“No. My Leonard’s dead.” She gave him a flat, hostile look that told him she was going to change the subject. “I understand you met James Hart. What’s he like?”
“Surprisingly normal. Pleasant enough. A bit quiet, but encountering Shadows Fall for the first time will do that to you. He doesn’t remember his childhood here at all. Leonard thinks he remembers him as a child, but I can’t say I do. How about you?”
Rhea shook her head. “No. I checked the old records, as soon as I heard he was back. We were in the same class at the same school, all four of us, but neither you nor I nor anyone else I’ve contacted can remember him. That can’t just be a coincidence. I think Time has been meddling with our memories again.”
“Leonard remembers him.”
“Leonard’s dead. It’s harder to hide things from the dead.”
“Maybe that’s why Leonard took James Hart to see Old Father Time. Leonard always was one for getting to the heart of things.” Erikson smiled suddenly. “I’d love to have had a bug on the wall during that conversation. But whatever happened there, they’re all keeping pretty quiet about it. Hart’s gone to look at his old family home. I hope he’s prepared for a shock. No one’s lived there since his parents did their disappearing act. I’ve got one of my Deputies keeping an eye on Hart, just in case. I don’t know what’s happened to Leonard. He hasn’t been seen at any of his usual haunts. Still, I suppose Hart could have fallen in with worse company.”
“You don’t really think they just happened to meet, do you?”
Erikson frowned. “You think Time is interfering that directly?”
“Time, or the town.” Rhea shook her head and shrugged, and changed the subject again. Erikson let her do it. Even after all this time, Ash’s name still had the power to hurt her. She looked out over the cemetery, and at the town beyond. “Things are falling apart, Richard. The Hart prophecy has unnerved a lot of people. They’re afraid for themselves, and for the town itself. No one trusts anyone any more. If it had been just the murders, or just Hart’s return, I think we could have coped; but the two together are driving the town insane. And there’s not a damn thing I can say to reassure them. We’re no nearer finding the murderer now than when we found Lucas’s body lying in its own blood on the floor of Suzanne’s place. The town is looking for someone or something to blame, and if we don’t provide a scapegoat soon, they’ll find one for themselves. Everyone’s waiting for the next murder, for the next shoe to drop. And when it happens, the people of this town will head for the brink like lemmings on amphetamines.”
“You always did have a gift for an interesting phrase,” said Erikson, just for the sake of saying something. He’d never seen Rhea look so down, so defeated. So vulnerable. “We’re doing everything we can,” he said lamely. “My Deputies will protect Hart from attack, as long as he keeps a low profile. Apart from that, there’s really not much else we can do. We’ve all kinds of forensic and magical evidence, and all of it together hasn’t turned up one useful lead. We don’t have a motive, a witness or a murder weapon. Or anything to tie the victims together. They could just be random targets, picked for reasons only a madman could understand.”
“That’s right,” said Rhea. “Go on. Cheer me up, why don’t you?”
“If you’re looking for optimism, you’ve come to the wrong man. The very fact that I’m here, hoping for a miracle, should tell you something.”
“Who knows?” said Rhea, shrugging tiredly. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Cemeteries are special places everywhere, but especially so in Shadows Fall. Reality wears thin in the presence of so much death. And with all the recent comings and goings, maybe things have been disturbed enough to produce signs we can interpret. Did that really sound as desperate as I think it did? Don’t answer that; I don’t want to know.”
“Are you ready for the really bad news?” said Erikson, not looking at her. “I wasn’t going to say anything until I had some solid proof one way or the other, but what the hell. I have to talk to someone or I’ll go crazy. We have two more missing persons. No warnings before they vanished, no reason for them to drop out of sight, and no trace of them anywhere now. It’s too early to be sure, but would you like to bet whether they’re going to turn up as victims eight and nine?”
“Two more?” Rhea closed her eyes tightly for a moment, as though she could somehow hide from the news. Erikson started to reach out a hand towards her, but the moment of weakness passed, and she opened her eyes and looked squarely at the Sheriff. “What are the names? Anyone important?”
“Not really. An anthropomorphic, Johnny Squarefoot, and one of the Merlins, late European version. Both important to their friends and family, no doubt, but no great loss to the town. As with all the others, no obvious motive for their disappearance or murder. No problems, no enemies. Just two more poor sods plucked from our midst with no one noticing a thing.”
Rhea frowned, tapping a foot thoughtfully on the neatly trimmed grass. “Are these new disappearances public knowledge yet?”
“Not yet. I’ll keep it quiet for as long as possible, but there’s a limit to how long I can sit on it. Someone always talks, eventually. Then it really will hit the fan. We were lucky to avoid a riot after the last murder was announced. I hate to think what two more will do to the town.”
“There must be something we can do!”
“I’m open to suggestions! I’m doing everything I can. If that isn’t good enough for you, you can have my badge and my resignation on your desk within the hour.”
“Don’t get touchy, Richard. I’m not mad at you. I just feel so… helpless.”
They stood together for a while in silence, not looking at each other. Father Callahan finished the last of his rites with a quick burst of Latin and a dramatic gesture, made the sign of the cross over his breast, nodded quickly to Rhea and Erikson and strode off without looking back. The two gravediggers looked hopefully at Rhea and Erikson, and then sighed resignedly as they realized neither the Mayor nor the Sheriff was showing any sign of being ready to leave.
“Since Michael claimed to be an angel,” Erikson said slowly, “Perhaps we ought to have a quiet word with Augustine.”
Rhea winced. Augustine was Shadows Fall’s resident Saint. He was good and holy and forgiving, and got on everyone’s nerves. There’s something about never-ending pieties and good humour that drives ordinary people right up the wall. Augustine meant well, was always cheerful and smiling, and never had a bad word for anybody. Most people could only stand being in the same room with him for about half an hour before being seized with an overwhelming urge to swear, tell off-colour jokes about their relatives, piss on the potted plants and generally act up cranky. If he hadn’t been so good at curing warts, rheumatics and haemorrhoids, he’d have been run out of town long ago.
And besides, he could turn water into wine. By the gallon.
“I think we’ll leave Augustine as a last resort,” said Rhea firmly. “Things are confused enough as it is without getting him involved. Our accounting division still hasn’t recovered from the time he insisted on exorcising the Internal Revenue computers, and wiped all their memory discs clean. All right, the computers stopped printing out blasphemies and stinking up the offices with sulphur, but it’s the principle of the thing. You know, Richard, what with Saints and angels practically crawling out of the woodwork these days, do you suppose God is paying particular attention to us?”
“Now there’s a spooky thought,” said Erikson. “But when you get right down to it, it’s just like Old Father Time. We know he’s watching, but who knows what and why?”
“God moves in mysterious ways.”
“And has a very strange sense of humour.”
“Hush,” said Rhea, smiling in spite of herself. “Show some respect. Or the odds are we’ll all get struck by lightning.”
Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat watched the two humans talking earnestly together, and wondered if they should intrude. Bruin Bear was a four-foot-tall teddy
bear with golden honey fur and dark knowing eyes. He wore a bright red tunic and trousers, and a bright blue scarf wrapped tightly round his neck. Most people found the colours a bit overwhelming after a while, but Bruin Bear wasn’t people. Even if he did have one gold earring and a Rolex on his wrist. He’d been a very popular children’s character back in the fifties and sixties, but he didn’t move with the times, and was soon forgotten by all but a few collectors. Still, he tried to keep cheerful, and kept himself busy helping people in distress. That was what he’d always done in his many adventures in the Golden Lands, and he wasn’t about to stop now just because he was real. He had many friends in Shadows Fall. People would do anything for him, because he’d do anything for them. He was that kind of Bear.
His companion of many years and even more adventures was the Sea Goat. People often loved Bruin Bear on sight, but few felt that way about the Goat. Wrapped in a long trenchcoat, he looked human enough from the shoulders down, as long as he kept his hands in his pockets, but he had a large blocky goat’s head with long curling horns and a permanent nasty smile. His grey fur was soiled and matted where it showed, and his eyes were bloodshot. The coat was filthy, and half the buttons were missing. In one hand he carried a bottle of vodka that by some kind magic was never completely empty. He’d taken his fall from fame badly and didn’t care who knew it, and only his long friendship with Bruin Bear kept him from the solace of the Forever Door. The Bear wouldn’t go as long as he felt there was someone who needed his help and comfort, and the Goat wouldn’t go on his own. At least partly because he knew how lonely the Bear would be without him.
“Maybe we should come back later,” said Bruin doubtfully. “They look rather upset.”
“Of course they’re bleeding upset. It’s a bleeding funeral. What did you expect, paper hats and dancing?”
“I thought you’d agreed not to start drinking until after midday.”
“It’s bound to be midday somewhere in Shadows Fall. Time,” said the Sea Goat grandly, “is relative. And I’ve never got on with my relatives. Smile, damn you, Bear. The jokes may not be much, but they’re all I’ve got. Now are you going to brace these two realio trulios, or am I going to have to do it?”
“I’ll do it,” said Bruin Bear. “And please, let me do all the talking.”
“You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you?”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. You’re ashamed of me. I’m your best friend and you’re ashamed of me. Course, you’re quite right. I’m a mess. That’s all. Just a bloody mess.”
The Sea Goat wept two huge tears that trickled slowly down his long muzzle. Bruin reached up and wiped them away with the end of his scarf.
“Stop that. You’re my friend, and you always will be. So cut out the tears, or I’ll piss in your vodka bottle when you’re not looking.”
The Sea Goat snorted loudly and smiled, showing his great blocky teeth. “Dear Bear, it could only improve the flavour. Now point me in the right direction, and I’ll back you up while you tackle the dynamic bloody duo.”
Bruin Bear sighed quietly, pulled a smile from somewhere and walked towards the Mayor and the Sheriff with the Sea Goat stumbling along behind him. The humans looked quickly round as he hailed them cheerfully, and both of them had some kind of smile for him. He was that sort of Bear. They ignored the Sea Goat, but he was used to that.
“Hello, Bruin,” said Rhea. “What are you doing here?”
“We heard that Johnny Squarefoot was missing. We’re worried that something might have happened to him. Is there anything you can tell us?”
“We don’t know anything definite yet,” said the Sheriff neutrally. “As soon as we know anything for sure, my office will issue a statement. I’m sorry I haven’t anything more for you, but it really is too soon to be seriously worried. You didn’t come all the way out to All Souls just to ask me that, did you?”
The Sea Goat started singing softly in Gaelic. Everyone else ignored him and talked a little louder.
“No,” said Bruin. “There was another funeral here, earlier this morning. Poogie the Friendly Critter died yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rhea. “I didn’t know.”
“We’d been expecting it for some time,” said the Bear. “But that didn’t make it any easier. He faded away so quickly, at the end.”
Rhea nodded. She’d seen it happen too many times before. Cartoon and fictional animals who ended up in Shadows Fall only remained stable as long as someone somewhere still believed in them. Once that last hold on reality was gone, they slowly reverted to their original template, becoming the actual animal they were modelled on. Bit by bit they lost their intelligence and their individuality, and lived short happy lives as beasts of the wild. Unless they found the courage to go through the Forever Door first.
Rhea had seen Poogie crying in the street a few weeks ago. He was never very definite to begin with; just another Saturday Morning cartoon who got cancelled after his first series. He was likeable enough, but too generic to last long on his own. Rhea found him sitting outside a shop, crying his eyes out because he couldn’t add up the coins in his paw to tell whether he’d been given the right change. He understood numbers when he went in, but now they were a mystery to him. Not long after, he forgot how to talk. And now he was dead. Rhea wished she’d found him funnier.
There were all kinds of animals scattered throughout Shadows Fall, of varying reality and intelligence. They mostly kept themselves to themselves, living underground in the Underworld of the Subnatural. But now, with Johnny Squarefoot missing, presumed dead, it seemed the murders had touched even them, the most innocent and vulnerable of Shadows Fall’s lost souls.
“There weren’t many of us at Poogie’s funeral,” said Bruin Bear. “Most of us are afraid to go out, even in broad daylight. But we couldn’t let his passing go unremarked. Father Callahan did a lovely service for him. Even managed a nice little eulogy at the end.”
“Yeah,” said the Sea Goat. “Mind you, I’d have been more impressed if he’d got the name right.”
“Anyway,” said the Bear, “He told us there was another funeral here, so the Goat and I waited, to pay our respects. Was Mr DeFrenz a friend of yours?”
“Not really,” said Rhea. “But we thought someone ought to be here.”
“Damn right,” said the Sea Goat. “Every man’s death diminishes us. Only a Friendly Critter diminishes us rather less. How the hell can you forget a stupid name like Poogie?” He shook his head, and took a long swallow from his bottle. Rhea glared at him.
“How can you drink like that at this time of the day?”
“Practice, man, practice,” said the Sea Goat. He laughed hollowly, and belched. Bruin Bear gave him a hard look.
“You must excuse my friend,” said the Bear. “He’s a drunk and a slob, but he means well.”
“You’ll be telling them I’ve a heart of bloody gold next.”
“We knew Lucas DeFrenz before he died,” said Bruin Bear, in the tone of someone determined to change the subject. “Before he died the first time, I mean. He was a good man. Always ready to stop and talk. I think he liked the Sea Goat too. He was a man of great heart. After he came back from the dead we went to see him, but he didn’t remember us. Michael didn’t seem a very happy man, whoever he was. Do you really think he was an angel?”
Rhea was about to answer, when suddenly everything changed. The music came first. A choir of voices, massed beyond number, but still every note clear and distinct, like the plucking of a giant harp. The sound grew louder, impossibly loud, resonating in their bodies. They all put their hands to their ears, but the sound would not be muffled. It vibrated through their flesh and echoed in their bones. A light appeared in the sky, outshining the sun. It was too bright to be any specific shade or colour; a fiercely burning illumination like a star come down to earth, searing the eye even though they’d all squeezed their eyes shut. The light and the music filled the world. They had to open
their eyes and look. And then the angels came down, and they were brighter and more beautiful than anything human or beast could bear to see for long.
They drifted down like blazing snowflakes, glorious and brilliant, every one unique and wonderful. Rhea wanted to look away, and couldn’t. Tears streamed down her cheeks because they were so beautiful, too beautiful to be real. They were more than real, as though she and everything else were nothing but a rough, unfinished sketch. Erikson was watching and crying too, and Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat. They were in the presence of power and grace beyond the natural world, and they knew it.
The angels hovered above the open grave, and sang of love and loss and things left unfinished. They soared and glided on the air, never still, never settling, great wings beating slowly, and then they rose up suddenly and disappeared back into the sky. The blazing light and the thunderous sound snapped off, and the real world returned, though the echo of that glory still trembled within those who’d experienced it. Rhea fumbled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her brimming eyes and wet cheeks. The world seemed a flatter and duller place without the angels, but still she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry they were gone. They were too beautiful, too perfect. They scared her. There was nothing in them of pity or forgiveness for human failings and weaknesses. No place for compassion, or mercy. They were angels, the Word of God given shape and form, and they did not belong in the human world. Rhea looked at the grave before her, and smiled slowly as she took in the clear colourless flame burning on top of Lucas’s headstone. It burned unsupported, unmoved by the gusting wind, and Rhea knew without having to be told that it would burn that way for ever, in tribute to a man who for a time had carried an angel within him.
“Well,” said Erikson finally, his voice just a little shaky, “I think that answers the question as to whether he really was possessed by an angel.”
“Yeah,” said the Sea Goat. “Wow. Let’s see them do that with their special effects.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth, and then lowered it again without drinking. For a time at least, he had no need for vodka. Something far more potent burned within him. He grinned at Bruin Bear, and then the bottle shattered in his hand.