WHAT--WHAT IS THIS?" DAMIEN STAMMERED, STILL HALF IN SHOCK. HIS HAND reached out shakingly to touch one of the dead animal's horns; then, finally coming to his senses, he pulled it sharply back and looked at the others.
"What's it look like?" Mulroy said, and that was all.
There was a long pause. Damien took in a shuddery breath and let it out. He turned to Leslie, who also sat staring at the goat head. "Did you find this?"
Leslie nodded. "On--on my back porch step. I found it there this morning when I got up. There was writing on my house."
"What kind of writing?" Damien demanded. "Tell me--did it look like an M, kind of like this?" He picked up a pen lying nearby and shamelessly wrote on the table's surface.
"Hey!" Mulroy exclaimed.
Leslie nodded. "Then--then you've heard of them, too?"
"Scorpio?" Damien said. Leslie recoiled at the name. "Of course I have," he snorted. "Let's just say we don't get along too well. What's going on here, anyway? You mean to tell me that Scorpio left this on your porch step? Why you?"
In response Leslie took his hand and placed it on her belly. Damien paused for a moment, then looked up at her, realizing something he hadn't noticed before.
"You're pregnant," he said. [Note--he didn't notice because her belly is hidden behind/beneath the table.]
She nodded. "The baby's due on Halloween. I had some tests done, and it's a boy, and--" Here she started to waver, and again covered her face, her shoulders shaking.
Damien stared at her for a moment, then glared at Mulroy--simply because he was the on [sic] there whom Damien didn't like. [Note--"the on" is probably meant to be "the one." This typo was probably committed in the retype, unless this is the original file.] "What's going on?" he demanded. "Tell me now!"
"Put two and two together, Damien," Mulroy said, idly chewing on a stick of gum. "Ms. Laws here's going to have a baby boy. On Halloween. Scorpio's in town. They leave a goat head on her doorstep and write all over her house. You wanna see what else they wrote, by the way?" He gestured to Haley, who handed him a folder which the detective opened and spread out in front of Damien for him to look at.
It was a photograph of a house. Scrawled on the side in red was a large, odd, ritualistic symbol with some kind of moon and arrows:
[Note--in this space was left...well...a big space of five carriage returns, in which was to be placed the symbol in question--drawn in after the story was printed out, since it was never written by hand. I don't have the symbol in front of me and so can't adequately describe it, but it does have a moon and arrows in it.]
Damien squinted at the picture. "I've seen all kinds of weird things, but what's this?" he asked.
"Wow, you haven't heard of it?" Mulroy asked, genuinely surprised. "Then I'm one up on you." He took the folder back. "That's called the blood ritual symbol. You can guess the rest, I'm sure."
Indeed Damien could. He stared in disbelief at the detective, then turned again to Leslie.
"Sacrifice?" he whispered. "They want to sacrifice your baby?"
Leslie managed to nod, still covering her face and shaking.
The singer turned back to the detective. "But even Scorpio--I mean, besides my sister--how could anyone possibly do something like this?" he stammered. [Note--I know, I know--Damien often comes across as remarkably dense. One reason why I put the series on indefinite hiatus.]
Mulroy said nothing about Damien's reference to his sister. Damien wasn't even sure he knew. "Scorpio's not beyond anything, Damien. Not even this. You know that they're a problem here. Do you know how widespread they really are?"
Damien said nothing.
Mulroy continued. "I'll tell you. I got a relative in England; he's with Scotland Yard and he wrote me this letter once, telling me about all this weird stuff going on over there--all these dogs being found cut open, abandoned firepits, so on and so on. He said, 'Over here we've been experiencing random problems with a local cult which calls itself "The Scorpion."' I wrote back and asked him, do they have this kind of signature, sort of like an M with a tail? And he said yes. That was when I told him they were more than just 'local.' We wrote to authorities in a few other countries--Australia, Germany, Mexico, so on--and we all got the same response--'Yes, we've been having trouble with a cult called "The Scorpion" or "Scorpio" as well, but we thought it was only a local thing.' Apparently not. Scorpio's a hell of a lot more powerful than you may think, Damien. It's not just in Cheboygan or Michigan or the US or North America. It's all over. Somehow these guys have managed to spread literally to all corners of the Earth. Now that's not an easy thing to do, but somehow they managed it. I have no idea how. That's anybody's guess." [Note--at the time of writing this story I figured "Scorpio" was a fictional creation of the tabloid Weekly World News--but I recently acquired a book about criminal Satanism in England and what do you know, there really is a Scorpio--not the same as the one I write, but real nonetheless. Creepy. I do not believe they are worldwide, though--likely just a small criminal group.] He examined his fingernails. "By the way," he asked conversationally, "you ever been stung by a scorpion? Hurts like hell. Had it happen to me once in Texas. No wonder they always tell you to check your shoes." [Note--Mulroy becomes more..."normal"...when he reappears in The Scorpio Murders. When I first inserted him into this story, I wrote him pretty weird.]
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Damien said, quickly growing irritated. "That's wonderful. Real wonderful. Is anybody actually doing anything about this?"
"What can we do?" Mulroy asked. Damien glared at him, getting the distinct feeling that he was being tested. "There's this thing called the Constitution that calls for freedom of religion."
"Yeah, but under certain terms!" Damien snapped. "Sure, you can go off and worship the Devil all you want but you can't kill people and get away with it, even in the name of religion!"
"Yeah," Mulroy said, smiling at him. "Exactly. But try telling them that."
"Excuse me," Leslie cut in softly. The phone at the front desk rang and Haley silently excused himself. "I'd like--I'd like to be going home now, if possible. But is there any way you could maybe send by a patrol car or give me a call sometime, just to see if I'm all right?"
"We'll do just that, Ms. Laws," Officer Brown replied. "Don't you worry. Dami's been dealing with these guys for over a year now, and he's still alive to tell about it."
It was meant to be a reassurance, but it definitely didn't sound like one. Everybody in the room could tell that. Leslie stood up and gave a quavery smile, extending a hand in Damien's direction. He could finally see how big she was. That baby did look like it was pretty due. "It was nice to meet you. I hope there's some way you can help me--us." Her hand fell and she looked down, whether at herself or the floor he couldn't be sure.
Damien rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Don't worry. There's got to be something I can do for you. If you ever want to give me a call, here's my number." He picked up the pen, tearing off a piece of newspaper and writing down his private number. "You can also call St. Anthony's downtown during the daytime, if you want. My uncle works there. He'd be glad to help you out."
"Thanks." Leslie accepted the piece of paper, then turned and left the room. Out the door Damien could see Haley glance up and nod at her from the front desk, then turn back to the phone. The door swung shut, and for a moment the three of them simply stood there.
"Well," Mulroy finally said, "I'll be seeing you around. Wanna catch me, I'll probably be here or at home or Spare Time [sic] Lanes. [Note--a real location--only its real name is "Sparetime Lanes."] Did I tell you I'm a good bowler? Well, maybe not good, but sort of halfway decent-like..." The detective wandered from the room, still talking to himself.
Damien turned to Officer Brown. "Where do you guys manage to dig them up?" he asked.
The policeman shrugged. "Beats the heck outta me," he replied.
No comments:
Post a Comment