filberto’s team.

“Oh, sure, I know what you think, but he’d never hurt my baby. Never.” Wiping her eyes with a tissue, she was careful not to disturb the black mascara topping off her wide-eye look.

The skin on my back began to itch and crawl, as if maggots had already begun to eat my flesh. Not a good sign, either. Everyone has a sixth sense; some are just more highly developed than others.

Mine was on fire.

“I need to meet with your family. Can you set that up for tonight?” I looked at my watch. It was almost 6 p.m. “In a few hours, please. We have to move fast.” I was fairly certain it wasn’t going to be fast enough.

“We’ll do anything to get our baby back.”

Leaning forward over the desk, I focused on Juanita, cupped my hands around her face, and held her gaze for a few seconds. At first she was startled, but then she held my gaze. That’s not easy. I’m a little scary sometimes. She was true, and I released her. “Are you certain you’ll do anything to find him?”

“Yes.” She hadn’t blinked and neither had I. You’d be surprised what shit could happen in the blink of an eye.

“I’ll see you around eight.” I slid a piece of paper across the desk. “Write down your address.”

I walked them to the door with a mental sigh. It was going to be a long night. Calling Sam occurred to me, but after our conversation this morning I was feeling ornery. Besides, I wasn’t doing a resurrection. Just information gathering, so technically I didn’t have to call him.

I just love technicalities when they work in my favor.

* * *

I arrived at the Ramirez house a few minutes early. I like to watch a house for a little while before walking in. Opening the door for a person I didn’t know got me killed once. It ain’t happening again.

Instincts on full alert, I approached the door. Letting my senses reach out, I felt for imminent danger, but found nothing, so I rang the doorbell. Burton and the other-siders had to be mistaken. There was no big, bad darkness out to get me, just a missing boy who needed to be found. Looking overhead, I saw no threat. I was just a simple resurrectionist doing a job. I wasn’t any threat to a universal force.

But I kept my right hand free to grab my gun, anyway. I carry a 9mm semiauto. I also tuck a derringer in the top of my boot, but that requires a little extra maneuvering to get to. Most people aren’t used to women carrying weapons openly, so I wear a light blazer over my shirt and shoulder holster. Basic black, goes with everything. And hides the dagger strapped to my left wrist too.

“Miss Wright, please come in.” Julio opened the door and ushered me in. Here, everyone says Miss, not Ms., but it means the same thing. “We’re here, like you said. Tell us what we need to do.”

Oh, he might not like what I was suspecting he had to do. “Thank you. How about I just talk to everyone, and we go from there?”

“I don’t know if it will help.” He swayed slightly as he held on to the door, and I detected the faint odor of tequila leaking from his pores. After what he’d been through, I couldn’t begrudge him a shot or two of fortitude.

“Someone knows something.” He shrugged, but led me to the kitchen table, which was the hub of the family activity. This was a typical Catholic-Hispanic household with crosses of various sizes around the house and a small shrine in the living room. My grandmother’s house is nearly identical, except she has a shrine to Buddha. No matter, same deal.

“We’re here because I believe someone here may have information about Roberto they haven’t told the police. On his own he’s not going to survive for long.”

“You think he’s still alive? After all this time can he be alive?”

This question was posed by one of the family matriarchs. Although only two days had passed since his disappearance, I was certain it felt like an eternity. Anger and grief warred for control in her eyes. She was afraid to hope, afraid to believe he would be found, and terrified something she didn’t want to think about had already happened. I wanted to help this family, but I knew I was going to bring more bad news. That part wasn’t my problem to deal with. Recovering a child was. I hoped.

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

“Are you a curandera?” she asked, watchful and suspicious.

That’s the Hispanic version of a witch-woman or a healer, depending on the interpretation. Not my gig, but most people, especially the highly superstitious, are more comfortable with that term. “No. I’m a nurse, not a healer in the way you mean.” Once a nurse, always a nurse. We’re kind of like the marines that way, but without the firepower and snappy haircuts. “Tonight I’m here to see if I can help find Roberto.” I looked away from her and the grief pouring out of her. That kind of energy messes with my mojo. “I need everyone to go outside and form a circle in the yard.”

This family understood the need for ceremony and rituals, so there were no complaints. I entered the circle the family created. Turning, I moved toward Roberto’s parents and held my hands, palms out, toward them.

I don’t have the power to see energy or auras that other resurrectionists do. I feel them, sense them, and almost taste them if they are strong enough. Not very palatable, but it’s not as if I have a choice. I’ll brush my teeth later.

The little charge of energy that flowed from Juanita and Julio was clean. I don’t know how else to explain it, but it wasn’t tainted with evil or deception. I guess I have an evil-ometer in my hands. I have to be careful of whom and what I touch because my senses pick up things when I don’t want them to. One of the undisclosed perks of coming back from the dead.

I focused on the present and the possibility of finding this child. Alive or dead, I wasn’t sure, but at least we could find out what had happened to him.

I moved around the circle with my radar on full alert. It was as if I had a bubble of energy around me with tendrils that reached out for information and drew it back to me. Kind of like an electrical octopus feeding information instead of fish. I felt the vibrations flowing around and over the bubble and absorbed some of the energy. Not unlike static feels when you rub a balloon against your hair. Assuming you have hair. You know what I mean.

One of the women shivered as I approached her and made the sign of the cross, then rubbed her arms. Whatever makes you feel better, I guess. She wasn’t my target, and I moved on. Women were rarely the perpetrators of crimes against children. Sure, you got the ones who murdered their entire families, but those people were mentally ill. They had to be or I couldn’t sleep at night. I was in search of a male. And I had found one. Possibly abused himself, but had never dealt with it.