"Desmond, stop yer little tiddlywink napping and wake-a-de-hell up!" Marcus shouts, stomping with his bare feet.
"What the hell, dude? I'm tryna get some sleep here." Groaning, my face pushes further into my pillow.
"Didn't you hear me, you little pansy bastard?" His voice cracks with panic.
"The body is gone?"
Sitting up, I rub the gunk from around my straining eyes. Squinting, the morning sun sears my vision black like burning toast, causing my hangover to intensify.
"Yes! The bod-ey is a-gone!" he sounds out.
"Who?" I rub my throbbing temples.
"Who do ya think? They took Jimson from us, lad!" Marcus jumps up on the bed.
"Alright, alright you can stop that now, I get it, you're still grieving Marcus. Now please close the door while you're there—it's giving me a fucking headache." I wave him off with brushing motion, trying to calm his sudden outburst.
Not even a moment passes before he grabs my scalp and rubs it in.
"Ow, what the fuck man."
"Are you even listening to my words? Da body is no long-ah in da 'ole!"
"What! Jimson no longer in the hole? Why didn't you tell me earlier? Show me now!" I rise up from my bed, that same robe trailing behind as I leave the yurt.
"Why do I even bother with this annoy-ance!" He throws up his hands, chasing after me from behind.
In nothing but a loose robe tied around my naked body, I scoop a confused Timothy and carry him atop of my shoulders.
Marsley appearing from somewhere hoists Marcus onto his shoulders and Together we sprint across the field toward the cemetery behind the church.
---
Upon our arrival a small group of local pests lout around in drunken torpor—sleeping, grumbling, pissing on the grass.
What a horrible scene, is this how they respect the dead.
Approaching further, my pace halts to a stop in front of the immortal stone.
It remains blank, and beneath the unwritten words, lies the open pit that I know should've been filled.
Standing here, we gaze into the casket, convincing ourselves that this reality is somehow wrong.
But therein it lies: The empty proof, a physical denial to this lucid dream.
Hollowed out, it lies on display, dug into the grazen earth and fully prepared for funeration, our eyes tell nothing but the truth—the body no longer resides within.
"Well..." I scratch my chin unable to form my next words.
"Son-of-a. Someone bring Jiord over here!" Marcus yells, flapping his stubby arms.
No words. No responses. Nothing, but a morning breeze that drags at my hanging robes.
This is the second body now gone. Should I be worried, should I do something, what should I even do?
"What in this sleepy hour? Move-a your twinkle bottoms up, before I spank-at yer for breakfast!" Dragging my attention, Marcus stomps again, kicking at some nearby sleepers.
The drunkards continue snoozing around the place, only slightly moving from the impact of his righteous boot. Slowly, after the beating, they come to, complaining in grunts and groans about what can be only guessed as a most crippling hangover.
On cue, another voice calls out to us.
"What's all this fuss here, boys?" An unknown man dismounts from his pale yonk and walks toward us and the hole.
He leans over the edge, peering inside the empty interior.
"What's this about?" His eyes narrow, the sunlight now revealing his familiar face frowning at me.
"I have a more important question for you Jiord. Where is the body?" I lean forward, staring him down.
"Where is the body, Minister?!" I repeat again, glaring at his face.
"Answer me!?" I lean forward much further, my nose touches his.
Holding this position for a second, I pull back, directing my most vicious point from my index finger toward the empty casket, then I redirect it back in his face.
"We have a family member whose father was found missing… Explain yourself!"
Swallowing the spit caught in his airways he straightens up and regains his priestly composure.
"Don't worry. I'll get to the bottom of this—on my very name as a devotee of the church." His eyes flicked to me for just a moment as he said it, then back to the townsfolk.
They remain unresponsive.
Grabbing at a silver whistle around his neck, he blows into it.
"Wakey, wakey, the lot of ya! Clean up this foul mess. Is this a church or a playground? I have a new task for you, and I want this body found by midday today!"
Rubbing their eyes, the drunks groan loudly in acknowledgment. But their bodies betray this verbal agreement. They remain lousy and still, despite their half-baked promise of providing aid.
"Did I not make myself clear?! I want all your recounts of the previous night—everything. Every unimportant detail down to the last gulp of rum you had. I'll even get Sevinstien to write it all down for ya, lousy drunkards!"
"But sir, we just woke up…" a thin man sprawled beneath Jiord grumbles, shielding his eyes.
"Will you take responsibility for this embarrassment, then?... Todd!"
Todd's face goes white. "No, Father."
"Go! Raise the bell! What are you doing lying there?"
"Where is that woman anyway. Get me Ileane now!" He barks.
"What, me?" Todd stammers.
"Yes you Todd—go, to the church... NOW!"
"Thank you, thank you, sir!" He fumbles and trips over, but manages to catch himself before impact. Standing up again he begins to run desperately in the direction of the nearby church.
Not even five minutes later, the bell starts to ring out across the town. From the distance emerges a singular well built female ranger, who slowly approaches Jiord, with some airy steps and an angered expression.
"I hear you need some real muscle, Jonesy. What's the issue now that you need to wake me up during the day?" She announces her voice clearly, hand curled around her well pronounced hip-bone.
"I don't have time for your blatant disrespect, Ileane. We have a missing body here and I need you, to find it."
"Why? It's just a body." High is the brow she lifts, attentive like a crow's glassy eyes.
"Desecration's a serious sin. If word gets out that we are losing bodies who knows how he'll react"
Eyeing up her feeble prey, she strikes at golden glint.
"Double," She lashes out.
"..."
"What did you say, Girl!" Jiord's face twists, veins dark against his pallid skin.
"I said I want double the payment! My stores of drink are getting light, and that's my price." Her murderous gaze flocks for easy coin. Like a snapping raven, she chirps at the helpless prey.
"Fine! Just do it as fast as you can," He grumbles in tongued exasperation.
"Triple," she grins as she outrageously raises her demands.
"What? I already accepted double—you can't just raise the cost!" His fingers twitch, then writhe in grubby fright; folding over his closed hands, they hide from our very sight.
How ironic for a priest to be beaten in a game of money. I hide my lavish grin and continue listening in.
"When I suggest triple, I mean it." she flexes and folds her well-built biceps over each other, each motion a predetermined strike.
Purposefully.
Calculated.
Revealing her well-drawn and well-armed tendons, she prepares to shoot out her claws of black-talons in rounds of raging fire.
"You're no better than a sniveling pirate, profiting from taking advantage of the peoples charity." Jiord shakes clearly lost in his temper.
"Charity! Ridiculous! The truth is that you're too cheap with that bulging sack of church-money and it has no loose strings for a hard-working gal like me."
She bites her lip, pausing in seconded silence before delivering her final ultimatum.
"Triple, will be the price you pay. Two times to bring me aboard, the third… to keep me from walking."
"Threatening to leave again? Just go already! Get out of my sight, disappear with that greasy mouth of yours washed out with soap, and only come back only when you're ready to apologise!"
She walks away in a jolly stride, an old shrewd codger in the making.
What an amusing woman.
Turning back to me, Jiord scrunches his face, sputtering words in a showy attempt to reestablish his failing image.
"Ileane's on the case now." He nods his head and readjusts his hat.
"She's our best catcher we've got—shame she has such a lousy personality, but that's how she survived these years living on the streets … She's also in a grumpy mood too" He rubs his chin in thoughtful consideration.
Yeah you're totally right, you handled her well.
I curl my nose in her direction and grunt. "Are you sure she's up to the task? She seems—"
"Like a feckin' bitch. Yer would be right Desmond, that one is always thinking she can get away with all the shit she does. An' worse yet, she's actually… well, she's not half bad at findin' ya and beating ya to bones. No matter where it is you hide! fwt" Marcus knocks on his forehead and scrunches his nose.
After letting out a small groan, he covers it up with sweaty hands whilst snarling in her general direction. Clearly hiding the expression behind his hand.
"Although I don't agree with your words, I agree with the sentiment. Through her, we'll investigate this with the highest priority we can, Desmond. In the meantime, we should let the experts handle this."
"Are you sure this is enough to find the body? Is this enough manpower?"
"We're already short on hands," Jiord responds, glancing at the drunken crowd.
"But Ileane is our fastest and sharpest. It's fine if you doubt her capabilities, fine, but don't you dare doubt the spirit of our town."
He turns to the townsfolk and cheers them on. "Spread the word! Rouse the rubble—I want every eye and ear searching for the body that was taken from us!"
Some grumble, some applause but mostly they revel in a silenced stupor.
Yes, yes, alert the tipsy congregation first of course. That's right their blurry vision will indeed be helpful to find the body.
"Free booze for whoever catches the culprit!" Marcus yells next to jiord, snatching his top-hat and chucks it into the sky.
And at that simple act of watching a hat turn and twist in the air, the crowd erupts with contagious energy.
People cheer, dance and run around in circles in uproarious laughter trying to catch it.
"How bothersome," Jiord mutters back, wiping sweat off his face with a tattered and white napkin.
"I'm with you there, what the hell is going on." Folding my arms I watch the crowd full of loons before something catchers my gaze.
From the corner of my eye, I see as Timothy bends down to pick up the hat.
Noticing me, he nods and I gently nod back.
Carefully, he steps forward uncertain of his steps, undisturbed by the scene he clutches the dirtied hat in a trembling grip and holds it up to the Father Jiord.
"Father Jiord… will Ileane really find my father soon?" he asks softly.
Taking the hat Jiord gently wipes away the dirt and grass, settling it back over his golden main of springy hair.
Squatting down and he begins to reassure Tim.
"Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this, you have my word, she is someone you can trust with this task."
Reaching around his neck he pulls out the whistle.
"How about this you can keep this whistle on and blow into it if you ever find yourself in trouble, I'm sure anyone will come looking for you if they hear the sound."
"This was given to me by a friend, you can hand it back when we find the body okay." His tone is gentle as he drops it into Tims hands.
I give them an ugly look.
"We are running late now, Desmond, Timothy. Come with me now, we have business to attend, remember."
Shuffling along, I catch up to Tim and hold his hand tightly in mine.
Affection restored,
Together we wave our goodbyes at both Marcus and Marsley with our hand entwined. Walking onward, we follow Jiord inside the cathedral and stop at the entrance foyer.
"You must wear these ready clothes in the House of our God, for we are all equal here." Grabbing two black robes from a nearby hanger he hands one to me and one to Timothy, gesturing toward a suite of curtained-off rooms.
"Please change." he gestures to an empty room.
Entering, I pull the curtain, enclosing the space. Roughly changing into the fine silks of devotional cloth provided, humming to myself as I work.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement.
AHHH!
A pale, half-built almost translucent figure stared right back at me—pinkish-purple eyes, dirty white hair, and a thin, shirtless torso with scarred and thin abs. My jaw drops.
Is this… really me?
Leaning closer to the mirror, I inspect my pearly teeth and the long, bumpy—but strangely alive tongue.
So ethereal… yet alive.
I trace the contours of my unkempt face with rugged nails, matching them to the reflection ahead.
So much for returning to normalcy.I really am a new person, in a new body, in a new world. How does this even happen?
I scrunched my face and glared into the mirror and inspect my protruding rib-cage.
Damn, these scary eyes and jawline—I can work with this though.
I start making faces, testing my range of facial expressions: grinning, frowning, raising my tangly brow.
"Are you alright in there?" a knock hits against wall.
"Sorry! I just stubbed my toenail!" I call back.
"Happens to the best of us. Hurry up, quickly!"
Taking off my boots and socks, I slip what appears to be a thin veil of linen over my dirty, black feet.
Once grounded, I finally perfect my movements and gestures too; all to look natural in this unnatural body and to find that confidence in this new version of myself.
Pulling aside the curtain, I step out, a mix of intimidation and practiced swagger appear in my stride.
Who's this nerd?
Short, combed hair. That distinct scent of sandalwood. With calloused, worn hands and nails that are surprisingly filed and clean, this stranger converses with Jiord on what appears to be equal standing.
The mans face glistens with shaven polish. Loaded with broad shoulders, his big bushy brows and long face paired with his crooked nose all give a reliable impression.
"This is Nelson McCoy, head of administrative matters. He will be evaluating your abilities—and be your future boss." Jiord Introduces me.
Nelson's eyes narrow slightly. "I wasn't informed we were assigning anyone today, Jiord."
"Last-minute decision," Jiord said smoothly.
Nelson's jaw tightened, but he nods and turns to me.
"Good evening, Desmond," Nelson said, enunciating each word, tone sounding bored but slightly intrigued as well. "Jiord just spoke highly of your qualifications. I hope you have the skills to match my mounting expectations."
He gazed up at me, then down, clicking his tongue.
"I suppose this will be manageable. Well, Jiord, may God bless you; I'll see you off now."
"Wait, where are you going?" I reach out.
"We need to administer Timothy into the school roll, for today is the first day of the month!" Jiord explains.
"I could handle that—"
"Child care is sensitive work, Desmond. One mistake and..." He trailed off, hand still rubbing on Tim's shoulder.
Tim's eyes lower with that same sense of acceptance I'm familiar with.
"Would be unfortunate if protocol wasn't followed properly. Bad things tend to happen to troublemakers."
Something about the phrasing makes my stomach tighten, but Tim watching me begins nodding eagerly.
"And you want this right, Tim?"
"Yes, it will be all right. I like school now; becoming smarter will make me become more like you." He fidgets with his long sleeve, nodding as he looks to the ground, then back up at me.
So handsome, so precious. My heart feels warm already.
"Yes, how touching. I'm afraid we must go now—the congregation they need me to guide the prayer!"
He tucks his golden hair behind his ears and adjusted a small, circular swatch of grey cloth resting lightly on his head.
Walking off, Tim follows him from behind, leaving before I could even hug him goodbye.