Vic Owens: Paranormal Advisor

“What do you mean Carlsberg took her?” Vic yelled. “Didn’t you try to stop him?” He looked around the room, not sure what he expected to find—maybe Maya hiding in a corner.

“It’s not like he kidnapped her,” Pete protested. “He walked in and told her he needed to take her to the station to discuss what happened to her girlfriend, Chelsea. She willingly accepted and left with him. He said it wouldn’t take too long.”

Whatever trust Vic had for Carlsberg was gone after the meeting with Mayor Dodd. In the moment, Vic had been quite taken by the mayor, but the longer he was away from him, the more he felt suspicious of his motives. He had seemed set on getting humans out of the way, even if it meant harming them. It was a bizarre desire. The paintings on the walls were a red flag. Plus, politicians were generally sleazy. They didn’t reach their positions by being nice guys and gals. How did this link to Carlsberg? He wasn’t sure.

“Come on,” Vic said, taking off at a brisk pace. “We’re going to the station.”

The drive was awkward. Vic had never been alone with Pete, and he didn’t want to be. He found Pete to be—to put it gently—stupid.

“What’s your deal, Pete?” Vic asked. “Who are you? Why do you want to keep hanging around?”

Pete looked out the window for a moment before answering. It was like he wanted to avoid the conversation. “I've been told that I’m a lot of things in my life. When my dad wasn’t busy getting blackout drunk, he used to take the time to call me every name under the sun. But the worst thing he ever called me … was a lifesucker. I was eight years old at the time. Ever since then I've done what I can to live up to my given name.”

Fuck. Vic actually felt sorry for the poor bastard. He couldn't fathom ever saying something like that to his daughter. “Look, people say shit they don’t mean. Especially when alcohol is involved.”

“Not my dad. When he was drunk, he forgot I existed. It was when he was sober that he told me how he really felt. I actually liked him better when he was drinking. At any rate, I lived up to the names—I failed essentially everything in high school and can’t land a job that isn’t a dead end. So, I dunno, I guess I heard you and Maya needing help when you were in the library, and I thought it was my chance to shine. After the job was done, I felt like you two had solid heads on your shoulders and that I might benefit from hanging around you.”

Amusing, Vic thought. Nobody had ever accused him of having a solid head on his shoulders. Most would say he never had a head at all. But he understood where Pete was coming from, because he had felt the same about himself, post Avaline.

Some time passed before either said another word. Vic had never been one to discuss feelings, but he finally caved in. “I understand that life can get shitty. Sounds like you were born in it. I’m fine with you hanging around, if you think it’ll help you get your life on track. But you need to understand that the situation we got ourselves involved in will get dangerous. If you're OK with that, then I’m OK with you. Just make me a deal and promise you won’t ever call me “dad.” I don’t want to be compared to your father. He seems like a fuckwad.” He looked at Pete to gauge his reaction. Pete only smiled and went back to looking out the window, resting his arm against the outside of the car and tapping a tune with his fingers. And that little reply was good enough for Vic.

Not too long later, they pulled up to the police station and found an empty parking spot between a couple of squad cars.

Pine trees dotted each side of the front walk leading up to the doors of the station. The grass was green and smelled freshly mowed. The building was made of brick, and looked as bright red as the day it was built, impervious to weathering. It was discouraging how well the city and government buildings were maintained, while the rest of Raven’s Hope rotted away.

Pete trotted ahead and held the door open for Vic. He didn’t thank him, but instead gave Pete a slight head nod to acknowledge the gesture.

There wasn’t much activity in the front lobby. A bored officer, who Vic recognized, manned the front desk, busy working on a crossword puzzle. Behind the desk, the wall was open, revealing multiple officers typing away at their desks. There was a woman being led out of the room in handcuffs.

The bored officer glanced away from his crossword and sighed. “Vic Owens. What important business can I help you with? Did someone’s turtle get stuck in a tree? This drew a couple of laughs from the room in the back. The officer looked over his shoulder to partake in the amusement of his audience.

“Fuck off, Rigsby,” Vic said.

“Ouch, my heart,” Rigsby replied, feigning dejection by placing his hand over his heart while never looking away from his crossword.

“Bring Carlsberg out here,” Vic demanded. “I need to have a word with him about a friend of mine.”

Rigsby set his pencil down, reached in a drawer, and pulled out a piece of chewing gum, jamming it in his dumb mouth. “You’re shit out of luck, you deadbeat elf. He’s out patrolling the town for his shift. Maybe if you did your job, he wouldn’t be stuck with the crap work.” He waved his hand to shoo Vic and Pete away. “Go somewhere else. Maybe you'll run into him.”

It would be counterproductive to get in a fight at the police station. Vic relaxed his fists and turned to leave. “Three down is wrong. It’s smolder.”

“Dummy,” Pete added, following at Vic’s side.

“Too much mustard,” Vic whispered. “Dial it down a notch.”

For the next hour, they drove around town, trying to find officer Carlsberg, or Maya, but came up empty. Vic checked all the spots he knew the cops liked to park at. He looked in the seedier parts of town. Nothing. Then he had a thought. It seemed highly unlikely, but she was nowhere else to be found, so there was a chance, albeit small.

Vic parked the car in front of Chelsea and Maya’s house. He immediately noticed a bundle of what looked like clothes, or blankets, next to the flower bushes. Maybe Chelsea had covered the flowers overnight in case of a frost. He hoped he was right, because the alternative was far worse.

As he got closer, a pit hollowed out his stomach. The bundle was definitely clothing, and it had mass. A vision of Avaline made him freeze. He saw her, curled up on the floor, writhing in pain with nothing that could ease her agony. He hadn’t acted then either, too afraid that he’d fail in saving her. The words crept through him—failure, failure, failure.

Pete’s voice shook Vic out of his stupor. He saw Pete kneeling over the pile of clothes, rolling them over and touching their face. Their human face.

“It’s Maya,” Pete said, frantic. “Vic, It’s Maya. She’s hurt real bad. What do we do?” His words sounded muffled, like they were floating across the ocean in a sealed box.

At last, Vic’s senses returned and he rushed into action. He knelt beside Pete and touched Maya’s face. She was black and blue, and bleeding, just as Chelsea had been.

“Maya,” Vic said, softly. “Who did this to you?”

Maya didn’t open her eyes, but she croaked out a response. “Carlsberg … he’s not human. He’s a pig. He beat me and dumped me here.”

“Let’s get you inside,” Vic said, moving to pick up Maya. “I don’t care about Chelsea’s issues with us.”

Maya twinged in pain when Vic touched her. “She’s not home. I already checked.”

“Do you have any roommates?” Vic asked Pete. “We need to go where Carlsberg won’t think to follow us. I don’t want to take her to the hospital and risk having the police contacted, because I’m not sure who’s side everyone is on.”

“It’s just me,” Pete said, still talking fast. “I have a couch and bed.”

Vic gently lifted Maya and carried her to the car. Pete swung the door open and stepped aside. He laid Maya across the backseat, took off his duster, and covered her with it.

“He knows,” Maya whispered.

“He knows what?” Vic asked.

“He helped kill my parents.”