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2.66 The Fool

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Half expecting to find Orin smirking at me, despite my reassurances that his presence here was unnecessary. It took a long second for the significance of the shock of snow-white hair above a pair of shoulders draped in a deep forest green suit coat to register.

Shirt.

Shirt. Shirt. Shirt!

What the forking hall is Abraham’s Errant doing in Sarah’s family’s front room? 

Keeping half an ear out for Sarah’s inevitable return, I eased inside, training my eyes on the Errant’s lean figure, looking for a flicker of movement indicating he knew I was drawing closer. 

He didn’t twitch. 

Skirting around the central coffee table, wary of the sprawling (mid-contest) Monopoly game laying on its surface and teetering along the edge, it only took a handful of seconds to reach the suited up Errant standing before the cold brick fireplace. Wrapping my fingers around his wrist immediately transformed his statuesque countenance into a struggling mass of elbows and knees intent on breaking my unbreakable grasp.

“Stop.”

Of course, this borderline order didn’t do much (or help in any way), as he continued yanking on his arm while backpedaling away from me.

Trying again, this time aiming for less authoritative and more unruffled, I identified myself in an even voice. “I am the Caretaker of Nevermore, who are you?” 

“Caretaker? Caretaker. Caretaker. Caretaker. Caretaker. Caretaker.” Crooning my title like his favorite song, he immediately stilled.

You know the protracted discordant noise a piano makes when someone depresses the pedal and hits a whole bunch of random keys at the same time? The lingering dissonance of that note is the best way to describe the Vita presently resonating under my grip. 

And if you haven’t guessed – it isn’t a good sign. 

“Yes, I am the Caretaker. Who are you?”

“The Fool. The Fool. The Fool. The Fool.” He sang softly at me.

Fantastic. 

There’s a possibility I could bring him back from the brink. However, if Abraham’s correct and The Fool’s (I’m going with it) the root cause of Rye’s missing Errants – this might be bad – as it might allow him to muster enough Vita to attack someone stronger – and win. On the other hand, it could keep him from syphoning off another Errant’s Vita to stave off Fading and/or stay sane (well saner). Thus allowing me time to find his Origin Point. And technically speaking, I haven’t uncovered anything corroborating Abraham’s claims…

Weaving a delicate thread of my own Vita into The Fool’s, I strove to balance his.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Help…” The singsong sound cadence belied the naked desperation painting his face.

Not wanting to overwhelm him, I braided a slightly sturdier fiber of Vita in with The Fool’s, bringing it closer to equipoise. “How can I help? What’s your name? Where’s your Origin Point?..” Unfortunately, a series of thumps, bumps, and thuds interrupted my litany of the Six Ws (the foundations of problem-solving). 

“Morticia?”

The Fool, finally able to form full sentences, and sandwiched his desperation into them – did so. “Please, let me go. If I don’t see you with her, I won’t have to tell them about you.” 

Listening to the swish of Sarah’s nylon coat grow closer, waves of panic started rolling off him. Just as he opened his mouth to renew his plea, I released his wrist and watched him sprint from Sarah’s living room.

“Morticia, where did you go?”

“In here.” 

Stepping towards the table, I stared down at the thimble straddling the line between jail and the just visiting square, wondering if I could figure out if The Fool was friend or foe on my own. I still needed to visit Eliza, and Abraham might’ve found out something new since I saw him last…

In the throes of woolgathering, I tuned out Sarah’s entrance into the living room. 

Every Errand and Resident have their geographical limits…It’s possible if I use Eliza’s spot and Sarah’s house as starting points…I’ve done it before…but it sounds like he needs help sooner…Shifting my gaze off the thimble, I slid it up to the apple crate filled with four binders now sitting on the davenport. Or I could keep the only tangible connection I’d found to The Fool, forego my fantasy of firing Sarah and see if I could shrug off enough hurt from the knife she buried in my back to stand her company…

Some days being an adult really sucks.

Breaking the unintended silence with a sigh, I looked Sarah square in the face and gave her the brutal truth. “I don’t know if we can remain friends after all this…”

Eyes shining brightly, Sarah attempted to interrupt. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to save…”

Holding up my hand, I didn’t let the rest of her explanation exit her mouth. “Look, I’m not ready to hear it, any of it, yet. In fact, I’d never really intended to allow you to explain, as I woke up today, thinking I was going to fire you….”

Tipping her head back, Sarah let lose a brittle, bitter laugh. “That’s funny, I’ve been working up the courage to quit for months now.”

Tilting my head at her candid comeback, I was unable to keep my interest out of my voice. “Why didn’t you?” 

Her hesitation before answering spoke volumes. “It’s complicated.”

“I get that.” Taking a deep breath, I stopped dancing around the alligator at my feet. “Okay, here’s the deal, if you don’t want to quit, I’m willing to see if we can function as co-workers…”

“I..I…Really? Are you sure?”

Pausing her, before she accepted and/or her bright eyes spilled over, I finished my offer. “…on two conditions. First and foremost, you’ll be demoted back to an undertaker. Second, until we find a new Chief, you might need to pitch in with some of the paperwork, so we don’t fall behind…Are these terms acceptable to you?”

2.54 It’s Not What You Know…

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Despite the relatively short walk back to the Lavender Lady, Joseph insisted on providing an escort. His confirmation of my hunch, unfortunately, lead to a pair of slightly soggy eyes, which shocked and appalled us both in equal measure. Hence, Orin’s presence on my left. 

(Finding out Sarah hadn’t been a friend of mine for some time, stung a surprising amount.)

“Would you like me to keep on tabs on her?”

Giving him a wane smile, I shook my head at Orin’s offer. “That’s not necessary.” 

“I don’t mind.” Ambling easily next to me, his casual tone didn’t fool me. 

Embedding himself in Sarah’s life, on the off chance he might discover a new nugget of information, isn’t going to happen. Not only is it sleazy to spy on someone in such a manner, but it’s also incredibly cruel to Orin. Isolation and loneliness are highly corrosive elements to Errants and Residents alike. As Sarah’s life is filled with a plethora of people should Orin insert himself in her life, it could quickly drive him around the bend.

“Really, don’t worry about it. I’ve got her number now.” Nearing the Lavander Lady’s back gate, another thought occurred to me. “Though, if you’re bored, it would be a huge help if you could track down Abraham and pass on a message for me.”

“Shoot.” 

“If you could let him know; I’ve check-in with about half the Errants in Rye without finding anything unusual. I’m planning on visiting everyone else over the next week or two.”

Nodding briskly, we paused under the orange glow of the streetlamp by the garden gate. “Anything else?” 

Leaning a hip against the slats of the fence for a moment, I shook my head. “Not that I can think of unless you’ve spotted an Errant sporting a green suit wandering about?” Watching Orin’s head duplicate the previous motion of my own, I moved on. “You’ll probably find Abraham hanging-out with Eliza.”

“Then, that’s where I’ll start. Take care, Caretaker.” 

“Night, Orin, and thanks.”

Touching his cap, Orin turned on his heel in the direction of the park. Pushing open the gate, ignoring the single butterfly in my stomach that steadfastly refuses to acknowledge the rechristening of Beatrice’s shed, I quickly mounted The Map Room’s shallow steps. 

Thankfully, the Lepidoptera I’d dubbed Mrs. Futtersworth, winged it after I flipped on the lights.

Standing before the waist-high wall of boxes, I silently patted my past self on the back for her meticulous labeling skills. Quickly locating the correct cardboard cube containing seven years’ worth of yearbooks, it took mere moments to extract them from their repository, shut off the lights, lock the door, and retrace my earlier route up the garden path. (Only at a far more sedate pace.)

Thankfully my belated arrival back at the Lavender Lady didn’t spawn a single one of my worst-case scenarios. Instead, I found myself nose to nose with one very pushy cousin (and when I say pushy, I mean that in the literal sense of the word). 

“Does the name Kiyomi Kimura mean anything to you?”

“Come again?”

“Kiyomi Kimura, do you know her?” 

“She was one of Josie’s sycophants, why?”

“Her name came up, she’s the Garden Club’s secretary, by the way, and it’s been killing me because I know, I know her…”

“You’re probably recalling the time Wood literally stood on Aunt and Uncle’s rooftop shouting about Rye High winning both the girl’s and boy’s state soccer titles. He and Kiyomi captained their respective sides.”

Dancing out of the way, and thus allowing me to actually enter the apartment, Robbie successfully blocked my attempt to set down my armload of yearbooks. Pressing his advantage further, he deftly shepherded me towards Beatrice’s office by nudging, bumping and jostling me along.

It took less than a second for our guffaws to fill the hall as his herding technique devolved into him, bodily shoving me along while I did my best to emulate a boulder. (Which didn’t work, neither did visualizing redwood roots binding my sneakers to the floor or picturing my bones turning into lead. In case your wondering.)

Robbie, who didn’t view his additional seven inches and fifty plus pounds as an unsportsmanlike advantage, crowed in triumph as he manhandled me across the threshold. Panting slightly and still wearing an impish grin, Robbie promptly flopped onto a pile of forest green cushions customarily found on the living room couch and picked up his tablet. The others, all of whom wore varying expressions of amusement at our antics, resumed their work. Ira, who’d handily beat me back here, sat at Beatrice’s computer zipping thru the security video Joseph already summed up for me. Beatrice and Leo sat opposite each other in the chairs by the window, typing on their respective laptops. 

“The Brownie Stealing Bench and Kiyomi were friends in high school.” Robbie, after tapping in his password, aimed my answer at Leo.

Leo transferred his gaze from his screen onto me. “Are you sure?”

Stifling the memories of their mocking laugher, I answered. “Yes.” 

“How about Larissa Cardenes and Agata Canetti?”

Crossing the room, I set the yearbooks on the edge of the desk where Ira was working and divested myself of my jacket. “Part of the core group as well.”

“Derek Workman?”

“Ummm…..he was in our class…I think one of them went to prom with him, maybe? I’ll check.”

Luckily, stealing a cushion from the edge of Robbie’s nest only elicited a few minor grumbles from its creator. Satisfied the theft wasn’t going to result in getting winged in the head by a retaliatory flying frosted cookie, I set my purloined bit of padding betwixt Leo and Beatrice. 

Before I started skimming through my senior year yearbook, for the Prom Court photo-montage, I glanced up at Leo. “So, I gather the hunch panned out?” 

Catching my glance, Leo gave me a wide wolfish smile.

2.46 Idle Hands

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(Filbert’s original sign from way back in the day.)

Stepping to the front of the line, ignoring the spark singing across my toes, I craned my neck, trying to sneak a peak around the stacked blue flats filled with hotdog & hamburger buns, wheat & white loaves, and crinkly crumpet packets. Unfortunately, the fresh from the oven baked goods completely covered the faded drawing a bored hand had placed on the exposed beam, seven inched above the floor, in the backroom of Filbert’s Market across from the restrooms.

I’d been ten when an absentminded stock clerk left a marks-a-lot marker on top of an open case of peanut butter whilst Aunt Pearl stood in line to ‘spend a penny.’ Due to the unexpected urgency of her call of nature, Aunt Pearl failed to notice me swiping the pen as I passed the stack of case packs.

Sitting on the chipped cement floor in the narrow space betwixt some boxes and the wooden beam, waiting for Aunt Pearl to reopen the restroom door, I doodled a bulbous nosed man looking over a wall then wrote ‘Killroy was here!’ above it. My grandfather introduced the piece of wartime graffiti to me the weekend before on his visit, and it sparked my imagination. (The drawing, not the war in which my grandfather fought. I didn’t learn until much later about his time in France.) Envisioning the real Killroy’s broad smile in my mind’s eye, should he happen to spot my effort in keeping his chain-letter-cartoon alive, I failed to register the warning my prickly toes tried to give me.

An Errant, who was none too pleased with my unsanctioned scribbling, towered over me.

He delivered a four-letter fortified dressing down on the disrespect I displayed towards him, the workers, and the owners when I chose to deface the store’s two-by-four. After concluding his comprehensive diatribe on my overall lack of regard for others, he turned to storm off – only to stop cold at my quiet apology.

“Hello, Troublemaker.” 

I’m fairly certain the only way Samuel Washington will ever fully forgive me for the drawing is to paint over it. However, since it was a job of work just reconsecrating his Origin Point, I’m not going to try and erase the decades-old doodle. No matter how much it bugs him. (Plus, at this point, I think he might actually miss it if it was gone.) 

“At least your drawing makes sense. The new shop-girls keep drawing that cat/rabbit thing.” 

Following his eyes, I glanced over at the employee bulletin board next to me. There amongst the official minimum wage posters, recall notices, and one chinchilla rehoming advert was a series of Totoro illustrations of varying quality. Wordlessly I slipped my phone out of my pocket, tipped it towards Samuel, so he could see the screen and pulled up the synopsis of the classic animated movie.

“Oh, it’s from a picture show…. Still would be nice to know if this Totoro is a rabbit or a cat.” 

Shrugging my shoulders slightly in response, I took an extra second to flip over to my FLYT ap to make sure Mr. Fernandez hadn’t finished early (he hadn’t). Canting my head towards the restroom door, who’s rattling lock signaled its’ impending opening, I waited for the produce clerk to hustle past before stepping into the vacant room. Samuel, who’s never been thrilled at our meeting arrangement (but hasn’t thought of a better way for us to speak in private), popped reluctantly in behind me. 

Starting the stopwatch on my phone, since there’s only so long you can spend in a semi-public restroom without arousing unwelcome attention, I got immediately down to business. “Has a man in a green suit come around to visit or shown interest in your genesis point?”

My question got Samual’s attention. “No, no one I don’t know has stopped by. Is there a threat?”

“I don’t know. Abraham found this unknown Errant inspecting Eliza’s spot and chased him off. I wanted to make sure you knew, in case he shows up here.” 

Samual let loose a delightful string of colorful four-letter words. 

Finally, winding up his litany of profanity (a habit of his which, as a kid, I found highly educational as he’s got some real zingers in his arsenal), he turned back towards me his face taunt. “Is there any way I can help?”

“Keep an eye out, use the Relay to get word to me if you see him or find any hint he’s been here. I’ll come right away.”

Raking his hand across his close-cropped hair, he gave a short bark of laughter that held many things, joy not being amongst them. “You think the Relay will help me if this Errant has anything but benevolent intentions? I haven’t been able to Flare for decades. Hell, you can’t even feel my genesis point unless you’re practically standing on it.”

There’s a thought.

Looking down at the ever-increasing number on the stopwatch, I sighed and shoved aside a whole new set of questions. “I know. But whoever this guy is, he ran when Abraham Flared, so perhaps his Vita is limited as well? The Relay might warn him off. It’s early days yet. Hopefully, I will know more soon.”

Shoulders slumping, threadbare bitterness supplanted his anger. “I doubt this Errant will locate me, riveted in place as I am, but I’ll let you know if he swings by.” 

Knowing any effort to cheer him would only renew his anger. I moved on as the stopwatch told me our time had nearly run out. 

“Is there anything new here I should know about?”

Samuel shook his head. “No, nothing that would cause me any problems. Though Donald Knouser, in seafood, stole a bag of frozen ahi tuna poke on Monday.”

After writing the information on my to-do list, I walked over, flushed the toilet, and then waited for a few beats before turning on the tap. “I’ll let the manager know. Anything else?”

“No.”

Turning off the tap, I pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser, tossed it away, and turned off my stopwatch just as it hit three minutes. “I swing by on Saturday as usual. Please be careful, Samuel.”

Giving me a curt nod Samuel left. Letting loose a heavy sigh, I unlocked the lock and stepped across the threshold towards the oversized stockroom doors. 

2.39 Oh, For The Love Of Peter Pan…

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If you haven’t already guessed my youngest cousin, Robbie, came as an unexpected surprise to Uncle and Aunt Pearl on November twelfth, nineteen-ninety-four. Well, the news they were getting a new addition to the household was a surprise – the inevitable event didn’t happen for another seven months. 

Unlike our parental figures, the news didn’t faze us kids a whit.

Dwight secretly hoped they’d bring a puppy home from the hospital. Jesse worried Uncle would miss his hockey games. I blissfully ignored everything as I’d just discovered all the old trunks/cupboards/suitcases in the attic & started excavating them. I’m not sure about what Dylan or Ian thought about it – but it probably involved Legos.

What we didn’t appreciate at that point, though Aunt Pearl and Uncle probably did, was the steep age gap dividing us from Robbie. A gap that became glaringly obvious the year Robbie transformed into a teen. His teenage angst provided my cousins and me, who’d already transitioned into our twenties, with heaps of vaguely uncomfortable perspective on our own bouts of frightful behavior based on bad hair, worse judgment, and hormones. (And some serious entertainment for my Aunt and Uncle.)

Even more delicious?

Robbie had five additional targets for his pique.

Case in point, the Christmas after Robbie turned seventeen, I spent the entire day wishing I could kick his rear up around his ears. Why? For the whole of Christmas Day, he wouldn’t acknowledge my existence. He didn’t respond if I spoke, didn’t open the presents I made him, and tossed out his slice of cake after he learned I’d baked it. Plus, a whole host of other infuriating slights.

All because I busted him splitting a six-pack of beer with his buddies in Nevermore. 

Apparently, I’d ‘completely embarrassed him’ after he assured his friends I’d be ‘cool’ if they got caught. Seems, ‘cool’ does not include packing said buddies into the Princess like sardines, insisting on driving them home and blistering their ears every inch of the way. Heaping insult on injury, Uncle caught Robbie sneaking in with beer on his breath and grounded him for a month.

Lamenting the sad state of affairs to Aunt Pearl whilst washing the last of the dishes. (In point of fact, my place setting as Robbie had been in charge of the clearing up.) I wound up my woe-is-me-s with, ‘I was never this bad at his age.’ 

Aunt Pearl laughed so hard she needed to sit down.

After she stopped wheezing, wiped away a tear or two, she assured me I had my moments. Then gave me a few words of wisdom that not only helped me deal with Robbie’s prickliness but with Abraham’s as well. “Don’t worry, Dear, he’ll figure out you’re on his side, eventually. Until then? Pretend you’re a duck.” So when Abraham’s voice dripped with barely contained disdain, due to my summons, I let it roll off my back like so much water. 

Me: “Would you rather I track you down?”

Abraham: “Is that a threat?”

Me (exasperated already): “No, I’m asking, would you rather I track you down or simply request your presence?”

Abraham (gritting his teeth): “The beacon is fine.”

Me: “Okay. So now that we’re clear that I’m trying to respect your privacy and in no way threatening you. Which by the way, I feel the need to point out I’ve never done. I was wondering why you Flared at Orin.”

Abraham: “Ah, yes, your pets.”

Me (tossing my hands up): “My gods, you’re a pain in my ass.”

Abraham, not unlike Robbie in his teenage prime, calls forth the urge in me to kick something. Once, during one of our conversations, I booted a plastic lawn ornament so hard it sailed clean across the street where it landed spectacularly on Mrs. Snells’s (dragon of the front office of Rye High) front porch. 

That being said, Abraham’s never let me down. 

Abraham (honing in on the irritation): “You’re only here because I threatened one of your pets.”

To be fair, he’s not totally wrong.

Me (taking a deep breath): “You’re right, I came because you threatened Orin.”

Abraham exhaled expressively, not unlike a punctured tire, at my admission, and muttered something about forking pets I didn’t quite catch. 

Me: “But I asked you to stop by because I was wondering why you felt the need to Flare at all.”

Abraham (sullenly): Why do you care? It took you months to come here and help them.

Me (utterly failing to marshal my patients): “I GOT HURT, OKAY! NOW CAN YOU JUST ANSWER THE FORKING QUESTION?”

Wood (calling out): “You okay, Morticia?”

Me (stomping to the gazebo’s entrance so Wood could see me): “Fine, just mad.”

Wood: “Okay?”

Me: “I won’t be much longer…”

Watching Wood reluctantly turn back around, I listened to him resumed his conversation with Laney. Still fuming, I turned back around and found Abraham standing opposite me.

Abraham (his shoulders hunched): “Sorry, Caretaker.”

Me (trying to relax again): “Accepted, now tell me why you Flared….please.”

Abraham (shifting in place): “I mistook Orin for someone else.”

Me (disbelief shorting out my brain): “Who could you possibly mistake Orin for?… Did you got bored again and Flared at some random girl trying to freak her out, and Orin caught you?”

Abraham: “Who are you, my mom?”

Me (bouncing my toe against the floorboard): “Oh, for the love of Peter Rabbit…”

Oh. My. Lords.

He’s actually reduced me into sounding like Aunt Pearl, she must have said something along those lines million times while my cousins and I were growing up. Completely unhinged by this inadvertent bit of muscle memory, it took considerable effort to refocus on Abraham’s words while keeping the tip of my sneaker from connecting with something, anything solid.

Abraham: “…..traded punches with a while back.”

Me (ignoring the resulting eye roll): “Come again?”

Abraham (condescension laced his words): “Aren’t you listening? Some old dude I’ve never seen before was sniffing around Eliza.”

Me (raking my hand thru my hair): “Could be someone new.”

Abraham (trying to sound casual): “Maybe, but I couldn’t take the chance. You know since we’ve started going missing….”

Me (head jerking back): “Hold on, missing? Missing how?”

Abraham (sounding both smug and worried): “Neither Eliza or I noticed at first, but we haven’t seen Gus in nearly a year. Now, Sam, Maria, and Grady are nowhere to be found.”

Me: “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Abraham (brusquely): “I’m not one of your pets. I don’t need your protection. I’m investigating this myself.”

Struggling to shove aside my desire to punt his ass across the park – I took a deep breath and counted backward from twelve as I exhaled….

…Damn it, Abraham intentionally threatened Orin knowing I’d turn up so he could drop this bomb. For the love of Venkman – only Robbie in all his teenage glory – could come up with a method more labyrinthine than this to ask for help. Pushing aside the feeling I’d let Abraham down for later examination, I began navigating around his hardened shell of adolescent surliness.

Me (cracking my neck): “How about this, since I know where the Genesis Points are for the other Errants in town, why don’t I make the rounds and see what I find.”

Abraham: “While you do that, I can try and lure that dude out by circling my spot.”

Me (lighting lancing thru my stomach): “Actually, I was hoping you could do me a favor…”

Abraham (suspicious): “Depends.”

Me: “Since this unknown guy already found Eliza, there’s a good chance he’ll be back. So I was hoping you could guard her for me. If he turns up again, lead him to Nevermore.”

Abraham (bouncing on the balls of his feet): “Nice! Joseph will make mincemeat of him. Alright, I’ll do it if you promise to tell me what you find out.”

Me: “Deal. Anything about this guy stand out?”

Abraham: “No, just some skinny old dude in a green suit.”

It took some doing, but I managed to keep my smile on the inside at Abraham’s answer. You see, Orin is a great mountain of a man, who is neither old nor wears anything that could ever be mistaken for a suit or any shade of green.

2.09.b Slip Sliding Away…

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2.09b slip sliding away

(Okay, so it wasn’t quite this wet…but it felt like it!)

Problem solved, Little Ben promptly expelled me from the Proprietor’s Office. Which initially, I found vexing as I still had several more questions to ask him. But his haste did provide one advantage – he never gave my bulging PULP tote a second glance. Allowing me to stroll out the main doors to the Princess (after retrieving my keys from Sam in Reception) with a bevy of snaffled documents without anyone being the wiser. 

Stowing the aforementioned tote in the passenger side footwell, as the Princess’s backseat/trunk was filled with moist cardboard boxes, I gave a flummoxed looking Lottie a little wave and drove further into Nevermore. It didn’t take long for the Big Cedar to come into view, but it did take a few minutes to wend my way to the parking spot beneath it’s dripping boughs. 

Wishing that the weather would let up for a few minutes (it didn’t), I pulled on my hat & gloves and exited the Princess. My prickling toes leading me over some seriously squelchy turf directly to the knot of waiting Residents Orin asked me to meet.

When I stepped into the thicket, they erupted in unison: How are you feeling? / Orin & Joseph said you were fine, but we wanted to make sure. / What made you mad earlier? Little Ben? / We missed you. / Did you really stop the Woman In White by yourself? / Everyone’s okay. / You should see my squirrel, he’s so cute now!

After assuring them, I was on the mend (visibly reducing their anxiety). Let them know Orin had relayed their get-well wishes (making him beam). Expressed relief the Woman In White hadn’t harmed them (wreathing the group in smiles) and let them know Joseph was the one who’d really saved the day (a clarification none accepted, which was weird). They caught me up on all the latest gossip in Nevermore (mainly encompassing the work ethic of the two new groundskeepers & Mazy’s squirrel buddy).

Only after I let loose a bone-rattling shiver did Orin call the congress to a halt (wool, a wondrous fiber, can only absorb so much water).

After many goodbyes and a bit more squirrel gossip, Orin accompanied back to the Princess, ostensibly to keep me from slipping on the swampy grass. However, my spidey sense was tingling (which was about the only sensation I could feel – since everything between and including my fingers and toes felt numb). He waited until we were well away from the others before he spoke.

Orin (quietly): “I happened upon an Errant, Caretaker.”

Well, this day just keeps getting better and better.

Me (sinking laces deep into the mud): “What happened?”

Orin: “Took a stroll through the old neighborhood to see what’s new when I caught a glimpse of him in Remembrance Park. Before I could decide what to do, he saw me and Flared.”

Me (sliding): “Did he pursue you?”

Orin (steadying me): “Nope.” 

Me (back under the Big Cedar I used a rock to scrape some of the mud off my shoe): “Well, that’s something. I take it you’ve not bumped into him before?”

Orin: “Nope, never, and I visit pretty regularly.”

Me (studying my slightly cleaner sneaker): “Did you tell Joseph?” 

Orin (nodding): “Yes, he’s prohibited anyone from venturing within a six-block radius until you investigate.”

Me (sighing): “Anything else?”

Orin (thoughtfully): “The Flare felt more like a warning, don’t come closer, rather than belligerent.”

Me (nodding while unlocking the driver’s side door): “Thanks Orin, I’ll check it out.”

Squeezing my shoulder once in sympathy, Orin turned on his heel and strode away. Ensconced in the Princess, I cranked up the heat then rested my head against the steering wheel. Waiting for the feeling to return to my extremities, acknowledging what the weather tried to tell me earlier – I should’ve stayed at home (if nothing else today proves the old adage when it rains it pours).

Seems my recovery/break/staycation is over.

I need something sweet.