“I went to the cabin with Sarah, Jessica, Helen, and Sarah’s brother Rick. Things seemed normal enough when we got there. Then, the boys started drinking. Just a little at first. Then some more. Then more. They were really keen on always making sure our drinks were full.”

  “Sounds like they were trying to take advantage of you,” I say.

  “I think they were, but … the boys are kind of dense. Barry wouldn’t know what to do with a girl if she sat in his lap and kissed him. They’re so awkward, I’ve started to wonder if they aren’t all queer. Whatever they are, I suppose that was good for me. As best as I can remember, they didn’t hurt me. No, it was something else. Something I can’t exactly remember, and that’s what makes it hard to talk about. Something I’m not even sure was real. That makes it all the more difficult.

  “I went to the washroom,” she says. “I wasn’t feeling well. Felt like there might have been more than alcohol in my glass. I don’t know if that was the boys’ awkward attempt to try something funny or if it was part of their ritual. Seems a pretty cruel thing to do either way.

  “The washroom was disgusting: someone left their vomit all over the sink and toilet. I started cleaning as best as I could. I don’t know how long I was in there. I wasn’t quite myself, you see.

  “When I came back, the other girls were gone. They’d all left with Rick. I think he got a bad taste of which way things were going and decided to beat feet out of there. I think he forgot me. Doesn’t seem fair, but it is what it is. I’m glad the other girls made out okay.

  “So, there I was in the living room, wondering what was going on. I remember I smelled like vomit. I’m embarrassed to say, some of it was probably my own. I think throwing up helped. I think getting those drugs out of my stomach might have kept me just lucid enough to remember some of what happened next. I’m not sure, though.”

  What a nightmare. Are all kids up to this sort of thing these days? Is this what I went to war for? What I watched men die for? I this society?

  “A man in a long, yellow coat was sitting on the couch,” she continues. “The boys hung on his every word. I don’t know if it’s because what he was saying was so interesting or if it had more to do with the stupor they’d put themselves in.

  “I can’t remember what the man looked like, but I remember I didn’t recognize him at all. Trying to picture him, I can’t imagine a face at all. No eyes. No mouth. No nose. But I think he was incredibly handsome. That’s what it feels like. Maybe the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and I can’t remember a single feature on his face. I’d like to forget I’d ever seen him, but instead, the memory of him haunts me, and deep down, I think I should like to see him again. And I hate that. I hate everything about him, and I don’t even know him. Have you ever had that feeling? It’s so strange. I’m sure it doesn’t make any sense to either of you.”

  “Can’t say I have,” I tell her, “but I can empathize with you.” There’s no way on Earth this guy in the yellow coat is Jack Wolfgang. Even a totally zonked teenager wouldn’t fawn over him like this.

  “Well, anyway,” she says. Her voice has started to tremble. “The man, he gave me a cigarette. I took a light from one of the boys. I don’t even like cigarettes. I think they’re disgusting, but he, that man in the yellow coat, was so urbane. Entrancing, even. Strange, I think I recall I felt almost threatened by him, but also … I think I was charmed by him. He had this incredible charisma, but also this awful feeling that nothing was right with him around. So, I smoked the cigarette.”

  Total woman moment.

  “It didn’t taste right at all,” she continues. “I figured it was just because it was cheap or because he had packed it with reefer. I don’t really know. I didn’t think too much about it all. I was just happy to be there. They seemed to adore me so much. I couldn’t even be mad about Rick leaving with the girls; I was too sauced to be concerned.

  “Then I remember feeling warm. I was standing by the bonfire outside. I don’t recall how I got there. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand and watch the flames. They made me giggle. I don’t know why, but they made me laugh.

  “Steven cut the head off of a chicken. Oh! I had forgotten that. It was terrible. He flicked the blood at us while chanting or something. I could only tell who it was from his voice; I couldn’t take my eyes off the flames. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t think. All I could do is stand there and experience the awful night and giggle like the stupid girl I am.”

  She is no longer weepy or trembling. She is only defeated. She looses a deep sigh.

  “There was another man. He was wearing a beige long coat and a brown fedora. He shot his revolver at…” She shakes her head, fighting, struggling to draw the event out of the inky well of memory. “…Something. I don’t know what. It’s not even that I can’t remember. I don’t even think I could have explained what was happening if you were there with me.

  “He was on the ground, the man in the beige coat, and then … something knocked me back. Threw me, really. I must have flown twenty or thirty yards. I still couldn’t move, but I must have really hit my head. Everything turned purple. No. No, that’s when I realized that everything had turned purple. I didn’t notice it before. Hitting my head, though. That must have knocked some of the sauce out of me.

  “Oh, no… I remember seeing Barry try to crawl away from the fire.” Her jaw trembles, but she tries to hide it with a deep breath and a stone-cold face. “Something grabbed him, and he screamed. Oh! It was just awful!”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “It was … this … ooze. This purple ooze.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Her face is taut with anguish now. She’s holding back as much as she can. With a heavy sigh, she wins control over her emotions, but when she speaks again, there’s nothing left but melancholy and exhaustion.

  “I heard his bones crunch,” she says. “He hissed out his last breath, and still … all I could do was laugh.”

  I sat there for a moment, trying to make sense of everything she had just told us. My mind spun as fast as a carnival ride. My gut felt just as sick. She must have seen it on my face:

  “I knew you wouldn't believe me,” she says.

  “It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that I don't know what to do with what you told me.”

  “I don't know what to do either.”

  “I believe you,” said Joe.

  “Why?” asked Clara.

  “Because I believe in evil.”

  “What are you going to do then?” she asks.

  “First, I'm going to do the most important thing a man can do. I'm going to pray. Next, I'm going to speak to my priest. Then, I'm going to find Jack Wolfgang.”

  “You won't find him,” she says. “He's gone.”

  “Gone where?” I ask.

  “Into the dark.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Joe.

  “I don't know,” says Clara. Her eyes are glazed over as if she’s looking into another world. “I just … know that's where he is. I don’t know how. I don’t know what it means, and I don't know if it'll ever come back. He went into the dark. That’s it.”

  “What else can you tell us?” I ask.

  “Nothing you'll believe.”

  “Belief is useless to me. I'm only concerned with what's real.”

  “And you don't think what I've told you is real.”

  “I think you're telling the truth as best as you can,” I say. “That's all I can ask of you. Anything beyond that is where we take over.”

  “Let’s give it rest, Marlowe.”

  “That’s fair. She’s tired, and I think we have enough leads to chase.”

  Joe and I stand up and push our chairs in.

  “Thank you, Detectives. You’ve been very kind.” She looks up and forces a smile. “Much kinder than the local police.”

  “Is that so?” I ask. “Maybe we’ll come back and see how you’re doing. ”

  “I think you will,” she says.

  Kind of a strange answer.

  “Here,” I say, pulling the paperback from my coat pocket and sliding it across the table. “I know it’s gotta old listening to the hens here cluck all day. Let that book take your mind off things. Focus on getting better, Clara.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  “Call me Marlowe.”

  [ LIFE IS BUT A DREAM ]

  On our way out, Dr. Steiner stops us.

  “I trust everything went well,” he says.

  “As well as I think it could,” I say.

  “She’s troubled,” says Joe, “but she gave us some vital insights.”

  “Yeah, in between the strange discrepancies,” I say.

  “If you will permit me,” says Dr. Steiner, “I will share a brief lesson in psychology with you. Often, when the individual has undergone such traumatic stress, they will fabricate a fanciful explanation, and it will insert itself into the memory as though they are one and the same. Such is perhaps the origin of many religions.”

  “I understand what you mean entirely,” I say. “Especially after that conversation. You don’t have quite the same view of things as Fr. Lupin, I take it.”

  “Correct. Fr. Lupin and I share what heals my patients. If it is faith, so be it. I study the mind. I cannot say I fully understand it.”

  “All we can hope,” I say, “is that perhaps through the sciences, maybe we one day will.”

  “Of course, Detective. Yet, perhaps the sciences are not enough. I doubt that, but who can say?”

  “Well,” says Joe, “it’s late in the day, and we’ve a heap of work to do still. We really must be on our way. Thank you for permitting us to speak with Ms. Baker.”

  “Certainly,” says Dr. Steiner. “In this case, I suspect justice may serve as quite the panacea. Farewell, Detectives. Gott mit uns.”

  “And Christ be with you, too,” says Joe.

  [ DRIVE ]

  Joe and I are on our way back to Seattle. The sun has begun his long climb down the blue sky. The autumn day nears its end.

  “She's not insane,” says Joe.

  “No, but her story is.”

  “I've heard crazier. I've seen crazier.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Let me buy you a drink. I'll tell you all about it,” says Joe with a wry smile.

  “You know what I take: soda and lime, on the rocks.”

  “There's more she's not telling us.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “They never tell you everything the first time.”

  “No, they don't.”

  “Also, she was quite certain where this Jack Wolfgang went. She didn't even ask who I was talking about.”

  “Can't believe I missed that.”

  “I thought you didn't deal in belief.”

  “Figure of speech, Old Dog.”

  “I want you to go to Jack Wolfgang’s office tonight.”

  “Without you?”

  “Ask around. See if he's been in.”

  “You don't think he'll be there?”

  “No.”

  “What will you do then?”

  “Just as I said. I'm going to see my priest. I'll be taking that book with me.”

  “What's next then?”

  “I don't know. Not yet.”

  I'm leaving this here, too, because I'm super proud to have had the support to hit Rising Stars. Thank you to everyone who helped along the way. I really mean that. I love all of you, even the ones that will never read this.

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