"Forever Sundered"
Jul. 29th, 2023 08:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Forever Sundered"
7/7/2021
I.
On its paper plate sitting on a redwood picnic table, it was a perfectly good cheeseburger. The bun was lightly toasted, the yellow cheese had melted down over the crisp juicy meat with two pickle chips showing. Next to it stood a red Solo cup filled with bubbling root beer, beads of condensation on the cup in the muggy July heat. A few years ago, this would have been a treat for Carlo Ventura. He would have asked for nothing more.
But he had been sitting on the bench in front of the soda and cheeseburger for ten minutes without touching them. Around him, dozens of New Yorkers chatted happily at the street fair while a local band was playing decent versions of old 1990s rock music. So many pretty young women in minimal clothing strolled past that it felt like a parade. The hazy July sunlight gave everything a vague softness.
This is ridiculous, Carlo thought. He was a thin young man in a bright canary yellow T-shirt and white jeans, with a gym bag slung on its strap over one shoulder. The curly black hair and gaunt face with a sharp nose gave him a striking appearance. He looked like an intense, too-serious poet. Picking up the hamburger, he made himself take a good-sized bite and began chewing. It tasted even better than it had before he had entered the Midnight War because his senses were sharper. He could distinguish the tang of the pickle chips from the sesame seeds on the bun even as he chewed. As he swallowed, Carlo picked up the plastic cup and swigged a gulp of the chilled root beer. So familiar, and yet now unappealing. The sugar and the caffeine were not welcomed by his system.
The food and drink were the same. He had changed.
As if completing a tedious chore, Carlo ate some more of the burger. He had also bought a small cardboard tray of French fries and he popped a few of them in his mouth. Not so long ago, he would have wolfed everything down in a hurry. In the gym bag by his side, he felt the warm tingling presence of the Eyeless Helmet. That was another thing that troubled him. It had reached a point where he was no longer willing to leave Sagehelm behind when he left the KDF headquarters building.
Well before Jocelyn came into sight, Carlo detected her presence. He could not explain his enhanced perception and had given up on trying. In another minute, his teammate strode briskly up and dropped down on the bench opposite him, clapping one small hand on the redwood table. In her late thirties, Jocelyn Garimara drew some curious stares in Manhatan. Her naturally straight, thick black hair and smooth dark brown skin were not those of an American black woman. The distinctive facial features were those of her Aboriginal people in Northwest Australia and were exotic enough to fascinate strangers.
In her free hand, she held a piece of hot fried dough sprinkled with powdered sugar. "Hey, Carlo, something's eatin' you, what's the problem?"
The mystic did not immediately answer, watching her enthusiastically bite off a too-large chunk of fried dough. Where had his zest gone? "I don't know. I guess I've been through more changes than I expected."
"Mmmm. Yeah, I've seen it happen to you. It's that helmet. I've been reading about it in our files. Sagehelm wasn't really meant for a Human to wear. It was crafted by the Eldanarin, and we don't have their immortality or their group mind. You know, Jeremy says that Garrison Nebel got more philosophical and poetic the longer he kept Sagehelm."
Carlo managed to finish the hamburger. "The Teachers at Tel Shai aren't really much help either. I get the feeling they're waiting for me to figure things out on my own. It's getting me down, Joss."
"It may sound funny because I've got my Red Spectre living inside me," she said, "But I'm not psychic at all. I'm not even particularly spiritual. You hear all about Abos being connected to Nature and the Dreamtime and all that, but that's not me. I'm just here and now, feet on the ground. So I wouldn't be the best one to talk to about this, Carlo."
He shrugged and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, hands clasped. "Oh well, life goes on and things change. Anyway. You didn't come down here from 38th Street and find me by coincidence, Joss. What's up?"
"Sable sent me. We don't really have a mission as such, it's just a few hints and clues that have her worried. She wants the two of us to poke around."
Picking up his paper plate and empty cup, Carlo leaned way over and tossed them into an open-frame metal waste basket nearby. "What can you tell me?"
"There are three missing girls from the past month and one of them was found dead deep in the woods outside Hendrick, Pennsylvania. The other two had last been seen in Connecticut at a concert in New Haven. The police have been doing the usual investigation without results."
"Ah. Was there a concert near Hendrick featuring the same band or singer as the other two disappearances?"
Jocelyn stood up and pulled down her denim jacket, which she wore despite the heat. In its inner pockets were a dozen tiny gadgets and hidden at the small of her back was one of the KDF dart guns. "You're on the right track, Carlo. Yep. A sort of progressive rock group from a few years ago, Crescent Moon. Why are you smiling?"
"When I was fifteen, I had a major crush on the lead singer, like a million other boys. Her name was Despair Alvarado. So pretty and shy, hardly looking up when she sang. I hadn't thought about her in years."
"You may get a chance to meet her," Jocelyn said, starting to move over toward Avenue A. "And you can ask her why teenage girls are disappearing after going to one of her shows."
II.
In the Toyota Matrix that had been upgraded with some Trom technology, Jocelyn drove north along Sixth Avenue toward Central Park. She had been filling Carlo in with details like the victim's ages and descriptions. He seemed distracted. She glanced over at him at a red light. "Mate, your body is sitting next to me but your mind is a million miles away."
"I've been listening," he said. In his lap sat the gym bag with his hands resting on it. "The police have questioned the band, their crew, the agents and so forth?"
"Sure. Sable said they're working on it now. One problem is that Crescent Moon moves around so much. Since the last disappearance, they've been in six different cities around your Northeast. Good lifestyle for discarding evidence on the road in the middle of the night, eh?"
"Yes." Carlo Ventura was staring off into space again. "Jocelyn, my insights into Truth are limited by my Human mind. I can tell when someone is lying or confused. But I'm reluctant to force anyone to confess against their will because it can cause trauma."
"Between the two of us, we should be able to get to the answers," she said. "I've had years of Kumundu training in reading body language, micro-expressions, subvocal tremors, all that. It's a bloody big help in daily life. I know when someone in a store has shortchanged me or if a date isn't really sick but just wants to drop me!"
Carlo smiled. "I'll tell you something, I really don't want to find out Despair Alvarado is in a trafficking ring or some other criminal racket. I'd be crushed."
"Ah, it's gotta be rough when your dream girl is a suspect," Jocelyn said. "You might have to take down her poster."
"Heh, I did save the cover off a magazine that had her picture on it."
Reaching the lower border of the park, she turned at 59th Street and grabbed a parking spot that opened as a delivery van pulled away. This evidently offended another driver beyond endurance because they heard his horn fade when he drove past. Jocelyn snatched some change from the center console for the meter. "Say, do you have a dart gun with you?"
"No. This was my off day. I'm on morning duty tomorrow."
"Leave it to the KDF," she scoffed. "Most of us are on duty from eleven at night to seven in the morning and one gets to watch the monitors from seven to three in the afternoon. So bloody backward. But then it IS the Midnight War and most of our cases take place in the middle of the night."
With Carlo still carrying the gym bag, they walked a few blocks and swung onto a side street. A red awning extending out over the sidewalk had ornate gilt lettering that read BARNABY'S. Standing by the door was a huge beefy man wearing a leather jacket and jeans. His hair was so closely cropped that the bullet-shaped head was nearly shaven and his neck tattoos added to an imposing first impression. Yet his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Despair and Mark are almost done, sorry."
Holding out two twenties, Jocelyn grinned at him. She didn't think she was good-looking because her childhood had been spent getting mistreated by whites as well as her own clan, but in fact she had huge dark eyes and a warm smile. Most people liked her on sight. "That's all right, me mate, we'd be happy just to hear one song by them."
"As long as you know," the bouncer said, taking the money and opening the door for them. "It's not the whole band, either. Despair and Mark first performed here and they do a low-key set whenever they're back in their hometown.
"Thank you," Jocelyn said and entered a dark chilly club with Carlo behind her. Their enhanced night vision kicked in faster than a normal person's might. The club was only lit by a subdued dark blue spotlight on the stage. Along the right wall was the bar, to their left were the bathroom doors. Twenty round tables were fully occupied by patrons who were keeping as silent as someone trying not to startle a rabbit. And on the stage were Despair Alvarado and Mark Shapiro.
A haunting, ghostly voice drifted out over the notes of an acoustic guitar:
"So are we divided, you and I
Forever sundered, sea and sky
That which divides us
Also defines us
And our horizon is a wall...."
Despair had not visibly changed since the time of her greatest popularity five years earlier. She was tiny, slim, dressed all in black.. stockings, pleated skirt, long-sleeved thin cotton blouse. The wavy black hair fell down her back to waist level. Despair Alvarado sang with her hands clasped behind her, head down and lips almost touching the microphone. She looked as vulnerable and disarming as a child awaiting a scolding.
"Truth, she IS lovely," whispered Jocelyn into Carlo's ear and he nodded silently.
When the song trailed off, Despair bowed deeply from the waist and breathed into the microphone, "Thank you all very much." The applause was sincere and prolonged, but there were no whistles and whoops. The audience seemed to have been left in a wistful mood.
The duo wheeled and headed for a door marked PRIVATE behind the stage but the girl paused. The thoughtful eyes fixed on Jocelyn and Carlo with a look of recognition. She crooked one finger to beckon them closer. Next to Despair, the guitarist cocked his head but didn't seem thrilled to have two strangers approach. He was tall enough to have been urged to play basketball in high school, wearing a floral print shirt with puffy sleeves and jeans that had both knees out.
As Carlo and Jocelyn reached them, Despair gestured for them to go through the door, then closed it when all four were in a brightly lit dressing room ten feet to each side. Five wooden chairs, a makeup table with a mirror, two suitcases and the guitar case took up enough room to crowd them together.
"You're not fans and you're not police," Despair said in that familiar waifish voice. "But you bring darkness and violence with you. I can tell. What do you want with us?"
III.
Before anyone could react, the singer reached out a dainty hand to touch the gym bag hanging at Carlo's side. "What do you have in there? It's calling."
"Despair is more than a little psychic," Mark explained calmly as he placed his guitar in its case out of the way.
"So it would seem," said Jocelyn. "First, I want to explain that we are not with the police in any official capacity. My name is Jocelyn Garimara and this is my teammate Carlo Ventura. We are members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. We investigate paranormal reports."
Despair turned her head to gaze at Jocelyn. "You are burning. There is a... living flame inside you. Restless, eager to be free."
"Say, you do have a gift. Carlo, you think you should show everyone the helmet?"
"Yes." The mystic unzipped the gym bag and reached inside to pull out a full head-covering helmet crafted of the palest gold metal that shimmered in the bright lights. It closely resembled a classic Corinthian helmet with no vertical opening. There were no eyeholes in the front plate, only outlines etched in the surface. As he held Sagehelm up, Despair sighed and swayed toward it, holding out her hands. To his own surprise, Carlo allowed her to take the helmet.
"This is a treasure like no other," she said. She cradled the helmet in her arms and smiled shyly at the guitarist. "Can't you feel it, Mark?"
"Nope. I've got about as much ESP as a turnip does. But I trust your instincts."
As the singer raised the Eyeless Helmet, Carlo made a cautioning noise. "Uh-uh, I wouldn't put it on if I were you."
"No. You're right. It's not meant for me." She looked back and forth between the two KDF members. "So funny, I feel like I've met you two before but I think I'd remember it."
"I know I would," Carlo replied with his slight smile. "It's strange to see you up close and in the flesh after watching so many of your videos on YouTube."
"I'm here, too," Mark reminded everyone.
With great reluctance, as if handing over a newborn, Despair gave the helmet back. "So it goes."
Jocelyn straightened up and put a more professional edge in her voice, "Sorry to bring everyone down to Earth, but we have to talk. You two know about the missing girls who were at your concerts?"
"We didn't until the police started questioning us," Mark answered. He pulled a chair over and dropped down into it. "Please, everyone sit. Despair and I have been on the road for weeks. The rest of the band is snoring in a hotel right now."
Once everyone got settled, Jocelyn continued, "Our team captain tells me that two of the missing teens haven't been reported in the media. The third was. They found her body in Pennsylvania. Someone in the NYPD was stewing over missing persons cases and saw a common factor in that all three had been to your shows."
"That's a melancholy thought," Mark said. "We have a bond with our fans. They often finish singing a song for us and we usually walk through the audience while taking a break. A lot of our material is about loss and doubt. I'd like to think we tell young people they're not the only ones who feel lost."
"Have you had any fans acting, well, strange? Creepy? Suspicious?"
"Not particularly. Despair?"
The singer was sitting close to Mark, leaning up against him but staring at Carlo. "We don't let people backstage after a show. That's a rule. Our rhythm guitarist and drummer are married. Not to each other, to women, and we made an agreement to keep groupies at a distance. We chat with our fans between sets, sometimes, but no one goes backstage. It's kept everyone's relationships secure."
Carlo was gazing down at the helmet, holding it so it seemed to staring up at him. "If something occult was following your group, Despair would pick up on it."
"I'd like to think so," the singer said. "But I'm not a professional or anything, I just have a gift. Carlo, Jocelyn, would you be able to come to our show tonight? It's at the Monroe Arena in Jersey City."
The two KDF members nodded at each other.
"We'll tell the gate to let you in," Despair continued. "You might have to show ID." Despair exhaled sadly. "I admit I we'll feel safer with you Tel Shai knights in the crowd."
"I hope you'll sing 'Forever Sundered,'" Carlo said. "It's too bad that I finally get to see you perform and it has to be under these circumstances."
IV.
It was twenty after one the next morning when Jocelyn and Carlo stood in the foyer of the ten-story stone building on East 38th Street to be checked in. After faint buzzes and clicks indicated they had been scanned by Trom sensors to confirm who they were, the inner door unlocked. Stepping into the front hall of KDF headquarters, they saw to the left their captain waiting in the open doorway of the reception room.
"I hope you enjoyed the show," greeted Sable. Now in her early forties, Lauren Sable Reilly had not changed much physically since joining the team as a college student. She remained a trim, attractive woman of average height and build, with straight black hair brushed straight back from a high forehead. She dressed more formally by preference than her teammates did, wearing black slacks, a white blouse with a folded collar and a Navy blue blazer left unbuttoned. As her partners reached the reception room door, she herself went in and crossed over to sit behind her desk. On the wall behind her hung a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937.
Carlo and Jocelyn did not seem tired at all but rather were still excited. They adjusted their chairs to face their captain and settled down. "It was amazing," Carlo said. "They sounded better live than they do on their albums. And they certainly gave you your money's worth, they were on stage for two hours with one break for a few minutes."
"Yeah, I'm not much for that sort of moody petulant music," added Jocelyn. "I'm a rocker. But I have to admit they're talented. Despair had the audience holding their breath so they could hang on every word."
"Uh-huh. And what about the investigation?"
"I was watching the crowd and the security apes and the crew," Jocelyn said. "Nothing suspicious. If anything, everyone was better behaved than I expected. I'd heard American concerts get boisterous but this lot was well mannered."
Seeing both women looking at him expectantly, Carlo Ventura raised and lowered his shoulders. "I caught nothing. Nothing Midnight War as far as I can perceive. I mean, yes, I'm new to this Sorcerer of Truth business and I didn't have the helmet with me. But everyone within sight seemed a normal flesh and blood Human as far as I could tell. We spent some time chatting with the band. None of them seemed to be hiding any shady secrets or using gralic energy." He hesitated, then added, "And yet I'm uneasy. I feel there's something Midnight War in this situation, something that perhaps the band themselves do not suspect. I'll have to meditate about it."
"That torpedoes a few of my tentative theories," Sable admitted. "There has been a flurry of vampire activity recently. But now I think our best line is to look for any suspicious characters who turn up in the crowd. I swiped concert footage from the three different venues and right now I have our computers searching for any face matches. We'll still have to sort through it all personally."
"Sounds like drudgery," Jocelyn said.
"Oh, it will be. I wish Megan were available to set up the programming, she's so much beter at it than any Human could be, but she's at Tel Shai the next few days.
Right now, I think you two are entitled to some down time. Get some sleep. We'll plan our next move in nine hours."
"There's one thing we haven't mentioned yet," Jocelyn said. "Crescent Moon has finished their tour. The band is taking a three week break to scatter and maybe do a few solo projects. Despair and Mark have invited us to come visit them tomorrow night. They have a house up in Westchester."
"Good. That'll give you two more time to study them."
"And for Despair to study our Carlo," teased Jocelyn. "She's smitten with the lad."
Carlo shifted his weight uneasily. "It's just the Eyeless Helmet that calls. To someone like Despair Alvarado, I'm only another little fanboy."
"You're so cute," added Jocelyn.
V.
At eight o'clock that night, Jocelyn steered her car slowly up a dirt road. At its end stood an old white frame house that had been nicely rebuilt to include a wooden deck and a barbecue pit. Next to its side was parked a cherry red oversized SUV and she pulled in next to it.
She had changed into a glossy silk blouse and snug black slacks that looked great with her trim figure and dark skin tones. Next to her in the passenger seat sat Carlo Ventura, holding the familiar gym bag. He was strangely wearing all white. Boots, simple pants and a long-sleeved tunic that were solid white without any trim or pockets.
On the drive up from Manhattan, he had been even quieter than usual. Jocelyn had responded by playing soft post-rock music and letting him sit undisturbed. In their year working together, she had learned when to tease him and when to let him be. Still, as they got out and walked around to the front door, she felt she had to comment, "I thought you'd be more excited to have dinner cooked by your teen crush, fella."
Carlo sighed. "This is not going to be pleasant, Joss. I've been reflecting. Listening to Sagehelm. My burden is to seek truth and to restore people and things to their rightful state, but I don't have to like it."
Before she could respond, the front door opened. Mark Shapiro stepped out and greeted them quietly. "Hello. I'm glad to see you guys. Despair has been acting so withdrawn today. Maybe seeing some new friends will draw her out."
"Hello, Mark," Jocelyn said. "Of course, we'll help in any way we can."
Carlo was already heading around to the other side of the house where the open deck extended out under an awning for shade. Seated on a blue yoga mat, Destiny Alvarado shuddered and looked up.
"It's good you came," she said in that ethereal voice so many millions had listened enrapt to. Destiny had put on dark leotards that left her forearms and feet bare, and in the deepening gloom of a Summer twilight, her pale face seemed to float by itself.
"Jocelyn, Mark... I must ask you both to stand by and say nothing no matter what you see or hear," Carlo said. As everyone watched, he pulled a length of heavy gold material from his bag and unfolded it. This was an ankle-length cloak of cotton shot through with threads of the Ensalir metal blessed by the Eldanarin. Seeing it, Jocelyn caught her breath. She knew he only wore this protective garment when facing dangerous Midnight War manifestations.
With the cloak fastened by its clasp around his neck, Carlo lowered himself to a full lotus position just out of reach of where Despair was already sitting. He held the Eyeless Helmet and slowly lowered it down over his head. Somehow, gleams of light played over the pale gold metal as if reflecting unseen light sources. When he spoke, his voice had become hollow and stern.
"The ancient winds of trouble call your name."
"Yes," whispered Despair. "I have been denying it even to myself but it must be faced."
"That which troubles you must be driven out and driven away before more innocents lose their lives. Yet, know this, the cleansing is neither safe nor easy. Are you willing to give all you have in this world?"
"I am," she replied, barely audible. "Do what is right, my new friend. I place myself in your hands."
From beneath the helmet, that sepulchral voice continued, "Despair, know that no guilt rests on you for the deaths. Your body was used as a weapon without your knowledge or consent, nor did your friends know of it. As soon as the truth broke into your awareness, you asked me to make amends. You are blameless."
"That is a great comfort," she whispered. "Hurry before I change my mind."
The Eyeless Helmet flared up, becoming clear as glass as warm golden light shone from within it. Carlo's voice was that of a judge giving sentence. "Spawn of Draldros! You shall not return to Fanedral. By the holy light of the Halarin, I bid you disperse!"
Richer and more comforting than sunlight, the spiritual radiance which shone on Elvedal filled everyone's sight and left them blinking tearfully as it faded. Despair cried out in sharp pain. Up from her body like smoke from a smothered fire, a shadowy black manlike shape emerged and tried to scuttle away on all fours. The golden light scattered it into stray shreds and fragments which blew away in all directions.
When Jocelyn and Mark regained their sight with after-images still swimming, they saw Carlo sitting unmoved. But Despair Alvarado had fallen over on to her side with one arm stretched out in front of her. Mark plunged over and touched her fearfully.
"Honey? Honey, what is it? Are you all right?" Then he lifted her and cradled her body in his arms, swaying from side to side as realization sank in.
Moving over to crouch next to her teammate, Jocelyn asked, "What WAS that thing?"
"A dimbuk. An evil spirit sent from Fanedral to cause death and grief to Humans. You witnessed an exorcism, Joss." Carlo lifted the Eyeless Helmet to reveal hair matted with sweat and a weary face. "She understood. She had the strength to do what had to be done, she was stronger than she knew."
Mark lifted a wet teary face and seemed unable to speak. He opened his mouth and worked it but no sound came out. He was rocking Despair gently as if coaxing a small child to sleep. Jocelyn went over and knelt next to him, squeezing a comforting arm across his shoulders even though she knew how little it would help. She herself felt warmth trickling down her cheeks.
"I'm so so sorry,' she said. "I can't think of anything else to say. I.. I have to call 911. There's nothing they can do to help but they will send an ambulance."
"What are we going to tell them?" asked Mark numbly. "I don't even know what I saw. It can't be real, this can't be happening, things like this don't happen in real life...."
Carlo had returned the helmet and cloak to his gym bag. He sat with his face buried in his hands and then finally looked up. "The examiner will conclude heart failure. Some obscure defect that showed itself. That's all the world needs to know." Seeing the two stricken faces turned toward him, Carlo concluded, "But we will always know how brave she was."
8/1/2023
7/7/2021
I.
On its paper plate sitting on a redwood picnic table, it was a perfectly good cheeseburger. The bun was lightly toasted, the yellow cheese had melted down over the crisp juicy meat with two pickle chips showing. Next to it stood a red Solo cup filled with bubbling root beer, beads of condensation on the cup in the muggy July heat. A few years ago, this would have been a treat for Carlo Ventura. He would have asked for nothing more.
But he had been sitting on the bench in front of the soda and cheeseburger for ten minutes without touching them. Around him, dozens of New Yorkers chatted happily at the street fair while a local band was playing decent versions of old 1990s rock music. So many pretty young women in minimal clothing strolled past that it felt like a parade. The hazy July sunlight gave everything a vague softness.
This is ridiculous, Carlo thought. He was a thin young man in a bright canary yellow T-shirt and white jeans, with a gym bag slung on its strap over one shoulder. The curly black hair and gaunt face with a sharp nose gave him a striking appearance. He looked like an intense, too-serious poet. Picking up the hamburger, he made himself take a good-sized bite and began chewing. It tasted even better than it had before he had entered the Midnight War because his senses were sharper. He could distinguish the tang of the pickle chips from the sesame seeds on the bun even as he chewed. As he swallowed, Carlo picked up the plastic cup and swigged a gulp of the chilled root beer. So familiar, and yet now unappealing. The sugar and the caffeine were not welcomed by his system.
The food and drink were the same. He had changed.
As if completing a tedious chore, Carlo ate some more of the burger. He had also bought a small cardboard tray of French fries and he popped a few of them in his mouth. Not so long ago, he would have wolfed everything down in a hurry. In the gym bag by his side, he felt the warm tingling presence of the Eyeless Helmet. That was another thing that troubled him. It had reached a point where he was no longer willing to leave Sagehelm behind when he left the KDF headquarters building.
Well before Jocelyn came into sight, Carlo detected her presence. He could not explain his enhanced perception and had given up on trying. In another minute, his teammate strode briskly up and dropped down on the bench opposite him, clapping one small hand on the redwood table. In her late thirties, Jocelyn Garimara drew some curious stares in Manhatan. Her naturally straight, thick black hair and smooth dark brown skin were not those of an American black woman. The distinctive facial features were those of her Aboriginal people in Northwest Australia and were exotic enough to fascinate strangers.
In her free hand, she held a piece of hot fried dough sprinkled with powdered sugar. "Hey, Carlo, something's eatin' you, what's the problem?"
The mystic did not immediately answer, watching her enthusiastically bite off a too-large chunk of fried dough. Where had his zest gone? "I don't know. I guess I've been through more changes than I expected."
"Mmmm. Yeah, I've seen it happen to you. It's that helmet. I've been reading about it in our files. Sagehelm wasn't really meant for a Human to wear. It was crafted by the Eldanarin, and we don't have their immortality or their group mind. You know, Jeremy says that Garrison Nebel got more philosophical and poetic the longer he kept Sagehelm."
Carlo managed to finish the hamburger. "The Teachers at Tel Shai aren't really much help either. I get the feeling they're waiting for me to figure things out on my own. It's getting me down, Joss."
"It may sound funny because I've got my Red Spectre living inside me," she said, "But I'm not psychic at all. I'm not even particularly spiritual. You hear all about Abos being connected to Nature and the Dreamtime and all that, but that's not me. I'm just here and now, feet on the ground. So I wouldn't be the best one to talk to about this, Carlo."
He shrugged and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, hands clasped. "Oh well, life goes on and things change. Anyway. You didn't come down here from 38th Street and find me by coincidence, Joss. What's up?"
"Sable sent me. We don't really have a mission as such, it's just a few hints and clues that have her worried. She wants the two of us to poke around."
Picking up his paper plate and empty cup, Carlo leaned way over and tossed them into an open-frame metal waste basket nearby. "What can you tell me?"
"There are three missing girls from the past month and one of them was found dead deep in the woods outside Hendrick, Pennsylvania. The other two had last been seen in Connecticut at a concert in New Haven. The police have been doing the usual investigation without results."
"Ah. Was there a concert near Hendrick featuring the same band or singer as the other two disappearances?"
Jocelyn stood up and pulled down her denim jacket, which she wore despite the heat. In its inner pockets were a dozen tiny gadgets and hidden at the small of her back was one of the KDF dart guns. "You're on the right track, Carlo. Yep. A sort of progressive rock group from a few years ago, Crescent Moon. Why are you smiling?"
"When I was fifteen, I had a major crush on the lead singer, like a million other boys. Her name was Despair Alvarado. So pretty and shy, hardly looking up when she sang. I hadn't thought about her in years."
"You may get a chance to meet her," Jocelyn said, starting to move over toward Avenue A. "And you can ask her why teenage girls are disappearing after going to one of her shows."
II.
In the Toyota Matrix that had been upgraded with some Trom technology, Jocelyn drove north along Sixth Avenue toward Central Park. She had been filling Carlo in with details like the victim's ages and descriptions. He seemed distracted. She glanced over at him at a red light. "Mate, your body is sitting next to me but your mind is a million miles away."
"I've been listening," he said. In his lap sat the gym bag with his hands resting on it. "The police have questioned the band, their crew, the agents and so forth?"
"Sure. Sable said they're working on it now. One problem is that Crescent Moon moves around so much. Since the last disappearance, they've been in six different cities around your Northeast. Good lifestyle for discarding evidence on the road in the middle of the night, eh?"
"Yes." Carlo Ventura was staring off into space again. "Jocelyn, my insights into Truth are limited by my Human mind. I can tell when someone is lying or confused. But I'm reluctant to force anyone to confess against their will because it can cause trauma."
"Between the two of us, we should be able to get to the answers," she said. "I've had years of Kumundu training in reading body language, micro-expressions, subvocal tremors, all that. It's a bloody big help in daily life. I know when someone in a store has shortchanged me or if a date isn't really sick but just wants to drop me!"
Carlo smiled. "I'll tell you something, I really don't want to find out Despair Alvarado is in a trafficking ring or some other criminal racket. I'd be crushed."
"Ah, it's gotta be rough when your dream girl is a suspect," Jocelyn said. "You might have to take down her poster."
"Heh, I did save the cover off a magazine that had her picture on it."
Reaching the lower border of the park, she turned at 59th Street and grabbed a parking spot that opened as a delivery van pulled away. This evidently offended another driver beyond endurance because they heard his horn fade when he drove past. Jocelyn snatched some change from the center console for the meter. "Say, do you have a dart gun with you?"
"No. This was my off day. I'm on morning duty tomorrow."
"Leave it to the KDF," she scoffed. "Most of us are on duty from eleven at night to seven in the morning and one gets to watch the monitors from seven to three in the afternoon. So bloody backward. But then it IS the Midnight War and most of our cases take place in the middle of the night."
With Carlo still carrying the gym bag, they walked a few blocks and swung onto a side street. A red awning extending out over the sidewalk had ornate gilt lettering that read BARNABY'S. Standing by the door was a huge beefy man wearing a leather jacket and jeans. His hair was so closely cropped that the bullet-shaped head was nearly shaven and his neck tattoos added to an imposing first impression. Yet his voice was surprisingly gentle. "Despair and Mark are almost done, sorry."
Holding out two twenties, Jocelyn grinned at him. She didn't think she was good-looking because her childhood had been spent getting mistreated by whites as well as her own clan, but in fact she had huge dark eyes and a warm smile. Most people liked her on sight. "That's all right, me mate, we'd be happy just to hear one song by them."
"As long as you know," the bouncer said, taking the money and opening the door for them. "It's not the whole band, either. Despair and Mark first performed here and they do a low-key set whenever they're back in their hometown.
"Thank you," Jocelyn said and entered a dark chilly club with Carlo behind her. Their enhanced night vision kicked in faster than a normal person's might. The club was only lit by a subdued dark blue spotlight on the stage. Along the right wall was the bar, to their left were the bathroom doors. Twenty round tables were fully occupied by patrons who were keeping as silent as someone trying not to startle a rabbit. And on the stage were Despair Alvarado and Mark Shapiro.
A haunting, ghostly voice drifted out over the notes of an acoustic guitar:
"So are we divided, you and I
Forever sundered, sea and sky
That which divides us
Also defines us
And our horizon is a wall...."
Despair had not visibly changed since the time of her greatest popularity five years earlier. She was tiny, slim, dressed all in black.. stockings, pleated skirt, long-sleeved thin cotton blouse. The wavy black hair fell down her back to waist level. Despair Alvarado sang with her hands clasped behind her, head down and lips almost touching the microphone. She looked as vulnerable and disarming as a child awaiting a scolding.
"Truth, she IS lovely," whispered Jocelyn into Carlo's ear and he nodded silently.
When the song trailed off, Despair bowed deeply from the waist and breathed into the microphone, "Thank you all very much." The applause was sincere and prolonged, but there were no whistles and whoops. The audience seemed to have been left in a wistful mood.
The duo wheeled and headed for a door marked PRIVATE behind the stage but the girl paused. The thoughtful eyes fixed on Jocelyn and Carlo with a look of recognition. She crooked one finger to beckon them closer. Next to Despair, the guitarist cocked his head but didn't seem thrilled to have two strangers approach. He was tall enough to have been urged to play basketball in high school, wearing a floral print shirt with puffy sleeves and jeans that had both knees out.
As Carlo and Jocelyn reached them, Despair gestured for them to go through the door, then closed it when all four were in a brightly lit dressing room ten feet to each side. Five wooden chairs, a makeup table with a mirror, two suitcases and the guitar case took up enough room to crowd them together.
"You're not fans and you're not police," Despair said in that familiar waifish voice. "But you bring darkness and violence with you. I can tell. What do you want with us?"
III.
Before anyone could react, the singer reached out a dainty hand to touch the gym bag hanging at Carlo's side. "What do you have in there? It's calling."
"Despair is more than a little psychic," Mark explained calmly as he placed his guitar in its case out of the way.
"So it would seem," said Jocelyn. "First, I want to explain that we are not with the police in any official capacity. My name is Jocelyn Garimara and this is my teammate Carlo Ventura. We are members of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. We investigate paranormal reports."
Despair turned her head to gaze at Jocelyn. "You are burning. There is a... living flame inside you. Restless, eager to be free."
"Say, you do have a gift. Carlo, you think you should show everyone the helmet?"
"Yes." The mystic unzipped the gym bag and reached inside to pull out a full head-covering helmet crafted of the palest gold metal that shimmered in the bright lights. It closely resembled a classic Corinthian helmet with no vertical opening. There were no eyeholes in the front plate, only outlines etched in the surface. As he held Sagehelm up, Despair sighed and swayed toward it, holding out her hands. To his own surprise, Carlo allowed her to take the helmet.
"This is a treasure like no other," she said. She cradled the helmet in her arms and smiled shyly at the guitarist. "Can't you feel it, Mark?"
"Nope. I've got about as much ESP as a turnip does. But I trust your instincts."
As the singer raised the Eyeless Helmet, Carlo made a cautioning noise. "Uh-uh, I wouldn't put it on if I were you."
"No. You're right. It's not meant for me." She looked back and forth between the two KDF members. "So funny, I feel like I've met you two before but I think I'd remember it."
"I know I would," Carlo replied with his slight smile. "It's strange to see you up close and in the flesh after watching so many of your videos on YouTube."
"I'm here, too," Mark reminded everyone.
With great reluctance, as if handing over a newborn, Despair gave the helmet back. "So it goes."
Jocelyn straightened up and put a more professional edge in her voice, "Sorry to bring everyone down to Earth, but we have to talk. You two know about the missing girls who were at your concerts?"
"We didn't until the police started questioning us," Mark answered. He pulled a chair over and dropped down into it. "Please, everyone sit. Despair and I have been on the road for weeks. The rest of the band is snoring in a hotel right now."
Once everyone got settled, Jocelyn continued, "Our team captain tells me that two of the missing teens haven't been reported in the media. The third was. They found her body in Pennsylvania. Someone in the NYPD was stewing over missing persons cases and saw a common factor in that all three had been to your shows."
"That's a melancholy thought," Mark said. "We have a bond with our fans. They often finish singing a song for us and we usually walk through the audience while taking a break. A lot of our material is about loss and doubt. I'd like to think we tell young people they're not the only ones who feel lost."
"Have you had any fans acting, well, strange? Creepy? Suspicious?"
"Not particularly. Despair?"
The singer was sitting close to Mark, leaning up against him but staring at Carlo. "We don't let people backstage after a show. That's a rule. Our rhythm guitarist and drummer are married. Not to each other, to women, and we made an agreement to keep groupies at a distance. We chat with our fans between sets, sometimes, but no one goes backstage. It's kept everyone's relationships secure."
Carlo was gazing down at the helmet, holding it so it seemed to staring up at him. "If something occult was following your group, Despair would pick up on it."
"I'd like to think so," the singer said. "But I'm not a professional or anything, I just have a gift. Carlo, Jocelyn, would you be able to come to our show tonight? It's at the Monroe Arena in Jersey City."
The two KDF members nodded at each other.
"We'll tell the gate to let you in," Despair continued. "You might have to show ID." Despair exhaled sadly. "I admit I we'll feel safer with you Tel Shai knights in the crowd."
"I hope you'll sing 'Forever Sundered,'" Carlo said. "It's too bad that I finally get to see you perform and it has to be under these circumstances."
IV.
It was twenty after one the next morning when Jocelyn and Carlo stood in the foyer of the ten-story stone building on East 38th Street to be checked in. After faint buzzes and clicks indicated they had been scanned by Trom sensors to confirm who they were, the inner door unlocked. Stepping into the front hall of KDF headquarters, they saw to the left their captain waiting in the open doorway of the reception room.
"I hope you enjoyed the show," greeted Sable. Now in her early forties, Lauren Sable Reilly had not changed much physically since joining the team as a college student. She remained a trim, attractive woman of average height and build, with straight black hair brushed straight back from a high forehead. She dressed more formally by preference than her teammates did, wearing black slacks, a white blouse with a folded collar and a Navy blue blazer left unbuttoned. As her partners reached the reception room door, she herself went in and crossed over to sit behind her desk. On the wall behind her hung a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937.
Carlo and Jocelyn did not seem tired at all but rather were still excited. They adjusted their chairs to face their captain and settled down. "It was amazing," Carlo said. "They sounded better live than they do on their albums. And they certainly gave you your money's worth, they were on stage for two hours with one break for a few minutes."
"Yeah, I'm not much for that sort of moody petulant music," added Jocelyn. "I'm a rocker. But I have to admit they're talented. Despair had the audience holding their breath so they could hang on every word."
"Uh-huh. And what about the investigation?"
"I was watching the crowd and the security apes and the crew," Jocelyn said. "Nothing suspicious. If anything, everyone was better behaved than I expected. I'd heard American concerts get boisterous but this lot was well mannered."
Seeing both women looking at him expectantly, Carlo Ventura raised and lowered his shoulders. "I caught nothing. Nothing Midnight War as far as I can perceive. I mean, yes, I'm new to this Sorcerer of Truth business and I didn't have the helmet with me. But everyone within sight seemed a normal flesh and blood Human as far as I could tell. We spent some time chatting with the band. None of them seemed to be hiding any shady secrets or using gralic energy." He hesitated, then added, "And yet I'm uneasy. I feel there's something Midnight War in this situation, something that perhaps the band themselves do not suspect. I'll have to meditate about it."
"That torpedoes a few of my tentative theories," Sable admitted. "There has been a flurry of vampire activity recently. But now I think our best line is to look for any suspicious characters who turn up in the crowd. I swiped concert footage from the three different venues and right now I have our computers searching for any face matches. We'll still have to sort through it all personally."
"Sounds like drudgery," Jocelyn said.
"Oh, it will be. I wish Megan were available to set up the programming, she's so much beter at it than any Human could be, but she's at Tel Shai the next few days.
Right now, I think you two are entitled to some down time. Get some sleep. We'll plan our next move in nine hours."
"There's one thing we haven't mentioned yet," Jocelyn said. "Crescent Moon has finished their tour. The band is taking a three week break to scatter and maybe do a few solo projects. Despair and Mark have invited us to come visit them tomorrow night. They have a house up in Westchester."
"Good. That'll give you two more time to study them."
"And for Despair to study our Carlo," teased Jocelyn. "She's smitten with the lad."
Carlo shifted his weight uneasily. "It's just the Eyeless Helmet that calls. To someone like Despair Alvarado, I'm only another little fanboy."
"You're so cute," added Jocelyn.
V.
At eight o'clock that night, Jocelyn steered her car slowly up a dirt road. At its end stood an old white frame house that had been nicely rebuilt to include a wooden deck and a barbecue pit. Next to its side was parked a cherry red oversized SUV and she pulled in next to it.
She had changed into a glossy silk blouse and snug black slacks that looked great with her trim figure and dark skin tones. Next to her in the passenger seat sat Carlo Ventura, holding the familiar gym bag. He was strangely wearing all white. Boots, simple pants and a long-sleeved tunic that were solid white without any trim or pockets.
On the drive up from Manhattan, he had been even quieter than usual. Jocelyn had responded by playing soft post-rock music and letting him sit undisturbed. In their year working together, she had learned when to tease him and when to let him be. Still, as they got out and walked around to the front door, she felt she had to comment, "I thought you'd be more excited to have dinner cooked by your teen crush, fella."
Carlo sighed. "This is not going to be pleasant, Joss. I've been reflecting. Listening to Sagehelm. My burden is to seek truth and to restore people and things to their rightful state, but I don't have to like it."
Before she could respond, the front door opened. Mark Shapiro stepped out and greeted them quietly. "Hello. I'm glad to see you guys. Despair has been acting so withdrawn today. Maybe seeing some new friends will draw her out."
"Hello, Mark," Jocelyn said. "Of course, we'll help in any way we can."
Carlo was already heading around to the other side of the house where the open deck extended out under an awning for shade. Seated on a blue yoga mat, Destiny Alvarado shuddered and looked up.
"It's good you came," she said in that ethereal voice so many millions had listened enrapt to. Destiny had put on dark leotards that left her forearms and feet bare, and in the deepening gloom of a Summer twilight, her pale face seemed to float by itself.
"Jocelyn, Mark... I must ask you both to stand by and say nothing no matter what you see or hear," Carlo said. As everyone watched, he pulled a length of heavy gold material from his bag and unfolded it. This was an ankle-length cloak of cotton shot through with threads of the Ensalir metal blessed by the Eldanarin. Seeing it, Jocelyn caught her breath. She knew he only wore this protective garment when facing dangerous Midnight War manifestations.
With the cloak fastened by its clasp around his neck, Carlo lowered himself to a full lotus position just out of reach of where Despair was already sitting. He held the Eyeless Helmet and slowly lowered it down over his head. Somehow, gleams of light played over the pale gold metal as if reflecting unseen light sources. When he spoke, his voice had become hollow and stern.
"The ancient winds of trouble call your name."
"Yes," whispered Despair. "I have been denying it even to myself but it must be faced."
"That which troubles you must be driven out and driven away before more innocents lose their lives. Yet, know this, the cleansing is neither safe nor easy. Are you willing to give all you have in this world?"
"I am," she replied, barely audible. "Do what is right, my new friend. I place myself in your hands."
From beneath the helmet, that sepulchral voice continued, "Despair, know that no guilt rests on you for the deaths. Your body was used as a weapon without your knowledge or consent, nor did your friends know of it. As soon as the truth broke into your awareness, you asked me to make amends. You are blameless."
"That is a great comfort," she whispered. "Hurry before I change my mind."
The Eyeless Helmet flared up, becoming clear as glass as warm golden light shone from within it. Carlo's voice was that of a judge giving sentence. "Spawn of Draldros! You shall not return to Fanedral. By the holy light of the Halarin, I bid you disperse!"
Richer and more comforting than sunlight, the spiritual radiance which shone on Elvedal filled everyone's sight and left them blinking tearfully as it faded. Despair cried out in sharp pain. Up from her body like smoke from a smothered fire, a shadowy black manlike shape emerged and tried to scuttle away on all fours. The golden light scattered it into stray shreds and fragments which blew away in all directions.
When Jocelyn and Mark regained their sight with after-images still swimming, they saw Carlo sitting unmoved. But Despair Alvarado had fallen over on to her side with one arm stretched out in front of her. Mark plunged over and touched her fearfully.
"Honey? Honey, what is it? Are you all right?" Then he lifted her and cradled her body in his arms, swaying from side to side as realization sank in.
Moving over to crouch next to her teammate, Jocelyn asked, "What WAS that thing?"
"A dimbuk. An evil spirit sent from Fanedral to cause death and grief to Humans. You witnessed an exorcism, Joss." Carlo lifted the Eyeless Helmet to reveal hair matted with sweat and a weary face. "She understood. She had the strength to do what had to be done, she was stronger than she knew."
Mark lifted a wet teary face and seemed unable to speak. He opened his mouth and worked it but no sound came out. He was rocking Despair gently as if coaxing a small child to sleep. Jocelyn went over and knelt next to him, squeezing a comforting arm across his shoulders even though she knew how little it would help. She herself felt warmth trickling down her cheeks.
"I'm so so sorry,' she said. "I can't think of anything else to say. I.. I have to call 911. There's nothing they can do to help but they will send an ambulance."
"What are we going to tell them?" asked Mark numbly. "I don't even know what I saw. It can't be real, this can't be happening, things like this don't happen in real life...."
Carlo had returned the helmet and cloak to his gym bag. He sat with his face buried in his hands and then finally looked up. "The examiner will conclude heart failure. Some obscure defect that showed itself. That's all the world needs to know." Seeing the two stricken faces turned toward him, Carlo concluded, "But we will always know how brave she was."
8/1/2023
