“What’s going on?” I asked as he climbed in.
“I don’t know. Looks like Joe was at the shack for a little while. He’s not around and they’re still looking for him. They’ve got Martha, though, and I guess she’s in bad shape. The paramedics had to sedate her. That ambulance down there is for her.”
“Then who’s this other one for?”
The Reverend ran a hand through his soaked hair. “Not just yet, Sam. Drive over to the other side of the bridge and pull over.”
Asking no more questions, I did as he asked, and saw there was an unmarked car idling by the curb, its cherry-light whirling on the dashboard. A beefy man was sitting inside, talking on the radio. When he saw the van pull over, he climbed out of the car, pulled up the collar on his coat, and ran over to the side door. It took Linus a moment to get it opened, but once he did the man climbed inside and shook the freezing rain from his hands. “I smell coffee. Why has none yet been offered to me?”
“And a good evening to you, too, Bill,” said the Reverend, unscrewing the top of a Thermos and pouring. Detective Bill Emerson took the cup in his thin, dainty, almost-feminine hands (he gets a lot of grief from the guys on the force about them), took a few tentative sips, said, “Starbucks charges you six bucks a shot for stuff this good,” then stared down into the dark, steamy liquid as if expecting to see some answer magically appear. “Okay, so Joe was at the shelter earlier and got upset and took off and you sent Martha after him, right?”
“Right.”
Emerson nodded his head, took another sip of the coffee, then looked at Linus. “Linus, I don’t suppose you’ve got any smokes on you, do you?” “Not tonight, I’m afraid.” “That’s all right. My wife’d kill me if I came home smelling of tobacco.” “How’s Martha?” asked the Reverend. “Quiet, now. They’ve got her in the ambulance.” “Can you tell me anything about what happened?” Emerson shook his head. “Not officially.” “Then off the record?”
Emerson looked up; his eyes were glassy and tired and haunted-looking. “Among other things—which I can’t tell you about, so don’t ask—we found a body down there. I don’t think it’s anyone you know.”
The Reverend tensed. “You don’t know that for certain.”
Emerson reached into his coat pocket and removed three Polaroids that he passed up front. The Reverend looked at all three of them, whispered, “Good God,” and passed them to me.
What happens now? I thought as I looked at them.
There’s an almost-joke that we use to settle the nerves of folks who are passing through, who maybe don’t know about or haven’t heard some of this city’s colorful history: This is Cedar Hill. Weird shit happens here. Get used to it.
Even by the standards of our usual weird shit, what I saw in those photographs was way the hell out there.
The guy had to have been almost seven feet tall. He was naked and pale and dead, but that wasn’t what caused me to gasp, no—he had only one eye socket, directly in the center of his forehead where two eyes struggled to stay in place. His face had no nose; instead, there was a proboscis-like appendage that looked like an uncircumcised penis growing from the center of his too-small forehead.
I was looking at photographs of a dead Cyclops.
What happens now?
I continued staring at them until Linus reached between the seats and snatched them out of my hand. No sooner had he done that and began looking at them than Emerson snatched them from him.
“That’s not fair—they got to see ‘em.”
“Have you seen Joe tonight?” asked Emerson.
“No.”
‘Can you offer me any information that might shed some light on what happened at the shelter earlier this evening?” “No.” “And is there any chance that you’re ever going to replace my wooden figure of Thalidomide Man that the arms fell off of?” “For five bucks, sure.” “I meant for free.”
“What do you think?”
“I think that you’re not connected to this case, then, so you don’t get to peek.” Emerson slipped the Polaroids back into his coat pocket. “Have you ever seen anything like that in your life?”
Both the Reverend and I shook our heads.
“Something strange and maybe kind of terrible is going on in this city tonight,” said Emerson, looking out at the rain. “I can…feel it. This is a perfect night for monsters or ghosts and—Jesus, don’t I sound portentous? Sorry.” He took a couple of deep swallows of the coffee, then wordlessly requested a refill, which the Reverend wordlessly gave. “I’ve felt like something bad’s been going to happen all day,” I said. “For a couple of days, to tell you the truth.” “I hear you,” replied Emerson, then: “Do any of you know any other spots Joe might go to?” None of us did. “Do you think he might have gone back to the shelter?” None of us did. “You guys are a damned helpful bunch,” said Emerson. “Is it all right if I go by and see for myself?” “You can call. Ted Jackson’s holding down the fort until we get back.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.” Emerson finished the coffee, handed the cup back to the Reverend, and slide open the side door. “I don’t have to tell you not to repeat anything, do I?” “Repeat any of what?” said the Reverend. “There you go.” And with that, Emerson closed the door and ran back to his car. I stared at the Reverend for a moment before finally saying, “What the hell was that?”
“That, Samuel, was a deformed human being whose life was probably an unbroken string of lonely miseries that ended on the muddy, freezing banks of this river with no friend near to hold their hand or mark the moment of their passing—that’s who that was.”
I nodded my head and apologized.
“Looked like something out of Jason And The Argonauts, you ask me,” said Linus.
The Reverend shot him a look that could have frozen fire. “Nobody asked you. And I’ll thank you to show a little respect for someone who wasn’t lucky enough to have us find him first!”
Linus blanched at the Reverend’s sudden anger. “I…I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m sorry.”
The Reverend glared at him for a moment longer, then exhaled, his shoulders slumping and the anger vanishing from his face. “I’m sorry, too, Linus.” He reached out and grabbed the other man’s hand. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice like that. Forgive me?” “I will if I can have another sandwich.” “Done.” Linus tore into his ham-and-cheese and I pulled out, turned the van around, and headed for the second pickup point. None of us mentioned the photographs; not then, not later, not again. If you live here, you accept the weird shit—even if it’s with a capital ‘W’—or you try to get out. Good luck with that last option.
4
We dropped Linus off at the shelter about an hour later. Beth’s kids immediately wanted to ride on his cart, and Linus was all too happy to oblige them.
We’d picked up another half-dozen folks along the way, and as soon as they were all situated, Sheriff Jackson came up to me and the reverend and said, “Grant McCullers just called from the Hangman. He’s bringing some hot food over for everyone, and it appears that he’s got another guest for you tonight.”
“Who?” asked the Reverend.