Lost Voyageur In Time

A petite Siamese cat picked her way across the rail of the ancient truss bridge. Her whiskers twitched as she looked back over the hillside. The towering iron structure created a windbreak and shelter while providing soft, sweet-scented straw underneath for bedding. Most nights, the old bridge was a haven for the homeless humans and four-legged creatures who wandered through the sleepy town of Destiny Bay. It creaked and groaned in the wind tonight, and the cat smelled a strange new scent beneath the wet, salty aroma of a coming storm. Lights from an oncoming vehicle heading away from town startled the little cat, who crouched and hid in the long grass beside the bridge. The somber, dark hearse creaked across the overpass to the other side, then pulled up next to a sheriff’s car going into town. Both drivers lowered their windows. “Evening, Rickman,” the sheriff said. “Sorry to get you out so late but all the ambulances in the county are over in South Riverdale at that big apartment fire. Once Doc Hardin is done with the body, it needs to be moved to the morgue for the coroner.” The hearse driver slowly nodded. “All part of the job. Heard it was another homeless drifter. Strange symbol left near the body again?” He pulled at his ear. “Yep. Up near the old O’Byrne place. You’ll see the deputy’s lights. I’ve been sheriff thirty years and never seen this kind of thing in our little town.” His voice crackled in the cold night air. “Looking like we have a single suspect and not just some random killer.” Rickman shook his head. “Afraid so. I’ll take the body to the morgue and then pick it up again after the autopsy. If we can’t find any family like the other one, we’ll take care of the funeral.” The sheriff sighed. “You’re good people, Rickman. Most funeral homes would not take on that expense.” “It’s the right thing to do,” Rickman replied. “You think this is one of ours? Someone from our town, Jim?” “Don’t know, Andrew.” The sheriff’s voice got hoarser. “I hope to heck not. I don’t relish arresting someone I’ve passed on the street my whole life.” He swallowed hard, looking down. “But I will if it comes to that.” He glanced back up at Rickman and said slowly, “Be careful out there, Andrew.” He coughed; a deep, wet, retching explosion. “Air’s thicker than my granny’s gravy. Don’t like the look of those clouds either. Squalls coming up out of the south with an ill wind.” He hacked again, then continued, “I mean it. Be very careful out there.” His radio squawked, “Sheriff, we have a domestic complaint down on the waterfront by Jameson’s Wharf.” The sheriff rubbed his weary eyes weighed down with deep, plummy, puffy bags, then put his car in gear and said to Rickman, “Guess I’ve got to roll. Gonna be a long night.” Both cars eased away into the gloom, leaving the little cat to step out from the long grass and proceed to clean her paws. A flash of lightning lit up the clouds above. The night grew still. Not one of the nearby forest dwellers or a puff of wind through the leaves could be heard, but the air was charged with energy. The cat twitched her tail. A murky figure in a black hooded coat appeared on the side of the bridge where none had been before, startling the little feline. The cat closed her almond-shaped blue eyes and shook her head in distress, slowly opening them again to stare at the man. Her hiss was silent to all but her. The dark figure looked down toward the riverbed before glancing south toward the bay, where wave after wave lapped against the boats in rhythm with the seagulls crying above. The town clock chimed once, causing the man to wheel about. He looked toward the glow from the town lights soaring up in the sky like a beacon breaking the darkness. From deep in the vault of the heavens, a mass of fireballs shot through the glow, exploded over the bridge, and rained sparkling cosmic particles all over the figure. They clung as if he were a magnet to the mysterious dust. The man outstretched his arms, receiving the astral energy and absorbing every mote that touched him. A small cloud of dust broke free of the churning particles and formed a tornado of twirling sparks. From within it, an emaciated, ethereal being appeared in a cowled hood and slithering gossamer robes that appeared first black, then gray, then midnight. A low growl escaped from underneath the hood, causing the cat’s fur to stand straight up. She crouched low and stared, for the face beneath that cowl kept changing; dark soulless eyes in an old man’s skin became a young woman with black ovals where her eyes should be, then morphed into a child whose eyes were all white with no pupils. Like its robes, the creature’s face would not stay still long enough to focus on a single visage. “Maître, I have what you requested, and I’ve left your message in the sand.” The mortal man pointed to a burlap bag emitting an odd glow on the bridge as he sank to his knees, his head down to the ground. “Do you need me to procure more?” The billowing robes of the being crept around the bent man like appendages, licking his body with flames before becoming transparent, then translucent, and finally opaque. Silky fingers crept up and around his face. The cowl emitted no sound, but the prone man must have heard a reply, for he nodded from his place on the ground and said, “Yes. I will do that and gather the rest for you, Maître des ténèbres. All of them. Then you will gift me the last of the ľ énergie I need to serve you?” The cowl nodded, a different face at each nod.