The Broad Divide
by Anthony F. Castriota
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
“The nastiest kind out there,” the woman continued. “She’s not like the New Agey witches you meet in Santa Fe. She’s into the black arts, for real.”
A young man with a shaved head and stained flannel shirt suddenly spoke out. “Yeah, once when she was cold at camp, I saw her make a coat from old crumpled leaves she had gathered in a pile. It was like she wove it by magic!”
The old man added, “She conjures up all kinds of stuff she wants from junk she finds in the Bosque and on the streets. It’s too bad she couldn’t cook a good green chili stew, though.”
“Do you know where she is now?” Danny asked the old tramp.
“She comes and goes as she pleases. I haven’t seen her for days. She’s never been one to stay in touch... keeps to herself mostly.”
“She wasn’t close with anyone here?”
“Nah,” said the old man, “she rarely spoke and would just get up and leave camp in the middle of the night without anyone knowing until the next morning. It was like she just disappeared. Sometimes we later found her sacrifices in the woods.”
“Sacrifices?”
“Yeah, she cut the heads off of snakes and birds and such. Then she’d tuck them away in the hollows of trees or wedge the heads between rocks. It was for some kind of witch business, I suppose.”
Everyone dumbly stared at Danny expecting him to say something insightful, but he remained silent.
“I can tell you find all of this hard to believe, but we swear by it. I don’t think you’re going to find this woman. She doesn’t want to be found.”
“Why do you say that?” Danny asked.
“There are some things best let be. We folk follow a simple rule on the streets: don’t meddle in matters that don’t bother you. That’s how you survive out here.” The old man looked directly into Danny’s eyes after briefly turning away. “Just some friendly advice.”
* * *
It was getting late and Danny needed to swing by the office to take care of a few business matters before clocking out. He started the car ignition and pulled onto the highway at the next on-ramp. The meager leads from Tanner and contacts Danny had pulled from the filed police report about Lilian’s disappearance had proved all dead ends. The frustration was really beginning to wear on him, especially grating his nerves on the lonely drives back to the office.
As he swerved around the evening rush hour traffic to make good time, his mind kept mulling over the strange comments of the vagrants as had become his routine over the past three weeks of the investigation. It was an interesting side note and although not one that Danny thought would be helpful or important, he obsessively kept returning to it. Maybe it was because his grandmother had believed in such things, too, and would tell him stories about the witch in her village where she grew up.
Danny had learned long ago that the job of an investigator is to drill down to the essential facts only, that which will give you the most reliable information to follow. You can’t get distracted by incidental tidbits, no matter how intriguing or bizarre they may be. That more often than not leads you on a wild goose chase, though it seemed as if he were already on one in spite of his own time-tested advice.
His office building appeared just ahead. Danny parked on the street adjacent and entered through the foyer door leading to a small stairwell. Reaching the third floor, he stood on the landing fumbling for his keys by his door when suddenly, from inside the office, he heard a muted thud as if a heavy weight had fallen. He paused and then slowly opened the door. It seemed that stealth was not required; there was no one there.
“Marianne?” he called out cautiously.
Danny entered his office and saw that the window had been left ajar, allowing a slight breeze to ruffle the papers on his desk. Did Marianne leave it open? Annoyed, he hastily closed the window pane. Written on the glass in bold red letters a message read, “DO NOT FIND ME! WHERE I GO YOU DO NOT WANT TO FOLLOW!”
* * *
“Mr. Gilles is here to see you. Should I send him in?”
Danny pressed the intercom button to respond. “Yes, I’m ready for him.”
Mr. Gilles strolled in with his coat and hat tucked under his arm. He greeted Danny with an almost jovial handshake.
“I was very pleased to hear that you finally have some news about Lilian, Detective Aurturo. I could barely sleep a wink last night from anticipation!” Mr. Gilles sat down heartily, resting his hands over the ruby that capped the top of his walking cane.
Danny paused for a moment to look down at his desk before he spoke. “I don’t mean to give you any false hope, but it seems that Lilian is alive and well. The last place anyone saw her was in a homeless camp in the Bosque by the river, but I got a message from her the other night.”
“A message? What did she say?”
“She doesn’t want you to look for her. She wants you to leave her alone.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous!” Mr. Gilles exclaimed. “How will she live on her own? She has no money or property to her name.”
“That’s what her note said, and not mildly, I might add. She broke into my office to deliver it while I was gone.”
“No, this cannot be. I must find her regardless of what she wishes. She’s not well at all.”
“You mean mentally?”
“I mean spiritually. Detective, I’m sorry, I haven’t been completely honest with you. I’m what you could call a type of advisor for dispossessed souls in need. This young woman was put under my charge to care for. I came upon her by way of an old acquaintance, a nun who works as the directress of a Church-funded homeless shelter serving the needy in Guadalajara.
“The girl was found on the streets weak from hunger by one of the volunteers who happened to be passing by her one day en route to the shelter. They nursed her back to health and for a time she frequented the aid provided there.
“Lilian demonstrated an extraordinary aptitude for art and created beautiful objects from common trash she gathered from the streets, but not long afterwards this gift turned into a curse. She made a gaggle of dolls for one shelter staff member sewn together from discarded strips of cotton that came to life and danced lasciviously right before her very eyes! As time passed, her creations became more diabolic and threatening. That was when the directress called my diocese for assistance in the matter.”
“Are you claiming this woman is actually possessed?” Danny inquired.
“The directress thought it may have been demon possession. But after examining her, I concluded that she was just under the initial influence of malignant spirits contracted during her time living on the streets. They had lured her with their dark mysteries and vain promises, but in this early phase I believed it was still possible to redeem her soul. I tried to rehabilitate her, turn her talents to more wholesome pursuits, but I fear we are beyond that hope at this stage. She has become a practitioner of black witchcraft and a temptress of vulnerable souls now herself. That is why my search is so urgent. She cannot be allowed to roam the city unsupervised. She must be found at any cost!”
Danny stared at him in astonishment. “Are you honestly telling me that you’re a witch hunter?”
“Many people today don’t understand what I do; I confess it only when absolutely necessary. There aren’t many of us in the order who remain, but we are the thin line that preserves the world and the Mother Church against the maleficent forces of Hell.”
“I thought the witch trials ended centuries ago. How old are you, anyway?” Danny, weakened from frustration, had fallen under the temptation of mockery.
“Your disbelief is no surprise to me, Detective. It is indicative of your generation. I am an inquisitor of sorts, shaped by the harrowing instruction of the Malleus Maleficarum, but I think that you would be quite shocked by the horrors I have seen during my long years of service. It would make even the most hardened homicide detective’s blood run cold. Our sacred order traces its founding back five hundred years and, due to the nature of our occupation, we prefer to work under the cover of shadow.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now,” Danny shot back.
“I know you saw the sculpture Lilian created. You visited the gallery. They showcase that monstrosity with pride while that fool Tanner drools over the prospect of attracting more clients off the sweat of corrupted souls. I called to have it removed, and all he could do was make excuses and try to change the subject. He’s become an unwitting accomplice to evil influences!”
Danny slid the files on his desk aside and leaned forward. “I don’t dispute this woman has some severe psychological issues that should be addressed as soon as possible. If she can’t be proven to be an imminent threat, I can’t just turn her over to you if she doesn’t want that. It wouldn’t be a smart move for a P.I. to become complicit in a kidnapping. She still has rights.”
“Ah, the clever guile of rights! It’s the Devil’s latest trick. Well, it seems we are at an impasse, Detective. I regret that I will no longer be able to profit from your services.This is a problem I should attend to alone.”
Mr. Gilles rose to leave sternly. “You’ll find the deposit for the work you’ve done in your account, as promised. I cannot pay you the remainder, of course.” Mr. Gilles glared at Danny disapprovingly. “I believed that you were someone who would understand what it’s like to straddle two different worlds and not completely belong to either one of them.”
Danny averted his eyes and looked downward, unsure of what to reply. Mr. Gilles carefully placed his bowler on his head before stiffly making his exit.
Marianne burst through the door a few minutes later after he had gone. “What the hell just happened? Mr. Gilles said he wants you off the case!”
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say that the old man is off his rocker,” Danny mumbled. “At least I got the deposit, though.”
“Will it be enough to cover our bills?”
“Enough for the time being. I can scrape together the rest from the payment for the bouquet mail order fraud case. We’ll be fine.” Danny gave her a reassuring look.
“Just between you and me, I’m glad to see that old codger go. He really gave me the creeps.”
“Yeah, he definitely had a way about him, and I can do without the drama. When someone breaks into my office because I ask some questions around town, it’s time to drop the case. I don’t want something like this to happen again.”
“Oh, by the way, I contacted the locksmith and he said he can come by first thing next Thursday to change the lock.”
“OK, that sounds good, I’ll make a note of it. Tell him to leave the new keys in the mailbox. I probably won’t be in until later and I know you’re planning to take your long weekend off then.”
“You remembered? How sweet! I was thinking that I might need to remind you a third time before I left.”
“That’s me, always considering the needs of my employees. Is this that crocheting competition you were talking about a couple of months ago?”
“It’s knitting, and it’s not a competition, it’s a convention. All the big names in knitting will be there, even Tabitha Hughes from Nova Scotia.”
“That’s a long way to come to knit,” Danny commented as he shuffled some papers on his desk.
“That’s why I’m so excited to go. They normally hold the convention in Wisconsin, and it’s hard to book travel arrangements with Lucinda and the rest of my knitting circle in advance.”
“Well, have a good time. Just don’t poke an eye out with a needle or anything.”
* * *
Danny arrived at the office a little later than planned. There had been an accident on I-40 that backed up traffic for three miles. Fortunately for him, he didn’t have any pressing appointments. He entered the foyer and checked the mailbox before mounting the stairs. The set of keys was dutifully placed inside but tucked underneath was an ivory Clairefontaine envelope.
Danny walked upstairs, unlocked the office door and went to his desk to examine the contents of the envelope. It contained a letter handwritten in an elegant calligraphic script from Mr. Gilles: “If you doubt the veracity of my claims, you can confirm empirically what investigators of your perspective are wont to do. I invite you to come to the following coordinates in the Bosque where I have located the witch’s lair. May God in His mercy put her soul to eternal rest.”
Danny turned the letter over in his hands with hesitation. He recalled what Mr. Gilles had said to him at their last meeting. He didn’t appreciate his tone, but the old crank had sized him up about right. Danny could find his way through the back alleys and darker nooks of the city as well as any native yet possessed a decorum that even the police department begrudgingly respected. Because of this, he didn’t really belong to either camp. What made a good detective was someone who blended in to conform, but who could also slip between the cracks like a ghost. He was an inquisitor of sorts, too.
But what did this old man want from him? Nothing good, he thought. He had left in such a huff that Danny thought he would never hear from him again. Apparently it was something really important and Danny couldn’t help but be tempted to find out. The invitation was just too intriguing to dismiss. After several minutes of deliberation, he decided to go check it out.
The GPS coordinates from the letter showed that the location was close to the northern edge of the Rio Grande, some distance off the main trail. When he had reached as far as he could walk up the path, he changed into hiking boots in order to trudge through the thick underbrush to continue on. The weather began to change as a bank of dark gray clouds rolled overhead and the temperature dropped to chill him. A light but steady rain fell, drenching the parched dirt underfoot into pools of mud.
After some time struggling past an obstacle course of mud puddles and thorny brambles, Danny finally arrived at his destination. There was a small rock overhang and a nest of trees that tightly wound the space into a chrysalis, impossibly hidden from view unless one knew where one was going.
Danny wicked the rain from his hair and face as he entered. There lingered the burnt remains of a small cooking fire along with other utensils scattered haphazardly on the ground nearby. Danny felt the ashes; they were cool. A ragged camping tent occupied one side of the enclosure, but no one was there. Bound to twine which hung from several tree branches above were the heads of snakes, birds, and rodents, some still fresh with blood dripping down to the ground below.
In the center of the enclosure Danny saw a message scrawled into the dry earth: “Esta frontera invisible, nudosa como el lazo de una araña... ¿cómo atravesar esta divisoria, tan ancha como las mesetas y sin embargo más fina que un cabello?”
Danny stood in the quiet of the rhythmic pattering of raindrops around him. From what he could understand, the message translated as: “This invisible boundary, knotty like a spider’s snare... How to traverse this divide, as broad as the mesas yet finer than a hair’s breadth?”
He suddenly raised his eyes from the ground, quite frightened by something he noticed out of the corner of his eye. There was a shadowy centerpiece placed under the rock overhang. He carefully approached until the light fell sufficiently enough to see it clearly: the severed head of Mr. Gilles resting on a platter, the oozing blood still glistening underneath.
Copyright © 2023 by Anthony F. Castriota
