First Day On The Job

PatrolMan Horton roared up Ninth Avenue, siren blaring and lights flashing. Only three months out of the Academy, this was his first day riding solo. He’d handled his first call pretty well. Some punk had stuck up a Mom-and-Pop grocery. Only got about thirty dollars, but it was a big deal to the Vietnamese storeowners.

They had gone to the station and identified the perp from a book of mug shots. Horton had run into the kid during his training, when he’d been riding with Officer Ballard. Another junkie who’d be in jail by the end of the day and probably dead within two years. He hoped the Vietnamese couple would be motivated to investigate the American institution of robbery insurance.

Now dispatch was sending him to investigate a possible dead body. He turned off Ninth into a newer subdivision, probably dating from the early eighties. Traffic was minimal; he turned off the siren but kept the lights flashing. After a wrong turn into a cul-de-sac, he found 3787 SW Palomino Way. Two women stood outside the front door. One was crying and shaking, the other apparently trying to comfort her.

Horton carelessly parked the cruiser across the driveway. He got out and hurried to the women. Several curious neighbors had already gathered, and he was conscious of being on display. Could they tell he was a rookie? “Good morning, ladies.”

The crying woman blinked at him through her tears. “My husband …”

“I don’t know what happened, Officer,” said the other woman. “I live next door, and I heard Christine scream. I looked out the window just as she rushed out the door. She keeps saying Matt - That’s her husband - Is gone.”

“The kitchen … The kitchen,” Christine said, pointing.

The door stood gaping open. “Dispatch has an ambulance on the way,” Horton assured her as he entered the house. The kitchen was where he expected it, past the staircase beyond the living room. His Academy-trained eye took in the room at a glance. Sink, counter, refrigerator, dishwasher, stove, and cupboards lined the perimeter. A small dinette table and four chairs set in an alcove with a window overlooking the front lawn. Opposite the alcove was a curtained sliding glass door.

Horton couldn’t help but admire the spotless kitchen. No crumbs littered the counter, no dishes lay in the sink. Magnetic letters on the refrigerator spelled out, “Christine loves Matt.” The only blemish on this isle of domestic perfection was a book lying open on the dinette table. He didn’t take time to read it, but noted it was bound in leather and appeared quite old.

But where was Matt? He walked to the sliding door and looked out at the back yard. Only a couple of shade trees interrupted the grass, lush green all the way to the fence. This couple obviously didn’t have kids!

He took a deep breath. The first thought in his mind was that Ballard had put the woman up to phoning in a DB and then acting hysterical. A little excitement for the rookie on his first day. No, that didn’t fit. Ballard took police work seriously. Besides, he heard the ambulance siren growing closer. If this were a prank, Ballard would have stopped Dispatch from sending an ambulance.

Maybe the victim had had a stroke or heart attack but had managed to walk to another room. Horton checked the garage, then went back to the living room, where the TV was showing the Iran-Contra hearings. That Colonel, Oliver North, was a great man. America needed more patriots like him.

Horton didn’t find a body or anything out of the ordinary in the bathroom or family room. He eyed the staircase hesitantly. Should he look upstairs, or would that be an invasion of privacy requiring a warrant? He decided the woman’s permission to enter had implied that she wanted him to find Matt.

The homeowners had made an office and an exercise room of two of the upstairs bedrooms. The master bedroom and bath looked lived-in, but no Matt. He heard the ambulance pull up in front and hurried downstairs. The two women had moved inside and were sitting on the couch. The paramedics appeared at the door. “Hold on a minute, guys,” Horton told them. The crying woman had composed herself somewhat. “Mrs. …” Horton began, then faltered as he realized he didn’t know her last name. “Uh, Christine, I don’t find your husband anywhere.”

“He’s gone,” said the woman.

Horton took out his notebook. “Maybe you’d better tell me what happened.”

The woman took a breath. “Matt’s hobby is witchcraft. He’s always studying old books or scrolls.” The neighbor lady nodded in agreement. ”Last night he brought home the grimoire. He was so excited, like a kid with a toy he’s wanted for years.”

“The grimoire?” Horton asked.

“It’s a magic book. Supposed to contain incantations that call up demons.” Horton remembered the book in the kitchen.

“Officer,” broke in one of the paramedics, “are you going to need us?”

Christine spared him the trouble of answering. “No, there’s nothing you can do for Matt.” The paramedics stood uncertainly in the doorway till Horton motioned for them to go.

“Matt stayed up all night reading the grimoire,” Christine continued. “He taught himself Latin just so he could read old texts. This morning he wanted me to help him call up a demon.” She broke into a fresh bout of sobbing.

Horton let her cry for a minute while the neighbor talked soothingly to her. He finally interrupted. “And did you?”

“Yes.” She blew her nose then looked up at him defiantly. “Well, I didn’t think anything would happen. How was I supposed to know this grimoire was the real thing?”

“So you performed a spell?” prodded Horton.

“Not a spell - An incantation. Matt’s picky about terminology.”

Horton wasn’t sure if he should stay and listen to any more of this nonsense or not. Well, Christine was genuinely upset. It crossed his mind that Matt existed only her imagination, but if that were the case, the neighbor would probably have found a way to let him know. He decided he could spare a few more minutes. “Why don’t you show me exactly what happened?” he suggested.

“There’s nothing to show, officer,” said Christine. “We sat across from each other at the table holding hands. He taught me a phrase to say. Something like Ballus Boogus Imperatus Maxor. He read the incantation and I recited that phrase when he squeezed my hands.”

“And then?”

“Then … He was gone. Simply gone.”

“So he disappeared in a puff of smoke?” Matt had probably left for work, and Christine’s imagination had run away with her.

“No, no,” she assured him. “There was no smoke, no thunderclap. He was there one second, and gone the next.” She paused and looked away, then brought her attention back to Horton. “Someone - Something was there.”

“What was there, Christine?” This from the neighbor.

“It ... I couldn’t tell what it was. It vanished too, like Matt.”

Horton closed his notebook. Christine, he was convinced, had gone off the deep end. Sad, but as long as she was no danger to herself or anyone else, he had no police function to perform. He decided to take a look at the book on the dinette table, so his report would be complete. “I’ll check the kitchen for evidence once more,” he told the two women.

In the kitchen, picked up the book - Then dropped it immediately. Was it bound in human skin? Maybe it was leather painstakingly tanned to look and feel like skin. But he didn’t think so. He had a strong, sick feeling it was the real thing.

There was only a symbol on the front cover. It looked like a stylized, Olde English `I.’ He opened the book gingerly, careful not to touch the cover. The text, written in longhand, appeared to be a combination of symbols and words, in a language Horton guessed was Latin. Should he confiscate the grimoire? If the binding really was human skin, it might be evidence of a crime. No, he decided, the book was ancient, and the bookbinder past any justice of this world.

Nothing to do but say goodbye to Christine and the neighbor. He’d call this afternoon, to see if Matt turned up. Hands on his Sam Browne belt, he took one last look around the kitchen. There was something out of place. The curtain at the sliding glass door billowed a shade more than it should. Somebody was hiding behind it!

A hiding person meant trouble. Horton drew his sidearm, and felt sweat bead on his forehead. He walked toward the curtain. When he was close enough that the two women in the living room wouldn’t hear, he hissed, “Come out with your hands on your head. Now!”

The curtain twitched and a face peeked around the corner. Horton did a double take when he saw the pretty, dark-haired girl, no more than sixteen. She held the curtain closed around herself with only her face showing. “’Ere now, Guvnor, ye wouldn’t have me prancin’ around in me altoghethers, now would ye?”

Horton holstered his weapon, noting with relief that the girl’s hands held the curtain, and so couldn’t hold a gun. “Who are you?”

“Mary.”

Had Christine neglected to mention that her household included a Cockney teen-ager? “What are you doing here, Mary?”

“The man o’ the house conjured me up. Right proper gennulman ‘e is.”

So it was a prank all along. Funny Horton had never heard of other jokes played on cops their first day solo. “All right, Mary, fun’s fun, but the joke’s gone on long enough.”

“Ye don’t believe me, Guvnor? Here.” Faster than Horton could react, she reached a hand out and grabbed his wrist. Her skin was hot. Not flesh-searing hot, but much, much warmer than a human should be. The curtain fell away from her face, revealing thick black hair, bare shoulders, and two small horns above her forehead. “Feel me ‘orns. They ain’t glued on; they’re part o’ me skull.”

He pulled his wrist from her grip and touched one of the horns. It was hot too. And hard, not plastic-like at all. He pulled it.

“Ouch,” complained Mary. “Oi said touch it, not yank it off me ‘ead.”

If this was a prank, Horton couldn’t think why anybody would go to this much trouble for his benefit. Half in a daze, he asked, “How ... Why ... I mean ...”

“Oi tol’ you, the gennulman chanted a conjure spell and ‘ere I am.” She smiled and Horton was not surprised that her canines were a half-inch longer than a normal person’s. “Oi’m a rookie, died last Friday. Didn’t have enough experience to resist.”

Realization fought with disbelief in Horton’s brain. He wanted to go someplace alone and puzzle out what exactly had happened. But a policeman has to rely on the evidence. The Academy had taught precious little about proper technique for interrogating a demon! Finally, he asked the first question that popped into his mind. “What did you die of, Mary?”

“A bit of impure Ecstasy.”

“What? You died from too much happiness?”

She laughed, again showing off sharp, pointed teeth. “Ecstasy’s a drug, Guvnor. You wouldn’t have ‘eard of it yet on this side of the pond. But, trust me, you will.”

“Well … All right.” Horton rubbed his chin. “So what happened to Matt?”

“’E was a amateur, ‘e was. Didn’t make a pentagram to confine me, so I whisked him away to take me place. Long as the ‘ead count is right, one warm body is the same as another.”

“See here,” said Horton, trying to regain control of the situation, “you’ve got to bring him back.”

“Bloody ‘ell! Oi’m ‘ere, `n’ ‘ere Oi’m stayin’” She dropped the curtain. “Do be a proper gennulman and avert your eyes while a girl finds sumpin’ to wear.”

Horton grabbed the curtain and held it up so it covered Mary. “Listen, Mary, Matt belongs here, not … Wherever you sent him. Bring him back or I’ll have to arrest your for suspicion of murder.”

The curtain suddenly flared into flames. “^)*#%&!” cried Horton, dropping it.

“Better put the fire out, Govner, before it burns the house down.” Mary vanished.

Horton cursed again and managed to beat the flames out. He turned to see Mary standing there, wearing a blue dress with a plunging neckline. She looked down at herself. “Lady o’ the house is bigger `n’ me, but this’ll do till I finds some proper threads.”

“Get on your knees and put your hands on your head. You’re under arrest," ordered Horton. Don’t forget to Mirandize her, he thought. He reached for his handcuffs.

“Don’t bother,” advised Mary. “Oi’ll melt ‘em off me wrists.” She looked him in the eye. “Yer kinda cute. Maybe Oi’ll look ye up after Oi do a little shopping.”

She winked out of visibility, but reappeared a second later. “What? No!” Horton somehow realized she wasn’t talking to him. “Hey! No, please!” She was trembling now. “I just wanted a little fun.” Her eyes grew wide with terror. “Noooo ...” She vanished again.

Something dropped heavily at Horton’s feet, just as Christine and the neighbor entered the kitchen. “Who was screaming?” asked Christine. She looked at the quivering bundle that had fallen on the floor. “Matt!”

Horton stepped back, too befuddled to comprehend what had happened. A man, presumably Matt, lay on the floor in a blue bathrobe. It, and he, were covered in soot.

Christine threw her arms around Matt, not easy to do since he was lying on the floor and she was standing. “Are you all right?”

Matt didn’t seem to know the answer to that question. He sat up gingerly. He looked at Horton, the two women, and himself. He patted himself with his hands, sending soot flying everywhere. “Yeah, I guess,” he said at length. “I was ... I mean ... Flames all around, but they didn’t burn me. It was like ... They knew I didn’t belong there.”

Christine raised her eyes to Horton. A look of surprise passed over her face when she saw the burned curtain, but she said only, “Thank you, Officer, for what ever you did.”

He doffed his cap. “All in a day’s work, Ma’am.”