Phasmatta -ch 9-

Ryan groaned, ran his fingers back and forth through his hair, then threw his head back. Leaning back in his chair he stared at the ceiling.

“Mullins, whatever happened to you, no one wants to talk about,” Ryan complained. “That or its so bland, so boring, that it didn’t make the news in any way.”

“I like being a detective, this is interesting,” Carl added from where he was sat against the ceiling.  “What do we do next?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan blurted out immediately. “If I’m trying to figure out what’s happened in a home I go through sales records. Usually with a property search through a county, city, or state. Depends on the state.

“That usually gives me a trail of names to dig up. Family members to poke through. Once I’ve got those names I’d go to vital records to figure out whose dead in those purchase records.

“It’s mostly public facing documents that you can get so there’s nothing that shocking. Just death certificate type of stuff or listing a birth. That kind of thing.

“Once you’ve got that you can do a document search online for anything that went through the courts but… I’ve only had that yield usable results maybe twice.

“Beyond that it’d be trying to get someone willing to talk about whatever we find. Like a witness, documenting officer, or some type of clerk. Sometimes a nurse or a doctor if it’s a violent thing or a corpse.”

“Oh, like the coroner! They were always rather helpful,” Carl put in with a laugh. “You did talk to Bobby a lot. I guess I never realized it was because you were trying to keep him as a resource.”

“Coroner does a lot of shit. Especially if they’re older and have been in a while. Bobby was old enough to be my dad,” Ryan said with a shake of his head. “He was also willing to be bribed with alcohol. That was really helpful.”

“You’re a bit of a detective yourself it seems,” Mullins remarked with a chuckle. He was standing not far away, hands on his hips, watching Ryan. “Just for the dead, rather than the living. I’d agree with everything you suggested. Definitely the right path.”

Letting another a loud dramatic groan Ryan lifted his head and looked to the clock on the computer.

“It’s three o’clock. Should be fine going to the vital records office if we can find the sales records quick. Those kind of places usually close around five,” Ryan drawled. “Well… what’s your address, Mullins?”

Leaning forward toward the laptop, Ryan typed in a real estate search engine he liked into the bar and looked to Mullins.

***

An entire hour later, a fifteen minute drive, and Ryan, Mullins, and Carl were sitting in a chair waiting for their turn at the vital records office of Noxfield.

Mullins home had gone to his daughter who had immediately turned around and sold it. They had owned it for exactly one day, which meant it had been for sale without a sign the entire time it’d been moving through legal hoops.

About the only thing they’d found after digging around was that he’d died roughly ten years hence.

That was it.

There’d been some interesting websites to poke around into, things that hinted at having more information, but not actually having any.

As if there had been more information at one point, but it was now removed from the internet.

Which was a damn impressive feat when you thought about it.

“City looks different,” growled Mullins, staring out the window through the metal blinds. “Grittier. Darker.”

Ryan glassed at the window then back to his phone.

“Meaner,” the detective finished with a sigh. “It just feels… worse.”

Shaking his head, Mullins reached up and performed the sign of the cross upon himself. Tapping his forehead, chest, left shoulder, than right shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were religious, detective,” Carl pointed out from where he was slowly spinning in the middle of the air.

“I… yeah. Yeah I am. Didn’t think of it much since I’m not-not in heaven,” affirmed the detective. “Did it without even thinking about it after seeing the city. It’s not doing well. It’s doing worse. Used to do it every time I left the precinct.

“Felt kinda weird just now when I did it. Like trying to talk to someone through a wall. Is it because I’m dead?”

I mean, that makes sense.

A ghost warding off evil while a spirit that would likely be classified as ‘incorrect’ is kinda weird.

“Mr. Hale? I’ve got the records you’ve requested,” called the clerk from their computer. “It’s a certificate of death for Vern Mullins. He died of a heart failure. Coroner pronounced it. No autopsy performed by request of the daughter. Ex-wife made no comment.”

“Course she wouldn’t. She ran off with that damn bastard from the dealership,” Mullins spat out with some venom. “Tilly… no idea why Tilly sold it so quickly though.

“But a heart issue? No. Never. I was as fit as could be. I don’t exactly know how or what killed me, but it wasn’t no damn heart failure.”

Tilly Mullins, the detectives only child, had moved out of West Virginia a week after the man had died.

“Thanks,” Ryan muttered after walking up to the counter and took the packet the clerk was offering him.

Taking hold of it, Ryan didn’t bother to go over it.

If the official listed cause of death was heart failure, Ryan was betting it was a catch-all. Especially since no autopsy was performed.

They weren’t sure what killed him, and by the time they got to his body, it was already impossible to distinguish the issue.

Tucking the packet under his armpit, Ryan left the office. There wasn’t anything more to get here. The next order of business was to contact Tilly and see if she could provide anything more about her dad.

She’d apparently been a teen when Mullins had died which would put her round-abouts Ryan’s age. If he was lucky he’d be able to talk to her easily since their age was similar.

Ryan’s thoughts came to an abrupt and sudden end.

Standing beside his car were two people. One was an older man, perhaps in his late forties, and the other was a woman who looked to be around twenty.

There was a heaviness to the man that Ryan immediately identified as violence and death. His black hair was shot through with strands of gray. He also had two gray wings that came out from his temples.

His brown eyes were flat and looked to be damn near empty of anything that one could identify as life.

Damn, hope I age with that kind of gray.

Distinguished.

The younger woman had a similar weightiness to her but it wasn’t as much. It was considerably less so.

Dark black hair, lightly-brown skin, and dark brown eyes gave her a look that Ryan nearly did a double take on. All the hallmarks of a latin american heritage.

They were dressed somewhat conservatively but didn’t stand out overly much.

Unable to help himself, Ryan found himself smiling at the young woman who had tilted her head to the side when their eyes met.

Nodding his head at her, he then nodded at the man, and moved past them to his driver’s side door.

“They feel funny,” Carl stated as he moved past the older man’s head, only to plop himself down on the roof of the car. “Strange.”

“It does actually seem like they’re different,” concurred Mullins as he simply slid through the passenger side door and sat down in the front seat.

“You’re haunted,” declared the old man as Ryan opened the car door.

That was not something Ryan had been expecting to be said to him.

“Aren’t we all?” Ryan answered with a smile. “Our past haunts all of us.”

“No. Haunted,” stated the man once more. “As in there are spirits around you. They are… benign.”

Ryan let out a light cough, then put his arms across the top of the car’s roof and looked to the man.

“This about my job?” Ryan inquired. Wondering if these were church-goers. The religious types tended to be a bit skittish when it came to spirits. His new job here in Noxfield with Misha would almost certainly be the gossip amongst parishioners. “I swear it’s not anything like what you expect. I’d be happy to walk you through an investigation if you wanted.”

“We’re not speaking about your career choice,” added the woman. “We’re talking about the three spirits that linger around you.”

“Three, huh?” drawled Ryan, stalling for time.

“Two,” countered the man. “Two spirits. One that is quite old, the other is young.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what were you looking for in there? They don’t really give out much when someone comes asking,” verbally prodded the woman. “Especially someone they don’t know. Your temp plates tell me you’re new here.”

Alright.

They’re not just randomly talking to me.

This is about me or what I’m looking into.

The question is, which is it, and why are they aware of Carl and Mullins?

Church goers don’t usually feel it, unless they’re absolute believers with a sensitivity.

Heads of churches can feel something off, but not unless they’re close to their relationship with their chosen divine.

Though, that does kinda leave the ‘seek and destroy’ types.

Which kinda narrows it down to Deliverence Minster, Roman Catholic Inquisition or Excorsits, or Eastern Orthodox Hieromonk. Or a Spiritual Father, I guess.

“Eastern, Roman, or Christian,” Ryan asked instead.

“Roman,” stated the woman with a bright smile and stood up taller. Then she asked him a question in what sounded to be perfect latin.

“I don’t speak it. Sorry. Just very aware of it,” admitted Ryan. “So… sister and a father then. I can assure you that we’re not performing excorcisms, nor are we opening gateways or inviting things in. We don’t dally with ouijia boards, tarot cards, dolls, or the crystals. It’s pure digital and attempts to pacify or release.

“If we run into an infestion or possession, I’ll be glad to ring you up. Got a card? Promise not to step on your toes. I’ve worked with the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith before. I’m a registered layperson in your database.”

“We’re aware, Mr. Hale,” said the man. “I’m Father Navarro. I’m part of the DDF, as is sister Santos.”

A nun?

That’s a damn pity and a loss for men everywhere.

Also, shit, they know my name, they’re here for me, and they’re part of the DDF.

The damn DDF is just… it’s… it’s the fucking Inquisition with a name change and a new suit. Always kinda got the impression what was on the surface was a vaneer.

The beautiful woman only smiled at Ryan at her identification.

“Sister, Sister Santos, or just… Isadora is fine,” offered the woman. “We were concerned at your sudden departure and that you came here to Noxfield. It’s quite a ways away from where you were not so long ago.

“Not to mention, it’s considerably smaller. It doesn’t really fit the profile that we’d developed for you.”

Profile?

Profile.

Okay, I hit some tick boxes with the DDF.

Damnit all.

“Alright,” Ryan murmured after the silence began to stretch out awkwardly. “What does the DDF want with me? You’re clearly here. Waiting for me. What is it then? I’ve been a good point. I’ve done nothing to irritate the curia or the vatican as a whole. I’m a choir boy, I swear.”

“We’re only here to make sure you’re okay,” the father said with a lopsided smile. “Your last case had a death and the demon involved… it’s… still there.

“The DDF was asked to step in and provide some holy-water, dead-sea salt, and a consultation. The local diocese has stepped in to monitor the situation.”

“Your solution was inconventional,” Isador added. “But very well done and thought out! The sheer amount of salt was keeping it quite well and truly immobile.”

“Eh? Oh. Ah, I get it. Possession,” Ryan said, feeling like he’d short-circuited to the answer. “Happy to let you put a crucifix on me or drink some holy water or… whatever you like. I’m good.

“Nor did I take any objects out of that home other than my tools, but I had all those blessed by father Morris. Baptist but the blessing took. He’s a true believer.”

Sister Santos eyebrows shot upward at that. As if she hadn’t even considered the idea that a blessing from an opposing priest would work.

“You don’t mind?” father Navarro asked, his eyes boring holes into Ryan’s skull.

“No,” confirmed Ryan. “I don’t mind. Though I’m working a case right now. Got a detective that believes he was murdered. He’s a Roman Catholic.”

Ryan had the sudden thought that he should probably see he could leverage the sister or the father. They might be willing to assist him if they thought there was a religious need to.

“Murdered,” repeated the father his eyes narrowing as he stared at Ryan.

“Is? Not was?”asked the sister.

“Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I stopped believin’ ya concussed woodpecker,” growled out Mullins from the front seat. “Let’s just go Ryan. They seem like they’re just here to make themselves feel better.”

“Is,” Ryan confirmed while listening to Mullins rant. “Now, unless you want to help me, I need to get working on this. His killer won’t catch himself after all.”

Waiting a beat to see if the pair of Roman Catholics had anything to add Ryan than nodded his head at them.

Ryan made sure no car was coming, pulled open his driver’s side door, slid in, and yanked it shut.

Pulling out the paperwork Ryan set it down in his lap and flipped it open. Just because he believed there wouldn’t be anything of use, didn’t mean he wasn’t going to go through it.

The death certificate was there and mimicked what he’d been told, but Ryan immediately noted the lack of a burial location. Which was strange to say the least given that no autopsy was performed.

Those situations usually get lumped into religious beliefs and the body is just left alone.

“There’s no notes about cremation,” Ryan muttered as he slowly went paper by paper in the folder. “Nor about a burial. There’s just nothing here at all. It’s… it’s as if there wasn’t a body.

“But the notes and the response from the coroner and your daughter make it seem like there was a body. That doesn’t make much sense.”

Moving to the end of the documents, Ryan hadn’t found what he’d been looking for. Any indication of what they’d done with the detectives body.

Flicking to the front, Ryan started moving through it again, this time he looked to each paper to identify what it was, rather than the content. Thinking that maybe it’d been left blank but that the burial certificate had been included.

It wasn’t.

“Well that’s just strange,” mumbled Ryan. “Sounds like I need to see if the coroner is the same one who wrote this out. If not, we’ll run him down. Also need to check in with the local roman catholic burial sites and see if there happens to be a missing paper and you’re properly put in the ground somewhere. Not to mention calling your daughter and seeing what she can add to the situation.”

Ryan closed the small packet of files and then looked to the detective.

“Did you have a partner or someone you were close to? A cop that you shared your notes with that you feel would be willing to talk to me about you?” Ryan asked, looking at the detective.

“Naw,” Mullins rumbled with a shake of his head. His accent creeping to the surface once more in that one word. He cleared his throat. “Kept to myself. At the time the precinct was full of transfers from Charleston. I was kinda the odd one out being from Noxfield.”

“Well, we have a plan, a course of action, and a line to run,” Ryan said with a grin. “I’m thankful for that. Sometimes I get stuck in a rut and there isn’t much I can do at all other than go interrogate a ghost. Most of them aren’t… like you, detective. Most of them are stuck in their grief, death, or a wish left unmet.”

Ryan’s gaze moved from the detective to just outside of the passenger side window.

The sister and the father was watching Ryan from the sidewalk.

Ugh. They’re watching me talk to myself.

I need to-oh!

Opening the car door after making sure it was clear, Ryan went around to the trunk of his car and popped it open.

“Sister, Father, would you mind coming over here?” he asked, noting that the two were still watching him.

Grabbing the cardboard box filled with religious tools, Ryan opened the tupperware that contained his stash of crucifixes. Reaching in he grabbed the bundle of necklaces and pulled out one on a silver chain.

“Is this a suitable crucifix?” he asked. Some parts of the Roman Catholic machine were very picky with their crosses.

“It seems suitable,” the father answered, looking at it, then Ryan.

Ryan nodded his head, then slipped it over his head. He then tucked it under his clothes. He also picked up one of the large crosses and held it up in his hand. Then just to make sure they understood he was strange, not possessed, he grabbed one of the catholic bibles he kept stored in the cardboard box.

“Oh, did you want to check it?” he asked after pressed the bible to his own chest. He held it open to the first page to the pair. It was a bible presented to an individiual on their rite of initiation, the date, individual, and church written out on the inside flap.

Along with a dedication from a father.

Ryan had picked it up at a garage sale and found it was quite potent.

Whoever had owned it had believed deeply and prayed with it many times.

The sister peered down at the inscription, then looked at Ryan, and a smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

“You are most certainly not under the thrall of the enemy,” she murmured. “I can see why your profile reads the way it does. It is a shame you’re not one of the faithful.”

“Ah, but that’s the trick, sister,” Ryan confessed with a long sigh. He’d long considered that question from others.

“I’m a believer. A true one,” Ryan had continued as he put the bible away as well as the large crucifix, he also removed the one that he’d pressed to his skin directly under his clothes. It was all put away carefully as he spoke. “I’ve seen the after. I’ve seen people die. I’ve dealt with those who remained and I’ve seen the ugliness that can happen.

“The problem I have though, is I’ve seen different… flavors of it. I’ve seen an Evangelical’s demonic entity and watched it get wrecked by a man with a bible and a shotgun.

“I’ve had an Eastern Orthodox chant and pray while believing they’re binding the adversary only to have it driven off with almost nothing happening at all that I could say. All while they tell me the breath has done the work.

“As you know I’ve also had the pleasure of working with the DDF. Multiple times. With full on exorcisms or just blessing the grounds.

“Through all of that though, it’s been a rather ugly realization that’s kept me awake at the end of the night.”

Ryan slammed the trunk shut and looked to the two Roman Catholic agents in front of him.

“That it all works, it all doesn’t work, and it all isn’t explained,” Ryan finished with a smile. “I know enough to know I know nothing at all. Trying to box it all in to something to fix my own personal belief isn’t something I can do anymore.”

As he stared at the two, Ryan did something he didn’t normally.

He let himself truly see them.

See who they were beyond their fleshy-prison.

Because believers such as they would have a presence in the after.

Ryan could see the after clearly and their presence.

Even amongst those who lived.

The two before him burned bright in their belief, but he could see their feet were stained with the blood of others. The ichor of battling their faiths enemies and what they saw as the wrong in the world.

Most recently, he could see the two had been in some nowhere in eastern europe, attempting to wrestle a child out of a demon’s clutches.

The wounds from that encounter were still fresh upon them to the point that Ryan could even discern some of the event.

Saved, yet lost.

“You saved the child,” Ryan congratulated them. The father’s eyes widened and the sister stood up straight. “His soul passed on from the world cleanly. To where though… to where is why I’m a believer, but not in a singular thing.”

Smiling grimly, Ryan nodded his head at them.

“Sister, Father,” he said, then got back in his car. He had work to do.