Graveyard Shift

By Karl Eschenbach

It was midnight, and Jake was just punching in. He lined up his time card in the clock and pushed it until it gave a loud click, stamping the time on the card. Phil, the old hippie, had just punched in, and Arturo, the old Chicano, waited behind him to punch in next. Jake was not old, being just 21, so he looked incongruous though all three wore the brown uniforms of the university security guards.

They were in the security office, and it was the beginning of the week for them. None of them were very happy, but Jake was less so. He was worried about a chemistry test that was coming up in a couple of days, and chemistry was not one of his best classes--not by a long shot.

"Everybody ready for the graveyard shift?" The sergeant came in, slamming the door behind him. Nobody liked the sergeant. He was arrogant, wearing his uniform and badge as a sign of superiority. He always hooked his thumbs in his belt, his right hand near his .357 Magnum. Jake always got the feeling that Sarge wanted to be in a gunfight, that he sometimes looked for an excuse to draw his weapon. But here at Southwestern University, just a small, unimportant state college, there was little trouble beyond some drunkenness and an occasional theft.

"Everybody know their assignments?"

Man, Sarge really thinks that he's hot shit, Jake thought. Assignments! They were always the same. Jake would get the northern section of the campus, Arturo the central, and Phil the southern. Each of them liked it that way since they became intimately familiar with all of the nooks and crannies, all of the doors and windows likely to be left open, all of the doors difficult to unlock.

"Sure, Sarge," Arturo said. He was strapping the walkie-talkie onto his belt. Phil was next to him putting the clock over his shoulder. Jake hated that clock. It was round and fitted into a leather case, with a strap that went over the shoulder, and it weighed about five pounds. It was meant to make sure that the guards did their jobs. They had set stations that had a metal box with a key, like a skeleton key, chained to it. At each station they had to insert the key in a hole at the bottom of the clock and punch it. This left an indentation in a piece of paper so that Sarge could tell where they were at any particular time. Jake didn't like not being trusted.

When the other two were finished equipping themselves, Jake strapped on his stuff and pulled the brown baseball cap onto his head. His brown hair spilled out from under the cap, sticking out sideways around his ears. He tried to push his hair back behind his ears to no avail.

Phil laughed softly then. "Don't worry about it, Jake. After all, no one really looks at us anyway."

"A lot you have to worry about, Phil," Jake returned, "you look like Jerry Garcia anyway."

"Far out! You really think so?"

It figures that Phil's a Grateful Dead fan, old hippy that he is, Jake thought.

"Come on, come on. What's the hold up?" the Sarge asked.

"Keep your badge on Sarge, the campus isn't going anywhere," Phil said as he gave Art a poke with his elbow. Art gave Phil a wink as he went out the door to begin his rounds. Phil and Jake followed, going to the police car. Sarge swaggered over the car and unlocked the passenger side door before going to the other side. Phil got in the front seat, unlocking the back door for Jake and Arturo who slid in shutting the door behind them. Sarge got in and took off with a start. He liked to drive fast.

Except for the country music coming over the radio that Sarge constantly had on, they sat in silence for the few minutes that it took to take Jake over to his section of the campus. Sarge stopped the car outside of the science building saying, "See you later."

Jake got out, replying, "Yeah, see you." The tires of the car threw some gravel as Sarge took off. Jake could see Phil nod a goodbye as the car left.

He turned and walked toward the building. When he got to the front door he pulled up the chain attached to his clock. A massive set of keys jangled on a large metal ring. He picked out the right key with no hesitation, put it into the lock on the door and turned. There was a trick to this lock, but he knew it from practice--as he turned he pushed the door in and lifted the key up slightly in the lock. The mechanism moved smoothly freeing the dead bolt and opening the door.

He stepped into the dark building pulling the door shut behind him, making sure that it was secure without thinking about it. He gave himself a chance to get accustomed to the darkness before he moved on. The only light that shone was from the green exit lights that cast an eerie glow down the hallway. He did not pull out the flashlight that was stuck in his left rear pocket. He preferred the darkness. He felt more in his element in the dim light. He moved silently, checking doors to offices and equipment rooms to make sure that they were locked.

He moved quickly and easily along the first floor, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He got to his first station that was in a janitor's closet and pulled the key from the metal box attached to the wall. He inserted the key into the keyhole in the bottom of the clock and clicked it back and forth, making sure that it left its mark. He closed the closet door behind him and moved up the stairs.

On the second floor he stopped and listened. All of the buildings had their own sounds that were peculiar to that particular building. In this job Jake got used to that fact. Now he thought that he heard something faint and in the distance, but not in this building's normal vocabulary. Not being able to notice anything more out of the ordinary, he moved on, but his focus had been brought up. He no longer moved and performed his job subconsciously--he paid attention. He silently moved down a hallway with office doors on each side, checking each door carefully. All were locked. He reached the end where his next station was on the wall behind a secretary's desk. Again he punched the clock, marking his progress on the paper inside.

His route took an abrupt right turn as he entered the archeology wing. Again he moved carefully down a hallway of offices; again everything appeared to be all right. Again he punched his clock at the next station.

He descended a narrow stairway that was not often used and reached a closed door. Normally, he looked forward to this portion of his job and usually turned on the lights, for here was the archeology museum. It was not the type of museum we usually think about with objects of interest on display. Nothing was on display here; it was merely collected. There were drawers and drawers of stone implements, pot shards, and human and animal bones. This was all that remained of the ancient Anasazis. But they were secreted away so that only the initiated could find them. Jake felt himself fortunate since he often rummaged through the collections, taking nothing, but admiring all. Though archeology was not his major (engineering was), he had an interest in the subject.

But tonight something seemed wrong. Though nothing was obviously out of place so far--there were no opened doors that should have been locked, there were no loud noises, yet--Jake felt that there was something going on. He hesitated before opening the door in front of him. His hand was on the doorknob, but he didn't open the door until he got up the nerve.

Silently he turned the knob; slowly he pushed on the door. In the darkness, he thought he saw a fleeting movement ahead, but he heard nothing. He stood there for a few minutes considering whether to call Sarge for backup but decided against it for now. He didn't want to seem too jumpy. Art was often kidded for that, for calling in false alarms, not Jake.

He stepped forward slowly, but stopped when he heard the crunch under his shoe. He pulled out his flashlight now and pushed it on with his thumb. Scattered about on the floor were the remains collected from Anasazi ruins, broken now beyond the condition that they were found in. He stepped gingerly forward, trying not to step on anything more. He paused at an alcove, where, by the glare of the flashligh,t he saw the drawers pulled open, some pulled all of the way out, their contents strewn all over.

Who would do this, he wondered. Who would vandalize the remains of another culture so. Then the beam from his flashlight fell on a shoe, no, a foot, that stuck out from under one of the drawers pulled to the floor. He moved the beam and could see more, a body that lay motionless face down on the floor.

His free hand quickly pulled the walkie-talkie from its leather case. "810 to 802," he said quietly into it. There was no response. "810 to 802," he said louder.

"Go ahead." It was Sarge's disembodied voice coming from the walkie-talkie.

"We've got a problem in the Science Building, anthropology wing. There's a man down."

"In route," came the reply.

Jake swung his flashlight around looking for someone else. He felt strongly that there was another person, but he saw nothing. Better get the lights, he thought. He backed up to the door that he came in through. His hand went automatically up to the light switch on the wall. The lights flashed on, and then he heard a crash on the other side of the room behind the cabinets of artifacts. He moved quickly then, his flashlight held tightly in his left hand. His right hand pulled the canister of mace out of its holster --Jake didn't carry a gun. His heart was racing now as he moved forward, peering intently around each cabinet as he came up to it. He saw nothing except the Indian remains strewn about on the floor. He got to the other side of the large room without seeing anything. The door there was closed. He checked it, and it was still locked.

"Shit," he said and moved back to the body on the floor. He recognized the man as a student that he had often seen in the building, a graduate assistant, he thought, but he didn't know his name. Putting down the flashlight, he reached his hand out to his neck to feel a pulse. The body was still warm, but there was no beat indicating that the body was alive. He looked around quickly and saw the pool of blood under the body's lower back. His left foot was in the middle of the pool.

"Shit," he said again.

"802 to 810, 802 to 810,” he heard from the walkie-talkie, "What's your twenty? I'm out front now!"

Jake put down the mace and pulled out the walkie-talkie. "I'm in the museum, first floor, archeology wing." Then he heard the noise behind him, the crunching of broken artifacts scraping against the floor. He grabbed for his mace and dodged to his left just as the stone axe blade flew past his head, barely grazing it. He twisted, his right hand outstretched, his finger pushing down on the mace, ejecting the spray in an arc, from right to left. Jake landed on his right side, and he quit spraying, but no one was there. He got up to a crouching position and pivoted on his right foot, his right hand with the mace extended, but he could not see anyone.

He stood up slowly, still pivoting, and he began a careful search. Still no one. Then the door that he had entered through opened without warning. He turned, mace extended.

"Jesus Christ," said Sarge as he barged into the room. "What a mess." Then he stopped when he saw Jake ready to mace him. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Jesus!"

"Shit, Sarge! You should have let me know that you were coming in. I almost gave you a face full."

Sarge asked, "Where's this man that's down?"

"This way, Sarge," and Jake directed him to the alcove that contained the body.

"Jesus Christ," Sarge said again. "Is he dead?"

"I think so. We better call for an ambulance and the city police."

“Yeah, you're right,” Sarge said, looking around. "At least we've got a lot of clues. Look at the bloody footprints all over the place."

Jake looked down at his feet and said, "Shit, Sarge. Those are mine."

"Jesus Christ!"

* * *

His spirit awoke and he knew that it was near the vernal equinox, just two nights away, but he did not know where he was. He was enclosed, as if in a great kiva, but it was vastly different. Instead of a great circular room with rough-hewn logs supporting the ceiling, he was in a room much smaller in proportion though he could sense that the building was much larger than any kiva that he had ever seen. That was one of the benefits of the spiritual presence over the corporeal--his senses went well beyond the physical. He could sense and understand more than his mortal body ever could. Yet even with this greater understanding he felt disoriented. Where and when was this place? He could feel the presence of other spirits, spirits that reposed in unconscious nothingness. But there was something not quite right about this place and time. It had the feeling of a disturbed grave sight where the remains of his ancestors and progeny had been or will be desecrated and scattered in a most irreligious rite.

Then suddenly his senses scattered throughout the confines of the room as a physical light came on. The sun had not risen and there was no fiery torch, yet light flooded all. A man had entered the room and brought about the light. Yet it was a man like none ever seen by him before. His skin was pale, his hair was the color of the puma, and it was not only on the top of his head but covered his cheeks and chin. He could sense that this was no god, just a mortal man, but a different kind of man. He could also sense that he was one of many desecrators and a dangerous man. He must do something quickly. He felt the presence of an obsidian knife blade. Though without the bone handle, it could still do the job.

* * *

Jake stood by watching as the city police shook their heads. He knew what they were thinking, that he had made a mess of the crime scene with his bloody foot prints everywhere. He felt ashamed even though he knew that he had been caught in the confusion of the moment, that he had done what anyone else, including the city cops, would have done in the same situation. Jake looked at all of the clutter, the artifacts that had been strewn about as if by an enraged mad man. Who could have done this?

The EMT's that had come with the ambulance said that the wound did not seem to be like a normal knife wound--it appeared to be too jagged. Jake heard one of the city cops complain that these guys were just EMT's. The cop’s voice was flavored by the same arrogance he had used to question Jake. The cops could not locate the medical examiner, so they all had to hang around with the body. Some of the cops kept busy by searching and researching the scene.

"Hey! Mira! Is this it?" Arturo held up a knife blade made from stone, with blood on its irregular facets.

"Jesus Christ, Art!" It was Sarge yelling at him. "Put the fucking thing down where you found it!"

Arturo looked around him. Embarrassed and seeing the city cops shaking their heads, he put the blade down carefully. He looked at it for a second then reached down again to adjust its position. "That's the way I found it," he said.

The cops, along with Sarge, came over to look at it. "Could be it," one of the cops said. He had a camera that he was using to photograph the crime scene, and he took several pictures now from several different angles. Jake thought that he must fancy himself to be a photographer. When he was done, another cop picked up the blade using a handkerchief, and put it in a plastic baggie. Phil looked at Arturo then and shrugged. Art rolled his eyes.

Jake felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. He had to sit down. One of the city cops came over to the chair and started questioning him.

"Who was the victim?"

"I don't know. A student--a graduate assistant I think. Hey Sarge, we'll have to call someone from the archeology department."

Sarge came over rubbing the back of his neck. He looks a little less arrogant, Jake thought.

"Yeah. I'll have the dispatcher call.” He pulled out the walkie-talkie to give instructions to the dispatcher.

The city cop continued, "Is he usually here this time of night?"

"Well, no, but it's almost time for mid-terms. We can get all sorts of people up all night cramming for the exams."

"How could he get access to the building?"

"Probably one of his professors gave him a key. They do it all of the time."

"Makes security difficult, doesn't it?"

"Shit! Tell me about it. Ninety percent of my job is just closing doors behind these guys."

The cop looked at the body and then back at Jake. He narrowed his eyes and asked, "How well did you know the victim?"

"Shit, man, I already told you. I've seen him around. I don't even know his name." Jake paused, "If you're thinking about making me your prime suspect, forget it. I don't have a motive."

"Don't be a smart ass or I will make you my prime suspect and take you in. How would you like to spend the night in jail?"

Jake was starting to get pissed off, but the medical examiner broke it up with his entrance. The cop moved over to talk to the examiner.

Phil came over and slapped Jake on the back and said, "Don't worry about it. You know how cops are." Jake looked up and saw Sarge standing with his arms crossed over his chest looking at him. Sarge shook his head and walked over to where the city cop was talking to the medical examiner.

Arturo walked up to Jake and Phil then. "I don't like this," he said.

Jake thought that that was the understatement of the decade and said so. "We're supposed to like murder?"

Phil shook his head. "Aw man, come on. I agree with Art. This is different; this is no ordinary murder. I don't like the vibes around here either. Something is spooky."

"Oh, si. I can feel it too. This is the work of a brujo," Arturo said.

Vibes. Brujos. Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Come on you two. Somebody stabbed this guy, that's all. Shit, I can't believe what I'm hearing."

"No, Jake. There is something about this that isn't right. I can feel it," Phil replied, rubbing the back of his neck with his chubby hand.

"Shit, Phil,” Jake said, “I think that you took one too many acid trips in the old days--burned out too many brain cells. Show me something concrete. Show me anything."

"But, Jake," Arturo said moving closer and lowering his voice. "That is the nature of this kind of thing. There is nothing concrete. Nada. Is there any evidence at all? There is the body and the knife, but nothing else. Are there any footprints other than your own? Have the chotas found anything? No."

"Lack of evidence doesn't prove anything," Jake said. "It doesn't prove that this is the work of witches or devils."

It was then that the chairman of the archeology department showed up. He was Dr. Hathaway, a thin man, with a fat gray mustache, and what little hair that was on his head was disheveled. His shirt was wrinkled and not buttoned properly so that one tail in the front hung lower than the other. "Oh, my God!" was all that he could say. It was several minutes before the police could coax the name of the victim out of him. "Chet Fallow was his name," the chairman finally said. "Oh, my God!"

Sarge finally came over to the guards and said, "The city cops said you should go on and complete your rounds. Keep an eye out. Who knows where the murderer is. Be careful, and Jake, Jesus Christ, don't step in any more puddles of blood. You made a mess in here, and we can't tell much of anything."

Jake continued his rounds without incident. At the end of his shift he punched his time card and went to his apartment, but his mind kept returning to the scene with its blood. He couldn't shake the image of the man lying there dead. He made something to eat but ate very little of it. He put the rest in the refrigerator. He watched some TV that morning while studying for his chemistry exam, then went to bed. He was used to his days being turned inside out so that was no problem, but he had to have a blanket hanging over the window to block out the light. Once he awoke with a start, sweat beaded up on his forehead. He dreamt that he actually saw the knife do its bloody job though he couldn't see the perpetrator. He went back to sleep again and didn't wake up again until his alarm went off in the evening.

* * *

He was the youth who with his love, the eagle maid, flew off to the turquoise mountain. But once there he was not satisfied and was drawn to the village of death. Beguiled and enamored by the dead, he had lost his love for whom he now searched. Through time and space he searched, but he had long ago lost his way, and the trails had no familiar feel or smell.

These were obviously strange times, he thought. Times of great magic and power, where apparently normal people, not shamans, had the power to command light and sound at their wills. But he knew that these people were not shamans because they knew nothing of his presence. Any shaman of note would feel his presence immediately and would not have to search for an answer to the puzzle of a death. Besides what shaman would ever desecrate the remains of a powerful people the way that these people had? He would have to explore, to see what manner of people they were.

* * *

Jake was punching his time card again. He was beginning to feel like that was all that he ever did. Work and go to classes. He had thought that people were supposed to have fun while you were young, then work like hell later so that you could retire when you were too old to do anything. What a life!

"Okay, everybody," it was Sarge, "listen up. We're going to be more alert tonight because of the murder. Keep your eyes out for anything unusual, and let me know as soon as you see something."

"What about the city cops?" Phil asked.

"They're going to stay away unless we call for them. They don't want to scare away our perp. That's fine with me. I want to catch this guy myself, without their help. I'm sick of those guys acting like I'm stupid. After all I'm not like you guys. I'm a real cop."

Arturo looked at Phil then and gave him a wink. "Pendejo," he said and both Phil and Jake laughed.

"What was that, Art? Speak in English!"

"Oh, nothing Sarge," Arturo replied. "I just said it was going to be a dark night."

Sarge gave Arturo a stare, and then said "Okay then, let's go."

Jake was dropped off at the Science Building again, but before he took off, Sarge cautioned him, "Keep an eye out and let me know immediately if you see something."

Jake didn't even bother to reply. He walked toward the building, feeling anxious. He had the feeling that something was going to happen. He thought about the dead graduate student and shivered. He didn't want to end up like that. Again he expertly slipped the key into the door and opened it. He stepped inside quickly as if he was afraid someone would see him enter the building. The darkness enveloped him, and he pulled out his flashlight. The beam stabbed out harshly, but he felt ashamed immediately, so he turned it off again. It took a few seconds for his eyes to readjust to the darkness. Then he moved on, going about his rounds, though more carefully than normal.

Reluctantly, he entered the archeology wing. He closed the door behind him silently. He stepped carefully trying to make as little noise as possible. He noticed that the crime scene had been cleaned up. The artifacts were picked up and presumably returned to their appropriate drawers. There was no more blood on the floor. Suddenly, Jake stopped. He hadn't heard anything, nothing moved, he saw nothing, but he knew something was wrong. He felt as if someone was watching him. He turned his head without moving the rest of his body, afraid to make a sound. Nothing seemed out of place.

* * *

He saw him come in. This one did not seem like the rest. He was more perceptive, he had a knack for magic, yet he was no shaman either. He watched the man stop suddenly and look nervously about him. He knows that I am here, he thought. He feels my presence but cannot see me. How curious. It seemed to be a trait of these light skinned ones to not see what was most obvious to even the uninitiated. How ignorant they are! But wait, he is looking at me now, can he see me? No, he sees right through me, as if my spirit were not real and tangible.

* * *

Jake knew it. There was someone there with him, watching him. His hand began to move to his walkie-talkie, but it stopped, frozen. What would he tell Sarge? That he felt a presence that he couldn't see? No, he couldn't call. Should he turn on the lights? Why? He was used to seeing in the ghostly green light of the exit signs. He remained where he stood for a few minutes while he looked around. He still couldn't see anything. But wait, there in the corner, there was a glimmer of light--a glint of orange while everything else was tinged in green. He stared, but the light seemed to fade. He looked slightly away and the light was clearer. It must be something like looking directly at a dim star at night, Jake thought. It is lost in a blind spot.

Suddenly, the door behind him opened up. Jake jumped and whirled about. His right hand went automatically for his mace canister.

"Aw man! Hold on there, Jake!" It was Phil standing in the door, his bulk almost hiding Arturo's skinny frame behind him. "It's just us. We snuck back after Sarge dropped us off. We didn't think that it was right that you got to go through here alone. Besides, the three of us are better than all the cops put together in the whole world, right, Arturo?"

Jake was trying to shut up the fat old hippie, but finally had to say, "Quiet!" in a loud whisper. Phil shut up then immediately. Jake waved them in. They shut the door and stepped in carefully, as quiet and careful now as they were noisy just a second earlier.

"Look," Jake whispered, pointing to where the orangish glow seemed to be emanating. "Do you see it, or am I hallucinating?"

Phil and Arturo looked to where Jake was pointing, but their faces remained blank.

"No, don't look directly at it."

"At what?"

"Look a little off to the side. Look at the cabinet there."

Jake saw their heads turn slightly, then Arturo inhaled noticeably. "Y jo," he said.

Phil then seemed to see it also. "I see it now," he asked. "If you weren't here to see it, I would think that it was an acid flashback. What is it?"

"I don't know, but it's watching us, I can feel it," Jake replied. He moved slowly, cautiously then. He started to circle the glow to the right, keeping his eyes on it at all times. The other two stayed where they were.

"Y jo," Arturo said. "It's moving. Look!"

He was right. It had begun a slow retreat as Jake circled. It didn't want to be caught between them, in the middle.

"It's intelligent," Phil offered. The large bearded man moved directly toward the light then. "We aren't here to harm you," he said extending his hand. One, two, three steps brought him very near to the eminence. The tip of his right fore finger brushed the area that the light inhabited. There was a spark and Phil jerked his hand back quickly. "Good God!" he said.

The light glowed suddenly brighter, turning a red. It whirled like a dust devil in the desert, quickly darted to the opposite corner of the room, darted back, then disappeared.

"Good God!" Phil said again, more quietly this time.

* * *

When the other two came in he became more nervous. These two, though certainly no shamans, knew something of magic. The small dark skinned one was a believer and a user of charms for healing. The other, the large one with the hairy face, was an uninitiated mystic, a man of power but no training.

They see me but know nothing of my essence, my soul, my abilities. The one is trying to circle me now; do they plan to trap me with their feeble powers? Now the large one approaches, speaking nonsense, gibberish. His hand nears me now. No!

* * *

They had finished a thorough search of the Science Building, especially the archeology section, but could find nothing. To their relief they found no dead bodies.

"Okay, so what was it?" Jake asked.

"No se," was the response from Arturo.

"Whatever it was it's the killer,” Phil said. "I know it."

"How do you figure?" Jake asked.

"Look, the victim was a graduate assistant in archeology. It happened in the archeology wing of the building. It was committed with a knife from the museum. We saw it here. Of course it is the perpetrator. Besides, I feel that it did it. The vibes are right."

"Vibes?" Jake asked incredulously.

"Yeah, vibes. You know, vibrations. I can feel things sometimes. I know things."

Jake shook his head.

Arturo spoke then. "Do you think that maybe this thing has something to do with the museum? The artifacts?"

"Could be," Phil replied. "Could be."

"I feel that it does," Arturo said.

Jake looked at him then.

"Mira," Arturo said, "If Phil can say what he feels so can I. Besides, you were talking this way a few minutes ago. I feel that these things here are somehow connected to the murder. You know, I have never felt comfortable here. It is bad enough that they keep the pots and knives of the dead here, but they keep the dead also. They have the bones and skulls of the dead; maybe they have their souls also."

Jake couldn't believe what he was hearing. Last night was one extreme with the cops searching for physical evidence; now he was listening to a rundown of the metaphysical evidence. It was too much. "If you guys really believe this stuff, then you should tell the cops, or at least Sarge," Jake said.

"Oh, sure. Tell the cops," Phil returned. "You saw how they treated you because you stepped in the blood. Imagine what they would say if we told them this. And Sarge, man, he wouldn't believe it if he saw it himself. He's too stuck on this cop stuff."

Arturo spoke up then, "So that leaves us. We have to do something about this espanto, this ghost. How are we supposed to do that?"

"What about an exorcism?" Phil asked. "Can the church help us out?"

"Oh, no," Arturo replied. "The priest isn't one of us. He's Irish, not Chicano. He doesn't believe in any of this."

Jake wasn't sure that he believed in it either, but the other two were convinced. They were already making plans.

* * *

Now there was danger here. He could sense it. Though these men had limited power, they believed and knew, and they had the advantage of numbers, even though he had the greater power. He would have to make a plan of action, or perhaps even move on. He didn't like running, but sometimes it was best. Especially since he had no concept of where or when he was. Though these people were limited as far as their spiritual power, there were physical powers that they had which he did not understand.

* * *

"What's going on here?" It was Sarge. He just walked in on the three security guards. "What're you guys doing here? Why aren't you on your routes?"

"Aw man, come on Sarge. We figured that Jake needed a little company, after the murder and all. You know, protect the non-believer here from ghosts,” Phil said as he gave Jake a wink. "What're you doing here, Sarge?"

"I'm just checking the crime scene to see if anything had been missed last night. You never know."

"Oh sure, and maybe the perp will return to the scene of the crime too. Come on, Arturo. I guess our routes must be teeming with crime in our absence. Let's go."

"What're you waiting for, Jake?" Sarge asked when the other two had gone. "You've got a route too."

"Okay, okay. See you later."

It didn't occur to any of the three to tell Sarge about any of what they saw. At any rate, the rest of the night was uneventful.

As they were punching their time cards that morning Arturo pulled Jake aside and assured him. "Tonight, Jake, tonight we do something."

"What are we going to do?" Jake asked.

"I don't know yet," Arturo replied. "I don't know. But my wife knows a bruja. Maybe she can help us out, no?"

"Oh, shit, I can't believe this," was all that Jake could say.

That night, as they were clocking in Arturo gave Jake a small leather bag that hung on a leather thong. "Here, put this around your neck."

"What is it?" Jake asked.

"It's to protect you," Arturo replied. "It contains osha, abo, and a crucifix. It is to protect you from susto. To protect you from embrujada."

Jake opened the bag to see some leaves, a clove of garlic, and a silver cross inset with pink coral.

Before Jake could protest, Arturo insisted, "No, I mean it. Wear it around your neck. See, I have one too," and he pulled out a similar bag from inside his brown uniform blouse. "And I gave one to Phil, too." At that Phil, who had just walked in patted a small lump underneath his shirt. "Listen Jake, I’m not going to let you out of here until you put it on. Jesusita insists." Arturo gave the "j" the Spanish pronunciation, as an English "h".

Just to keep Arturo happy, Jake tightened the thong around the bag and put it over his head, placing the bag inside of his shirt like the others.

"Who is this Jesusita?" Jake asked.

"The bruja, Jake. She is a very powerful person."

"I thought that witches were supposed to be evil. Why is she helping us?"

"Oh no. Not all brujas are bad. Aren't there good and bad witches for you, Anglos too?"

"You mean white and black witches. I suppose so, but I don't believe in witchcraft."

"Y jo, don't say things like that, especially in front of Jesusita. She really is very powerful. She mostly is our curandera, but she also protects our children from mal ojo and our women from envidia. If she wanted to she could perform her own embrujada. Just let us know when you're at the scene on your second round."

Sarge broke it up by walking in just then. "Come on you guys, aren't you ready yet. Jesus Christ, what's that smell?"

Phil spoke up without hesitating "Just some garlic, Sarge. Arturo brought some fresh from his garden. Want some?" Phil winked at Arturo.

"No, no! Garlic! Don't you guys ever think about your jobs. Jesus Christ, there's been a murder and you guys are thinking about vegetables! Come on, let's go."

And they went.

Jake was dropped off at the Science Building again. He made his rounds through the building without incident. As he quickly went through the archeology museum, he thought that he saw the orange glow, but when he turned to look, it wasn't there. He didn't stay long to investigate.

He made it back to the Science Building the second time about 3:30. He gave Phil a call on the walkie-talkie then,

"810 to 812."

"Go ahead," was the tinny reply from the walkie-talkie.

"It's time," was all that Jake said.

"10-4," came the reply.

It was barely five minutes later that Jake heard a key enter the lock to the door he had entered. Phil opened the door and poked his head in looking around. He saw Jake and smiled. "All clear?" he asked.

"Sure."

Phil's large form came in the door, then Arturo's small one, but then an even smaller figure entered. Jake didn't recognize who it was.

"What's going on, Phil?" Jake insisted. He already knew that he didn't like this.

Arturo is the one who spoke, "Jake, this is Jesusita. We brought her here, because that is the only way. She insisted."

"I can't believe this," Jake said, obviously upset. "Come on you guys. This could mean our jobs!"

"Don't sweat it, Jake," Phil said. "No one's going to know but us. Man! Do you think Sarge could figure anything out on his own? He's too stupid."

Meanwhile Jesusita, the bruja, began walking toward the archeology museum. "It's over here," she said. "It has great power. This will be a true test."

"Hey! What? What's going on?" was all that Jake could manage.

"Come on, Jake," Phil continued. "She's like a hunting dog that's caught the scent. Come on."

* * *

He could feel the power now, but it was not any kind of power that he was used to. This was new to him. And it was not like anything that he had felt from the others to this point. Those people had very little power; they were no match for him. And what power they did have was undisciplined, uncontrolled. This was power held back, power with a purpose, power that could be directed. He felt a flicker of worry, like a small flame, in his mind. This was a power similar to that which his mother had possessed before her death, a feminine power, but not the less powerful for that. I must do something.

* * *

Jesusita led them directly to the orange, flickering glow. As she spotted it, she held her arms back horizontally to stop them. "Go no closer," she said. She closed her eyes then and said nothing for a full minute. Finally, she said, "He has great power from another time. He is Anasazi, but what he is doing here I don't know. He has fled something, but it is a blind flight. He searches also, yet he doesn't know where he is going."

"Why did he kill the graduate assistant?" Jake asked.

Jesusita looked around her, noting the dim shapes in the near darkness. "To avenge sacrilege and desecration of the dead. I can feel the disgust and revulsion."

Suddenly, the flicker grew brighter, almost red in color. It pulsated and grew. It seemed to the four of them that there was a mist, roiling within the glow, boiling, striving to burst out. It moved then. It began to circle to the group's left.

"Careful," Jesusita cautioned. "He makes his move now." She reached inside of her blouse and pulled out a crucifix, about four inches long, inlaid with turquoise stones, and held it in her left hand. From her right pants pocket she pulled out a handful of herbs which she strew out before them. She knelt and began an incantation, "Santa Maria, Madre de Dios...," but Jake could not make out the rest.

The glow seemed to hesitate then, as if held in check. It quivered some, then shook more violently. The mist within it seemed to reverse direction suddenly, moving counter clockwise rather than clockwise.

Arturo muttered something in Spanish, but again Jake couldn't make it out. He then noticed that all sound seemed to be muffled, and his mouth felt dry. He tried to speak but could only produce a kind of croaking noise. Lights seemed to be flashing somewhere out of sight. He turned to look for the source of flashing but couldn't find it. It always seemed to be just beyond his peripheral vision. He felt confused and disoriented. He had to struggle to remember his own name. He felt saliva begin to run down his chin. Was he drooling? He began to panic.

Suddenly, he felt someone's arm around his shoulders. He looked and it was Phil, who was reaching inside of Jake's shirt. Why was he doing that? What was going on?

Phil pulled out the leather bag that was hidden next to his chest and put it in Jake's hand, closing the younger man's fingers tightly around the bag. Jake felt a calmness begin to flow into him then. He wiped the spittle from off of his chin.

The flame, for that was how it appeared then, began to move faster. It circled the four people, the three men standing and the woman who knelt in prayer and incantation. Faster and faster it moved. Though it was never distinct to the eye anyway, it became even more blurred now. Faster and faster it circled them until it was dizzying just to watch. Jake knew there was a threat, but he could feel the safety coming from the woman. He looked at her and saw her head begin to sag; her lips trembled as her prayer in Spanish began to falter. "Oh, God no!" he yelled. He moved behind the small young woman quickly and grabbed her under her armpits just as she began to tumble down from her kneeling position. The other two men moved just as quickly, each with a hand on his shoulders and a hand on hers. She looked back at them gratefully then and continued her incantation.

"Together! We must stand in opposition together!" screamed Phil. Jake just seemed to notice that the noise level had increased until now it seemed that they were in the midst of strong summer thunderstorm, even a tornado. It seemed that their hair should be blowing wildly, yet his light brown hair lifted only in a slight breeze.

"Together," Jake mumbled.

"Justos" Arturo spoke more loudly.

Suddenly, Jesusita screamed and collapsed, falling from Jake's grasp. He closed his eyes thinking that this was it, defeat. They would all be slain by some ancient instrument, be it knife or hand axe. But he noticed that the roaring had stopped, and he opened his eyes. Nowhere was the orange glow to be seen. He looked at Phil who was smiling through his thick beard. He turned to Arturo who said, "Bueno," and he knew that it was over. He knelt down and placed his hand under Jesusita's neck. She looked up at him and said, "He is gone now to another place. I don't think that he will return."

* * *

He could feel the rushing of energy and matter and time as he was compelled to leave. He had met power after all; his initial assessment of those people was wrong. He would have to continue his flight from death, his search for the eagle maid.

Which direction did he now travel? He knew not, but go he must. As dictated by outer demands and inner compulsion, he traveled an unknown trail.

The End

© 2000 Karl Eschenbach. I have had work published in Thresholds Quarterly, Left Curve, Happy, The Storyteller, Free Focus, Asking the Question, Creatio Ex Nihilo, and Earth Tones: Creative Perspectives on Ecological Issues. I have also had work accepted for publication by The Fifth Di..., My Legacy, Writers Corner, Alpha Beat Press, Raven's Tale and an anthology.