Sightless Seer Part Two

Posted: December 20, 2010 by Ty in Rex O'Neil Mysteries

I wonder if the police service really cares that a man has been murdered?  Sadly, I used to be among their number, but the crass jokes about where the body was found, and what if he was a fortuneteller he could not foresee his own death, well just simply tasteless.  This leaves me to ponder in my own world how others may perceive me and my work?

            The lead investigator looks young, or is it that I have been at this too long? Since Banff, I have been feeling older, could whatever happened to me be aging me prematurely? “Mr. O’Neil, thank you for the call, we will be in touch with you.”

            “Thank you Detective, but you know all I know.”  She doesn’t look like she believes me, but then I really don’t care, I step out of the Spiritualist Church, over the door a wood sign reads The Gateway to the Holy Mystery, sadly the seer had truly discovered that great mystery.  Walk down the road to a small private coffee shop, take a seat and a waitress brings me a cup of black coffee and I order some apple pie.

            I read her name tag, Mindy.  “Did you know anything about the Spiritualist Church?”

            “Yeah, Dan’s a good guy, don’t go in for all that ghosts, zombies an aliens stuff.”

She obviously started her shift before the events of the police arriving.  “That was the Seer?” Mindy nods. “Friend of yours?”

            “More of a regular customer. Why so many questions?”

I tell her that he was murdered, the glass coffee pot slips from her hand and shatters on the tiles of the shop.  She is in shock, and it takes a moment for her to gather her thoughts, I pay for the pie and coffee, she has no further information, but I think I need to clear my busy mind, and since the Seer can’t help me, perhaps a monk at the Buddhist Temple can.

            The walk in the brisk winter air helps, I try to regulate my breathing, but feel the anxiety of old creeping up in my system.  Breathing slowly in and out, trying to lower my anxiety. The frost crunches as I move up the steps into the ashram as things begin to swirl.  Swirling is not good, this I know for sure.

            The blackness recedes and I have an old, bald, oriental guy looking up at me. “Hello?”

            “You are the Lox.”

The Lox again echoes in my mind. It is like that shooting pain one feels when a kid kicks them in the gonads, except between both temples, and the eerie candle glow off the bald head is not helping matters.  Swirling surrounding goes blinky blink with a strobe light effect.

            “What the fuck is the Lox?!!!”

“You are the Lox.”

            I feel the entire building melt away from me; it feels like a gooey slurpee bath washing over me.  I feel air rush around me with flashing lights and here I thought I had given up drinking and drugging a long time ago.

            I taste mud in my mouth, but it is not mud, it is soot, and I feel dry ash around the palms of my hands.  Where am I?  I open my eyes, the ornate ashram is gone and I am kneeling in what looks like the burnt out husk of a church.  “I don’t think I’m in Calgary anymore, Toto.”  And I believe I am talking to myself.

            The crunching of a boot, I whirl up to a standing position ready with fists, but the sole of the boot catches me in the chin sending me careening over the remnants of a pew and onto my back.

            My eyes can barely focus but the individual standing in front of me in a tattered priest suit with bandages over his face and hands.  It is in his eyes that I notice it.

            Dread.

“Lox, why have you returned?”

To Be Continued

Next: Padre Rising.

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