Page 38 of A Dark and Stormy Night

But there was hope in her future. Garik had suggested that, because of her experience as Coast Guard commander and her time learning about the citizens of Virtue Falls via her job at the library, she would be a good candidate to take his place as sheriff. When he left the position, he intended to present her name to the Virtue Falls City Council.

The challenges facing any candidate for sheriff included a large, rugged county with a coastline to the west and mountains to the east that attracted tourists, hikers, eccentrics, the wealthy and the occasional serial killer. It was probably absurd to think a Native American female with no police force experience could successfully command the sheriff's department. Not to mention Kateri was still dealing with — would always deal with — physical frailties caused by the wreck of her cutter in the tsunami.

Yes. So many challenges . . .

Kateri Kwinault had never in her life backed away from a challenge.

Eugene Park

The next night the killer was back, and this time he got a middle-aged woman dragging a cart with two empty grocery bags. She had a long gray braid and a tired scowl, yet even with the scowl she treated the killer kindly — until he plunged the knife into her belly. Then she fought him and bled, and bled, and bled until she died. As before, as she passed on to the next world, she stared at me with reproach.

As before, he slung the corpse over his shoulder and carried her into the dark corner of the park. When he returned, the body was gone and he was using his shirttail to wipe the bloodstains off his face and hands.

The rain fell softly.

As he cleaned the gore from the sidewalk, a young couple walked by with their dog. The dog strained at the leash, fascinated with the smells of raw meat and warm blood, but when he neared the killer, the killer leveled a look at him. The dog, intelligent and running on instinct, danced away and stuck close to his master's heel.

The young couple never even glanced at the scene. The killer's behavior seemed to be without interest to them. It was as if he was part of the scenery. They made a circuit of the park. They allowed their dog to relieve himself and picked it up in a small blue bag. They walked toward town, oblivious to the fact a woman had died here tonight.

When the killer was done cleaning up his mess and before he headed back into the darkness, he looked at me and said, "You really don't like to watch, do you? Yet here you are with a front row seat. I'll try to keep the entertainment flowing."

Eugene Park

Again

Areila came through the park the next day around noon. She kept her head down, darted nervous little glances around her, and relaxed when she reached the other end. Then by chance or because she sensed me, she glanced toward the dark corner of the park.

She saw me, I know she did, but she pretended not to.

After that, it was one week and another murder before she again crossed the line of consecration. The afternoon was cloudy; the lamp posts along the walks already gave off their feeble glow. We had reached that time of year when it had either just rained, was about to rain, or was raining. Or the fog rolled in off the Pacific. Everywhere dampness rolled down the stones and moss flourished on the tree bark. Yet here and there, the crocus and daffodils poked their heads out of the soil.

Perhaps at last the long dark would be over.

Areila walked like she had somewhere to go. I stood by the fountain and watched her pass, but I didn't speak. It was the lady's prerogative to pretend she didn't see me. She got to the edge of the park; I swear her foot hovered right over the line, when she turned with military precision and marched back. She stopped in front of me and said, "Hello."

"Hello."

"My name is Areila Leon."

She had given me her name freely. Which made it possible for me to return the favor. "It's good to meet you. My name is Frank Vincent Montgomery."

"Huh!" She sounded surprised. "My grandfather's name was Frank Vincent. Not Montgomery, of course. . ."

"Neither Frank nor Vincent are unusual names." I was suddenly and wryly aware of the passage of time. "At least they weren't in my day."

"No, but to pair them — that is unusual." She gestured toward the bench. "Can you sit?"

I had the ability to move quickly from place to place, but I had found that disconcerting to most people, so I took my time, went to the bench, seated myself.

She joined me. "I've never understood the technicalities of how a ghost can sit on a corporeal object."

I wasn't really sitting, but that wasn't something I could explain. "I can do almost anything I used to do when alive. Except grasp, touch — or cross the park boundary." I looked out at the street where I had never been and wished I were gone from this place which had imprisoned me for so long.

"So you know you're a ghost?"

I looked at my hands; they were transparent and glowed faintly. "Can you think of another explanation?"

"No, but I've been reading up on ghosts and the mythology claims that much of the time, they're confused about where they are."

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