Stillwaters Runs Deep Book Three: The Awakening

 

Through all the days that eat away,

at every breath that I take.

Through all the nights I’ve lain alone

in someone else’s dream.

 Awake.

 The Crossing (OSIYEZA), Johnny Clegg

 

Prelude

 

Water lapping at his feet, Charlie awoke alone on the beach, cold, shuddering and naked. Mist rolled in waves, clinging to everything with its clammy, smothering embrace.

He caught shadows shifting. The mist circled around a figure emerging from the sodden grip of trees lining the shore. Thunder shook overhead and lightning danced like snakes frying.

He closed his eyes and it began again.

 

 

* * *

 

An eye opens after eons of sleep. It breathes deep. At last. I smell him.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

“What makes you think you qualify for this job?” asked the stern-looking white man heading the hiring committee.

“Well, I’m native aren’t I?” Charlie responded, smiling at him and the six other Caucasian members of the review board. He figured they felt protected behind their heavy desks, wanting him to feel exposed in the one chair centred in the large stark, empty office. He tapped his cane on the floor. “Nice.”

One raised a head and stared at him.

“Real wood, pine, probably eighty years old. Nice stuff.” He smiled back.

The five-man, two-woman board flipped through the pages on their clipboards desperately hoping to find other applications. There weren’t any, and his didn’t take much reading.

“And being a man of deep spiritual connections, I reckoned this was up my alley. If you look under ‘Hobbies’ you’ll see I love to watch baseball.”

“Yes,” the same man said dryly. “Montreal Expos in particular. I do believe they no longer exist.”

“Yeah, go those Blue Jays.” Charlie beamed at the man. “Been meaning to get a new cap, rather attached to this old friend though, we’ve been through a lot. Although I guess for special occasions like this I should’ve splurged, look a little more respectable. If I get a spending budget on this job, could afford a new cap.”

“Ah, yes.” The man reading the resume cleared his throat. The scowl on his face showed he wasn’t much of a baseball fan or any kind of sports fan for that matter.  “You also cite ‘watching documentaries’ as well as baseball. These aren’t really hobbies, Mr. ah, Stillwater.”

“Charlie.”

“What?”

“It’s not Ah Stillwater. It’s Charlie Stillwater-S.” He smiled and leaned on his cane. “I guess you could be right. Watching the Expos was more like my passion. Got hooked on them after they were top of the standings in eighty-four and probably would have taken the World Series if it wasn’t for the strike. Eighty-four. Man, that’s been awhile. I guess it is time for a new cap, or at least get this one cleaned. As for the documentaries, I think Dr. Suzuki has for the most part got it right. Bit slow to figure things out, but the man’s on the right path. I think he’s Chinese. Oops, I mean Oriental. Don’t want to be politically incorrect these days. But I reckon he’s got some native blood in him. I like the guy, looks a lot like my uncle Ralph.”

The committee flipped through their blank pages again, wishing at least one other application would materialize.  They were disappointed.

“It’s hard finding anyone willing to relocate to Prince Rupert to fill any position, but especially in the psychological fields,” one rather well-nourished woman whispered to the cookie-cutter figure next to her. “I remind you that the head warden has warned that if a candidate isn’t found by the end of this week, one of us will have to go in and deal with them and I for one am not walking in there with the vile creatures. The way their dirty eyes linger, undressing me.” She shivered and flushed a deep red, either embarrassed or aroused by the thought. “I wouldn’t be caught alone with any of them in a cell, probably get raped. I’ll quit if we don’t get someone.”

The head interviewer looked at his papers again and back at the others. “I agree. The natives are starting to get out of hand. We’ll take on Mr. Shaman man, let him try to deal with them. Better he gets assaulted than one of us. We have our Elder, the jail keeps its licence and after the Federal inspector leaves next week, we either fire him or find another to fill in. I request we send out a new listing for the position.” The suits all nodded their agreement.

He cleared his throat. “Okay, Mr. Ah, Charlie Stillwater, we’ll give you a two week trial.”

“Oh good. Ends on a night of the full moon.” Charlie smiled. “I’ll be feeling a mite hairy then. Should bring my silver razor for protection.”

They glared at him. “Won’t last a day,” one stern woman whispered to the colleague next to her. “Arrogant bastard, but feed him to the wolves instead of one of us. I agree.”

“I’ll be surprised if he lasts two hours.  But we have no choice. It’s him or one of us. We file the paperwork, get our federal funding. If he quits, well, we’ll have to hope we get a better response next time. Everyone agreed?” he whispered to the others. They nodded back.

“Ahem! Be reminded Mr. Charlie Stillwater, that you’ve few credentials. No psychiatric training of any kind, not even tribal endorsements to prove that you are the shaman you claim to be. However, if you are a shaman, even self-taught, it does help you qualify for the position of Native Elder that we are seeking. You’ll really need to prove yourself though. This is no place for amateurs. We’re dealing with dangerous persons in here, killers, sociopaths, psychopaths and rapists.”

“Well, I didn’t think this would be a kindergarten picnic. These folks aren’t here just because they tripped up grandma at the bus stop. I’ve got me trusty bag and this…”, he tapped the side of his head with his orca headed cane. “A full deck of marbles, that don’t rattle. Oh, I didn’t mention that I’ve watched the original Karate Kid eighteen times, got the crane kick down pat. Try me.”

The overweight woman choked down her disgust. “I think some discussion should be made regarding certain standards of uniform ethics later. However you’re the best candidate so far. So, before we change our minds, we are offering you the position. Sign this agreement so we can pass our findings to the warden.” He shoved a paper towards him. Charlie leaned forward and scrawled his John Hancock.

“Well, you can count on me to get the job done. I’ve always had my trusty cane and my wits. Never failed me yet. Although come to think of it I’m pretty good at outside animal management. Should have put that on my resume.”

“Outside… Animal …Management…” one of the team slowly muttered aloud, like he couldn’t believe what his ears had just received.

“I’ve handled some irate squirrels in my backyard. They’ll never figure out where I’ve hidden those nuts. And a rather troublesome raccoon I named Rocky, although he tells me he likes Raymond better, raccoons are like that you know. Dealt with a pesky Raven too and he was more difficult to deal with than you could imagine but that’s a whole ‘nother story. Everything I needed to know I learned from my elders and from out there in the wilderness. Does this job include lunch and my own office?” He looked about tapping his cane on the floor.

“There is a canteen here. Meals are included.”

“Well, this could be an interesting two weeks and at least I’ll get some free grub. Should have brought my other jacket, it’s got bigger pocket for leftovers. Oh, and no name plaque.”

“Name plaque?”

“Yeah, on the door to my office. I don’t care for titles. Besides after a few days I think I should remember which office was mine.”

“If you last that long Mr. Stillwater.”

He retreated to the back of the room and reached for the doorknob. “And we’ll talk about a raise in two weeks. This should be my kind of job, dealing with natives, riffraff and awful canteen food. Man, I should have applied for this earlier.” He laughed. “Don’t reckon the food will be up to the organic stuff I usually eat when I’m out in the woods, but hey, its food. And free. Now that’s a bonus plan.” He tilted his button-festooned Expos cap. “So I’m off to check on the rabble. How long before I begin to build towards a pension?”

The main interviewer, now almost regretting his decision, closed his eyes. “You’ve a client to deal with later this afternoon.  The pension you’ll be building towards from your first paycheque. Now get to work, Mr. Stillwater. We’ll file the contract with the warden this afternoon. All the details regarding benefits, pay and holidays will be in it.”

“Yes boss. And you can call me Charlie. Boss. Hmm. Never had a boss before, this could be fun. Holidays! You mean I can get time off and fly to exotic locations, like LA? Never been to Leduc, Alberta. Some distant cousins out there.” He turned and wandered off into the corridor.

“One hour! I give him one hour.”

“Yeah, but at least none of us have to go in there to deal with THEM.” The overweight woman grunted. “And I for one, hope he gets what he deserves.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie limped down the hall, leaning on his orca-headed cane, whistling. “Oh, I forgot to tell them I don’t do suits and ties. Although a new plaid shirt would be nice, I think I got this one in ninety-three.”

He winked at one of the guards as he led a prisoner down the hall. “Great day, lovely day. Nice uniform.”

The guard scowled back as the prisoner glared at Charlie. “Oh, I must admit that pin stripe does make you look rather thin.” He said to the guard as they passed.

“Who the fuck is that?” the prisoner grumbled.

“Don’t know and none of your damn business anyways. Get a move on.” He pushed him forward.

“Charlie Stillwaters, your new Native Elder.” He whistled, again tapping the walls and floor with his cane. “Could use a bit of more cheery paint colour. Will have to suggest that to the warden. Okay, time for some lunch and then off to work. Off to work, man can’t say I’ve ever said that before.”

 

* * *

 

In the darkness I wait.

Humming songs, like I always did, ever since it could remember.

Waiting.

Knowing they would come.

 

I smile and hum another song.

Waiting.

 

* * *

 

Charlie grabbed his meal tray and sat down at the only empty table in the canteen. The inmates stared and snickered to each other. “Must be the hat. Obviously jealous,” he muttered as he began to dig into his soup.

A large shadow blocked out the glow of florescent. “You’re at my table,” barked a heavy gruff voice.

Charlie looked up and gulped.  A virtual mountain of a man stood before him. Native, with greasy dark hair, deep set eyes, face contorted into a nasty grimace. Standing well over six foot, bordering on seven, and nearly four hundred pounds. Not much of which was fat, but mostly anger buried in several large chips on his shoulder. The tables held at least six, nearly every table full, except for the one that only Charlie sat at. “There’s plenty of room for two of us.”

The babble of conversation ceased, spoons hung in the air.  A dollop of soup echoed with a plop as everyone stopped to watch the unfolding massacre. This, Charlie knew could go well or totally sideways, like a hockey player getting slammed into the boards head down, not looking.

“You . . . are . . . sitting . . . at . . . my . . . fucking . . . table,” growled the mass that made Rocky Mountains look small.  Great meaty fists grated on the lunch tray.

Charlie didn’t really think getting thumped on his first day would make a good impression on the others. “You’ve a licence for that hotdog stand?” Charlie waved his hand.

“What?”

A single fly buzzing reverberated through the canteen. Several breaths inhaled.

“A hotdog stand.”

The behemoth stood gritting his teeth. “What the hell you going on about?” Charlie could tell the giant’s puzzlement was winning over the rage to crush the annoying insect before him. Which he could in one swat, like a grizzly tagging a poodle. “Your fly is undone.”

The man lifted his tray, looked down and blushed.

A sneer cracked one side of his mouth, intimidation at its best, backed by three hundred plus pounds of muscle. He looked at Charlie and laughed. “Move the fuck over. For an old bastard, you’re alright.”

He thumped the tray down, slopping some of the soup, and sat next to the suddenly relieved shaman who’d just seen his next three lifetimes sail before his eyes. After zipping his fly, he thumped Charlie on the back. Charlie gagged, nearly swallowing his back and front teeth at the same time. “Hey, you’re okay. Most people are usually scared of me.”

The other inmates blinked in disbelief, looking from each other to the no longer impeding demise of the newest member of staff, thinking they’d just seen the Titanic miss the iceberg and land at New York, before returning disappointedly to their meals.

“Well of course they would be. Yours are the size of a pair of grizzly bears stacked on top of each other in a totem, wearing the grimace of the bottom one suffering from fighting off the butt of the other after he ate a load of Tacos.” Charlie stuck out his tongue and squinted his eyes like he’d just smelled fresh cow patty.

The big man laughed again. Puzzlement showed on the other inmates’ faces, not understanding what was going on and rather disappointed that today’s massacre had turned into a Laurel and Hardy love-in.  Most had never even seen him smile let alone heard him laugh out loud, nor say more than three words in any one sitting. “Who are you?”

Charlie knew humour was rare on this one’s face by the well-ingrained frown lines. “Charlie Stillwaters. Your new Prison Elder.” He stuck his hand forward after wiping it on his jean jacket.

“I’m Thomas Johnson.” He shook the shaman’s hand, somewhat gently, although Charlie’s eyes opened as far as they could as the natural muscle crumpled three of his fingers into his elbow.

“Wow, bet the Man of Steel would have a bitch of a time winning against you in an arm wrestle. Your real name?”

“That is my real name.”

“Raised in a residential school?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“It’s my job to know,” he lied, thinking he should sound like he knew something about being a legal Prison Elder, even though he was only a half day into the job.  “No, I meant the real name your parents gave you.”

He frowned. “My parents died when I was very young. Don’t know my real name, or if I have one.”

“Well I’m naming you with your native name. Now then, I’m thinking its T’aalgii Tilldagaaw Xuuajii, Big Mountain Grizzly.”

The man ladled soup into his mouth, pausing for thought. “Big Mountain. I like that.” Charlie breathed deeply, realizing he’d just befriended undoubtedly the best, or perhaps worst, guy in the place. The one everyone else feared.

“Charles Stillwater report to the warden’s office.” Spoke the disembodied voice over the PA.

“Duty calls.” Charlie rose. “Didn’t like the soup anyways, too salty. I’ll have to talk to the cook about that and give them heck. I told them it’s Charlie Stillwater-S. Government never can get things right. Probably have to redo all six hundred and forty pages of the contract. Did know you they only allow me two urine breaks and nine ounces of coffee? A day? Man, might have to buy diapers to make it through.”

Big Mountain laughed and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and slid Charlie’s tray towards himself. “I’ll eat the rest of your soup then, and you’re welcome at my table anytime. But don’t any of you other bastards get any ideas,” he grumbled loudly to the others. “And if you need someone to back you up in here…” he said more softly, and winked at Charlie.

“Tell you what, if you want I could dig into your files and see if I could find out some background history.”

“I’d like that. Told I had a sister, but never met her.”

“I’ll see what I can do and no cracking any heads while I’m on shift. You wouldn’t want to make me mad, I crack a mean face.” Charlie cracked several ridiculous faces as he got up. Big Mountain snorted a load of soup out of his nose, gagging.

“Quick! He’s choking! Someone get Arnold Schgartabugger to perform mouth to mouth, cause no one else is going to press lips to the Griz here and walk away without missing limbs.”

The big man laughed even harder, turning puce.  Charlie slapped him on the back several times until the big man spit a chunk of food out.

“Hey, funny place to hide a Colt .45,” he said looking up at the approaching guards. They reached for their guns. “Oh just kidding, it’s just a chunk of hot dog, shaped like a gun.” The two guards looked at him like he was mad. Griz just wiped at the tears of laughter running down his cheeks.

Walking away, Charlie realized he’d just found his first client as an Elder and his first prison friend.

 

* * *

 

I am a being, alone, entirely alone. Except there are others. I want to meet the others. I want to be me. Only who am I?

I had others in my life. Older, parents. Then why am I here?

Alone?

And who? The question remains. Of who?

Am I?

 

* * *

 

“So this is where the last Elder expired. Don’t disturb anything. They’re still not sure whether it’s a crime or an accident. Wish they’d make their minds up so we don’t have to spend shifts guarding a damn tent.” The guard indicated his work-mate whose duty today was to babysit the scene so it couldn’t be tampered with. “My turn tomorrow.” The yellow Police Line Do Not Cross tape surrounding the sweat lodge in the grounds behind the penitentiary sagged and swayed in the breeze.

“Boy, you guys aren’t very sociable around here. No wonder you can’t get any help. Darn it though,” he tut-tutted as he walked around the sweat lodge, “I wanted to arrange a really swanky soiree tonight. You know, tux, champagne and horses douvres.”

“It’s hors d’oeuvres, I believe,” the man grumbled, “and those are big words for a native.”

“I watch a lot of educational TV.  Gives you a large vocabulary. You know, documentaries, educational programs and the like. Pick up the odd phrase. I bet you like to watch tripe like all of those insipid reality shows.”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?”

“Just a wild guess. Rots your mind that stuff.” Charlie continued pacing around the sweat lodge trying to get a sense of what may have happened here. This was the reason he’d received some weird calls from the spirits in his dreams recently. Only why, he wasn’t sure. A death didn’t usually raise such unrest from the spirit world. He knew that no one inside would leave until the sweat was done, although on the usual sessions they often took three breaks to cool down, one for each of the four directions. Once inside, there would be very little light to see by, only the glow of the rocks, which had been burning for hours. The person leading, usually but not always the Elder himself would be moving about, flapping eagles’ feathers and other objects for effect, but how a murder could be committed with not one of the inhabitants noticing was a mystery. The guard scowled as he followed the still-pacing Charlie. “Do you have a list of the people in the group?”

“I don’t, but the office does, and the police and WCB. Why are you asking? Figure one of your relatives was in on it or you decided to become the next Dick Tracy?” the guard, Jenkins grumbled, obviously put off by having to hang around while Charlie checked out the scene.

“Just curious as to how someone could have died without anyone noticing. I’ll have to lead a sweat sooner or later. WCB?”

“All accidents or deaths at work are treated as just ‘work related incidents’, unless foul play can be determined. If I was you, I’d hope they’d find any killer damn quick before they had to start asking for applications for my replacement.” He snickered at what he thought was a great joke.

Charlie sniffed the air ignoring the guard’s threats. Death never left a pleasant aroma but a murder created a foul stench. He sniffed again, loudly. Odd, no lingering after tones.  Almost as if… he sniffed again.

“Hey, you got allergies, short of coke or something? There’s plenty of drugs around this place, no matter how hard we try to police the inmates.” His walkie-talkie went off. “Time to go. I’ve got duties besides babysitting you, old man.”

“Some of us can sense and smell things better than most animals. Any chance you were on duty that day?” Charlie inhaled again, overly loudly.

“Yeah. What’s it to ya?”

“Oh, just asking.” He knew one thing, this guard was not only belligerent, but possibly capable of murder. He’d keep an eye on him. Charlie inhaled again. The wood-smoke of the sweat had covered the subtle floating aromas, but there was something underlying everything here. Something worse than menacing. The spirits were right. There was something very unnatural here.

“The only animal I want to smell is frying cow, as in a burger. Now time to beat it.”

“There!” he yelled.

The guard jumped, “What the fuck…”

Charlie stopped and moved his head side to side, sniffing loudly. It was gone. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the shadow of something moving on the edge of the forest, by the fences.

“You, old man, are the freakiest bastard I ever met and I’ll tell you I’ve met quite the collection of freaks here. Now get moving. Sniffing time is over, or go join the hound dog society if that’s your bag.”

Charlie moved to the doorway, careful not to disturb the tape or scene. He’d have to come back alone. There was something lurking there alright, something masking everything else under the smell of sweat and wood-smoke.  Something fouler than death. The spirits usually weren’t wrong about getting him here. He glanced past the grounds to the dark edge of the forest.

A branch shifted.

And he’d been watched. Yup most curious. And since I can’t get into the lodge or the adjacent women’s prison, I think I need to contact someone who can. Going to need some help on this one and I know just the person that owes me a favour.

 

* * *

The floor bed shook. From a dark cave one eye opened, then another. It looked around in the darkness before stretching slowly from the cramped form it had endured all this time. Poking its head up into the ocean’s waters, the creature took one deep sniff. The salty waters told it all it needed to know.

It is time. We need to act again.

It let out a high pitched squeal to the others, also long buried.  The ground shook in response.

But first a feeding. It has been a very long time since we’ve awoken and I’m sure the others are, like me, famished.

And it knew who would do.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie strode down the hall towards his office. There was something out there watching him, he knew it. As he left the washroom he turned the corner and ran into two men dressed in suits. Charlie glanced at the name tag on the one that said Warden.

“Oh, the big guy, the big Cheese, el capitain, the dude who signs my paycheque.”

“Who the hell are you  Sir?”

“Charlie Stillwaters”

“Not on any payroll I know of around here.”

“We hired him this morning, sir. Remember the ‘I need an Elder pronto or we lose our Federal funding for the next six months,’ speech?”

“Yes, what was that got to do with this, I might say, disheveled looking, fellow?”

“Your new Elder counsellor, Boss Man.” He grabbed the warden’s hand and shook it hard three times before wiping his hand on his shirt. “Crap, forgot to dry my hands after that last trip to the pisser. Actually didn’t notice any paper dispensers in the cans. But you should have someone look into those vacuum cleaner ducts they’ve installed in the washroom. Makes lots of noise, but didn’t pick much off the floor. Oh and no ties. I don’t do ties. Yours I’ll have to admit is rather smart. Solid one colour, denotes lack of character, bland in tastes and preferences, but very dapper, as they say in England. Goes well with the fancy cufflinks. Gotta run, don’t want the boss to think I’m loitering about on my first day. Need to make a good first impression and all.”

With that Charlie sauntered off, limping on his cane. Still wiping his hands as he muttered more to himself than anyone else. “Glad that wasn’t a number two.”

“Sorry sir, there weren’t any other applications.”

The warden stood there blinking, calmly pulled a hanky from his vest pocket and wiped his damp hand. “Henricks, in my fucking office now.” Red rushing in to replace the white sheen of mortification.

 

* * *

 

In the darkness deep breathing echoed. A flipper broke the centuries old sand. We are called, the others must awake before it is too late.

 

* * *

 

Charlie limped up behind Carol as she lay sun-tanning on Agate Beach on Haida Gwaii. “Nice tan. Heard you were here on holidays.”

Carol jumped. “Hate it when you do that.” Squinting, she yanked herself upright in her deckchair and peered over her dark sunglasses. “I didn’t expect to see you on the islands. Although with your woo-woo stuff I might have figured I’d run into you sooner or later.”

“Good to see you too, Carol. What drags you out here?” He hadn’t seen her since they worked on solving the death of Vancouver’s mayor last year.

“You hooked me. Decided I gotta see more of this place. And let me guess, I’m presuming this is probably a business call, since you’re a bit over dressed for the beach.” She looked him up and down over her sunglasses realizing it was the same getup he wore then, probably was like Einstein who kept ten same outfits of everything in his closet. No, with Charlie, probably just the same one.

“Yeah, this is my office suit now.” Charlie referred to his usual get up of seen-better-days denim. “I got hired by the Federal Government to be a paid Elder for the Prince Rupert Penitentiary.”

“What? Were they mad?”

“No, I was the only one that applied. It seemed the other applications got lost.”

Carol shook her head. “I’ve heard this story before. Lost by, let me guess, cousins of yours.”

“Big family. We don’t see each other much, but we’re tight. Man, it’s hot out here. Their last Elder died, more aptly was murdered, although I think the pen don’t like that idea and are trying everything they know to get it signed off as what the WCB call ‘a work related incident’. Covers all sorts of wrongdoing that title.”

“Which, unless someone finds three knives in his back or several bullet holes, it is, and the police involvement ceases.”

“Got that from the no-humour jail guard and a little bird that whispered it in my ear.”

“A little bird whispered in your ear? That someone was murdered? Man, you hang out with a strange crowd. But then I already know that.”

“Yeah, little bird, not you-know-who-giant-raven-type-bird, built like a triple-stacked burger, but sparrow sized.  One of those woo-woo things of mine that you talk about was disturbed by something that happened at the supposed accident. Whatever is happening is sending physic shockwaves through the unknown world, as you’d probably call it, and the authorities won’t let me near the scene. The disturbance happened in a native sweat lodge out on the back grounds, only some of the suspects involved are female. While I’ve got access to the men I can’t enter the women’s prison.”

“They won’t let you near the scene until it is ruled either a WCB incident or the coroner warrants there’s enough evidence to open a homicide investigation.” Carol knew where this was going. “So let me guess. You want me to cut my holiday short because a sparrow whispered in your ear and go to a penitentiary full of women to investigate a murder? Many of whom would just as soon blink and either kill me for being a cop, make goggle eyes at me or just out-and-out rape me?”

“Well, you’re good at summing things up. Sharp cookie, Ms. Ainsworth. You did say you owe me a favour as I did save your, what do the gangstas on TV call it? Oh yeah, your white skinny ho ass. Which by the way is starting to burn. You need some higher SPF or some of my herbal cream.”

Carol reached for her pack of smokes. “I’ve tried your herbal remedies. Bear-sweat, weasel pee and oak-tree pumice. Thanks, but I’ll stick to the drugstore products. At least they have a money back guarantee.” Carol remembered the large burl along Rawlings Trail in Stanley Park that, if you caught it just right, looked like the face of an old woman. Or at least to everyone else it was a burl with an old woman’s face in it. She knew it was the living witch called the Lure trapped inside. It still gave her the creeps to think how close to death she came. She would have died if it wasn’t for Charlie, in their last and, she thought at the time, only adventure together. I’m not really thinking what I’m thinking, am I? Why didn’t I bring a flask of wine with me or at least a mickey of whiskey?

“Ah what the heck. I was getting bored anyway, already hung out up at Rosespit. Wanted to chat with my mom’s spirit up there, but couldn’t hook up with her. Need to work on that woo-woo stuff of yours some more.” She paused and shook her head. “I know I’m going to regret what I’m about to say, but okay. And after this we’re even. I can’t be seen to be constantly talking to an old native man dressed forever in the same clothes. People will begin to think we’re a team, or, heaven forbid, an item.”

Charlie waited for Carol as she collected her things together. A couple with kids in tow walked by, all were staring at Charlie sweating away in his jeans and jean jacket. One of the children, a rotund girl of about twelve, was eating an ice cream cone. She frowned at the older man and stuck her tongue out. “Smelly Indian.”

“Rude little girl.” Charlie waved his cane and a stick that was lying in the sand lifted between the girl’s shins and sent her flying. She tripped and fell face first, mashing ice cream and sand all over her face.

“Deal. We’re even after this.” Carol giggled as the girl screamed, spitting sand.

“Oh dear.” Charlie walked on and said as he passed the couple, “You know its bad luck to take any agates and sand away from here, even ingested. Native legend, just like the ones in Hawaii regarding Pele’, their fire goddess.  She brings bad luck to anyone that takes away her sand and agates. I’d make sure you wash her mouth out, with soap preferably. Sand isn’t good for the digestion anyways. Good day.” He smiled as he passed.

The girl kept spitting sand and ice cream from her mouth. “He did it! He made me trip. Stinky old …”

Charlie gave her a nasty glare. The girl decided to shut up.

“Now, you were just clumsy. I’ve told you before to watch where you’re going. He wasn’t even near you at the time,” her mother scolded.

“But I know he …”

“Enough! Get in the car now!” her dad yelled, “serves you right for being rude to your elders.”

“See, my work precedes me.” He walked with a swagger.

Carol looked quizzically at Charlie as they walked towards her car. “Did you do something to that girl back there?”

“My dad always told me to never piss off certain people in your life; your doctor, lawyer, a police officer or your shaman.”

“Don’t think he said shaman, probably minister.”

“You didn’t know my dad.”

Carol laughed. “And now I know why you don’t cheese off shamans.”

Charlie laughed back. “Come to think of it, he might have said minister.”

 

 

Chapter Two

 

He who tried to communicate with me, knew of a bird of metal. It flies with the excrement of the ancients in its bowels. It devours the ancients to fly? How is this possible? And humans inside. Living inside its belly? What kind of world is out there? I read writing on its wing, CE438571.  I know letters, my language. I can communicate.

I reach out to speak to it.

 

 

* * *

 

James stared at his buzzer as it rang. “Who is it?

“Carol Ainsworth to see you, sir.”

“See her in.”

James rose to shake her hand. “Carol Ainsworth? The same Carol Ainsworth Detective in the Vancouver Police force? The Carol Ainsworth that cracked the Hell’s Angels’ crime spree and solved the murder of your mayor? Also involved in the cracking of the fake totems set up in Stanley Park?”

“Yes, to all of that. Wow, how is it you know all of this?”

“Just looking at your file because of one Charlie Stillwaters that we happen to have currently employed with us. The Charlie Stillwaters mentioned in some of the reports associated with those cases. I must admit I didn’t know who he was until I read your file. I do like to know the background of the people that are coming to work with me or pop in for a visit out of the blue. I’m surprised he didn’t put his association with you and the Vancouver Police Department in his resume. All one line of it.”

“Modest guy. Environmentally conscious as well, doesn’t like wasting paper. Carol smirked.

“I’d say a few things about him, but modest wouldn’t be one of them.”

Carol sat down. “Try exasperating.”

“So why are you here, Detective?” James cut to the chase.

“Charlie asked me to help him investigate the death of Ken Benson, your last Elder on duty, who died under mysterious circumstances.”

“Incorrect. He was involved in what we are hoping is about to be classed as a work related incident by the WBC investigators. The family, as you can guess, would like closure and some kind of settlement, as would we. This has caused a lot of unrest with the native population which will only grow as the days go on.”

“Ah, that is what I hate about BC Criminal Law, everything at work is considered a ‘work related incident’ unless proven otherwise. However you are misinformed. This will not be signed off until the police have investigated and it could be some weeks for anyone to become available so I’m here to do you a big favour. I’ve called my boss and the powers that be and said I’d be willing to take on this investigation at least for the remainder of my vacation. My boss, lovely bastard of a chap, figured if I want to wreck my holidays, I can go right ahead.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Why wouldn’t you want me to? Surely you don’t want to see a murderer go unpunished? Anyway I’ve already done it. I’ve already had a quick perusal of the crime scene photos and autopsy report. My boss had them e-mailed to me as soon as I was given the go-ahead and I do have severe misgivings about it being an accidental ‘work related incident’ hence me offering to give up my vacation. My own M.E. is looking over the autopsy for me as we speak. Now we’ll see if someone found with their head bashed in is just ‘a work related incident’.”

“What are you talking about? He passed out and fell against the rocks, killing himself,” James growled.

“Yes, that’s what someone, maybe the WCB, want us to think. However the crime scene photos have given me a red flag and even your own M.E. hasn’t ruled out foul play. Death was definitely blunt force trauma to the temple and this could be head-to-rock but just as easily rock-to-head, and I intend to find out exactly which. Someone was obviously happy just to think it was an accident and I wouldn’t like to think what would happen to anybody that had misled WCB.”

James looked hard at her.

“I think we may well have a murderer on the loose here and there’s a good possibility this could happen again. How much more upset do you think it would cause if it does?”

James stared at her with hardened eyes. It was obvious he didn’t want to back down but he knew he had no choice. Damn. He had so been hoping this would go so long without investigation the fuss would die down and it could be quietly swept under the carpet.

“As you probably know, I got special funding to perform sweats on this site due to the large native population. Opening a police investigation could endanger that and cause even more unrest by upsetting the inmates more than they already are. Worst day for a warden is having to deal with a riot so here’s what I’m willing to do. I’ll set you up as a prison employee IE guard, with all the necessary protocols. You look into this and if we find the evidence that there is wrongful doing here then we open the file as a homicide investigation. I don’t want to upset his family as they are already in the belief that his death was an accident. Can you imagine the crap if we open this up thinking he’s been murdered and find out he wasn’t?”

“Okay, agreed. Good idea actually. Best to be sure before we tell the family anything else. However, as there were male and female inmates in that sweat lodge, I’m gonna need Charlie’s help here. He can investigate the men and I will deal with the women. Lucky you’ve already hired him, isn’t it? The sooner he and I can leave, the sooner this penitentiary can get back to normal and maybe I can even get back to my holidays.”

He squeezed his eyes closed and took a couple of deep breaths. “Ms. Ainsworth. I run a tight prison. I’ve enough trouble keeping the inmates civil and I have nothing to do with any possible misleading of WCB. What I told you about him hitting his head is all I know. There’s been a lot of unrest since the incident, especially since Ken was an ex-con, which you might not have known. I know there has to be an investigation at some point so I guess it’s best to get it over with.”

“No time like the present; how can I say this? Boss.”

“Mr.  Braithwaite to you. God you’re a bitch. But that’s probably why you’re successful. But I do like a lady with balls or guts.”

“You were probably wanting to say vagina.”

“And get busted for sexual harassment? Not on your life. Now get to work and find my killer, if that’s what you believe I have here.”

“Okay. First I want to see the crime scene and if I bump into him shall I say ‘hi’ to Charlie from you?”

James glared darkly at her. “Get out.”

“I do think he’s right though, you should pick snazzier ties.” She smiled as she left his office. Yup, as Charlie said, wound a little too tight and probably doesn’t get much at home. Which currently was more than she was getting.

 

 

* * *

 

It walked along the shore.

I have counted every rock on this beach twice. I know every blade of grass, every totem that sits waiting. And I wait. Only why? Why am I waiting? Why am I alone?

 

* * *

 

“You’ve never worked before?” Carol said as she entered his office. She stared pointedly at the largely blank sheet of paper that was Charlie’s resume. He looked up at her, he had been busy reading from the stack of documents sitting on the desk before him.

“Well, I’m a shaman. You know, live-off-the-land type. Help little animals fight oppression, the lack of nuts and the Freedom of Planting Act.”

“The what?”

“The Freedom of Planting Act. It gives squirrels, chipmunks and even crows and ravens the right to plant fallen nuts wherever they desire.”

Carol shook her head and smiled. “Can’t say I’ve missed this inane banter of yours. But really, never had a real paying job before? How is this possible in our day and age?”

“I’ve had a few small jobs, fishing, selling jack pine mushrooms, got paid in cash. Darn Japanese are crazy, they’ll pay nearly a thousand dollars a pound for the stuff. And they eat sushi, raw fish, yuck.” Charlie wrinkled his nose. “Good to see you too Carol, I knew you were a person of your word.”

Carol scratched at her shoulder where the sunburn hurt the worst. She hated him being right most of the time. “I thought you were a native, eat wild roots, live off the land. Smoke salmon.”

“Yeah, but this is the twenty-first century. We’ve got electricity. Cooked, deep fried, breaded, now we’re talking. Raw! Hell, haven’t you heard of fish lice? They’ll eat you alive from the inside out. That’s it. I can’t read anymore. If I knew I had to read this much, I’d have thought twice about getting hired. “Charlie got up and headed out the door of his office, chucking down the wad of paper before him.

“Hey, where you going?”

“Cafeteria, see if old Sandy will do me up a smoked salmon sandwich. Talking about food gets a guy hungry. Are you coming?”

Carol decided to join him. “You can’t seriously be telling me you rerouted all of the applications so they’d have to accept yours?”

“Okay, so I won’t tell you.” Charlie laughed as he tapped his cane down the hallway.

“How did you tamper with the federal mail? Oh, let me guess.”

“Nephews and uncles.” They said at the same time.

“You’re getting it.”

Carol groaned. He either had great balls to pull off this kind of grandiose lunatic kind of stunt or dumb shit ass luck. Probably mainly the latter, she muttered to herself, remembering the incident earlier in the year with the smuggling out of the deceased shaman’s remains into Stanley Park that Charlie had arranged by another of his ‘nephews’. But she knew this, if he thought the man was murdered, he most likely was. Now they had to find just cause. “Okay take me out to the sweat lodge after we eat.”

 

* * *

 

My breath chills in the dawn’s air, mixing with the stillness. I shake the seawater from my pelt and tread inland as the shore laps gently behind me. It has been a long time since my kind have walked on this earth. But the time has come to end the slumber. I stop, voices echo in the mornings awakening.

“Derek, I think it went this way.”

“Ah come on Tom. I think you’ve had one beer too many. You missed the deer completely.”

“Six isn’t too many and I know I winged him. Come on.”

Intrigued, I glide through the bushes wondering what kind of humans are these speaking in a language I don’t recognize. Nearby is the scent of fresh blood, a wounded deer. I remember that delicious smell. I lick my lips and edge closer, a branch cracks underneath.

They both spin in my direction. Thunder erupts from their metallic rods in a horrible voice and more metal whizzes through the air, thumping into a tree behind me. I react in defense. I shouldn’t, the humans don’t know we’re here, but I must defend myself from these thunder weapons of destruction. Where did they come from? Have the humans evolved so much since our last being here? They bear strange dress of unnatural fibres and no longer shoot wood through bent sticks.

Claws dig in and I launch myself through the air, deep growls spring from within.

“What the fu…” is all one gets to utter as my claws tear his insides out. Warm intestines and blood splatter the ground. The other falls backwards as delicious smell of fresh blood fills the air. How I’ve missed that aroma.

Its thunder weapon discharges and searing agony hammers my left shoulder. I rake the screaming one’s throat, ending its pain. More wonderful redness erupts everywhere. But I can’t feed on this one as my shoulder cries out in agony and my own blood splatters the ground.

“What in God’s name is that? Hang on Tom, I’ve got to reload.”

More thunder retorts from the metal rod’s mouth and narrowly misses me. I must leave to heal. I cannot defeat this weapon it holds. I have underestimated the humans. I glare deep into the face of this one. Derek. I call out in my mind to him.

He stares stunned at me, unbelieving. I inhale his scent. I will return to hunt him for what he has done to me. We can’t be found out, not before we eliminate the one who awoke us. I lop through the dense bush as he recovers his shock and more metallic projectiles whistle by, tearing apart vegetation, but little else.  I have never run in fear from anything and won’t again. I will return as I dive into the cold sea water shifting my form.

 

 

* * *

 

Carol stood beside the sweat lodge smoking a cigarette. “Yeah, talk me into some crazy things old man. You kill my vacation to investigate a murder in a pen full of women that would like me for only one thing; as in stick their hands down my pants, or beat me senseless, and then instead of being on a hot beach, I end up investigating a room full of hides. Sweaty ones at that.”

“That’s why it’s called a sweat lodge. Hey, some of the prison guards look quite hunky. Even the female ones. You never know, could find a good date here.”

“Yeah, the only ones that I seem to have attracted so far are the hunky females. I bet there’s probably a lot of that same sex thing going on around here.”

“Well they’re in jail but still get the urge.”

“Ever do it with a woman, Charlie?” Carol just couldn’t even visualize him in bed with one. Let alone seeing him naked… Nah, not going there. She shook her head.

“I never thought you’d be the type to ask.”

“Ever think about it? Hey, if we’re supposed partners I gotta ask, get to know you.” On the other hand, sometimes the less you know about your partner the better.

“Nope straight and narrow.”

“Yeah, same, hot dog material only and yourself?”

“Much the same. Don’t butter my bread on both sides of the slice.”

“Yeah, pure straight. Glad we got that in the open, but if that’s the case who’s the lucky lady. Don’t see a ring on your finger except that black onyx one. Which I believe is for friendship.”

“Calming as well.” Charlie sat quiet for a long moment as he turned the ring on his finger. “Given to me by Lucy. She died of illness in my arms when I was twenty-two. We’d just met the year before. Her favourite artist and mine is Roy Orbison. I’ll always remember his song, Crying, was playing in the background as she died. It was because of that I decided to become a shaman. I couldn’t save her, but thought if there was some way to visit her, on the other side so to speak, I would. I also pledged my undying love to her. I’m a man of my word.”

“And no one since.”

“Nope. The equipment is kinda healed over since then. No desire for another. I became a shaman after that. If I can’t save her then I’ll save some others.”

“Admirable man you are Charlie Stillwaters.”

“Nuts is more what I am. I coulda got lucky so many times. There’s more than a few lonely gals out there I’ve bumped into at the grocery store or out hiking the backcountry.” He laughed.

“You meet horny single women out hiking? Man, got any good places I could bump into a hot hunky fireman type of male?” Carol chuckled back as she ground out her cigarette and they entered the sweat lodge, the ceiling so low neither could stand upright.

He looked at her appalled by her upfront attitude.

“I’m not pious, just a bit afraid. It’s a lonely world being a detective, not many guys want to know someone who lives on the edge of possibly being shot or killed every day. But as I get older, if I meet a good looking guy, and we go out on a date, I do allow him to get to a homerun faster. Thinking if he ain’t Mr. Right he might as well clang all my bells. Beats watching ‘Sex And The City’ reruns.”

He opened his eyes at that revelation. “Thanks for the honesty. I can see you’re obviously less frustrated than me.”

“Are you frustrated? Must be hard to not want to do it one way or another?”

“No, part of my training gets me past the need for; how do you say it politely?”

“Release.”

“Yup, interesting conversation to be having inside a sweat lodge.” Carol shook her head. “You’re an interesting character Charlie.”

“Hey, if you want interesting, let me tell you about my Roy Orbison record collection.”

“Records? You mean those large black CD’s? Didn’t know they still made those. Yeah, I’ll pass on that one, I’m more of a U2 type of person.” She lifted the flap to the sweat lodge so that some light, and fresh air could enter.

“Hey, vinyl is making a comeback I hear. Can’t quite get the same background depth of music, they tell me on those silver Frisbee things. U2? Didn’t know any of the people on the German submarines released any kind of music. But I could recite some baseball stats on the Montreal Expos.”

She smiled. “I’ll pass on that one as well. Now enough of the chitchat.” Carol looked around at the central fire pit area. The stones were still in place but were now, obviously, cold.

“Drats! Back to work is it boss lady?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

A dark figure from the edge of the forest next to the pen watched the two moving around inside the sweat lodge for a few minutes before slowly slinking back into the darkness at the edge of the woods.

 

* * *

 

Carol grabbed her notebook and began to jot down notes. Charlie scratched his head, watching her. “What are you doing?”

“Notes, and lots of them. First rule of a crime scene investigation, even if the scene is a week old, first impressions are critical. Along with pictures and measurements.” She pulled out a tape measure.

“Pull it to the end.” Carol ordered.

“I’m measuring this why?”

“Because it’s evidence. Do as I say and quit asking questions. I’m in charge. I never ask why you carry a bag full of medical herbs around, do I?”

Charlie looked at her. “Medicine pouch, it’s a medicine pouch. Okay you do your job and I’ll do mine. No questions.”

Carol looked around, her head lost deep in jotting down notes. We’ll see how long thy stillness of lips lasts.  The dimensions of the lodge lent itself to more than enough room for more than ten people to be inside, which meant they weren’t elbow to elbow. She checked the height, noting that at five-foot no one except Snow White’s bedmates could have stood up properly.

“Man, I think that you whites have poor memories and waste a lot of trees on this kind of thing.” He watched her scribbling away in her pad.

“I didn’t think analytical investigation was your kind of thing. So did you notice what I noticed in my supposed waste of time jotting down notes and killing one spruce tree and half an ounce of lead?”

“That at a crime scene you get writing cramps and are rather boring?”

“No. I thought shamans were observant. So did you notice what I noticed?”

Charlie screwed up his face and scratched his head with the end of his cane. “Nope and I’ve already tried the old zipper down hotdog gimmick yesterday, which doesn’t work so well with females.”

“Yeah, no hotdog. How about the gap in the pile of stones?”

“What gap?”

She pointed to the depression in the soil where another stone may have lain. She took a couple of close pictures. “It is possible it could have been dislodged when the inmates left the lodge. However it could just be a red herring.”

“Herring? We back to that sushi stuff again?”

“No, silly. A red herring is what you think is a clue but isn’t and only serves to mislead you. However would be handy if we could find it, even if just to rule it out.”

Charlie stared, wrinkling his nose again at the thought of raw fish. “I knew there was a reason I hired you to help me.” It was odd that he had been so lost in trying to pick up psychic residue that he hadn’t thought to notice what was right in front of his face. “I must admit I’m wrong and you’ve caught me in the opposite of when we first met.”

“Ah, I remember those the famous words, ‘If you weren’t white you’d see all the clues that are around you.’” Charlie nodded quietly, remembering his quick cockiness at their first meeting in Stanley Park where the mayor of Vancouver had been brutally slain. Where he’d said the same thing except using native in the context of white. “Now from what I understand natives believe in the four cardinal points of the compass.” Charlie nodded in agreement. “And always the sign of leadership comes from the East spreading West and up and down so… I believe Ken Benson would have been sitting about here.” Carol indicated a space opposite to where the stone may have been missing.

Charlie thought a moment. “How would you know that?”

“I read about traditional sweat lodges on the ferry ride over. Again it’s important to know as much about a situation as possible in case it lends itself to the investigation and I discovered this fact. So that tells me the suspect, if there is one, knew Benson would be sitting here and that the suspect is most likely native as well.”

“Why is that important?”

“Because in the gloomy light of the lodge at the time you would need to know where your mark would be so you didn’t off the wrong person.”

“Man, that’s amazing deductions. All that from a few notes and powers of observation. I will never bug you about note taking again, well except at dinner. You can’t write and eat at the same time. Gives you ulcers.”

“However from the crime scene photos,” Carol continued, deciding not to rise to the bait this time, “Ken was laying here, slumped over, probably dead or at least severely incapacitated before his head hit the ground. Highly unlikely he managed to move after his head was hit. So if his body was here,” Carol pointed to where he had been found “but the stones were here,” she indicated the fire pit some distance away “how did he fall, hit his head on the stones, and then fall down dead or incapacitated some six or eight feet back.” Carol busied herself with the tape measure again to get the accurate figure, indicating to Charlie to assist.

“So you know what this means?” Carol continued.

He scratched his head. “That I’ve got to buy a measuring tape, pen and a pad?”

“No, it means our Elder was more than likely murdered.” She shook her head and whispered under her breath. “Like someone else I’d like to have done in.”

“What little old me? Come on, you got to say I’ve made your life interesting.”

“Interesting? I’m supposed to be relaxing on a beach sun-tanning, hoping that some hunk of a man, lifeguard, general stud type muffin would see me. Say, something like ‘hey good looking want a date or a quick roll in the hay’.  No, instead I’m on my knees inside some smelly native sweat lodge in the back of a prison. Few would call this interesting, humourous or I’m just a sucker for punishment.”

“Do I sense a little resentment? I think you could use a good shrink.”

“Good shrink? What I need is a good cattle truck. How’s your rhyming slang?” She laughed.

Charlie squinted as he tried to work it out in his head. “Oh, my. Did I mention I hate suckers? Chocolate bars though, now that’s a different matter.”

“Now we know more what we’re looking for we need to get the CSIs back in – some that know what they’re doing. Who was here before? High-school students? We’ll also need to extend the crime scene area, see if we can find that stone, although admittedly that will take some doing. If this was planned rather than spur-of-the-moment the murderer sure knew what he or she was doing. Murder weapon already easily to hand and not at all suspicious. I’ll call the warden to make sure he continues to have this place under twenty-four hour guard.”

“Good idea, I like it. You get to put more yellow tape up now?”

“Yes, that means I’ve got to put up more yellow police tape to widen the perimeter.”

“It’s going to make me cry you know.”

“I’ve heard of crying at funerals, but crime scenes? You’re one strange man, Charlie Stillwaters.”

“No, reminds me of the first time we met. I get all teary eyed and everything.”

They’d met at the taped off area in Stanley Park where Vancouver’s mayor had been murdered, late at night.

“I think I should be the one that’s crying.  It took me over a month to find you in Vancouver and I still get nightmares when I think of those maggots raining down on me.” Carol shivered. Charlie had led her to the discovery of the mayor’s daughter’s body trapped inside an ancient cedar in Stanley Park. When she reached up and dislodged the rocks holding the body in place, all the maggots and grubs feeding off the body rained down on her.

“Well, you know the journey is always better than the destination.” He snickered.

“The only destination I want right now is back to sun-tanning on the beach and less I journey with you the better.” She shrugged her shoulders in shivering disgust.

“Hey, you’re breaking my heart, and here I was getting all sentimental over our first date.”

“Date? That’ll never happen. The only dates you’ll get from me is a pound of dried Moroccan over the back of the head.”

“Well, I see you’re beginning to get my sense of humour. Can I help you with your yellow tape?” As they exited the lodge Charlie turned to stand facing it, away from the forest. Earlier as they were joking around he got that internal shiver that he was being watched. The sensation he called his Spidey sense from the old Spiderman movies. Over his shoulder to the left he sensed it again. I was right. There is something out there watching me, or us. He spun around and caught a flash of light. Gone.

 

* * *

 

I try to awake the shaman, I must reach out. Only he is dead, killed, by who?

And who?

Who I am?