"The Wind Between the Gravestones"
Mar. 1st, 2023 05:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Wind Between the Gravestones"
8/2019
I.
At ten after four, the doorbell rang. Timothy Limbo put down his half-eaten superthick BLT on its plate, then decided to hide it in as drawer of Sable's desk before hurrying from the office. No visitors were expected that day. He was wearing his usual outfit of biker boots, jeans and a well-worn leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt.
At the inner front door, Tim pressed the button that opened the street door and admitted people into the tiny foyer. Through the intercom, he said, "Please come in, I'll be with you in a second." Then he slid open a wooden panel on the wall at face level to reveal a monitor screen and control panel. Buzzes and clicks sounded as the Trom sensors analyzed the visitor to microscopic detail far better than any MRI available to Human tech could match. No ID came back from NYPD, FBI, Mandate or CIA files which the KDF accessed quite without authorization. In another second, the DMV records came through, matching the man's appearance with a New York driver's license. Foster J. Whitcomb, born 1/22/1993. Six feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds, brown hair and eyes.
The most important fact of course was that Whitcomb was not carrying any guns or knives or other signficant weapons. Chemical signature
showed no poisons or explosives. Glancing at the man visually on the monitor, Timothy saw a rather friendly-looking fellow with a pleasant face under shaggy light brown hair. Whtcomb was solidly built, a little soft around the thick middle, wearing a basic dark maeoon polo shirt and black jeans. He was looking curiously at the oil painting of Kenneth Dred that hung in the foyer.
Timothy instinctively liked the visitor on sight. He opened the inner door and said, "Hi there. Can I help you?"
"Oh, I hope so," replied a mellow voice with a faint Midewest accent. "You're with the Kenneth Dred Foundation? You investigate paranormal sightings, ghosts, Bigfoot, that sort of thing?"
"Yep, among other things."
Whitcomb extended his hand and Timothy took it in a warm dry handshake. "My name is Foster Whitcomb, I've run a blogcast for the past few years, THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES. Mostly spooky real-life stories people send in, some interviews with guests, a few trips to haunted location like the stone tower outside Salem."
"Oh, sure," Tim replied. "I've seen quite a few espisodes. No wonder you looked familiar. I liked your Halloweeen show where you talekd to people who had seen Gator Joe."
"I think my podcast stands out because we're skeptical. We don't play up sightings for more than they're worth and also we're right to the point. I'm a debunker by nature, which makes my experience so surprising."
"Come on in and tell me about it." Timothy stepped to one side and ushered his visitor into the office across the hall to their left. This was a comfortable uncluttered room marked most notably by the solid oak desk against one wall under a hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. Timothy gestured for Waruck to have a seat on the brown leather couch. He himself pulled over a plain straightbacked wooden chair to face his guest.
"I've heard a lot of wild stories about your Foundation, the KDF. Very little in newspapers or TV, though, almost all word of mouth. The famous Dire Wolf himself, Jeremy Bane, was the founder. Lots of tales of chasing Skinwalkers and Trolls, even vampires and werewolves, over the past forty years."
"We've had some interesting cases," Timothy said. "But, to be honest, we're like you in that nearly everything we look into turns out to be nothing provable. What's this experience that happened to you?"
Whitcomb leaned forward, clasping his hands on his knees, and looked direcrtly into Tim's eyes. "I've seen, well, a ghost. Three times. A small girl about ten years old, wearing an old-fashioned white nightshirt. She's soaking wet. Water drips off her. She never says anything, just raises a finger side to side in a warning gesture and then she disappears."
"Oh, that's interesting. In all our years, the KDF hasn't found a verifiable ghost appearance yet. Any physical evidence?"
"There was a damp spot on the floor, not nearly what you'd expect from the way she wadripping. And I kept my phone ready to record after the first sighting. She didn't show up at all."
"Hmm," Timothy said non-commitedly. "What does drowning mean to you? Did you ever have a close call, even a child? Do you have a boat or canoe or something?"
"No, nothing like that. I've done some swimming at Big Deep, but never got in trouble. I think it's a warning. Tonight, I have tickets for a Hudson River Cruise. It's a two hour trip from Kingston to Hyde Park and back."
Timothy sat up straigher. His mop of yellow hair had grown long enough to get in his eyes and he had to brush it back with his fingers. "Cruise along the Hudson River, huh? And this ghost girl might be warning you not to go?"
"Could be. If this sightings happened to someone else, I'd investigate without any hesitation but I'm kind of freaked out by my own involvement."
"Yeah, I can see that. I know the area, by the way. I'm from Tilson, New York, not far from Kingston. For whatever reason, there's a lot of Midnight War activity in that part of the Hudson Valley. Woodstock in particular. I'm taking this seriously, Foster. I think it deserves to be looked into."
"Oh, I'm so relieved. You guys are genuine experts, I'm sort of a poser dabbling. Listen. I intend to go on that cruise tonight. I have two tickets but my roommate bailed on me, he's working a part time job after his regular job. How would you feel about coming with me to keep an eye out for ghosts?"
Timothy didn't have to think it over. He felt so comfortable with this guy, it was as if they had known each other for years. "Sounds good, Foster. A slow cruise up and down the Hudson, great scenery, lighthouses and mansions. A couple of beers."
"Did I mention they have a 1950s band? They do the Breakers, Rex Royal, some Peter Coebett..."
"Oh, now I'm going no matter what. I was born to be a JD 50s greaser. What time do we leave?"
"Hmm. It's four-thirty now, say a little over two hours drive. We'd have time to eat. There's some nice Italian restaurants on the Strand."
"This gets better and better. It sounds the best agenda I could set up if I was taking a date."
Foster laughed unselfconsciously. "It's our date then. My SUV is parked three blocks away on Lexington. I'm dressing casually, what you have on is fine."
"Good to know. I do want to grab my travel knapsack, there's some KDF gear stowed away in there. Oh, and I should leave a message for my captain. Sable likes to know our general whereabouts." Tim plucked a flat metal device from his belt and spoke briefly into it.
"Dude, what kind of phone is that? It's so thin you could slide it under a door. Japanese?"
Tim shrugged instead of answering. "We don't get paid much but the KDF does give us somr great toys. I'll be back in a second. Maybe you want to check out our fish tank. A starfish with a single red eye isn't something you see every day."
Racing down to the basement and along the walkway to the garage, Timothy felt a little surprised he was so excited about this excursion. Had he been that bored at being stuck at headquarters on semi-monitor duty until Sable came back in a few hours? Whatever. He snatched up the sturdy knapsack from the row of travel bags all the KDF members kept ready. Personal items like shampoo, toothbrushes and washclothes were a small percentage of the contents. Tim's anesthetic dart gun was in there, along with a couple thousand in tens and twentys, a medical kit, various miniature smoke bombs, oxygen membranes, a silk climbing cord and other specialized gear.
Emerging back into the office, he found Foster engrossed in the strange creatures from Ulgor who populated the fish tank. The podcaster turned with both eyebrows raised. "Am I imagining it or have this hermit crabs built a tunnel in the sand between their two coral castles?"
"They're funny little creatures, all right," Timothy said as he shrugged into the straps of the knapsack. "Ready when you are."
"Great. It's a beautiful day for a drive up the Taconic Parkway."
II.
The trip upstate in Foster's three year old Mazda CX-3 had seemed quick because the two of them had chatted non-stop. The conversation veered from their tastes in music to their similar childhoods in lower middle class families with two siblings to worries about politics being so divisive. They agreed on many topics but by no means completely. It wasn't until they were getting off Exit 19 into Kingston that the two of them started getting back to the subject at hand.
"My podcast is doing okay," Foster said. "Between advertisers and donations, I clear about eighty thousand a year. But it's constant labor, research and shooting on location and coming up with new angles. I call my show THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES but to myself, I sometimes refer to it as 'the wet fart between commercials.'"
That made Timothy laugh. "I see you have some cameras and tripods and stuff in the back. You're going to be filming this cruise?"
"Sure. Even if the drowned ghost girl doesn't show it, a trip up and down the Hudson will be great visuals. Between the band in the background, the scenery and hopefully some pretty women dancing, I should be able to pull in more than the usual viewers."
As they got off a traffic circle onto the main street, the unimaginatively named Broadway, Timothy made his voice stern. "Don't get me in sight of your cameras, Foster. KDF keeps a low profile for good reason."
"You sound serious, buddy."
"We have some dangerous people very mad at us. You wouldn't film an undercover cop and show his face, would you?"
Foster stopped at a red light. "Maybe you can fill me in a little more, Tim. You have let a few hints slip that your KDF has found some genuine supernatural a few times and it's been dangerous?"
"Yeah. Policy is keep quiet about these things but I can drop a few more hints, I guess. Nearly everything the public knows about the supernatural turns out to be nothing. Wishful thinking, misinterpretation of ordinary events or objects, outright fraud. But then there is the Midnight War. A secret netherworld going on unseen in shadows and hidden corners. That's where the real danger is."
"Really? I always THOUGHT so! Every now and then, I'd get a glimpse of something I just could not explain. So, werewolves and vampires are real?"
"And they are not the worst menaces. You're better off not knowing, Foster. Once you learn a little, you have to live as if you've stumbled into a war zone."
The streets were sloping steeply down toward the shores of the Esopus Creek. "I'd hate driving up and down this in winter," Foster observed. "Drivers here have got to have brand new tires or else." They pulled in an open public parking lot directly under the bridge to Port Ewen. People were all around, shopping in little boutiques and snapping pictures of some impressive yachts moored alongside the concrete retaining wall.
"I haven't been down here before," Timothy said. Even though he lived in Manhattan, he was staring all around for all the world like a tourist. "Nice old buildings! Look at those arches over the second floor windows."
"We've got almost an hour before boarding. Right up on the corner there is Emilia's, I've been thinking of trying it. What do you say?"
"Italian food sounds great. All I had today was two scrambled eggs at seven this morning. Let me treat, though, I can put it on my expense account because I'm on an investigation."
"In that case, let's get new tires for my car instead..."
In a too-warm but cozy little restaurant, they both devoured plates of basic spaghetti and meatballs with bread sticks on the side. The ingredients were very fresh. They split a bottle of red wine but Timothy did not explain that, because of his enhanced healing factor from the Tagra tea regimen, alcohol had absolutely no effect on him. He saw no reason to volunteer that. For that matter, he realized he had no mentioned his power of summoning the manifestations he called his friendly ghosts, either.
This thought dampened Tim's mood a bit. He had been having so much fun all day that remembering the Midnight War brought him down. Oh well, most likely the supposed drowned ghost girl wouldn't show up. A cruise up the Hudson with a band playing his favorite music, hanging out wih his new best friend, would be like a refreshing mini-vacation.
"Don't look, I'm going to loosen my belt a notch," Foster said.
"I ate as much as you did. My plate looks like I wiped it with a wet cloth, there's not even sauce left." Timothy leaned back. "So good to get out of the city. You get hardened to all the heavy traffic noise but now I remember how relative quiet is comfortable."
"Well, you're welcome to come and visit any time," said Foster. "You can stay with me, my roommate is hardly there and he mostly catches up on sleep anyway."
"I'd like that," Timothy said, gesturing for the bill. He took out his platinum card with his KDF account and left a decent tip. The two of them stepped out into the desk and strolled leisurely down the street to where a crowd was assembling by the ship.
III.
The RIP VAN WINKLE III was three hundred and twenty feet long, with three desks in tiers. Freshly painted white with royal blue trim, it was a gorgeous sight in its floodlights. Timothy and Foster boarded and wandered around to acquaint themselves. The boat had a lower enclosed deck protected from the elements, a middle deck which was shaded but otherwise open, and an open air upper deck with bench seating where the two other decks had chairs. There was a fully stocked bar with alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages and a snack bar with light fare such as hot dogs, candy bars and fresh popped popcorn. Each deck had a pair of bathrooms.
The lowest deck was where a five-piece band in matching red jumpsuits were setting up. It looked to Tim as if they had a drummer, one rhythm and two lead guitars and a woman singer. He had never heard of 'The Plungers' but he was feeling so mellow he was more than willing to give them a chance.
"Beautiful night, eh? Warm and breezy, so comfortable," said Foster as he leaned back against a railing on the top deck.
"Sure is. You know, maybe it's selfish but I would just as soon your apparition doesn't appear to ruin everything. I didn't realize how much I needed a break. KDF members have pretty heavy schedules, with a lot of training and filling out reports and standing overnight monitor duty." Tim gazed up at the darkening sky where the first stars were beginning to show. "It's been so revitalizing."
"I'd like it if you came up here often," Foster said.
Something in his tone touched Tim unexpectedly. He wondered if this was a lonely man hungry for friendship. "What about your podcast?"
"You're right, I should get on it. I'm using my phone for the moment, I didn't think lugging pro equipment would be courteous. If you don't want to appear, maybe you should step back."
"Fair enough. I need a bathroom break anyway. I'll be back in a little while. As he headed for the stairs, Tim heard Foster speaking to his phone, "Tonight may be something special, my brothers and sisters in the Unknown. Welcome to THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES. Here we are, about to shove off on a cruise ship that will be sailing down the historic Hudson River. I've mentioned the ghost girl I saw three times. She appeared to have drowned and here I am on a ship. As always, I am a hundred per cent honest with you guys. I don't promise anything, I don't claim anything, I'm as expectant as any of you are. Let's see what might happen...."
After Tim emerged from the spotless men's room, he heard the cruise director giving safety instructions over the loudspeakers. Among other things, he warned that if someone did fall in the water, they were not to yell "Man overboard!" because too many people thought it was funny to shout that, especially after a few drinks. Instead, they were to yell "Emergency! Emergency! All hands over here!"
Timothy Limbo went back up to the top deck but didn't see Foster anywhere. Huh. He pauded to gaze out at the scenery as the ship began to move after giving two blasts of the horn. He glanced at his Link to check for any messages and saw a note from Sable: "Thanks for the half a BLT, it was delicious." That made him smile. He had forgotten he had stuck his lunch in her desk and never got to retrieve it.
Standing in the fresh air of the open top deck, Timothy found himself going over everything Foster had said during the long ride up here. It was too bad they hadn't met before. Tim thought being in the man's company was more at ease and more interesting than any of the dates he had had with woman. That thought lingered a second but didn't quite sink in.
From below, the band was warming up and he heard a woman's voice doing the introductions, promising them a good time and recommend that they dance their hearts out to the oldies. "Remember the songs you once loved, and live those days again." Then the music started. He recognized "Where Did My Baby Go" by the Breakers and it reminded him of being a little kid listening to his parents' records. That house was occupied by another family now. His mother and father had both died while he was still a teenager. That whole world was gone forever, and a sharp pang stabbed his chest.
But life went on, he told himself. He had a cause to live for. In Tel Shai and the KDF, he had found new friends he could trust beyond doubt and he had spent the past six years protecting Humans from threats they remained happily ignorant about. It was a satisfying life. Timothy drew himself up, straightened his shoulders and descended the stairway to spot Foster recording the band and adding commentary. Better to leave him alone for the moment, after all THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES was his livelihood.
Tim realized he was in the strangest, most bittersweet mood as he watched Foster making his podcast. Why was he trusting this stranger so quickly and suddenly, when a decade of Midnight War experience had made him wary and suspicious. Certainly, as a Tel Shai knight and KDF member, he and his team had plenty of vicious enemies. Many determined attempts had been made upon their lives. He should be keeping a narrow eye on this Foster and yet....
Was he lonelier than he had thought, wondered Timothy. Maybe he wanted to know someone not on his Tel Shai team, someone who liked him from the heart. And maybe he wanted to like someone the same way. His attempts at dating had never worked out because so much of his life had to be kept secret. After a few times together, women seemed to realize they were hitting a wall they couldn't get through. And that ended every attempt at a relationship.
Foster had caught sight of him standing thirty feet away. Propping his phone up to keep recording, he listened for a second. They were starting a wistful bluesy classic "The Sun Always Comes Up Again," by Ronnie Brooks. Then he hurried over to clap Tim lightly high up on the back.
"Sorry to neglect you, buddy," he said. "Chat shows my viewership is way up and I wonder if it's the music as much as the chance of the ghost girl showing up."
"My dad had that song on a 45. I wonder whatever happened to it. Oh well. I'm having a great time, Foster. Look at those miles of trees."
They went over to gaze at the shoreline and Tim continued, "Too much time in the city. I got to thinking steel and concrete is all there is."
"Oh, even New York State is still mostly woodlands and wilds," Foster said. "Look at a map of the Adirondack Preserve sometime. If people disappeared tomorrow, nature would take over again right away."
"Hey, look over there. That's the Roosevelt mansion. We're opposite Hyde Park. Man, those people had serious money. I went there once and was impressed by a mansion that turned out to be only the servants' house!"
Foster laughed easily at that. He was leaning way back against the brass railing. "I wish I didn't have to stream tonight. This could be such a special occasion. Still, we'll have other times to hang out together."
"You bet," began Timothy. He had been hearing a young couple arguing not far behind them. He resented people being angry on a night like this. As he turned toward the fight, he caught glimpse of a beer bottle spinning fast right past his head... and it smacked Foster directly in the face, toppling him over the railing.
Even as someone screamed, even before the deep splash sounded forty feet below, Timothy Limbo had vaulted lightly up onto the railing and leaped far out into the darkness. His dive was Olympic-level perfect. He plunged neatly down into cold water and came up instantly. There was Foster, spluttering and not managing to keep his stunned head above water. All of the hard training came to him automatically. Timothy swam around behind his new friend, getting an arm up from under Foster's own left arm and holding the man's other arm still as he kicked with both legs. The danger in a rescue was that the drowning person might clutch desperately and drag the rescuer down as well.
"It's okay, it's okay," he repeated, "I've got you."
"My head, my poor head," sputtered Foster, coughing up water but calming down.
"You're safe, we're going to be all right."
Fifteen feet away, two round cork lifesavers with ropes attached splashed down on the surface. Timothy became aware of the yelling from the RIP VAN WINKLE's deck far above them. Using his legs and his one free hand, he managed to get over to the lifesavers and get Foster to cling to one. Securing his friend in the hard ring took some effort but finally he felt it was safe enough to grab the other lifesaver himself. Dozens of strong hands hauled them smoothly up and carried them both up to safety.
The next half hour was more frantic than the rescue had been. As required by law, an EMT examined them and decided neither was in any danger. Warm blankets swaddled them as they were led to chairs. There was some talk about prosecuting whichever of the feuding couple had thrown that beer bottle but Foster said he didn't intend to press charges, at the moment anyway.
After a few more minutes, the cruise director announced that both men were fine and since they were already heading back up to the departure site, the cruise would finish as planned. Cheering and applause broke out. The band began the lively, upbeat oldies song "Going To Town."
Finally left alone for a few minutes, Foster said, "I didn't know you were an Olympic athlete, buddy. That was some rescue."
Tim shrugged. "Just adrenalin. You've got a bump on your forehead the size of an egg. When we get back, you're going to the ER to check for concussion."
"Yeah, I guess. Better to be careful. What an experience. I told you I wasn't a good swimmer! Thank God I came to see you today..."
His voice broke off and Timothy swung around to see what he was staring at. A breeze cold as winter rushed over him. At arm's length away, dripping water onto the deck, stood a small child in a white robe. Her long hair hung down limply, but she smiled gleefully and held up one hand in a thumb's up gesture. Then she was gone.
Neither man could catch their breath for a few seconds. Then Foster asked, "You saw her, too?"
"Plain as anything. Foster, she was happy you survived. She wasn't an omen, she was a helper. She appeared so you would bring me along. It all worked out."
"Yes. Man! My skepticism sure took a beating tonight."
Timothy felt completely normal. He had been through much worse ordeals without trouble and he stood up to fold the blanket and put it on the chair. On this warm summer night, being soaking wet was no problem. "Heh, I guess you've got plenty to material for THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES."
"Oh, damn. There's my phone where I left it aimed at the band. I didn't get any of this. An experience like that, a witness to an apparition, and there's nothing to show. What a bummer."
Sitting back down, Timothy placed a hand on his shoulder. "WE know it happened."
3/1/2023
8/2019
I.
At ten after four, the doorbell rang. Timothy Limbo put down his half-eaten superthick BLT on its plate, then decided to hide it in as drawer of Sable's desk before hurrying from the office. No visitors were expected that day. He was wearing his usual outfit of biker boots, jeans and a well-worn leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt.
At the inner front door, Tim pressed the button that opened the street door and admitted people into the tiny foyer. Through the intercom, he said, "Please come in, I'll be with you in a second." Then he slid open a wooden panel on the wall at face level to reveal a monitor screen and control panel. Buzzes and clicks sounded as the Trom sensors analyzed the visitor to microscopic detail far better than any MRI available to Human tech could match. No ID came back from NYPD, FBI, Mandate or CIA files which the KDF accessed quite without authorization. In another second, the DMV records came through, matching the man's appearance with a New York driver's license. Foster J. Whitcomb, born 1/22/1993. Six feet tall, one hundred and eighty pounds, brown hair and eyes.
The most important fact of course was that Whitcomb was not carrying any guns or knives or other signficant weapons. Chemical signature
showed no poisons or explosives. Glancing at the man visually on the monitor, Timothy saw a rather friendly-looking fellow with a pleasant face under shaggy light brown hair. Whtcomb was solidly built, a little soft around the thick middle, wearing a basic dark maeoon polo shirt and black jeans. He was looking curiously at the oil painting of Kenneth Dred that hung in the foyer.
Timothy instinctively liked the visitor on sight. He opened the inner door and said, "Hi there. Can I help you?"
"Oh, I hope so," replied a mellow voice with a faint Midewest accent. "You're with the Kenneth Dred Foundation? You investigate paranormal sightings, ghosts, Bigfoot, that sort of thing?"
"Yep, among other things."
Whitcomb extended his hand and Timothy took it in a warm dry handshake. "My name is Foster Whitcomb, I've run a blogcast for the past few years, THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES. Mostly spooky real-life stories people send in, some interviews with guests, a few trips to haunted location like the stone tower outside Salem."
"Oh, sure," Tim replied. "I've seen quite a few espisodes. No wonder you looked familiar. I liked your Halloweeen show where you talekd to people who had seen Gator Joe."
"I think my podcast stands out because we're skeptical. We don't play up sightings for more than they're worth and also we're right to the point. I'm a debunker by nature, which makes my experience so surprising."
"Come on in and tell me about it." Timothy stepped to one side and ushered his visitor into the office across the hall to their left. This was a comfortable uncluttered room marked most notably by the solid oak desk against one wall under a hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. Timothy gestured for Waruck to have a seat on the brown leather couch. He himself pulled over a plain straightbacked wooden chair to face his guest.
"I've heard a lot of wild stories about your Foundation, the KDF. Very little in newspapers or TV, though, almost all word of mouth. The famous Dire Wolf himself, Jeremy Bane, was the founder. Lots of tales of chasing Skinwalkers and Trolls, even vampires and werewolves, over the past forty years."
"We've had some interesting cases," Timothy said. "But, to be honest, we're like you in that nearly everything we look into turns out to be nothing provable. What's this experience that happened to you?"
Whitcomb leaned forward, clasping his hands on his knees, and looked direcrtly into Tim's eyes. "I've seen, well, a ghost. Three times. A small girl about ten years old, wearing an old-fashioned white nightshirt. She's soaking wet. Water drips off her. She never says anything, just raises a finger side to side in a warning gesture and then she disappears."
"Oh, that's interesting. In all our years, the KDF hasn't found a verifiable ghost appearance yet. Any physical evidence?"
"There was a damp spot on the floor, not nearly what you'd expect from the way she wadripping. And I kept my phone ready to record after the first sighting. She didn't show up at all."
"Hmm," Timothy said non-commitedly. "What does drowning mean to you? Did you ever have a close call, even a child? Do you have a boat or canoe or something?"
"No, nothing like that. I've done some swimming at Big Deep, but never got in trouble. I think it's a warning. Tonight, I have tickets for a Hudson River Cruise. It's a two hour trip from Kingston to Hyde Park and back."
Timothy sat up straigher. His mop of yellow hair had grown long enough to get in his eyes and he had to brush it back with his fingers. "Cruise along the Hudson River, huh? And this ghost girl might be warning you not to go?"
"Could be. If this sightings happened to someone else, I'd investigate without any hesitation but I'm kind of freaked out by my own involvement."
"Yeah, I can see that. I know the area, by the way. I'm from Tilson, New York, not far from Kingston. For whatever reason, there's a lot of Midnight War activity in that part of the Hudson Valley. Woodstock in particular. I'm taking this seriously, Foster. I think it deserves to be looked into."
"Oh, I'm so relieved. You guys are genuine experts, I'm sort of a poser dabbling. Listen. I intend to go on that cruise tonight. I have two tickets but my roommate bailed on me, he's working a part time job after his regular job. How would you feel about coming with me to keep an eye out for ghosts?"
Timothy didn't have to think it over. He felt so comfortable with this guy, it was as if they had known each other for years. "Sounds good, Foster. A slow cruise up and down the Hudson, great scenery, lighthouses and mansions. A couple of beers."
"Did I mention they have a 1950s band? They do the Breakers, Rex Royal, some Peter Coebett..."
"Oh, now I'm going no matter what. I was born to be a JD 50s greaser. What time do we leave?"
"Hmm. It's four-thirty now, say a little over two hours drive. We'd have time to eat. There's some nice Italian restaurants on the Strand."
"This gets better and better. It sounds the best agenda I could set up if I was taking a date."
Foster laughed unselfconsciously. "It's our date then. My SUV is parked three blocks away on Lexington. I'm dressing casually, what you have on is fine."
"Good to know. I do want to grab my travel knapsack, there's some KDF gear stowed away in there. Oh, and I should leave a message for my captain. Sable likes to know our general whereabouts." Tim plucked a flat metal device from his belt and spoke briefly into it.
"Dude, what kind of phone is that? It's so thin you could slide it under a door. Japanese?"
Tim shrugged instead of answering. "We don't get paid much but the KDF does give us somr great toys. I'll be back in a second. Maybe you want to check out our fish tank. A starfish with a single red eye isn't something you see every day."
Racing down to the basement and along the walkway to the garage, Timothy felt a little surprised he was so excited about this excursion. Had he been that bored at being stuck at headquarters on semi-monitor duty until Sable came back in a few hours? Whatever. He snatched up the sturdy knapsack from the row of travel bags all the KDF members kept ready. Personal items like shampoo, toothbrushes and washclothes were a small percentage of the contents. Tim's anesthetic dart gun was in there, along with a couple thousand in tens and twentys, a medical kit, various miniature smoke bombs, oxygen membranes, a silk climbing cord and other specialized gear.
Emerging back into the office, he found Foster engrossed in the strange creatures from Ulgor who populated the fish tank. The podcaster turned with both eyebrows raised. "Am I imagining it or have this hermit crabs built a tunnel in the sand between their two coral castles?"
"They're funny little creatures, all right," Timothy said as he shrugged into the straps of the knapsack. "Ready when you are."
"Great. It's a beautiful day for a drive up the Taconic Parkway."
II.
The trip upstate in Foster's three year old Mazda CX-3 had seemed quick because the two of them had chatted non-stop. The conversation veered from their tastes in music to their similar childhoods in lower middle class families with two siblings to worries about politics being so divisive. They agreed on many topics but by no means completely. It wasn't until they were getting off Exit 19 into Kingston that the two of them started getting back to the subject at hand.
"My podcast is doing okay," Foster said. "Between advertisers and donations, I clear about eighty thousand a year. But it's constant labor, research and shooting on location and coming up with new angles. I call my show THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES but to myself, I sometimes refer to it as 'the wet fart between commercials.'"
That made Timothy laugh. "I see you have some cameras and tripods and stuff in the back. You're going to be filming this cruise?"
"Sure. Even if the drowned ghost girl doesn't show it, a trip up and down the Hudson will be great visuals. Between the band in the background, the scenery and hopefully some pretty women dancing, I should be able to pull in more than the usual viewers."
As they got off a traffic circle onto the main street, the unimaginatively named Broadway, Timothy made his voice stern. "Don't get me in sight of your cameras, Foster. KDF keeps a low profile for good reason."
"You sound serious, buddy."
"We have some dangerous people very mad at us. You wouldn't film an undercover cop and show his face, would you?"
Foster stopped at a red light. "Maybe you can fill me in a little more, Tim. You have let a few hints slip that your KDF has found some genuine supernatural a few times and it's been dangerous?"
"Yeah. Policy is keep quiet about these things but I can drop a few more hints, I guess. Nearly everything the public knows about the supernatural turns out to be nothing. Wishful thinking, misinterpretation of ordinary events or objects, outright fraud. But then there is the Midnight War. A secret netherworld going on unseen in shadows and hidden corners. That's where the real danger is."
"Really? I always THOUGHT so! Every now and then, I'd get a glimpse of something I just could not explain. So, werewolves and vampires are real?"
"And they are not the worst menaces. You're better off not knowing, Foster. Once you learn a little, you have to live as if you've stumbled into a war zone."
The streets were sloping steeply down toward the shores of the Esopus Creek. "I'd hate driving up and down this in winter," Foster observed. "Drivers here have got to have brand new tires or else." They pulled in an open public parking lot directly under the bridge to Port Ewen. People were all around, shopping in little boutiques and snapping pictures of some impressive yachts moored alongside the concrete retaining wall.
"I haven't been down here before," Timothy said. Even though he lived in Manhattan, he was staring all around for all the world like a tourist. "Nice old buildings! Look at those arches over the second floor windows."
"We've got almost an hour before boarding. Right up on the corner there is Emilia's, I've been thinking of trying it. What do you say?"
"Italian food sounds great. All I had today was two scrambled eggs at seven this morning. Let me treat, though, I can put it on my expense account because I'm on an investigation."
"In that case, let's get new tires for my car instead..."
In a too-warm but cozy little restaurant, they both devoured plates of basic spaghetti and meatballs with bread sticks on the side. The ingredients were very fresh. They split a bottle of red wine but Timothy did not explain that, because of his enhanced healing factor from the Tagra tea regimen, alcohol had absolutely no effect on him. He saw no reason to volunteer that. For that matter, he realized he had no mentioned his power of summoning the manifestations he called his friendly ghosts, either.
This thought dampened Tim's mood a bit. He had been having so much fun all day that remembering the Midnight War brought him down. Oh well, most likely the supposed drowned ghost girl wouldn't show up. A cruise up the Hudson with a band playing his favorite music, hanging out wih his new best friend, would be like a refreshing mini-vacation.
"Don't look, I'm going to loosen my belt a notch," Foster said.
"I ate as much as you did. My plate looks like I wiped it with a wet cloth, there's not even sauce left." Timothy leaned back. "So good to get out of the city. You get hardened to all the heavy traffic noise but now I remember how relative quiet is comfortable."
"Well, you're welcome to come and visit any time," said Foster. "You can stay with me, my roommate is hardly there and he mostly catches up on sleep anyway."
"I'd like that," Timothy said, gesturing for the bill. He took out his platinum card with his KDF account and left a decent tip. The two of them stepped out into the desk and strolled leisurely down the street to where a crowd was assembling by the ship.
III.
The RIP VAN WINKLE III was three hundred and twenty feet long, with three desks in tiers. Freshly painted white with royal blue trim, it was a gorgeous sight in its floodlights. Timothy and Foster boarded and wandered around to acquaint themselves. The boat had a lower enclosed deck protected from the elements, a middle deck which was shaded but otherwise open, and an open air upper deck with bench seating where the two other decks had chairs. There was a fully stocked bar with alcoholic and nonalcoholic beverages and a snack bar with light fare such as hot dogs, candy bars and fresh popped popcorn. Each deck had a pair of bathrooms.
The lowest deck was where a five-piece band in matching red jumpsuits were setting up. It looked to Tim as if they had a drummer, one rhythm and two lead guitars and a woman singer. He had never heard of 'The Plungers' but he was feeling so mellow he was more than willing to give them a chance.
"Beautiful night, eh? Warm and breezy, so comfortable," said Foster as he leaned back against a railing on the top deck.
"Sure is. You know, maybe it's selfish but I would just as soon your apparition doesn't appear to ruin everything. I didn't realize how much I needed a break. KDF members have pretty heavy schedules, with a lot of training and filling out reports and standing overnight monitor duty." Tim gazed up at the darkening sky where the first stars were beginning to show. "It's been so revitalizing."
"I'd like it if you came up here often," Foster said.
Something in his tone touched Tim unexpectedly. He wondered if this was a lonely man hungry for friendship. "What about your podcast?"
"You're right, I should get on it. I'm using my phone for the moment, I didn't think lugging pro equipment would be courteous. If you don't want to appear, maybe you should step back."
"Fair enough. I need a bathroom break anyway. I'll be back in a little while. As he headed for the stairs, Tim heard Foster speaking to his phone, "Tonight may be something special, my brothers and sisters in the Unknown. Welcome to THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES. Here we are, about to shove off on a cruise ship that will be sailing down the historic Hudson River. I've mentioned the ghost girl I saw three times. She appeared to have drowned and here I am on a ship. As always, I am a hundred per cent honest with you guys. I don't promise anything, I don't claim anything, I'm as expectant as any of you are. Let's see what might happen...."
After Tim emerged from the spotless men's room, he heard the cruise director giving safety instructions over the loudspeakers. Among other things, he warned that if someone did fall in the water, they were not to yell "Man overboard!" because too many people thought it was funny to shout that, especially after a few drinks. Instead, they were to yell "Emergency! Emergency! All hands over here!"
Timothy Limbo went back up to the top deck but didn't see Foster anywhere. Huh. He pauded to gaze out at the scenery as the ship began to move after giving two blasts of the horn. He glanced at his Link to check for any messages and saw a note from Sable: "Thanks for the half a BLT, it was delicious." That made him smile. He had forgotten he had stuck his lunch in her desk and never got to retrieve it.
Standing in the fresh air of the open top deck, Timothy found himself going over everything Foster had said during the long ride up here. It was too bad they hadn't met before. Tim thought being in the man's company was more at ease and more interesting than any of the dates he had had with woman. That thought lingered a second but didn't quite sink in.
From below, the band was warming up and he heard a woman's voice doing the introductions, promising them a good time and recommend that they dance their hearts out to the oldies. "Remember the songs you once loved, and live those days again." Then the music started. He recognized "Where Did My Baby Go" by the Breakers and it reminded him of being a little kid listening to his parents' records. That house was occupied by another family now. His mother and father had both died while he was still a teenager. That whole world was gone forever, and a sharp pang stabbed his chest.
But life went on, he told himself. He had a cause to live for. In Tel Shai and the KDF, he had found new friends he could trust beyond doubt and he had spent the past six years protecting Humans from threats they remained happily ignorant about. It was a satisfying life. Timothy drew himself up, straightened his shoulders and descended the stairway to spot Foster recording the band and adding commentary. Better to leave him alone for the moment, after all THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES was his livelihood.
Tim realized he was in the strangest, most bittersweet mood as he watched Foster making his podcast. Why was he trusting this stranger so quickly and suddenly, when a decade of Midnight War experience had made him wary and suspicious. Certainly, as a Tel Shai knight and KDF member, he and his team had plenty of vicious enemies. Many determined attempts had been made upon their lives. He should be keeping a narrow eye on this Foster and yet....
Was he lonelier than he had thought, wondered Timothy. Maybe he wanted to know someone not on his Tel Shai team, someone who liked him from the heart. And maybe he wanted to like someone the same way. His attempts at dating had never worked out because so much of his life had to be kept secret. After a few times together, women seemed to realize they were hitting a wall they couldn't get through. And that ended every attempt at a relationship.
Foster had caught sight of him standing thirty feet away. Propping his phone up to keep recording, he listened for a second. They were starting a wistful bluesy classic "The Sun Always Comes Up Again," by Ronnie Brooks. Then he hurried over to clap Tim lightly high up on the back.
"Sorry to neglect you, buddy," he said. "Chat shows my viewership is way up and I wonder if it's the music as much as the chance of the ghost girl showing up."
"My dad had that song on a 45. I wonder whatever happened to it. Oh well. I'm having a great time, Foster. Look at those miles of trees."
They went over to gaze at the shoreline and Tim continued, "Too much time in the city. I got to thinking steel and concrete is all there is."
"Oh, even New York State is still mostly woodlands and wilds," Foster said. "Look at a map of the Adirondack Preserve sometime. If people disappeared tomorrow, nature would take over again right away."
"Hey, look over there. That's the Roosevelt mansion. We're opposite Hyde Park. Man, those people had serious money. I went there once and was impressed by a mansion that turned out to be only the servants' house!"
Foster laughed easily at that. He was leaning way back against the brass railing. "I wish I didn't have to stream tonight. This could be such a special occasion. Still, we'll have other times to hang out together."
"You bet," began Timothy. He had been hearing a young couple arguing not far behind them. He resented people being angry on a night like this. As he turned toward the fight, he caught glimpse of a beer bottle spinning fast right past his head... and it smacked Foster directly in the face, toppling him over the railing.
Even as someone screamed, even before the deep splash sounded forty feet below, Timothy Limbo had vaulted lightly up onto the railing and leaped far out into the darkness. His dive was Olympic-level perfect. He plunged neatly down into cold water and came up instantly. There was Foster, spluttering and not managing to keep his stunned head above water. All of the hard training came to him automatically. Timothy swam around behind his new friend, getting an arm up from under Foster's own left arm and holding the man's other arm still as he kicked with both legs. The danger in a rescue was that the drowning person might clutch desperately and drag the rescuer down as well.
"It's okay, it's okay," he repeated, "I've got you."
"My head, my poor head," sputtered Foster, coughing up water but calming down.
"You're safe, we're going to be all right."
Fifteen feet away, two round cork lifesavers with ropes attached splashed down on the surface. Timothy became aware of the yelling from the RIP VAN WINKLE's deck far above them. Using his legs and his one free hand, he managed to get over to the lifesavers and get Foster to cling to one. Securing his friend in the hard ring took some effort but finally he felt it was safe enough to grab the other lifesaver himself. Dozens of strong hands hauled them smoothly up and carried them both up to safety.
The next half hour was more frantic than the rescue had been. As required by law, an EMT examined them and decided neither was in any danger. Warm blankets swaddled them as they were led to chairs. There was some talk about prosecuting whichever of the feuding couple had thrown that beer bottle but Foster said he didn't intend to press charges, at the moment anyway.
After a few more minutes, the cruise director announced that both men were fine and since they were already heading back up to the departure site, the cruise would finish as planned. Cheering and applause broke out. The band began the lively, upbeat oldies song "Going To Town."
Finally left alone for a few minutes, Foster said, "I didn't know you were an Olympic athlete, buddy. That was some rescue."
Tim shrugged. "Just adrenalin. You've got a bump on your forehead the size of an egg. When we get back, you're going to the ER to check for concussion."
"Yeah, I guess. Better to be careful. What an experience. I told you I wasn't a good swimmer! Thank God I came to see you today..."
His voice broke off and Timothy swung around to see what he was staring at. A breeze cold as winter rushed over him. At arm's length away, dripping water onto the deck, stood a small child in a white robe. Her long hair hung down limply, but she smiled gleefully and held up one hand in a thumb's up gesture. Then she was gone.
Neither man could catch their breath for a few seconds. Then Foster asked, "You saw her, too?"
"Plain as anything. Foster, she was happy you survived. She wasn't an omen, she was a helper. She appeared so you would bring me along. It all worked out."
"Yes. Man! My skepticism sure took a beating tonight."
Timothy felt completely normal. He had been through much worse ordeals without trouble and he stood up to fold the blanket and put it on the chair. On this warm summer night, being soaking wet was no problem. "Heh, I guess you've got plenty to material for THE WIND BETWEEN THE GRAVESTONES."
"Oh, damn. There's my phone where I left it aimed at the band. I didn't get any of this. An experience like that, a witness to an apparition, and there's nothing to show. What a bummer."
Sitting back down, Timothy placed a hand on his shoulder. "WE know it happened."
3/1/2023
