John's Lawn

“Keep your head held high. You’re remarkable, kid.”

The grizzled old man fell away as my eyes jerked open. Upright in my chair I searched the dusty office for him, but just as always, he was gone. Not much was visible through the haze of ash and smoke beyond a stream of light coming from my boss’s monitor. Simmons, as it happens, had forgotten to turn the vent fan on. Looking up, the smoke alarm was, once again, disassembled. The battery sat beside his overflowing ashtray, which in turn, was sitting beside his overflowing trashcan.

‘Man-child’ might be a word to describe Simmons if it weren’t for everything else about him. I wasn’t necessarily surprised to find he was a detective before… this; but the way we met implied he was more of a human trafficker. His moral compass, as it happens, was intact… more or less, but that didn’t mean he was sane. Fortunately, his brand was one I fell under, maybe on the other side of the tree…

“The Apex Investigation Agency” is how he advertised it to our clients. We didn’t have a sign, no direct online presence, and only the odd listing in the newspapers. When we made a little extra from a job, you could occasionally find it on the odd pirating website.

We’d gotten suggestions from clients here and there about advertising on horror pages, things that make it easier for people to reach out to us. It’s too much of a hassle though, sifting through the superstitious crowd to find the people with a legitimate problem. That’s not to say we never took any of those; but after the Cala incident we elected not to post on those websites anymore, leaving most any clients to word of mouth.

Simmons jerked his head back to me, his one groggy bag stared at me with eyepatch reflecting the screen’s light. I winced, turning away. My throat tightened and I reached for my right ear, fingers halting against the fresh scar tissue. The hearing aid in my good ear used to have a brother, but I only kept it in my desk as a memento. Figured if artificial ears ever became a possibility, it might come in handy. 

“You need something?”

My eyes pulled back to Simmons. His clear cadence carried intent that only came from absolute confidence in every word he spoke. “How long was I out?”

“14 hours.” Lighting a fresh cigarette he continued, “Rachel’s gonna be by later.”

Rachel, Rachel… My hand crept up to my throat. Rachel. “Oh Chad’s friend?” My voice cracked and I coughed, “Or girlfriend? Wife?” Chad was a brick of a man, standing at 7ish feet tall, loaded with roids, probably, and carrying midlength blonde, he held the air of a cartoon superhero. 

Despite his massive arms, he was, somehow, a brilliant mechanic. That alone would be reason enough to keep him in mind for repairs, but he also never asked questions like, “Why do you need an armor-plated van?” or, “Where’d you get this CaLa leather?” Or worse, “Why do you need so many hidden gun compartments?” As long as we paid what he asked, he got the job done in time for us to take up new assignments.

Rachel was… Rachel. She never looked the same two days in a row. Sometimes her skin drooped like it had a hard time holding onto her skeleton. Other times you could swear she was wearing someone else’s skin. She was a fine person, I didn’t have a problem with her, but she had this habit of filling silences with questions like: “Have you gotten into spiritualism?” followed closely by: “When was your last near-death experience?”

“That’s the one.” Simmons said.

“Great…” I coughed again.

“She’s fine, sharper than the average shade.” Jones puffed at his cancer stick, and I got up to turn on the fan.

“I don’t hate her, she’s just… weird.”

“We’re all weird, get over it.”

Hitting the switch, I went back to my seat, “She never talks to me. It’s like she’s gathering intel.”

“I do the same thing.”

“She asked how many hours a day I spend with shades. Then what my caloric intake looked like.”

“I believe the exact term she used was ‘atypicals.’”

“Her follow-up was if I’ve been meditating.”

“Well, she’s gonna be here later, so hop in the back. I’m not going to regulate her speech so you don’t have a mental breakdown.”

I looked down at the prescription bottle beside my monitor. Picking it up, I shook it. Shit.

“Right, your dealer came by earlier.” He fastballed a fresh bottle at me, hitting my good ear.

My head sparked with the sharp jolt to my hearing aid. “Easy!” I rubbed it as I picked up the bottle. Popping a pill, I failed to notice Simmons’ approach. “She said make sure to keep it on you so you don’t die from withdrawals.” An envelope slapped against my keyboard, filling my blank document with nonsense.

Peeling the paper back, I counted the cash, “I don’t imagine she gave it to you for free.”

“Nope, and I sure as shit wasn’t paying for it.” He headed to the back, “Coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.” Slipping the peeling leather wallet out of my pocket, I made a note to get a new one when I had the chance. The thought slipped past me as I tossed the wallet to my desk and leaned back, a sigh escaping me, which morphed into a yawn. One of those long yawns where you keeping thinking you’re about done and then it resets. It reset a few times, but before I could finish, the phone interrupted me. Just like a disrupted sneeze, the sensation lingered until the phone rang again. Picking it up, a fresh yawn took hold, starting my introduction.

“Apex Investigators, this is Apprentice Corton, how may I help you today?” Clearing the gibberish from my monitor, I prepared myself for whatever the call held.

“Yes, this is Terry, I’m calling to see if you have any availability for today.” His overwhelmingly average voice carried frustration, worry, anger. I got the impression he was only calling because he had to.

“We should be clear for the most part. This isn’t an emergency is it? If it is you should try–”

“Not one the police can solve. Call it a private emergency, a friend recommended your services.”

A part of me wanted to try and sound cool. Say something like, ‘You’ve come to the right place.’ Or speculate on who might’ve recommended us. But I had to be efficient with my words, at least, according to Simmons. “Missing person?”

“Uh, yeah.”

At least this call should be simple. “Suspected government involvement?” I tried to stifle my yawn, but it only lead to the onset of a headache.

“What’s going on?”

Honestly, it was a lucky guess. Despite my trying to be efficient, I still wanted to sound cool. Well, that, and there are only so many reasons you avoid the police for a missing person. Would it have made more sense that the police couldn’t find them? Absolutely, but if someone recommended us specifically… Well, we have a very specific clientelle. “You’ll need to talk to the lead investigator when you get here. If you’re coming right over you may have to wait a bit. But assuming you’re atypical… well you should be fine, I can send you the address if you’d like.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you for calling The Apex Investigation Office.” The nausea eased in as I yawned again, “If you have any questions, feel free to ask them upon your arrival.” I hung up and checked my miniscule notes. One of us is gonna need this when the guy gets here.

Simmons’s voice broke out from the back, “Yeah, intuition, fuck off!” I shouldn’t listen, but… “…That’s several now, just send me a bottle and call it a day… It’s been years, you’re always busy…” He came out from the back room, dropping a mug on my desk. Startled, I pulled the document back up, but he passed by without a word to me. “… Whatever, don’t die.” Flopping down at his desk, he mused to himself, tossing his phone to the table. “‘Don’t die?’ Yeah, that’s good.”

Setting his coffee down, he rolled to the wall and pulled a down a framed document. My eyes darted between him and my monitor, ready at any moment to act like I wasn’t listening. I didn’t want to listen, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I also wasn’t not trying. I was complicit, if I heard, I heard, and he wasn’t trying to talk quietly to himself or anything.

He flipped the frame around in his hand. “The fuck kind of name is Maerod anyway?”

“Who’s Maerod?”

Simmons flicked his head at me, pupil tiny. It only took a second for his face to relax. “A problem apparently. It should be nothing for now.”

“Nothing?”

“For now.”

“And that means… ?”

He looked down at the frame. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he licked his teeth; smoke trickled down his nose as he replied, “I’m not sure yet.” He took a deep, steady breath and continued with an exhale, “I need to talk to our tech guy, see if he can get some info on this girl.”

“You’re not waiting till you find a new one?”

“Acccording to Dexter, it’s urgent, so unless you have someone in mind, I don’t have a choice.”

I hesitated, a figure from my past coming to mind. She was from before my life turned, a complete pain in my ass and manipulative to boot. A certainty lingered that she would almost assuredly help us if I asked, if she knew I was still alive… “No, I uh– don’t know anyone like that.”

“Then no, I’m not waiting for a new tech guy to fall out of the sky. We have to work with what we have.”

The door chimed and we turned our heads. A lady walked in, fit, though you couldn’t tell from the baggy, almost ceremonial clothing she wore. The clothes, garments really, were a soft white and yellow. A beaver pendant hung from her neck. Her long hair was tied together with a raven pin ensuring her dark brown hair wasn’t mistaken for black.

I’d never seen her dressed up before, she was usually in modern clothing, one time she even wore a full combat getup, but today…

“Welcome in Rachel, you look good.” Simmons spoke, but he was looking at me, darting his eyes to the back.

Her subtle Irish accent was nearly masked by the dull rattle in her throat that never cleared. “Thank you Jones, your monotone compliments never cease to pass me by.” I stood to leave, “Xavier, can I talk to you when we’re done here? Something is bothering me.”

I looked back at Jones, he was facing Rachel but still shrugged. Turning to her, my eyes traced her figure, never meeting her, “I-I um-uh, is it, like, important?”

“Something about your soul concerns me.”

I think you took the acid a little early there. Of course, I’d never say that, I had to keep things professional. Secretly, I knew what she was; even though Jones hadn’t told me, I mean hell, she wore a different skin-suit every time we met. I could tell she tried to find one that looked similar every time, but something was always off. Typically it’d take three times for me to catch on, but I guess I was getting better.

Her mentioning my soul threw me for a loop though, “I didn’t know you were a soul-walker.” I chuckled, anxious.

“Xavier, this is serious.”

“Y-yeah, sure, we can… do that.” I made my way to the back as she laid out her issue to Simmons. That’s where I waited until the conversation neared a conclusion.

“C-can we hurry this along?” Rachel said, which was my cue to head back out. I snuck to my chair, sitting low and avoiding her gaze. She’d broken into a light sweat despite the chill in the air. Simmons was sweating, hand on his neck.

“Y-yeah no problem, I’ll just need a few personal details and permission to visit the residence. Of course I’ll need confirmation from Sepratine as well.”

Rachel pulled her phone from a satchel and dialed. While she waited for an answer, I noticed Simmons looking around, nervous about something. I’d listened to their whole conversation, but nothing stood out to me, nothing to put the two of them on edge.

Rachel started her one sided conversation, nothing consequential enough to remember cropped up. The only thing of note was how each passing second she was in more of a hurry to leave. It was only when she hung up that things got wacky.

The bell chimed and in walked a tall, slender figure, probably a man. He stood around seven and a half feet, wore a hoodie, track pants, and dress shoes. Over his face, a ski mask and sunglasses. It took me about half a second to connect him to the call from earlier, he’s already here? Does he live in town? God those are some stems. Thoughts tumbled over each other in my head, but ultimately, only one thing escaped my mouth, “Holy shit, a-are you Terry?” My hands were on my desk, my feet planted on the ground. I was leaning over my desk, enthralled and a bit terrified. Not remembering standing, I forced myself back down to my seat, a far more arduous task than it should’ve been.

My pulse raced my desire to leave; in the moment, there was only flight. I knew this guy could roll me into a ball, and I personally prefer my spine mostly straight.

Simmons stared at the tower-man for a minute, “Terry, is that really you?” Shit did I even tell Simmons about him? It was right before– “I’m sorry, let me finish helping Miss Rachel here, I can help you however you need after that.” My gaze lingered on my boss as I tried to pick apart his angle. His formality was a professional courtesy, but this time there was something more, additional attention to detail on his words, a degree of awareness beyond habit.

Simmons and Rachel continued for a bit before she readied to leave. She and Terry exchanged a few words before Rachel hurried out the door.

I tried to focus on my screens as Simmons helped Terry with the missing person case we’d be solving soon, but something nagged at me. This web of ties people and shades seemed to have with one another; it made me uncomfortable, I couldn’t quite place why. I suppose I felt… unnecessary?

The feeling led me to open my shade classification folder. Files on files filled the screen, and the hundreds of pages of information brought a relief to me. As long as I pay attention, I’ll be useful. I wasn’t perceptive enough for solving cases, I left that primarily to Jones, but I could at least notice details. I couldn’t connect them, but I could find them.

I was staring at my ‘Skinwalker’ file when my name ripped me out of a daze. “-Xavier here ask you a few questions. I need to make a phone call.” Simmons passed me by, leaving Terry to stand at his desk, staring at me. I gestured for him to come sit across from me and he approached.

Each step rippled through me, leaving goosebumps. The anxiety forced my hand up and through my over-grown hair. Grabbing a hairtie beside my keyboard, I pulled it back.

“Sorry for the outburst earlier you’re just–”

“It’s fine, I took no offense. Before we continue though, how often do you handle the paranormal here?”

I rolled back a bit, maintaining distance as he sat down. The question took me off guard. People don’t normally ask that right out of the gate. But I had a suspicion, and the still prickling hairs on my neck were slowly confirming it.

“Who’s asking?”

Slowly, he pulled off the sunglasses. No eyes, pale skin, almost white. He pulled off the ski mask.

“You can put that back on.” My voice cracked at his face… lessness. I’d pushed myself a couple inches further and leaned back, anything to keep from suffocating. I tried to relax, but my back was stiff, straight like someone stuck a peg up my ass and tuned my spine. I cleared my throat, “It’s our specialty.” I gave him a quick rundown of how we operate; slowly but surely, he leaned back in his chair. As he relaxed, so did the air, and soon enough, he’d pulled the peg back out and I could relax too. “…Really, we’re over equipped to handle normal cases. That’s not to say we don’t take those time to time, when you’re strapped for cash, even the odd missing dog becomes a potential assignment”

Terry released a sigh and fiddled with his face gear, putting it all back on. “I haven’t told Jones yet, but this guy I’m trying to rescue, Joseph, he got- well… turned.”

Glancing my monitor, I pulled up the document I’d shared with Simmons. First name basis huh? My fingers hovered the keyboard as I asked my question, “What, you mean like, a zombie?” Won’t be worth saving him if he was ghoulified. ‘Dead’ is outside our jurisdiction.

“No, he’s a vampire.”

I scoffed to myself. “Vampires aren’t real. I mean, I’ve never seen one.” I still typed it down just in case. Looking at him, he made no move to correct me, “You’re kidding.” My voice hitched with excitement. A whole new species to learn about.

“Sort of, but, well…” A frustrated exhale shot me into work mode, I dropped the goofy grin. “That’s not what I came here to talk about.”

“Of course, sorry. Please continue.” Simmons’s voice picked up from the back, but I couldn’t make it out, so I just turned my good ear further toward Terry.

“Well, from the sound of it, these towns host large amounts of entities, or atypicals, whatever you want to call us.” 

I glanced over the document seeing something Simmons had typed, “Atypical holding facilities disguised as tiny towns in the boonies. Joseph probably located in one.” Okay got it. 

“So when you guys end up finding the right one, I want you to tell me.” I hesitated before adding it to the document. “I will scout it out, I don’t need you thinskins getting all mucked up out there.” Thinskin? Okay, ouch. “I can appreciate what you guys are doing here, so I’d much rather handle the actual execution on my own.” So he wants us to find Joseph and then get him himself? Eh if we’re getting paid the same regardless, that just means an easier job for us.

Jotting the important stuff down, I grinned. “So what you’re saying is…” I glanced at him, raising an eyebrow but keeping my ear pointed at him, “You’re worried about us?”

“Don’t play, clearly you guys are experienced, not taking Jones’s appearance into consideration, I can tell. I wouldn’t doubt you lost your hearing from a siren or something like one.” The word slapped me, and for a moment, all I could see was my mentors disembowled corpse, intestines pulled from his stomach for the hell of it. Bile crept up my throat went back down like moonshine. 

“You’ve seen some shit. Experienced humies like yourself are able to help humanity from the sidelines, I don’t want you dying for my personal gain.”

“I thought your type ate children.” I shook my head at him with a grimace. My eyes caught our sparring board, the ‘11-7’ reminding me where I was. “S-sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“It’s a biological necessity.” I looked away in shame. Not the eating children thing, I don’t care how necessary it is for survival, I couldn’t live with myself if I had to eat children, hell even if I had to eat criminals, eating people is eating people. The fact they were children just made it worse. “I don’t have a problem with most humans.” Repugnance seeped out with ‘most,’ it chilled me.

Shit, this isn’t going well. In light of that fact, I attempted to revert to the previous discussion. “Even still, you’re wrong.”

“You think all humans are good?”

I laughed, “No, but that’s not what I meant.” It took a bit of courage to turn my face fully toward him then, but I managed. Even still, my pride wouldn’t let me be fully honest with him, so I lied about the location to make the truth less pathetic. “Little while ago a CaLa didn’t have a pig ear to gnaw on, and Simmons was out cold, so it decided to take mine. The chompers on that thing weren’t too accurate though so it took a good bit of my face with it.” I rubbed the scar and averted my eyes, “Hearing loss is actually my fault though. Long story short, C4, poughhhhh, arial reinforced concrete.” I winced at the imitation explosion, “Be careful with that stuff, shit’s explosive.”

I continued rubbing the scar, and like a genie was cooped up in my eardrum, a hazy cloud filled my vision. Across from me, a younger me sat there, not even a year younger, but something was noticeably different. Not the lack of a scar, or the attached ear, something in my eyes. I searched them, unable to find what I was looking for.

Terry’s sigh dropped me back into corporeality. I blinked a few times, my headache was gone, but something kept my hand there, rubbing my temple as he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Simmons burst through the back door, “Dexter’s got his hands full. From the look of things though, we’ve got a mutual friend.” He nodded at Terry.

“He and I are hardly acquainted.” Terry retorted.

“Regardless of your guys’ relationship, he doesn’t have time to help us. But he told me to tell you to keep your eye out for ‘her.’” Simmons looked between us, “You two finished?”

“Just about.” The sneer was quite flavorful, all his disdain just right there for everyone to see. “As fun as this has been Xavier, Jones and I need to finish without you.”

Simmons side-eyed me, jerking his head to the back. I nodded, taking my place on the other side of the door in the, “for the sake of the customer” seat. 

They didn’t say anything at first. A few steps knocked against the hollow floor, then a creak sounded. Heavier footsteps followed, interrupting the flint of Simmons’s Zippo. He sighed deep and cleared his throat.“You can take your mask off if you want. We don’t have any humans coming in till next week.”

Terry ignored the sentiment, “I sort of told Xavier, but I want you to let me know where you’re digging. Whatever this trail leads to, I’m taking care of it myself, it’s my business.”

Simmons’s microphone crackled with the lighting of a damp cigarette, “Look, Terry, you came to us, that makes your business our business, it’s our job to take on risks. We solve the cases no one else can even if it kills us, because we’ve seen shit no one else has, and it ain’t killed us yet.” He paused, taking a toke, “I didn’t lose a thumb and six employees because I fancy sitting at a desk all day.”

So much for losing two, jackass.

“Whatever information I need, I’m getting. Not to be petty, not to be cool, not for my reputation, but because that’s how I fucking roll. And if I die doing that…” He paused long enough for the statement to settle, but not long enough for me to think on it, “… at least I was getting answers.”

Everything was still. Terry didn’t respond for a while and I had a moment to process what was said. So he doesn’t expect me to die for what he wants?

A moment passed and Terry spoke up, “How about I come with you. I’m not willing to risk you guys getting injured over this.”

Simmons didn’t let a breath slip, “I recall you giving a different reason before.”

There was a short pause as the smoke wafted into the room. I stifled a cough as the flourescent light above me buzzed louder, harsher.

The light flickered, the mic crackled, and Terry responded, “I meant-”

“Quite frankly, I don’t really care why you’re doing this, that’s not my field. The fact of the matter is, you are willing to help us out. If everything I’ve heard about you is true, you’re one terrifying motherfucker. The atypical underground won’t shut up about you, not to mention your connections being one of the main sources of animalistic atypicals on the west coast. Really, if you can help us, that puts me at ease. I’m sure Xavier would share that sentiment.” I nodded.

“What I do care about…” He paused, “Why come to me? I’m sure you know people who could sniff him out twenty miles away. You don’t know werewolves or anything like that?” Well they aren’t real, so probably not.

“… Actually, I don’t. I’ve never needed to find anyone, not since I gave up my old name.”

A light rustle bristled my ears, the hum from the lights above tuned down, stabilizing. Simmons hummed to himself and I got up to peak out the door. He rubbed his chin with his thumbed hand, cigarette hanging out his mouth. He clapped,  “Alright, you can join us whenever we get our leads. It’ll reduce your cost, that’ll be 500 as an upfront charge, any additional payments will come after the fact depending on how lo–”

“Cost isn’t an issue, between sales and my apartment complex, whatever the price is, I can pay it.”

The lights flickered again. Is he that desperate? No matter who you’re negotiating with, “I can pay whatever,” is terrible practice.

Simmons burst laughing, followed by a coughing fit, “After the favors you pulled out of your ass for me you think I’m gonna charge you? Between the pocket knife, Smudge saving my ass when I got caught, and everything else? This one’s on the house. Hell, if it hadn’t been for you….” 

He flicked his Zippo open and shut a few times, looking down at it. His face scrunched and he pulled the smoke from his mouth, staring down at the lighter, “I wanted to make back enough money to repay everyone. I’m doing the same thing for Rachel, with the whole plant situation, even if what she did seemed insignificant in the moment. She… she wiped the smears from my glasses and gave me one hell of a reality check.”

Seeing the complex emotions strain to come through Simmons, I took my seat back. I needed a shower. I needed to wash my hands. I felt dirty for watching the display. In the end, I was more out of place than I realized. They’d all been through stuff together, and there I was, eavesdropping. I shut the speaker off, waiting for them to finish.

I smoldered there for a little while, Terry and Jones discussing something my hearing aid couldn’t pick up. A chill in me grew from the nothing, sparking a desire to start a pot of coffee. If that couldn’t warm me up, nothing would.

(Author’s Note)

Ahoy and Howdy! For now, chapter 1 will be the only posted chapter. I still need to work through the revisions for most of what I have. Good news is I have finished the rewrite and am progressing through the revision process at an okay rate. I started a new job and am still getting used to waking up at 2 A.M. but nonetheless I hope you all know I am, at least, alive. Once the revision is complete, I have an idea for something to hopefully make a bit of cash from this. Not to worry though, the entire story will be published here for free, and I won’t be putting anything behind any paywalls. BUT, there’s something I want to do with this story that’ll cost me some money so I hope to at least recoup some of the costs from that once this story and that addition is complete.

Anyway, y’all have a good one. I’ll see you lot again soon, with any luck.