Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) (9 page)

              “It would seem due diligence was done. They cannot wait forever. A thousand myriad of ills could have befallen our soldiers. It seems like our quest for the outpost is over. A sad state.” Cornelius rose, and walked around the table deep in thought. “Mayhap there is a lesson here: that chasing ghosts and legends of things long since forgotten in a land of legends and things long forgotten wastes time and vitality.”

              “Mayhap,” Vabianus said absently. “The analogy of high-hanging fruit may be more apt than you know. Best not to break our spine climbing to the top of the date tree. In an effort to gain a little, all may be lost.”

              “This Nameless City and the scattered outposts of their dead civilization are best lost for all time. At least for the next several thousand years until some intrepid explorer uncovers it again and finishes what we began. In the here and now, we live and breathe and reach for our own glory. Letting the sleeping dogs lie may be the best strategy.” The Prefect drained the last of the wine and set the cup on the table. “For now, jentaculum consumes my thoughts. More wine is required to survive this day. Regardless of Cleopatra’s extravagance, this palace is a far cry from the glory of Rome.”

              “A very far cry, this pig sty,” Vabianus said and smiled as he stood. “Jentaculum is a fine idea.”

“…but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.” H.P. Lovecraft,
The Call of Cthulhu

Comes Together

Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft’s
The Call of Cthulhu

Kelsey Andrews held the phone away from his ear. The unintelligible screeches of his ex-wife made his head throb. The rhythm of his heartbeat made the pressure in his head unbearable. His heart would pound, his head would pulse, and then she would scream again. With as much strength as he could humanly muster in the aftermath of a Jägermeister fueled binge last night, he forced open his eyes and looked at the red lights on the clock. 6:15 am.

“Really?” he whispered. “It’s six-fifteen. In the morning. Really? This couldn’t wait?”

The hysterical shouts continued until finally a male voice on the other end swore. Kelsey held the cell loosely in his hand, and tried to time his ragged breaths so as not to exacerbate the massive hangover. The room spun. The phone clicked.

He groaned as the phone buzzed again. He pushed the button then put it up to his ear. “I am done with this conversation, dammit. Call back when the sun comes up. You’re not my problem, anymore.”

A familiar, yet different female voice talked slowly, deliberately. Not his ex-wife. Kelsey forced his eyes open, and then looked at the clock again. Six-seventeen a.m. “I’m on my way,” he whispered. The spin worsened as he sat up.

Quickly he dressed and sat in his car. Some dark glasses in the glove box helped dull the pain caused by the early morning sun as it brightened overcast skies. He rubbed his temples while the car warmed and he looked down the hill at the city laid out below.

With a population of thirty some thousand, Lewiston Idaho was nestled against the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers. The burg was surrounded by tall hills that had turned to gray from the long summer. A dam downriver slackened the water flow and formed a turgid, dark lake where once water moved fast and cold. It was a mill town: on cold days the steam from the huge sawmill was trapped in the valley. The smell of processed pulp wood was an acrid assault on the senses. Visitors to the valley noticed the stench immediately: people who lived here got used to the stink. He tried not to think of the smell as his stomach churned in rebellion. He did not want to vomit as he drove.

Detective Kelsey Andrews could see the lights flash on the patrol cars as he turned the corner. A crowd had gathered in the street, neighbors in full gawk mode, at the excitement on this overcast November morning.

Kelsey glanced in the rearview mirror of his 2000 Honda Accord and brushed back his brown hair. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. No time to shave when he got the call from Francine, one of the dispatchers. His ex-wife and her shrieks still echoed in his head as it throbbed.

A uniformed officer waved and pointed to Kelsey. He rolled the window down. The cold window motor strained more than it should. He pulled off his glasses and stared at the cop who directed traffic.
What else could go wrong
?

“Hey, Kelsey,” Lieutenant Ferguson said and pointed to the plain blue house with a black tile roof. “We got a doozy this morning. Man, your eyes are red.”

“Huh. I heard you have a bad situation here when I got the call.” Andrews sighed and shook his head, which throbbed and thumped at every noise. “God dammit, a frikken Saturday. This’s my day off, and this sounds like a mess.” One of the younger officers stretched yellow tape across the porch of a blue house. The tape was already strung across the front of the yard.

“Unbelievable. Big city stuff today, Detective. Park by the cruiser. Patrolman Gibbs was first on scene. He will bring you up to speed.” The lieutenant pointed to a young cop near the steps of the house. He held an unidentified brown object in his hand.

Andrews parked his car, his mind still on the angry ex-wife’s call that woke him. The raised voices and shouts still grated on his nerves, just like it did when they were married. He parked the maroon Honda, slung a camera bag over his shoulder then got out and locked the door. Behind him was a familiar male voice as irksome as his ex’s.

“Detective, any statement for the Gazette?”

Andrews felt his forehead scrunch defensively at the scratchy voice of Art Miller, one of the reporters for the local newspaper the Lewiston Gazette.

“I am sure the department will issue a statement that you can screw up for that liberal rag you call a paper. You must be on scanner duty today because you are chasing ambulances early,” Kelsey growled.

The reporter scowled, then looked past Kelsey at the house. “A whole family shot up: that’s what your people say. Give me a statement!” The writer licked his chapped lips and forced a smile. “This is big news for Lewiston!”

The detective reached down, double-checked that his badge was attached to his belt and touched the holster of his .40 caliber Glock. “It’s early, so cut me some slack. I just got here.” He turned and walked away as he surveyed at the crowd that gathered in the street.

“The press has a right to know!” the reporter shouted at his back. “We’ve never had anything like this  before!”

“You communist douchebags have a right to kiss my ass,” Kelsey growled under his breath as he walked towards Gibbs. He now saw that the tall patrolman by the steps had in his hand a half-eaten bear claw pastry.

“Detective,” Patrolman Austin Gibbs called out loudly. “It’s a mess in there. The bodies are in the dining room.”

Kelsey stopped and glared. The sight of the claw made him tense and his stomach roll. “Are you really eating a donut in front of a crime scene, in full view of a crowd of gawkers? And some dirt bag reporter from the Gazette? Are you serious?”

Gibbs looked bewildered at the pastry for a few seconds before he shoved it in his mouth. It took a full fifteen seconds of exaggerated chomps for the claw to be history. The bite pushed Kelsey’s already nauseous stomach to the limit.

“They were out of the ones with the sprinkles,” Gibbs said.

Andrews shook his head in disbelief. “I’m so glad we got you from the Sherriff’s Department. You’re everything I have come to expect from Nez Perce County. You took the call?”

Gibbs licked his fingers, and then pulled out a small spiral-bound note pad. “Call came in at six this morning from dispatch. One of the neighbors was out getting their paper; heard three loud popping sounds in a row. About twenty seconds later, another from inside the house. I responded to the call. Reynolds met me here. No one answered after I rang the bell, so I went around and looked through the windows. I saw someone lying on the floor, called for backup and kicked open the door. Four bodies: two kids, a man and a woman. Looks like a murder-suicide to us, all shot in the chest, near the heart. No signs of a struggle, but some odd stuff. Looks like a note on the kitchen table. We cleared the house, called EMTs. I’ve been waiting for you and the coroner to show up. The medics determined the victims were not responsive.”

“Everyone coming in and out, dragging evidence in and out. All right, text me when the coroner shows up,” Kelsey said. He took the gloves off of Gibb’s belt and pulled them on. “Let’s start getting photographs of the outside, especially the windows. Check for any signs of forced entry, footprints in the flowerbeds and run the people who live in this house for priors. Usual stuff. Has anyone called Thompson?”

The detective pulled his pistol and jacked a cartridge into the chamber. Gibbs stared as Kelsey re-holstered the gun.

“Detective Thompson went on an emergency trip to Seattle. His dad had a heart attack. It’s just you, Detective.” He pointed at the holstered Glock. “We cleared the crime scene already, I said.”

“Can’t be too careful. My day off is shit,” the detective murmured.

Inside the living room of the house Kelsey could smell spent gunpowder mixed with the acrid scent of fresh blood. The room was typical, a tan couch on the north wall. It would have been expensive several years ago, but now showed wear. Two easy chairs were against the south wall. A small oak table was in between the chair. A large flat panel television was attached to the west wall. Several toys, stuffed animals and a bucket of building blocks were scattered under the TV. Several DVD cases, all Disney movies, were piled nearby. An archway by the television led into a kitchen.

On a small table near a flat panel television were six checks, each one made out smartly in black ink. Andrews read the drafts: issued to the power company, a Dr. Dreyfus and several more for VISA and such. He jumped as his phone vibrated and he fished it out of his pocket. “BEHIND YOU,” the letters read. He turned: the city coroner was behind him and held a cell phone in a gloved hand.

“Anything yet?” the coroner asked as he pulled the screen door shut behind him.

The detective glowered. “That scared the crap out of me,” he said angrily.

City of Lewiston Coroner Mason Forbes looked around the room. “Have you looked at the bodies yet?”

“Working my way through the house.”

The two cautiously entered the kitchen. The room was typical for a house of this size, clean and meticulously organized. Andrews smiled crookedly when he spied a ceramic cookie jar. It was a blue pig with a gold badge in a police uniform. Candy wrappers were scattered on the granite counter along with two pizza boxes. He lifted the lids. One Canadian bacon with pineapple and one pepperoni. Both were thin crust. Nearby, a sink had four bowls with spoons, the melted remains of ice cream puddled in the dishes. His stomach rebelled again, but he fought it. Maybe he had a bit more of a hangover than he thought.

On the black refrigerator were at least a dozen photos of a mother and father with two children. Detective Andrews stared for a few seconds at the smiles of the kids, and the gaps where teeth had been lost. Sadness washed over him. Mason stood quietly beside him and stared at the pictures, then looked dubiously.

“You hear from your ex lately?”

Kelsey’s body tensed. “I hope the bitch is happy with her live-in adjunct professor of minority studies. My kid won’t even speak to me now and he was calling me by my first name last time we talked. My son calls that dirt bag ‘Dad’. He told me I am the fascist one percent oppressing the other ninety-nine, a tool for corporate oppression and the Jew bankers,” Kelsey hissed and shook his head. “It took fourteen years to make that kid a respectable person, but two months around his mom’s boyfriend to ruin him.”

“Probably longer than two months. You just didn’t know.” The coroner bit his lip as Kelsey glowered, then looked askance. “Sorry I asked. You wanna see the bodies?” The two walked cautiously through the kitchen.

“Sure,” Andrews lied, thinking of his ex.

Through swinging pine doors was the crime scene. The dining room was modest: a nice oak table surrounded by oak chairs with maroon cushions. There was an envelope on the table marked ‘police’ in the same writing as the checks. Framed family photos were on the walls. Sconces held crème-colored candles. The pristine wicks had never been touched by flame. On the floor on the other side of the table were the bodies. Two children, a man and a woman, shot to death. Kelsey immediately recognized them from the picture on the refrigerator.

“Damn,” the detective said.

Each body had a bloody wound in the chest over the heart. The children and wife were slumped against the wall: each sat in a puddle of blood. There were some blood smears, the results of the bodies in the throes of death. The man was slumped, a 9mm semi-auto pistol in his dead hand. A bigger pool of blood had drained from the father, the telltale smears of dark crimson on the floor.

“Looks like they watched movies, then had a nice family dinner. Had pizza, ice cream, candy as they stayed up all night, probably watched more movies, and just sat down together and let dad kill them before he shot himself. I don’t see any signs of a struggle. And the shots at the kids were from distance; no burn marks from the gun’s escaping gasses on the clothes. Around the entry wound on Dad, the cotton is scorched. Close range,” Kelsey said. Something bulged under the dead man’s shirt and it caught his eye. The detective carefully unbuttoned the shirt to see several necklaces around his neck. “It looks like a note is on the table.”