Authors: Richard Parry
Miles broke the silence.
“She’s upstairs.”
“I see.”
Barnes’ voice was moving.
“And Miss Morgan?”
“The girl?”
“Yes.”
“She’s upstairs too.”
Another silence.
Carlisle’s pain was fading, but something trickled into her throat, making her cough.
“Melissa?
Stay with me.”
Why did Miles keep saying that?
She was right here.
She couldn’t walk, anyway — it’s not like she was going anywhere.
“Was it quick?”
Barnes’ voice was hollow.
“Tell me it was quick.”
“It was quick.
Are you going to..?”
She could feel Miles tense.
Why was that — was he in the stretcher too?
She would have giggled if she’d had the strength, the thought was preposterous.
“No.”
Barnes cleared his throat.
“Mr. Everard was…
That is, Ms. Morgan…
Well, Mr. Everard was most helpful earlier.
He gave me some advice, advice that saved my life.”
“Yeah?”
Miles sounded dubious.
“But I couldn’t…
I’ve waited, in the trees.
For this to end.”
“I’d say it’s at an end.
Look, I don’t want to rush you, but —”
“Of course.
Detective Carlisle.”
“Isn’t this some kind of hospital?”
“It’s not that kind of hospital.
And I think you’ll find the staff have long gone.”
“You stayed.”
Miles’ voice was flat.
“Yes.
I stayed.”
Carlisle finally cracked her eyes open.
She could see the ground, and the back of Miles’ feet.
Damn the man
— he had her slung over his shoulders like a sack of grain.
She could see blood on his clothes, and wondered whose it was.
“For Elsie?
Did you stay to help her?”
“Not as such.
I stayed to see if Mr. Everard — if Valentine needed a ride.”
“A ride?
We’re in the woods.”
“Yes.”
“You can fly.”
Miles wasn’t asking.
He might make a half decent officer, if he could just keep his attitude in his pants.
Carlisle wished she had the strength to smile.
“I think that’s lucky for you, as Detective Carlisle needs a hospital.”
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that we need to go soon.
This is a one-time offer.
There will be people coming here with questions, questions I’d rather not answer.”
“You realise this doesn’t fix things.”
Barnes sighed.
“No, I imagine it doesn’t.
But I hope that…
Well.
Let’s worry about tomorrow when it comes, shall we?”
Carlisle faded out again.
☽ ◇ ☾
She was flying.
Carlisle could feel it.
There was light around her.
Didn’t they say not to go into the light?
☽ ◇ ☾
The room she opened her eyes into was dark.
The beep of a cardiac monitor sounded to her left, subdued into white noise against the backdrop of the morphine haze.
Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.
She looked around the room, eyes picking out the little details.
No flowers next to the bed.
Curtains for privacy, but pulled back.
An empty ward, apart from her bed.
And one other person.
Miles was sprawled backward in a chair, sitting at the end of the bed.
He was snoring quietly.
He wore a hospital gown, bandages creeping out from under it near his shoulder.
She slept again.
☽ ◇ ☾
Carlisle woke to light.
Miles was gone.
Flowers had been put in a vase on the small table next to her.
She pulled herself up slowly, wincing through the morphine.
Carlisle groped for the glass of water next to the bed, gulping at the tepid water.
An envelope fell from the table next to the bed — she hadn’t noticed it when she woke, knocking it off as she’d grabbed at the water.
The ward was really empty — Miles was gone.
Carlisle looked down at the envelope, the cream paper contrasting with the speckled tiles of the hospital floor.
It was a long way down to that floor.
She —
slowly, Carlisle, Christ that hurts
— rolled onto her side and reached an arm down, grasping for the edges of the envelope.
Prize in hand, she rolled back onto her back.
The envelope was blank except for a neatly lettered, “MC,”
on the front.
She flipped it over, tearing at the seal, and pulling out the single sheet of paper inside.
The letter was written in a neat, meticulous hand.
Detective Carlisle —
I appreciate you have many questions.
Ms. Morgan is no longer with us to assist in your inquiries.
I hope that whatever information I hold will be able to help in her absence.
Based on events at our medical facility, we believe the virus angle is a red herring, some kind of control mechanism that never worked properly.
It seems ironic: with our science, we might have fixed that, given time.
When you are better, have someone from your office arrange a meeting with me.
I’ll be happy to answer any questions.
Regards,
Sam Barnes
Acting Chief Executive Officer
Biomne
PS: Are you familiar with the Moon’s synodic cycle?
Carlisle folded the letter back up.
What the hell was a synodic cycle?
She hated science back in school, and being shot didn’t make her feel much better about it now.
She turned to the table next to her, opening the drawer.
Some clothes were there, and —
so they haven’t suspended me
— her gun and her badge.
The gun sat black and heavy against a pair of pale blue jeans.
She pulled herself upright, gritting her teeth against the pain.
Enough lying around.
She wasn’t dead yet.
The bandages around her leg and torso were clean and white, no blood staining through.
Good enough
.
Carlisle pulled on her clothes.
A standing rack near the door held her jacket.
She pulled it on, needing to use her teeth as one of her arms didn’t work right.
Her sidearm went into her shoulder holster.
She looked at her badge for a few moments, turning it over in her hands, then put it in her pocket.
Finally, Carlisle checked the card with the flowers, a smile tugging at her face.
The card said, “
Shaggy!
Mystery, Inc. needs you back!
Meet back at the lair.
Yours, Scooby.
”
“Detective Carlisle.”
She spun at the voice from the door, a hand reaching into her jacket to hold her sidearm.
An officer stood, uncertain in the open doorway.
“You’re not supposed to be up.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Carlisle relaxed her hand and pushed past the officer, making the corridor.
Another cop was stationed outside.
So — she’d been under protective custody.
“There’s more important things you two should be doing than looking after me.
Or did you catch all the bad guys?”
“I —”
The man tried again.
“The Superintendent would like to see you when you’re able.
To move.”
“Do I look like I’m able to move?”
Hey eyes went between the two men.
“I look pretty shitty and sickly, don’t I?”
The other man’s lips quirked.
“You look almost dead, Detective.”
“That’s what I thought.
Go grab a coffee.
I’ll report in a bit later.
There’s something I need to do first.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The men walked off down the hospital corridor, lost amongst the bustle of the place.
After they’d gone out of sight, she leaned against the doorframe for a moment.
She really was almost dead.
Nothing that some pain killers wouldn’t fix.
She needed a car.
Time to get a Mystery Machine.
☽ ◇ ☾
The place was foreign to her, full of unfamiliar smells.
The smell of dust underlaid it all, but there were children laughing and mothers having coffee and cake.
It’d been a long time since Carlisle had been in a library, but the rules had obviously changed from “make no noise“
to “have a party.”
She shuffled amongst the aisles of books, not quite sure what to look for.
A thin man with glasses approached her.
“Need some help?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.
Do you know what the Moon is?”
The man blinked at her.
Some things never changed — back when she was in school librarians didn’t have a sense of humour either.
“Never mind.
Look.
I’m trying to find out about the Moon’s synodic cycle.
Astrology or something.”
“Oh right.
Astronomy.”
The man pushed his glasses up his nose.
“The synodic cycle is just a fancy way of saying the cycle as the Moon goes around the Earth.”
“The Earth?
Right.”
“Sure.
Why, you looking something up for the full moon?”
The man’s head cocked sideways.
The full moon
.
What if
— “When’s the next full moon?”
“Hell if I know.
Sorry.
Maybe tonight?
The moon’s pretty big at the moment.”
“You a stargazer?”
The professional detective inside Carlisle took over, asking questions from habit.
“I was at a rave last night.”
The man was losing interest, his eyes tracking a young — and attractive — woman with a toddler in tow.
“Look, you need anything else?”
“No.
Thanks.
Happy fishing.”
The man was already gone, ignoring her.
Synodic cycle.
Well how about that
.
She turned around, looking at some of the other shelves.
Where was she going to find a book on werewolves in the non-fiction section?
☽ ◇ ☾
She knocked on the door of Danny's home.
The day was wearing on, the afternoon sun shifting towards evening.
“Who is it?”
“Open the door, Miles.”
“Christ!”
The door yanked open, Miles standing there in a towel.
The bandage on his shoulder was freshly pressed on.
“You got out.”
“I wasn’t in jail, Miles.”
Carlisle pushed past him, going to the kitchen.
Adalia was back at the table, painting.
Her face was serious, full of childish focus.
Carlisle walked up to her, putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“What are you painting, sweetie?”
“Mom and Valentine.”
Adalia turned the painting towards Carlisle.
There were two dogs on it.
Carlisle turned to Miles.
“Is this..?”
“C’mon.”
He was tugging on a shirt.
“She saw enough by herself.”
“Right.”
Carlisle walked to the windows, looking out.
“They haven’t come back, have they.”
“Melissa —”
“Call me Carlisle.”
“Melissa, they’re not coming back.”
Miles sounded strained.
“They’re de…”
He stopped, looking at Adalia.
Adalia looked back at him.
“They’re not dead, silly.”
“I — of course not, honey.”
Miles looked stricken.
“She’s right, you know.”
Carlisle turned back to the window.
“What?
The grenades…
There was a lot of silver.”
Miles started tying his shoes.
“I want them to be ok, too, but —”
“They’re not dead.
I told you.”
Adalia’s face was stern.
“Scarlett told me —”
“Who’s Scarlett?” said Carlisle.
“Oh.
Scarlett’s her made up name.
Birkita.”
“Elsie’s daughter?”
“Yes.
Anyway.
Scarlett told me.
She made a wish on Prancer.
She wished that Danny and Val and all of us would be ok.”