The printer was out of toner. This usually would have been a minor inconvenience, but instead served as the latest in a string of insurmountable obstacles in Detective Carlton Lassiter's day.
He stared at the small display on the machine with a disgusted expression. He glared at it, as if the mere intensity of his look could bully the machine into doing as he asked.
It did not.
Carlton stood there for another moment as he weighed his options. First, he wanted to throw the worthless item on the ground and kick it multiple times. Another option was lifting it up and tossing it out of a window. Neither option would solve the problem of ink, but it would alleviate his sour mood. Somewhat.
"Oh, for crying out loud…" He grumbled. His eyes shot up to scan the nearby hallway and the people walking there. Like a bird of prey, he watched for the next innocent victim that would happen to be in his line of sight. It was officer Buzz McNab.
"You! McNab!"He ordered, and pointed a finger for emphasis. "Get over here. Get this thing working again."
McNab stopped abruptly and looked up from the file he was reading. "Well… It's just that-"
"Now!" Lassiter barked.
McNab hesitated, still, torn between his current task and the pressure of helping Lassiter. But then he saw the expression on Lassiter's face and knew his life was in imminent danger. "Yes, sir!" He suddenly said with enthusiasm.
Lassiter stomped over to his desk and sat in his chair. He stared at the computer monitor while his breathing came out in small puffs that were not unlike a bull preparing to charge.
"Carleton," Detective Juliet O'Hara said as she neared. "You need to calm down."
He looked sharply at her. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He said.
"It's just that… I know it's been frustrating lately. But it'll get better, you're just… in a slump."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't get slumps. I get delayed while in the process of closing a case."
She held up her hands defensively to placate him, a sympathetic expression on her face. "Okay, okay. I get it. Maybe things didn't go so well with the drug bust. Or the black market ring."
"Don't forget the bank fraud," McNab chimed in from the copier in a far too cheerful tone.
Juliet smiled out of polite reflex, but it was soured. "Thank you," she said with the tendrils of sarcasm firmly gripped around her words. McNab nodded appreciatively.
"We had them," Lassiter asserted. "We knew where they were. We knew when they would be there. We knew exactly when and where they were conducting their little drug operation. So tell me, O'Hara, why is it that when we showed up- they were nowhere to be found?" The sarcasm rolled off of him in waves.
"Maybe we didn't act fast enough," Juliet said, calmly thinking aloud. "If we were even a few minutes off, it's possible they could have bailed fast enough before we even got there."
He stared at his computer monitor. For a moment, Juliet wondered if he was going to hit it.
"I don't get in slumps," he almost snarled at the screen.
"You can't be on a roll all the time, Carleton. It happens to everyone. Yes, even you," she said the last words quickly before he could protest as she knew he would. He reminded Juliet of a child, pouting, frustrated that he lost his favorite toy. It was an unfair comparison, she thought, but the resemblance was striking. Especially to her young nephews.
"We'll work through it again," she offered helpfully. "Look at it from another angle. Maybe there's something we missed."
He stopped to think, and his mood seemed to lower from a boil to a simmer. "Okay," he said. Carleton nodded slightly. "Okay," he said again, this time with confidence. "We'll work it again."
Juliet smiled encouragingly. She mentally congratulated herself- until he stood abruptly and shouted at a nearby officer for wearing shoes that were out of protocol, but only slightly. She winced.
"The printer's back up!" McNab said.
"Maybe that John Doe case will be an easy one," Juliet said helpfully. "Though we're still waiting on the results," she said. Her optimism faded in favor of concern. "Is it me, or is that whole thing really… creepy? Have you dealt with anything like this before?"
He stopped to think. "Once. There was a group who burned the trophy displays at the senior rec center. Said they had to burn them or else we'd have a drought or some nonsense."
She leaned forward slightly, jerking her head forward in interest. "Really? Were they part of a cult, or something?"
"No," he said sharply. "They were a bunch of no-good teens bored over summer vacation. Said they were the 'Cult of Up-dog.'"
Juliet considered carefully, mentally sounding out the name once, then twice. "So, when they said who they were, and you asked them…"
"Bunch of juvenile hooligans," he grumbled. "Why can't they find something better to do than destroying synchronized swimming trophies?" He looked at her sharply, as if she were personally responsible for the widespread decline of society's youth and the rise in ADHD.
"So, you haven't had a case like this before? One with possible occult connections?"
"You don't need to know any of that to solve a case, O'Hara. Just stick to the facts," he said.
She folded her arms, placing her hands over her biceps in a sort of self-hug. "I don't know… Something about this kind of thing really gives me the creeps. You really don't find this case the least bit creepy?"
"No, because none of that mumbo-jumbo is real," he said mockingly, like it was obvious.
She nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."
A quick check in the phone book was enough for Shawn and Gus to locate 'Big Louie' (or Louis Verplank, as he was legally known) at his home in Santa Barbara. It was a small house sandwiched between two other, nearly identical, homes on either side. The yard was approximately the size of a postage stamp. It was unkempt, the grass allowed to grow freely. Barely visible were metal yard ornaments and wind catchers nearly lost in the wilds of the tall growth. Along the eaves of the house, just under the roofline, were bundles of what looked like small branches and bunches of leaves. They were tied haphazardly to the gutters.
Gus pulled up to the curb in the Blueberry and placed the car in park. He leaned forward on the steering wheel while eying the house warily. "I already don't like this, Shawn. This place gives me the creeps."
Shawn nodded, sensing the same trepidation from him a hundred times over the years. "I hear ya, buddy. But this guy is our only lead. Dude, there's no way that's a coincidence he's been skipping work when that John Doe was supposed to have been killed."
Gus only grew bolder in his defiance. "Exactly. What if this guy's the murderer? And he gets upset knowing we're onto him?"
Shawn shook his head- also very familiar with his best friend's penchant for superstition. "Don't be such a Robin's Egg Crayola Crayon, Gus. Besides, I have an idea of how to talk to him."
Gus shot him a suspicious look, but it seemed to calm him, at least slightly. "Such as?"
"I believe he'll be receptive to someone of the… psychic arts." He waved his hand through the air, then rested it at his temple with a flourish.
They made their way up to the front door, picking their way through the yard and (what remained of) the sidewalk, traversing the minefield of items hidden in the grass. Shawn spied what he thought was at least one discarded chia pet planter that was now left to rot away. To become one with nature from whence it came, he thought.
Shawn walked several steps. He was within three feet of the front door when he noticed Gus was no longer beside him. Or behind him, for that matter. Instead he stood stubbornly on the sidewalk. Shawn gestured and urged him forwards. Gus shook his head. Shawn continued to plead and nag. The argument turned into unintelligible bickering for several seconds before Gus relented- carefully picking his way to the door.
They rang the doorbell.
They waited patiently, only to realize nothing was happening. The two shrugged. It was Gus' turn to ring the bell that time, as Shawn had gone first. Begrudgingly he pressed the button in a way that minimized physical contact with the building.
Nothing was happening- outwardly, anyway. Shawn could have sworn he heard movement from within the small house. A look from Gus said he noticed it as well.
"Hello?" Shawn called out. "Is anyone here? I'm sensing bad vibrations…" He called loud enough to be heard through the door.
"Not the James Marshall kind," Gus said.
"And yet we would embrace his techno-beats wholeheartedly," Shawn said.
"No one's home!" A voice timidly called. Then they heard a loud curse. But not a mystical one- one too vulgar for repeating in a PG-13 rated story.
"There's no need to be alarmed," Shawn said in his performative voice. He raised a hand to his temple in his signature psychic pose. "I'm a psychic, I sensed I was in need here. I'm getting a name…" Pause for dramatic emphasis. Wait for it...
"Louie- but not small Louie. Nay- the opposite! Tom Hanks! Fortune tellers! Keyboards and age-appropriate sleepovers! Big Louie, the spirits have led us to you!"
They waited in anticipation, both leaning forward towards the door straining to hear a response.
"I'm not sure he heard you," Gus said.
The door was jerked open no more than an inch, causing the hinges to squeak. In the small gap between the door and frame appeared an eye, which was presumably on a face that was attached to a person. A very shy one, apparently.
"You know me? You know who I am?" A voice asked tentatively from behind the door. The lone eye was wide, shaking.
"I only know what the spirits tell me," Shawn said. "There are things I know, yet things I don't. Like how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop. Or what products David Bowie used to style his hair."
"We're here to help," Gus added.
There was a pause. Shawn and Gus leaned in as they strained to hear a reply.
"You're… a Psychic?" The voice said, curiously.
"Indeed I am. My name is Goody Madmartigan, and this is my assistant, Bluespire "The Raven" Willow," Shawn said.
"Hello," Gus said.
There was a sigh of relief, and the door opened fully to reveal a middle-aged man standing at the threshold. He had long black hair that was tied in a loose ponytail, but was oily and unkept. He probably hadn't washed it for some time. Tattoos, many similar to the kind seen on the John Doe, covered most of his arms and continued under his short sleeves. His clothing was a mixture of blacks, whites, and grays- with bits of leather, and around his neck hung half a dozen silver and stone pendants with various symbols. Most curiously, the man was not large at all- rather, he appeared fairly skinny, and short.
"Boy, am I glad you're here," Big Louie said.
"You're 'Big Louie'?" Gus asked while shooting a skeptical look at Shawn. Shawn reciprocated.
"That's right," He said. It took a moment for him to sense their hesitation. "I lost a lot of weight last year," he explained. "I used to be a lot bigger. I joined Weight Watchers."
Shawn and Gus let out an 'oh' of understanding. "Good for you," Gus said.
"May we come inside?" Shawn asked.
"I could use the help of a psychic right now," Not Very Big Louie said. He moved aside and fully opened the door. "I don't know what to do! I'm- I'm kind of freaking out."
As they entered the house, there was a thick line of a white powdery substance that lined the floor just inside the doorway.
"Careful," Louie said hastily. "Don't break the salt line."
The two of them eyed the salt strangely as they stepped over it. They entered the foyer, which was also part of the small living room and the hallway. The room was full, to say the least. If it were a hotel, the 'No Vacancy' sign would have been long illuminated and burnt out. Strange items were mounted all over the walls as well as scattered about on bookshelves and tables. They looked to be pendants or charms similar to the ones around Louie's neck- but in some places, they looked almost like small bones. There were rocks of various colors and types as well that were reminiscent of a cavern gift shop.
Gus turned to the left and visibly recoiled- only to realize it was a taxidermied deer head that hung on the wall. There was also what looked to be a mountain lion and quail on the opposite wall, as well.
Tapestries with intricate woven symbols hung on some walls, similar to the strange tattoo designs they researched earlier. Interspersed with the mysterious imagery were metal crosses.
The room would have been foreboding, the sort that would give a visitor a sense of dread in the pit of their stomach that couldn't be logically explained, if it weren't for the bright pink floral couch sitting in the middle of the floor.
That, and the kitten calendar that hung in the corner.
"Wow…" Shawn let out. "Hey, don't you have that same calendar in your office?" He asked while turning to Gus.
"It's a bit of a mess, I apologize," Louie said. "Can I get you anything? Rosemary tea? Maybe some vervain? Wait… You probably knew I was going to ask that," Louie said with a sheepish smile.
"Indeed I did," Shawn said. He fought the urge to ask for chocolate Ovaltine and cookies, although the thought was appealing. Louie didn't seem to be a dangerous person, if a bit odd.
"Nothing for us, thank you," Gus said, and he shot a look at Shawn. "How about you tell us what's bothering you?" Gus said.
"Yes, I'm sensing… Something has happened. Someone you know… a tragedy," Shawn said.
They moved to sit on the bright pink couch and a nearby reading chair.
"Well…" Louie started. He paused to collect his thoughts, seemingly unsure of where to begin. "It all started at our weekly meeting. It was just like always. We arrived, said hello to Christine-"
"Christine? Is she a lady friend?" Shawn said with a sly smile.
Louie frowned. "No… She's a cursed doll."
Shawn and Gus exchanged a look.
"Really?" Shawn asked.
"Is that so?" Gus asked.
"It is. But that's not important- You see, at the meeting the other night… Something terrible happened."
The two found themselves leaning forward slightly in anticipation.
"We have these meetings- the Society for Paranormal and Supernatural Enthusiasts. For anyone who's interested in things not explained by regular science- things like magic and spirits, creatures, monsters, that sort of thing. We meet once a week to discuss and be with like-minded people."
"What is that? SPSE? Spee-cee… Spea sea..." Shawn sounded the letters aloud.
"It's not a very good acronym," Louie admitted.
"Rough on the tongue," Gus said.
"Anyways, the meeting this week, something was different... Something terrible happened."
There was a pause as they waited for him to continue.
He didn't.
"...Yes, I believe you mentioned that," Shawn finally said.
Louie nodded, as if working to build courage up within himself. "It was my friend, Matt. We'd seen each other every week for the past three months. But this time, while we were there, he disappeared somewhere. I went to go looking for him, even though we're not supposed to wander the building. Safety and all."
"You can't wander around?" Gus asked.
"It's obviously because of the dangerous magic. And the ghost of Ricardo Montalbon, I imagine," Shawn said. "Ricardo Montalbon is still alive," Gus said in an inpatient tone.
"Is he?" Shawn asked.
"He's right- about the magic, that is. There are a lot of mystical artifacts in our collection, and some of them have dark magic," Louie said. "Christine can be temperamental, especially! But Matt wasn't worried about that. He'd disappear sometimes. He always said he needed to walk around often because of his stiff legs. Usually he would come back for group communal discussion, but he didn't this time. "
There was another pause.
They waited for him to continue, only to be met with another long, awkward silence.
"And?" Gus asked.
"Can you just… tell us the whole story, in one go," Shawn said rather than asked, his tone impatient.
Louie nodded. "Right- Sorry. So I went looking for him. I was in a secluded hallway just outside of the meeting room, when I saw him. I knew right away something was very wrong. He was stumbling around, all stuttering and trying to speak. But he couldn't! Then he fell forward, and I barely caught him. He managed to jerk away from me and fumble into the main room. Everyone saw him. And then… he fell over. Dead.
"Right after that, our leader arrived to check on him- But it was too late," Louie shook his head. "Too late… Poor Matt."
"We're sorry for your loss," Gus said.
"Yes… And this Matt, what would his last name be?" Shawn asked.
Louie frowned, then narrowed his eyes slightly. "Aren't you supposed to be psychic? How come you don't know all of this already? My regular Psychic would."
"I am at the whim of the spirits. It's outside of my control," Shawn said mystically with a hand hovering near his brow. "I know that you work at a tattoo parlour, and that you gave Matt a tattoo. I'm seeing… a circle. A circle of fire! And… a star?" He titled his head in a show of curiosity.
"That's right!" Louie said, his energy and excitement returning. "Okay- Yes. That's right. Wow, I knew you were the real thing."
"Of course I am," Shawn said smoothly.
"That's how we met, actually," Louie said. "He came in asking for certain tattoos- Magic ones, the kind I have experience with." He smiled and pointed at his left arm and the mystical looking tattoos that covered it. "I'm the expert down at the shop, and I realized he had an interest in the same kind of things I did. I invited him into the group." The smile fell from his face. "Poor Matt."
"What did you say his name was?" Gus asked with a raised brow.
"Maxwell. His name was Matthew Maxwell," Louie said firmly. Then he leaned forward towards them with a sober expression, his eyes darting left then right as if to check for anyone listening in. "There was one other thing," he said. "Just before he died… He gave me something, said to keep it safe." "Did he say to keep it secret, and was it a ring?" Shawn asked. Gus nudged him with his elbow.
"What did he give you?" Gus asked.
Louie looked around them once more for good measure, despite the fact that they were alone in the room with taxidermied animal heads. "This," he said. He reached down his shirt to fish for it, a pendant of some kind on one of the many necklaces around his neck. He pulled out a small white, fuzzy object no longer than four inches in length. It was connected to a short loop, and it dangled in the air between the three of them.
"Is that a rabbit's foot?" Gus asked, his brow furrowing. "Yes. I don't know why it was so important to him, but I'm not taking any chances. This won't leave my sight. I've promised that to his spirit," Louie said. He was grave, sober.
They watched the furry item that hung in the air. Gus made a disgusted face that was somehow wary and fearful all at once. He then leveled a stern look at Shawn, which he understood to mean Gus was displeased at this turn of events, the idea of dealing with a curse, and the very idea of taxidermy in general. Gus hated the practice.
Shawn wondered what sort of animal head he would choose to have in the office, if he could. Perhaps a jackalope? Or an albino squirrel?
"Right..." Shawn said in a less than confident tone.
Before they could say or do anything more, Louie quickly withdrew the rabbits foot and tucked it safely down his shirt, hidden away with his other necklaces.
"Do you have any idea what killed him?" Shawn asked. "The spirits… They won't speak to me, not yet. But they say I must help you." He held a hand to his temple, twiddling his fingers in a mysterious way.
"Well…" Louie started. He paused, a hesitant and fearful expression coming over his face. He opened his mouth and closed it again, working up the courage to speak.
Shawn and Gus leaned forward, listening.
"He was cursed!"