The Sightless Seer: Conclusion

“Enter Jonny Power”

     Flying through the air in a glowing energy ball, talking to super heroes and aliens.  My life was so simple before Banff, and now my head is killing me. Dropping to one knee, the others are sleeping.  We are to stop the end that is to come in 2012 that Sheriff is attempting to bring in early.

     We are coming in to Ottawa and the group voted for me to talk to the city’s hero, a flying muscle bound guy. It’s the Hag in my head.  “You ready Lox.”

     “Look my name is Rex, please call me that.” Something resembling a wide screen LCD television opens in front of me.  We are over the Peace Tower of Parliament Hill, and wish it did not look so shocking but there is a man flying towards me or rather, Hag.

     “Well Rex, you’re up.” Great. A microphone type device appears in my hand.

     “Good morning Jon, let’s chat.”

     The flying man looks a bit jumpy. He is examining the flying light orb.  “Why are you a floating head?”

     Hag help me out here, why am I a floating head?

“Simple, Rex, I have reconfigured my energy form to appear as your head.”

     “Well it’s a long story can we touch down on that roof top and discuss?”

     Jonny touches down on the room of the Supreme Court building, I feel the energy envelope my form and I appear next to him.  “My name is Rex O’Neil, I am a P.I. from Calgary.”

     “Who flies around as a giant head.”

I lay out the whole story.  The hero does not look like he believes me, until the energy shimmers around us again.

     We are surround in the energy orb, by 7 corporeal beings, and two shimmering wraith like ghosts. Padre is the first one to speak, “Welcome to the team Power, I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

     It’s the first time I glimpse that Jonny Power in spite of his power looks rather young.  “How old are you?”

     “What does it matter to you head boy argh!” he grips the sides of his head and crumples down in agony. 

     “Hag stop!” Gisbourne shouts.

With a tear trickling down his cheek Power looks up at the gathered crew. “Who the fuck is Hag?”

     The Hood’s sweet voice responds.  “We are living in Hag currently, she/he/it is the ULO we are in, and she tends to lack patience with impertinence.”

       Odin and Alan were planning off somewhere else in the orb.  Pigeon and the Seer were attempting to locate Sheriff. That left the rest of us to try and calm the kid down, to be able to bring him into the fold.

     “Look, I am like the 12^th guy to be Jonny Power, I was leaving my junior high school when the flash hit me.”

     Herne nods, “yes Power was looking for a new hybrid since his Terran form died.” Herne goes on to enlighten the kid about his heritage that dates not only to this Current Era Terra, but also Before Current Era when his partner entity existed within the bowels of Mercury, and the Ancient Colonization. 

     The colonization led to a hybrid in Medieval England known as John Little, who worked with one of the historic Robin Hood’s in beating oppression.  The kid is starting to get that glazed over look in his eyes.

     “Okay guys, we got a 13 year old kid with the main power, but we are dumping stuff on him that would make anyone’s attention span wane.” Herne actually looks pissed off at me for interrupting, but Hag breaks in again.

     “Sheriff is heading towards the Temple.”

Okay it’s my turn to be confused now.  The Temple, this had not been mentioned previously.

     “The Temple is underneath Sherwood.” Alan Said.

Now my head is hurting, we fly all the way East to pick up the kid, to fly all the way back.  “This makes no sense, if we were in the city where the Temple was, why did we come here?!” Not my calmest moment.

     Odin spoke clearly and in a sort of reverberating voice to the group. “The 12 must stand together in the Holy Temple.  Sheriff is at the Temple attempting to start the Ascension Rite without us which will trigger Armageddon.”

     Okay my head is spinning now more than ever. “What is the Ascension Rite?”

     It’s Gisbourne that fills in the blanks for us, “The Ascension Rite is our way of ending Armageddon, it is the 12 of us together ascending back into the Brahma/Nirvana/Paradise, The Holy Mystery if you will.”

     The Hood twists on her heal and make eye contact with Gisbourne, or more eye to chest contact. “No one said this was a suicide mission.”

     A brilliant flash of light and the 10 of us are standing in the wreckage of Padre’s church. Hag is floating as a glowing red dot in front of the crumbled altar.  It is her voice that addresses us. “Below this building is the Ancient Temple.  The Temple was once the mother ship for the original colonizers, Gisbourne’s ancestors, when there was just a super continent modern Terran scientist has begun to call Pangaea. The arrival of the original hybrids in a rain of fire shifted the tectonic plates and shattered the continent.  Sheriff is a supposed immortal from those hybrids who has tried several times to issue in the end of the world.

     At each step one of us, or an incarnation of one of us stepped in to stop him. One of us is no longer an option, the traitor most be reabsorbed into the Source.  Once that has happened the universe will continue.  This is not a simple mission, it is not a mission from me, I am simply a messenger from the Source, and this is the way it must end.  If you wish to leave, then there will be an apocalypse in 2012.”

     Clear as mud. “So basically Hag we either dive into the sewers and end this, or the world ends?” If an energy point could nod in agreement I believe that is what they would look like. Hood takes the lead, “then let’s go.” She steps behind the altar and pulls up a floor board revealing a secret passage.

     Good to know, time to go.  Hood, followed by Gisbourne, Odin, Pigeon, Seer, Herne, Alan, Padre, Jonny, Hag, and begrudgingly I bring up the rear.  The modern day band of Robin and His Merry Peeps, “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to save the world we go.”

     Hag mutters something that sounds like Galic Pig Latin and we vanish from the sewage water and reappear in what resembles a stereotypical ancient world temple, y’know the kinds that were described in the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible) in regards to the Levitical sex laws, because you would just show up to worship and screw whatever was there as your act of worship.

     In the centre of the temple around the glory of the altar, fresh blood running down, looks like dead squirrels, cats and dogs, stands a large humanoid, my guess…The Sheriff.

     The Sheriff’s voice sounds fairly high-pitched “Oh great Quetzalcoatl bring about your will!”

     Hag flies overhead.  “You call upon that which you do not understand!” The little glowing dot explodes into a feathered serpent.  “I am but one expression of the Holy Mystery.  The 12 stand in the holy temple where life began to change in this world, the Temple that bore witness at the Big Bang, and road the shock waves to that which emerged from the primal ooze in the Great Story.”

     The Sheriff crumples.  Hood leans in, “did you know she could do that?”

     “Dudette I am new here.”

A weird wavy voice like in a Boris Karhloff movie speaks out, “you are my chosen children, whom I am well pleased.  Welcome home.”

     The end of the world as we know it…nope stopped by the Magnificent 11 and the extra guy.  Ah to become ascended…

The End

Sightless Seer Part 4

“Enter the Forest”

     I thought the burnt out church was depressing for a meeting sight, that had nothing on the old cemetery where the collective was called together.  I really have no other term for what we are.

     But Padre was there in his hoody, jeans and leather coat with the bandages over his head and hands; Alan A. Dale was dressed in a simple casual suit reporter and Imam; The Hood, was dressed all in black, with a green baggy hoody and head covering.

     “So why the text Padre?”

Alan was the most direct.  The Padre laid down the story and the theory.  The Sheriff had struck again was his supposition and in striking had killed another, for lack of a better term, Supra, in Calgary, a Seer.  The Hood coughed slightly.

     “Okay, so Sheriff whacked this cleric and the Pigeon, why?”

     It was my turn to step into the conversation and fill in some of the logistical gaps as to the why.  I talked of my experience in Banff, the strangeness of the Lox.

     “The Lox? As in Loxley a part of the Robin Hood mythos where my Hood comes from.” Hood blurts out.  There is a linkage here. “See I have been investigating this further, and if we want to think this through using as Padre phrased it, Paleo-Seti, then the actual Robin Hood legend tied to Herne the Hunter of Celtic lore can be espoused.”  Okay who gave the chicky a PhD in this stuff? “Essentially we are all pieces of the puzzle, each of us has a role to play.”

     I nod, way too much info, but she continues rattling it off.  The Robin and Marian dynamic, Alan as the storyteller, Padre as the Tuck, Pigeon and the Seer would have had roles to fill probably within the realm of Scarlett and Much.

     But here we are two short, and the Sheriff hunting us down. Weirdness, but not as weird as when I glance up in the sky to the spherical lights twirling overhead like right now.

     “Uhm guys maybe we should look up?”

A hole opened in the light sphere, this was not going to be good, how do I know? Simple, nothing in my life ever works out for the best when it starts with floating light objects.  It is days like today I wished I had completely avoided the career change and stayed a homicide detective, damn you Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and shooting assassins that caused it.  Okay end venting. All the pretty lights make things go sparkle.

     Four of us rematerialize floating around brilliant white glowiness. My compatriots seem as phased as I am by this. “Not to make anyone else worried, but I do not believe we are in Sherwood anymore.” Padre said.

     Hood, if I could see her eyes, appeared to be taking in the whole scene. Alan was being a typical reporter, I could note him taking in all the scenery and noting anything of importance.

     The voice sounded almost like an electric recording gone bad, “You are still in Sherwood, simply above it. Welcome back Lox.” Welcome back?  My eyes readjust to the brightness, and the image is familiar.  The typical alien, from such memorable moments as Fox’s Alien Autopsy, I believe the exact term is Grays.

     “The name is Rex.”

“No, as with the others you are the Lox, you have been merged with our ancestors essence to bring about the salvation of the Universe.  I am Herne.” Okay so now I have been merged with an ancient alien, while I am talking to an alien who has named himself after a Celtic god. Great, maybe I need a vacation. “No Lox you do not require a vacation, the Sheriff is attempting to usher in 2012 early, the ultimate change for 2013 in the rebirth would be a recolonization of Terra by the Nordics.” Nordics, they are aliens that are usually described in incidents as resembling pasty Viking types if you will.

     “For you see, Sheriff is one of the 12, the holy number.” The voice is singsong, a pale, almost albino humanoid form, towering tall I’m thinking 6’9” if he’s an inch. “Forgive me, I am Odin.”

     Okay my mind is reeling and thankfully Hood jumps in. “Whoa, what the fuck is going on around here?”

     “Give us a moment and we shall explain.” I did not recognize the voice, but the start Alan gave spoke volumes. “Yes Mr. Dale, it is I, Pigeon without my corporeal form due to Sheriff’s attack.”

     “Sheriff blind sided us.” A thick Middle Eastern accent continues the story, “I am the one you have termed the Seer, and I too lack a body, for our deaths do not mean the death of our essence, rather we await rebirth and merging anew.”

     Okay so reincarnation works through alien possession?

“It is not possession, rather we become living hybrids with you.” Herne explained.

     “What did you say about the holy 12 and recolonization?”

     “Our ancestors coexisted peacefully with the nation you termed Aztec, their calendar ended in 2012 because they believed a new world order would be ushered in 2013 that would radically change the world would function.” Said Pigeon.

     “The radical shift would be one world government under Emperium control.” Said Seer. Emperium? This is starting to sound like a bad Star Wars movie.

     “Sheriff is hoping to usher this in by releasing your energy essences from your corporeal selves through assassination. Like each of us here, Sheriff is one of the holy 12.” Said Odin.

     “What the fuck?” Padre just blurts out. “I’m sorry with my frame of reference I think of the 12 tribes of Israel, or the 12 disciples.”

     A new voice joins the fray, the hulking behemoth is close to 8’ tall and looks like a Gorn from the original Star Trek. “I am Gisbourne, the holy 12 is a number represented through many religious systems throughout the galaxies, in fact usually within 12 there is a weak link, or traitor, betrayer if you will, for Terran Christians you would say Judas.  Sheriff is our Judas.”

 A Reptillian, intriguing.  So this brings our total on board light floating orb to 9, with Sheriff that is ten. “I note that brings us up to 10, we are still missing 2.”

A loud sigh that feels to already emanate directly from my mind.  “You may call me Hag.” Hag, the ancient woman of wisdom. “Or ULO since you humans love acronymns.”

“ULO?” I inquire.

“Unidentified Light Object.” Touché. So that makes 11.

“But my math still says oh great aliens we are one short.”

I think the Reptillian is smiling. “No, you are coming with me for one more recruit, our very own Little John out of Ottawa.”

To Be Continued…

Next: Enter Jonny Power.

The Sightless Seer Part 3

“Padre Rising”

            How do I explain this to this guy. “Okay this is going to sound very weird.” I lay down the story, the abduction in Banff and the murdered Seer.  “So what the fuck do you know about the Lox?”

            I think he’s grinning underneath all those bandages.  That is so weird, but there must be something I am deeply missing. “The Lox, or Loxley is an alien elder.  The alien elders—“

            “Look I know the whole Stargate theory.”

“That’s good, but if you explore a bit deeper you get Sitchin who postulated that the number 12 is the holy number, and there is not 11 planets but there was originally 12, and Marduk was the 12^th that set everything in motion.”  Padre said, “essentially there has been said there will be 12 heroes to come before the world transforms again.  The Hood[1] is one, I have discovered I am 2.  A journalist friend, Alan A. Dale is third, you were said to be the fourth, and the Seer was to awaken shortly as the fifth.”

            Okay head is spinning.  That was quite a bit to hear from a burned up pastor. Now the question arises though who killed the Seer back in Calgary, and why some one is hunting us down? “So who is doing this?”

            The Padre shrugs, but then pauses.  “Shit.  The Sheriff[2].”

“What the fuck is the Sheriff?” 

            “He has gotten 2 of the 12, there was a young hero here who went by the name Pigeon, he aided us in stopping a gang war[3].  The Sheriff is an enigma, appeared and executed the Pigeon, and then vanished.”

            Okay this is way over my head.  But time to slow it down. “So what we have is 12 peeps that are needed, and we got 2 that are dead.  So there’s basically four of us left?”

            Padre nods. “And some mystery guy attempting to whack us all.”

“And what precisely are the 12 of us supposed to do?”

            “2012 man, change the world completely.” I must have looked like I blanked out because Padre seemed to slow down his speech. “Allegedly the `gods’ are destined to return, and finally secure their place in the light, to save us all.  But the 12 of us are to stop this from happening.”

            Okay now my head is really hurting, WTF? “So our world will transition into a golden age, and you want to end that?”

            Padre pinches where the bridge of his nose should be. “There’s a dark side to everything.  We are the last line of defense before another invasion takes root.”

            Okay this is seriously causing my head to hurt.  I mean it looks like the world will be better, yet in the grand scheme of things it really isn’t, because the 12, now 10 but are still missing, are meant to stop it.  Is this making sense to anyone else out there?  “So what is the plan?”

            “Simple we need to figure out where the other  6 will appear and beat the Sheriff there to recruit them before he kills them.” The plan sounds simple. 

            “And how will we do this? And how will we know who these other  are to be?”

Padre flashes his teeth.  “Simple, we begin the leg work like one does when writing an investigative piece.” He flips open a cell phone and shoots off two text messages. “We need the others.”

To be Continued…

Next: Enter the Forest…

---

[1] For the origin of The Hood and Alan A. Dale, go to rainbowchapelulc.tk and read Sherwood e-book.

[2] Check out “Pigeon’s Last Flight” available at rainbowchapelulc.tk under Sherwood.

[3] Read “Street Priezt” e-book at rainbowchapelulc.tk

Sightless Seer Part Two

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.

The Sightless Seer Part 1

My dreams have gotten weirder since the “Banff Case” as I have begun calling it.  Weird psychedelic colours swirling in my mind all night long which awakens me far to early and drives me out to the local greasy spoon (formerly a Husky House, now something new, I could tell you, but that would require the street lights providing actual light, and they having a business sign above the door).

The coffee is sure enough rotting out my gut; I am one of three folks inside.  There is the toothless sex trade worker so androgynous I am not sure what gender they are and then there’s the waitress who I think is doubling as the cook, she is a Ms. Slokum type off of the Britcom `Are you Being Served?’ right down to the bright blue hair, just waiting for the pussy jokes.

My pen is scribbling in the journal.  Trying to sort out the colours, the flashes of other people, or are their lives.  The weird voices I hear echoing that some say is the voice of God, yet I am struggling with.  I could have sworn that aliens in Banff abducted me.  Although how do you mention that to anyone with them taking you seriously? So I am reading Ancient Astronaut theory, parapsychology, alien abduction theory, and any thing else I can find in the New Age section at Chapters to be able to understand this experience.  Especially since my client never returned alive from it.

The waitress has a missing gap tooth boarded by two faux gold-capped teeth; she is smiling at me and beginning to trip me out.  She moves towards me with the coffee pot. “Freshen you up, Lox.”

“What did you say?”

“Freshen up your cup, luv.” I nod.  Okay I am starting to hear things, could have sworn she called me Lox.  That’s what the voice in Banff called me, The Lox or the Loxley.  Through me the world will be saved.  What the same hill does that mean?

            Although I won’t be able to save much if I can’t get a decent night’s sleep.  It may be time to approach an actual human being in regards to this, as my own research is not producing results.  It is time to visit the Spiritualist Centre and to see if their Seer can help me.

            Finish up my coffee and leave a five on the counter and head out.  The sun is rising, it’s Sunday morning 8 a.m.. I make my way via transit up to the centre.  The ride takes an hour, I manage to catch a cat nap, but still am not firing on all cylinders.

            The centre is in an old store front, the windows have been blacked out with paint, and I step through the glass door, the bell from what I believe was a turn of the century book store jingles to announce my arrival, yet no one responds.  It is too quiet.  The floorboards are creaking, the old pine plank wood bending under my step as I move towards what they use for the worship area.  It is far too quiet, even for a pre-service time.

            The room of the gatherings has chairs over turned, looks like a tussle, candles are rolled over and the curtains are singed. Move towards the centre of the room, broken tables, and a pool of sticky liquid. It smells of copper and coffee.  Follow the trail out of the meeting room to the hallway and into the public washroom.

            The door is ajar.  Push it open as the liquid trail flows inwards.  The body is impaled onto the shattered toilet, with jagged ceramic pieces jutting through him.  His eyes have been cut out and stuffed into his mouth, so have his ears, with the neck slit.  Blood is splattered everywhere.

            Someone did not want the Seer to speak today.  I flip open my phone and hit 911. “I would like to report a murder.”

To Be Continued…

Next: Who or what is the Lox?  Rex’s self-discovery continues as the mystery of the Sightless Seer continues…

Abduction the Conclusion

Heat…intense heat…feel like I am melting out of my own skin.

Blistering cold. Self-freezing. Reshaping back to human form.

            Gunfire.

Death.

            Flashes of brilliant white light.

What is going on?  My mind feels like thunder rolling through the sky, then the screeching sound ripping my brain apart.  I think my hands are gripping my head, but I can’t feel my fingers.  Come to think of it I cannot feel my body at all.  I am floating in some gelatinous goo.

            Eyes won’t open.  Or are they open? Can’t see through—all like seeing the world through a prism.

            Seeing flashes of light.  A myriad of world’s exploding around me. Many voices speaking into one.

An exploded church building.

            An antler horn on my lips blowing, the chain mail chafes my mid section.

More pain, a whip strapping my back as I push a sand brick.

            What are these? Sights of past lives? Past experiences? What is going on?

“Rex, or should we address you as Pharaoh? Bartok? Priezt? Hoode? Sir Rupert? Susan? Regal?”

            Ow my head is hurting, the voice is a mix of some cheesy science fiction re-echo effect and I think Julie Newmar as Catwoman.  The names sound familiar.  They touch my ears.  The litany continues. “John MacCurtis, John McCurtis, Kyler Storm.” All these names, a litany of universe out there that have recently ceased, my mind is opening up.  Billions of humans lost to reality, as all of these alternate realities collapsed inwards to this one.

            One linear thought.

“You are wrong, the other realities exist.  You are but THE nexus.  The one point where all become fiction and reality, myth and truth.  You are the Lox.”

            A rush of air and I feel my body slam hard into steel.  The light show ends and it is all black. No more intense heat or cold, just comfortable room temperature.  Okay shake my head, my clothes are gone, and I am in a shimmering white robe.  WTF?

            Blackness.

Snow in my mouth; please God let it be clean snow.  Spit it out. Where am I?  Look down, I am dressed, well jeans and a t-shirt, and my hoody, look up and peer through the shattered room window.  Step back through into the room.  Marvin is gone.

            `He is in a better place.’ That damn voice again.  What is that?

`You are the Lox’

            What the hell is the Lox?

`You are the Loxley.’

            That clears it up, and I am going insane listening to voices in my head wonder if there is a medication for this?

            “Hello?! Anyone around?” No response, but my head is still, wait room is spinning, doing one of those spiny television effects and I am feeling metal again, what is going on?

            `The Lox is needed.  You are the Lox.’

That clears a lot up.  Where is Marvin?

            `Marvin has returned to the Source, he was unhappy; we thought he was the Lox, but were wrong. You are the Lox.’

            Okay if I am the Lox then who the hell are you?

The metal around me vanishes and I am standing in my living room.

            `Through the Lox the world will be saved.’

“Who are you?~!!!!”

The End ?

Abduction Part 2

“Ewww.” That’s about the sum of it. I do not like getting bombarded with vaporized killer man. “What the…”

            “Please do not resort to colourful metaphors, the being known as Sinbad was a statistical anomaly that needed to be removed.” Wow that is a harsh way to deal with an outlier. But where is that voice—looks like a bloody Dalek from Dr. Who wobbling this way.  “My master is coming to talk to you.” Master is coming to talk to me? Man I miss my old beat where we would have simple murders to deal with, why did I think private investigation was the way to go?

            The robot shimmers out of existence.  Okay this is now beyond weirdness.  Fog begins to roll into the room through the blown out window.  I know every old horror movie I have seen says not to go towards the broken window, but rather than listen to this interior insight I move into the fog instead of backing out through the room door and running for what is more than likely safety.

            What the??? An overweight middle-aged chap?  This is the “master”? He looks familiar. “Marvin?”

            “Why, why did you make them send me back?”, tears streaming down his eyes. Okay colour me confused. I yank the guy into the room.

            “What the hell are you talking about?”
”I was finally happy, in paradise…and now…I am here.”

            Paradise? Okay why am I feeling like I am trapped in a bad sci-fi movie now?  This guy is making no sense.  “What about Marjorie?”

            “Just tell her I am dead, she wants the insurance money more than me.”  Okay I have been around this guy for all of 30 seconds and I must admit that I personally want the money more than him. But that doesn’t appear to be an option, wish I was an American PI, then I could have a gun and `accidentally’ shoot him.

            So I do the only thing I can, I grab him by the scruff of the neck and haul him up to eye level. “Quit crying and spit it out.”

            “They came back…finally…”

Okay I think stopping breathing is bad.  I lower Marvin to the ground.  Phone first, dial the front desk.  “We need an ambulance!” then start CPR.  Yeesh.  This is really shaping up to be a bad case and that is beside locking lips on an overweight accountant and wondering if EMS can even make it up the mountain.

            A whirring. Glance up as I do compressions…and a voice…

“Rexford Hildebrand Jonathan Lukas O’Neil.”

            “Shit.”

A burst of prism light.

To Be Continued…

Abduction Part 1

            The fog had covered the highway just up the hill from the creek bed.  The drought though had left it little more than a water trickle over rocks. The jeep’s high beams were not slicing through the pea soup for much visibility when the lights came down through the sky.

            The driver, Melvin, was a middle aged, slightly obese, balding, librarian.  The lights shimmered through the front windshield causing Melvin to vanish from behind the wheel.

            The jeep was found in the morning at the bottom of the hill in the creek bed.

48 hours later.

            Marjorie Loo, Melvin’s wife had attempted to file a police report on her missing husband who vanished on the stretch of highway coming home from a conference in Banff, AB to Calgary, AB.  The police gave her a case number and not much else.

            So here I am, in my woollies, standing in a drying up creek bed with the first snow of the season falling down around me. Why was I dumb enough to take this case?  Oh right, simple things like paying rent.

            They had removed the jeep wreckage, but from what I gathered weather conditions two nights ago were dense fog conditions. So he could have just gone off the road, but then would he have stumbled off into the woods?  Howls of coyotes.  Time for a bit of a hike.  Checking the ground like I know what it means to track a man, but there is nothing to note signs of someone as large as Melvin was described (5’6” 350 pounds) had moved through here. So essentially I had nothing, might as well head back to the town site and see if any one in Banff had an idea about what had happened to Mr. Melvin Loo.

            The Provincial Convention of Librarians was held at the Banff Centre. A great complex up the mountain, from town you cut through the graveyard and walk up the mountainside.  There is multiple buildings and it is a weird mixture of business people and artists living in residence and taking courses.  Make my way to the main building and the front desk.  I flash my private investigator’s license to the young 18 year old red head working behind the desk and she gushes.

            “Wow a real PI, that is so cool.  How can I help you Mr. O’Neil?” Last guy in my family that used “Mr. O’Neil” was my great-grandfather, way to make me feel old kid.  I pull out the picture of Melvin and show it to her to see if his image rings any bells.

            “His wife has hired me to find him, he left here 50 hours ago to return home to Calgary, and never made it.” She looks like a deer in the headlights about the question.  What’s wrong here? Am I speaking Klingon?

            “He doesn’t look familiar.” I push a little bit more; ask her if there was anyone else I could talk to that worked here.  She declined saying that the weekend had the Librarian Convention and then it had been quiet, most of the weekend staff were not here.

            “Would it be possible to see the room he was staying in?”

She makes a quick phone call, and a “mature” looking Caucasian male in a decent three piece suit comes to the front desk to talk to me.  “Hello, you must be Mr. O’Neil.”

            I cringe a little, “Please, call me Rex, and you are?”

“Tom, Rex look I can understand Mrs. Loo’s concern over her missing husband, but we have just rented out his room and it would be an unfair inconvenience to the new guest to have some non-law enforcement individual nosing around.”

            Ah this bloke Tom is rather polite, even if he is giving one the ultimate brush off.  “Thank you for your help.” I leave and just decide to stroll around the grounds on my own and nose around.  There is something fishy going on here, and it is not just because he mentioned someone else had rented the room yet I had not seen enough cars around to stipulate this place was full.

            I text the missing man’s wife a simple message.

                        Do you know which room was his?

            She sends back a simpler answer.

                        27.

I head into the main lodge and move “stealthily” up to the second floor. Room 27, okay shall I freak out the unsuspecting? A light knock “Room service” does this place even have room service? The lack of an answer, a bit of a heavy shoulder and voila the door opens.

            The room is spotless; obviously it had just been cleaned.

The sound of fireworks…makes no sense.

            But the flying bullets through the window do. Duck behind the bed. Who would be shooting at me in Banff? This is crazy, a guy vanishes on the highway and now someone is shooting at me.

            So what the hell was this librarian into?

“Hey Mr. Gun Toting shooter, Rex O’Neill here, can you please cease and desist the shooty shooty.” A bit of silence, could this guy actually be listening to my lame ass attempt to stop the bullets from turning me into Swiss cheese?

            Crunching sounds, the shooter is approaching the window, okay a peripheral check, the window frame as there is not much glass left and no sirens.  I really have stepped into something here.

            “Mr. O’Neill, please rise from your cowering.”

Rise from my cowering? We are in freakin’ Canada and someone is shooting at me with what feels like a Prohibited Firearm, what the hell does he expect?

            I push myself up from behind the bed; there are bullets in the walls. “I am looking for Mr. Loo.” Okay this is awkward.

            “Who are you?”

“My name is Sinbad.” Always the name I pictured from a man with a Slovakian accent that looks like a bald Sylvester Stallone.  Things never cease to amaze me.

            “Mr. Loo is missing, so why the fuck are you shooting at him?!”

“Please do not curse sir, I have a half million Euro contract to eliminate Mr. Loo.”

            “Why?”

“He kn—“ a burst of energy and I think I just got showered with particle puke of `Sinbad’.

To Be Continued…

The Case of the Sniper’s Embezzlement

        I guess the clichéd way to start one of these adventures would be to say that it was a dark and stormy night; unfortunately it was neither dark nor stormy.  In fact the bloody sun was shining so brightly we had crested to 35 degrees Celsius by 11 a.m.  That kind of heat with a body was not making for an enjoyable crime scene.

        One would think accountants would not be a beneficial murder topic, and one would be wrong. For this guy was an intended target, a clean round right through the head in the middle of his living room.  Right through the living room window as he sat on his reclining leather couch watching the Alouettes beat on the Ti-Cats.

        Unfortunately the crime scene was quite disturbed as his wife thought he was just sleeping soundly and didn’t realize he was dead until after performing fellatio to awaken him.  She was sobbing and couldn’t get his name out straight; all I could get from her is that her name was Colleen.

        The forensics crew was attempting to do their best to find evidence inside and outside the house.  Opening the deceased’s wallet I discover his license, James Dunphy, the question Mr. Dunphy is why would someone want to execute you like a deer in the woods?

        His wife is at least half his age, hot little Asian number, could be why she’s so shocked, Dunphy is mid-fifties, overweight, balding Caucasian. I wish I could say this crime scene shocked me, but it didn’t.

        It was the third living room shooting this month.  We had a serial sniper picking off the oddest ducks, with no real rhyme or reason behind it.  I try to speak to the widow.

        “Mrs. Dunphy?”

“Ling, please, Inspector…”

        “O’Neil, you may call me Rex.  Did you hear anything unusual before?”  There is really no tactful way to ask a lady before you choked the dead man’s lizard orally, so I let the parciple dangle before her.

        She just shakes her head.  “Did anyone make threats towards your husband at all?”  Just a silent headshake was her answer.  Her hands wrapped tightly around a can of Diet Coke one of the constables had brought her to calm her nerves and kill a dead sperm taste from her mouth.

        I lower myself down to be able to look the young lady in the eye, she is obviously in shock at the events of the day, definitely not one expects for an average Sunday afternoon.  “Walk me through your day?”

        Ling wipes away some more tears, sips her drink, her brown eyes lock with mine, first time I realize the blood red and pink streaks in her hair.  “We went to Mass, James was Eastern Orthodox, then we took in services at my church, I’m Evangelical.  Had lunch with his priest, then back here for the game. I was outside reading, and well, felt a little frisky so I came back and then…” her voice trails off as she remembers finding him.

        Church, football, and death.  “Which church was your husband a member at?”

        “St. Vladimir’s.  Father Gregory.”  I thank her and give her my card. Head out to my car, the usual Ford P.O.S. departments issue, St. V’s is just a few blocks away, hopefully the Father has not gone home for the day, and perhaps he can shed some light on Mr. Dunphy. Victim’s Assistance Unit will be out for Mrs. Dunphy, and I am quite sure the coroner will have the body moved shortly.

        The sanctuary of the Eastern Rite churches have no pews, people move in and out of the service freely, and it is standing room only, like Rome, they have antiquated view of women as clergy, but I am not here to judge. 

        The building is dark except for one loan office light on down at the end of a long hallway.  “Father Gregory?”  No answer, I reach the door, it is already askew and I peak in. 

        Father Gregory will be of no help in furthering this investigation, he sits in his high leather back chaired, that is backed on to a huge plate glass window with a sniper round through it, the chair and his head.

        “Fuck.” I flip open my cell phone and call it in.

High Holy Days is what Sunday is known as in both the Roman and Eastern Rites, yet today they were darkened by twin sniper rounds killing an accountant and patriarch (priest).  As I lower myself into the old vinyl desk chair in the station house though the question is why?

        What joins these two with the other two?

Possibly it can all be random, yet the shooter was accelerating rapidly, usually there was weeks between kills and now two within hours of one another, pathologically that was odd. Sipping cold coffee while staring at four dead white dudes is even odder, outside of the receding hairline what else could tie them together?

        The patriarch was the accountant’s minister, and what a minute—according to this Dunphy was the finance guy on the church’s council.  The church was looking into an expansion project, and the first random shooting was a general contractor check the phone luds, that Dunphy and the patriarch had called on numerous occasions, what did victim number two do?

        Building inspector.

Shit. Shit. Shit.  This isn’t a random happenstance at all.  Okay time to get a reheat on the coffee that can degrease a tank, and sort this out in my noggin.

        “What’s up Rex?”

“Hey Rach, think our sniper is not random.”  Rachel Vasquez is my boss, best friend, and was married to my elder brother, until said elder brother was killed in the line of duty.

        “How so?”  I walk her through the connection between the patriarch and accountant, then their connection to the general contractor, “and on faith we accept the building inspector?” I nod.  She winks, she’s grooving on it just fine. “So essentially we just need some forensic accountants to follow the money…”

        “Or talk to the patriarch’s wife.”

“Priests are celibate!”

        Rachel just shakes her head at me, “you poor lapsed catholic altar boy, not all priests are.”

        Damn, she’s right, check the Father’s file and yup he was married.  Now comes the hard part, back check the notes the building project was projected for $758,969; of that $350,000 had been raised so far, quite a bit to embezzle.

        Now where did the padre call home?  It takes twenty minutes by my car (given three stalls, and one majorly embarrassing backfire) to reach the humble condo complex.

        They are on the third floor, I simply wait until someone exits and then slip right in.  Click my cell on and call for back up as I head up the elevator, they are unit 302. 

        The door is ajar when I reach it, and it’s too quiet, bad horror movie quiet without the sucky sound track.  My mind races, what if…

        Stepping in and just inside the door is the kitchen area where…Ling Dunphy’s body is, a frying pan splattered with blood, and the glass top range cracked obviously her head had bounced off it before or after the frying pan had.

        So this shows something fishy was up.  The bedroom door beside a barca lounger in the living room is closed, I scan the other three doors and they are all open revealing empty rooms.

        I knock on the door.  “Police.”  Sobs instantly erupt as I open the door.

        “She broke in, a mad woman, I just defended myself…”

“From a parishner that you and your husband had lunch with today?”

        The simple question shuts down the crocodile tears and shifts her gaze to green eyed steel. “She was weak, and like Darwin says only the fit survive.”

        “How much?”

The whole amount, all $758, 696 was what was on the line, plus the life insurance policies on all the victims.  “I was married to three of them, and then Ling got that Dunphy dud.  It would’ve worked.”

        “Except for this pesky kid?”

She dives for her pillow, screaming, I draw my gun, she moves fast for an average 40 year old Caucasian woman, but her gloc clears the pillow case and she fires, but my round is already out.

        The case of the church embezzlement ends with the mastermind dead.  She was a bigamist, playing each player in the scam that she was going to run away with each of them and set up the other ones.  It was all in her journal.

        There’s an investigation, I decide to save my boss the paperwork, and hand in my badge and gun, police work isn’t that fun, not as fun as a private investigation office, or possibly pursuing that writing career I always wanted to do.

        She’s the first and last person I ever shot in the line of duty.