Buffy spent the better part of three days at the Boston Public Library. By day’s end, her head was spinning. Page upon page, book upon book, told of man’s fear and reverence of the supernatural. She grabbed another book from the seemingly never ending ‘need to read’ pile. Its cover was a simple all-black background with curvy white lettering: Among Us by Gil Cicerone.
His name struck a pang of déjà vu. Turning the book over, Buffy took a good look at the worn black and white photo of the author. Even after all this time, she recognized him instantly. He was the demonologist from her sister’s trial.
She remembered the day Virgil (Gil) Cicerone took the stand: skinny and disheveled, his beady eyes darted around the court room while he rambled on and on. A ball of nervous energy, having a million things to say but only a moment to say them. What she mostly remembered was thinking, “This guy is fucking nuts”.
As luck would have it, the same man she’d written off ten years ago was possibly the only one who held the answers she so desperately needed. She was ready to listen. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.
~*~
Without much effort, she found him on the Internet. He was still living in southern California. Barstow to be exact. No surprise, he lived near a ghost town.
Settling in one of the library’s nooks with her cell, Buffy dialed the number she’d found. It rang and rang until a woman pleasantly said they were sorry they missed the call and asked to please leave their name and number after the beep. Mid debate if she’d do just that, the same voice now live and hurried, cut in, “Hello! Hello, I’m here. Don’t hang up.”
“Hi, yes, could I please speak with Mr. Gil Cicerone?” Buffy shifted easily into federal agent-mode.
“Look, I don’t know how you people keep getting this number, but he’s retired and wants to be left alone. Got it? So don’t call here again or I’ll call the cops—”
Not wanting to lose her possibly only chance, Buffy kept her voice level yet firm, “Mrs. Cicerone, I’m an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigations and I need to speak with Mr. Cicerone regarding an ongoing investigation.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just, well, even after all this time my dad still gets these wackos calling him. Sometimes they get really pushy, so I have to shut it down from the get-go.” Mrs. Cicerone’s voice instantly softened, sounding more like her recording.
“I completely understand, Mrs. Cicerone.”
“It’s actually Wilson. Kristy Wilson, I’m married. Well, divorced, but I never changed my name back.”
“Kristy, my name is Agent Elizabeth Summers. I actually know your father from—”
“I remember who you are. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Buffy braced herself, knowing she needed to keep focused. She couldn’t afford to let her emotions get the better of her. “Thank you, Kristy. Do you think it possible for me to speak with your father?”
“I was telling the truth when I said he was retired.”
“I know you were, but I only need a moment of his time. Even a few minutes will help in this investigation.”
“He can’t help you, Agent Summers.”
“Kristy, I really can’t stress the importance of speaking with him.”
“You don’t understand. It’s not that my dad won’t speak to you, it’s that he can’t.”
~*~
Buffy caught the first available flight out of Logan. Once she reached LA, she rented a car and headed north. The whole nine-plus hour trip she mulled over her conversation with Kristy Wilson.
“After the trial, my dad threw himself into work. I mean, yeah, he was all about the research before, but this was different. A week or two would go by and I wouldn’t hear from him. But like a bad penny he always turned back up. Well, until he didn’t.
“After a month, I started getting nervous. He wouldn’t answer his phone. I went by his house, and it looked like he hadn’t been there for weeks. Nobody knew where he was. It was like he fell off the face of the Earth. Not a word, nothing, for months.
“Then I got a call from some psych hospital in LA telling me that they just saw my missing persons report and my dad had been there for weeks as a John Doe. I rushed over, expecting him to apologize for making me worry. He’d give me some cockamamie story, saying this was all a big misunderstanding. Sure, I knew he’d be a little worse for wear but still him, ya know? But he wasn’t. I didn’t even recognize him. And what was worse, he didn’t recognize me.”
Gil was found in a downtown LA club screaming and attacking people claiming they were “demons” and that they couldn’t have his soul.
He was diagnosed with late-onset schizophrenia, and when he was no longer a threat to himself or anyone else, the hospital released him to Kristy’s custody. On his doctor’s recommendation, she and her kids moved into Gil’s home. They’d been there for almost ten years, and he hadn’t shown much improvement.
Buffy checked the directions again and took her next left. The identical Monopoly-styled ranches lining one side of the street faced an endless stretch of desert, saltbushes, and twisted Joshua trees on the other.
She continued to the last house. Parking on the street, she rechecked the number, stepped out of the car, and headed to the front door. It opened before she had a chance to knock.
“Agent Summers?” A middle-aged woman, a spitting image of Gil, smiled and stepped aside letting her enter.
“Do you need to see my badge?”
Kristy waved away Buffy reaching for her back pocket and gestured for her to sit. The décor was a mishmash of yard sale finds and floral patterns. Smiling family photos shared wall space with dogs playing poker. Outdated, but it felt homey.
“If I came at a bad time—” Buffy gestured to the baby monitor holstered on Kristy’s hip. A low murmuring came from the speaker.
“Oh, no. No baby. My kids are older, the youngest ten. This is actually for dad duty. We leave his door shut. It’s what he wants, saying it’s safer for all of us. But I still need to know what’s going on in there.
“Like I said before, Agent Summers, I don’t know how much you’re going to get. Most of the time it’s like he’s in his own little world. Talking but not making a lick of sense. But then there are times, not many mind you, when we have normal conversations.” Getting teary-eyed, Kristy fiddled with a wad of tissues.
“I assure you, your father’s well-being is my first priority.”
“Good, that’s all I needed to know.” Kristy tucked the tissues into the cuff of her sleeve, stood, and headed toward the hallway. Buffy followed.