He cleared his throat at the memory of her, then thumbed through the day’s register once again. Nothing too special except for the Renardine woman and God only knows how that would shake out.
Pretty girl implicated in such an ugly crime. After all these years and all the crazy things he had seen, Chet Branson could only shake his head over the whole thing.
The little red light on the underside of the desk’s counter flickered bright then dimmed again and Officer Branson sighed. At one time the front door of the police barracks had been equipped with a buzzer to signal every time someone stepped into the building. But the noise had driven the cops half crazy before they switched it back out for just a light.
Here come the crazies, he thought. The first of the night that would at best make the hours slip by a little more quickly until his break, or at worst, leave him a jittery mess and wishing he still smoked. Only his Rosie...God rest her soul...would not have liked that either.
The man who walked calmly to the front desk did not appear to be crazy. He was tall, of medium build, dark brown eyes. Caucasian, but probably of eastern European descent. Officer Branson made him out to be approximately thirty five years of age and saw no obvious scars or tattoos.
“Good evening, Officer,” he said as he approached, “I wonder if I might have a little of your valuable time.”
Ok, that’s different, the policeman thought, quickly followed by, I wonder what he’s selling?
“It’s my understanding that you have a certain Sara Renardine in your custody. Is my information correct, Officer?”
Chet frowned. He did not care much for the press. Reporters getting their stories only half straight before slapping it down for everyone to see and to hell with the consequences.
“I think you already know that I can’t confirm nothing, buddy. Not one way or the other,” he said, hoping the man before him would just back off and leave.
Instead, he smiled with a mouth full of bright, shining teeth.
“Yes, of course,” the man replied, “But, I thank you all the same, Officer...”
Hesitating, he glanced at the policeman’s chest, then finished “...Branson.”
He turned around and started to walk back the way he had come in then seemed to remember something.
“Oh, yes. Officer Branson, I nearly forgot....”
Chet watched him as he quickly came back toward the desk. His hand drifted down to his sidearm in a reflex that was hard to shake after all these years. Any sudden movement and he would start to reach for an arm that had not been pulled on a suspect for twenty years. Only, here...something felt like it was about to turn hinky.
“I have a message for you. From a dear woman by the name of Rosie,” he said as he came close to the policeman.
“Rosie,” Chet repeated vacantly as he watched, fascinated by the man’s mouth. There were just so many teeth.
“Yes...Rosie,” the man said, his voice calm and extraordinarily soothing, “She wants me to tell you that you will be joining her far sooner than expected.”
The man’s dark eyes seemed to grow larger as Chet looked back at him. His revolver forgotten, the policeman could not move as those eyes kept getting bigger and bigger, inviting him in.
“...expected,” Officer Branson mumbled.
“That’s right. But first, we shall both go visit your little unconfirmed guest and see how she’s doing.”
The policeman made no reply nor did he mind as the creature came round the desk to pluck away the keychain fastened at his belt.
Chet felt a nudge from behind as a voice said, “Lead the way, Officer.”
Lurching into motion, he walked away from the front desk and whispered, “Rosie.”
And no one questioned him as he led the tall man down hallways that most innocent people never see. Together, they went back to the holding cells and Chet had no problem with opening locked doors.
He was going to see Rosie. And that was a wonderful thing to know.
They had brought her a meal. Tasteless and dry, she was not even sure what it was pretending to be and the useless plastic spork on the tray left much to be desired.
Sara had barely touched it. She had lost her appetite as the hours had passed and still no one had come to get her out. In particular, no one named Braze.
The thought of it made her sick.
What if they convinced him I did it? she asked herself. A few hours ago, such an idea would have been laughable. But now, with no sign of any rescue in sight, thoughts like these began to worry at her like rats chewing on the ropes of a shipwreck.
She was going to go down. The thing that called itself the Journeyman had decided she was of no more use to him and had hung her out to dry.
The worst of it was that she knew it was true. She had gone too far with Braze. If she ever saw him again, she would tell him...all of it. No detail spared and then she would throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness.
Perhaps he would be able to forgive her. Or, perhaps, he had already decided he could not.
These thoughts circled round and round in her mind, a thing that spun like a mouse trapped under a glass dome. Turning round in endless circles that served nothing.
She would have liked to sleep. But this too escaped her and she could only hug her sides with her own arms wrapped tightly around her body. The irony of it was not lost on her as she thought how it had only been a matter of hours and it had been his strong arms around her.
Her tears ran when she was sure that she had none left. But apparently they were endless this day.
She heard a sound then. Muffled through the heavy door, Sara heard the distinct sound of keys jingling against one another on a keyring before the lock mechanism of the cell’s door clicked.
The door swung wide and she saw a portly policeman step through the door. His eyes had a strange, empty look to them, then her attention was quickly drawn to the man who followed him.
Tall, elegant...an air of self-assured calm. Sara did not dare to hope, but he looked like he might even be a lawyer.
Maybe Braze had not abandoned her to her fate after all.
Except that all hope disappeared as the man bared his lips in what might have passed for a smile.
Sara knew then. Large, overlong canines lay in that overly wide smile. The kind of teeth meant for piercing the flesh of men.
“Greetings, Sara,” he said in a strong, clear voice, “It’s so nice to put a face to the name after all I’ve heard about you.”
Sara held her tongue. Her situation had gone from bleak to outright ruin in the space of five seconds. A half minute more and she did not doubt that her troubles would no longer bother her.
Again that hideous smile.
“Oh, I’m not here to...” he paused, relishing the moment, then said “...rub you out.”
He chuckled and pushed past the overweight policeman who only stood there staring blankly at the wall.
“That’s how they say it, don’t they? Among cops and robbers.”
She tried to rally her courage and replied, “Maybe...about fifty years ago, mostly in old movies. But, I suppose that doesn’t sound so long ago to someone like you.”
His tone turned grave as he answered, “No, not too long for someone like me. You are right about that.”
He walked toward her and Sara did her best not to shrink back from him.
“In any case, I wish you no ill, Sara. I am merely a...how shall I put it? A facilitator.
“Yes, that’s it. I am here to facilitate. And for exactly what reason might I facilitate, you wonder?
“If you did...and I assume that you do...I would tell you that I am here to see it that you leave this awful place and these desperately boring policemen and their incessant forms-to-be-filled-out-in-duplicate long behind. I mean, really...who uses carbon paper these days?”
He leaned close, looking her over, and despite herself Sara felt the pull of his dark eyes.
“Only he didn’t tell me just what a delectable creature you really are....”
Dark pools swept toward her and, instinctively, Sara fought against it. She cleared her throat and croaked, “What do you mean? Aren’t you the Journeyman?”
He laughed then and she felt the pressure of his gaze ease some.
“No, of course not. I mean, really...have you seen him? Have you seen me?”
Pale hands smoothed his suit jacket’s lapels.
“I suppose he must have wiped his image from your mind but there is no resemblance, I assure you, Sara. On the other hand, he is our mutual employer...his term, not mine...and it is on his behalf that I am here.”
Sara shuddered. The nightmare of the Journeyman threatened to come back and swallow her whole. Thoughts of the creaking, limping way the thing had moved before rushing toward her with dark emptiness where it’s face should have been made her feel ill.
She could not stop the gooseflesh rippling down her arms.
“I know,” he said, “His appearance does leave much to be desired, but who are we to judge, Sara?”
He stood straight then, looming over her, and said in answer to himself, “Not me...not you.”
A cold hand reached down to tip her face up to look at him. Like twinned black tarns, his eyes were placid things calling to her to let the calm in. To let needless worry simply float away.
It felt to her as though she slid into bathwater that was at a perfect temperature. Not too warm, not too cold...but, just exactly right.
Like slipping on warm socks on a cold winter’s day. Like breathing clean air after stepping free of a jostling crowd.