a mouth.
“I think it’s time you gave it back.” I move alongside of him and crouch near.
Grimley sits Indian-style in the dirt, pudgy hands clasping the fringes of a wispy gray apparition. His mouth cements as he pulls it away so I can’t see.
“What have you got there?” I nod toward his hands.
“Nothing.” Grimley’s lower lip juts out, stubborn.
“Is that the one you took from me?”
A soul is just a glimmer, a loose semblance of a slack, lifeless, humanoid form. Over time, it will fold into chaos and disarray if left unattended—a mind without a body.
Grimley continues his pout and then looks away. “Yeah, it’s one of yours. I just wanted to play with it.” He turns enough that I can see the pale shimmer. There’s no way to actually grasp it; it’s more of an attraction—like a magnetic field.
“I know it. But it doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t even belong to me.” I pause to let that sink in and then hold out my hand. “Are you going to give it back?”
Grimley looks up with a puckered smile. “Tell me a story first.”
I nod in agreement, but inwardly sulk. This is a delay I hoped to avoid. I’ve become so focused on the goings-on of Halgraeve that tearing away to haggle with Grimley seems a great inconvenience. The time for me to intervene there approaches at a relentless pace, so I opt for something simple.
“Adam lay with his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Cain. She said, ‘With the help of the LORD I have brought forth a man.’ Later she gave birth to his brother Abel…”
“I’ve already heard that one,” Grimley cuts in. “Tell me something different.” He drills into me with insistent eyes.
Annoyed at his demand, I concede and switch narratives—a story someone once told me. “Years back—a time when man lived in fear of his neighbor—the Night Drivers rode. No one knew their number or who they were; people knew them only by the roar of motors howling in the night.
“They drove dual-exhaust monsters belching a raucous tune. Flat black and muscular, their vehicles tore through the region ousting the wicked from their hiding places.
“Some said they were concerned citizens who took a call to arms. Others thought they were restless spirits returned to visit punishment on evil man. Whatever their origin, the Night Drivers meted out justice as they saw fit.
“Wife beaters were beaten senseless, drug peddlers overdosed on their own supply, murderers were found with their throats slashed, molesters castrated. No villain was safe.
“Residents took secret solace in knowing that someone stood ready to do what no one else would. The reign of the Night Drivers promised that any offender would meet swift retribution. No one knew where they’d hit next.
“Then as quick as they brought about their vengeance, they disappeared. No one woke to the far off rumble of big block muscle; there was no mob of black cars racing through the night.
“It came to pass that a man by the name of Sinclane dismissed the idea of the Night Drivers. No one had seen or heard of them in a long time, he reasoned.
“Sinclane was an imbalanced, disturbed individual, eaten away over time by the subliminal inclinations of his twisted soul. He had no love of decency. He thought of the world as his toilet. Morally corrupt, there was no depravity too base to amuse him.
“Even so, Sinclane failed to act on many of his impulses. He feared the loss of freedom more than anything, but pride is a fragile thing. To submit to another’s claim to authority was too much for him to bear.
“He took it personally when one night his path crossed with an officer of the law and was made to show himself a coward. There was a barroom scuffle, and Sinclane was about to smash a bottle across someone’s skull when the officer manhandled him in a restraint.
“The officer’s name was Mason. Mason was a good man. He worked the second shift as a patrolman and lived with his young
“I think it’s time you gave it back.” I move alongside of him and crouch near.
Grimley sits Indian-style in the dirt, pudgy hands clasping the fringes of a wispy gray apparition. His mouth cements as he pulls it away so I can’t see.
“What have you got there?” I nod toward his hands.
“Nothing.” Grimley’s lower lip juts out, stubborn.
“Is that the one you took from me?”
A soul is just a glimmer, a loose semblance of a slack, lifeless, humanoid form. Over time, it will fold into chaos and disarray if left unattended—a mind without a body.
Grimley continues his pout and then looks away. “Yeah, it’s one of yours. I just wanted to play with it.” He turns enough that I can see the pale shimmer. There’s no way to actually grasp it; it’s more of an attraction—like a magnetic field.
“I know it. But it doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t even belong to me.” I pause to let that sink in and then hold out my hand. “Are you going to give it back?”
Grimley looks up with a puckered smile. “Tell me a story first.”
I nod in agreement, but inwardly sulk. This is a delay I hoped to avoid. I’ve become so focused on the goings-on of Halgraeve that tearing away to haggle with Grimley seems a great inconvenience. The time for me to intervene there approaches at a relentless pace, so I opt for something simple.
“Adam lay with his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Cain. She said, ‘With the help of the LORD I have brought forth a man.’ Later she gave birth to his brother Abel…”
“I’ve already heard that one,” Grimley cuts in. “Tell me something different.” He drills into me with insistent eyes.
Annoyed at his demand, I concede and switch narratives—a story someone once told me. “Years back—a time when man lived in fear of his neighbor—the Night Drivers rode. No one knew their number or who they were; people knew them only by the roar of motors howling in the night.
“They drove dual-exhaust monsters belching a raucous tune. Flat black and muscular, their vehicles tore through the region ousting the wicked from their hiding places.
“Some said they were concerned citizens who took a call to arms. Others thought they were restless spirits returned to visit punishment on evil man. Whatever their origin, the Night Drivers meted out justice as they saw fit.
“Wife beaters were beaten senseless, drug peddlers overdosed on their own supply, murderers were found with their throats slashed, molesters castrated. No villain was safe.
“Residents took secret solace in knowing that someone stood ready to do what no one else would. The reign of the Night Drivers promised that any offender would meet swift retribution. No one knew where they’d hit next.
“Then as quick as they brought about their vengeance, they disappeared. No one woke to the far off rumble of big block muscle; there was no mob of black cars racing through the night.
“It came to pass that a man by the name of Sinclane dismissed the idea of the Night Drivers. No one had seen or heard of them in a long time, he reasoned.
“Sinclane was an imbalanced, disturbed individual, eaten away over time by the subliminal inclinations of his twisted soul. He had no love of decency. He thought of the world as his toilet. Morally corrupt, there was no depravity too base to amuse him.
“Even so, Sinclane failed to act on many of his impulses. He feared the loss of freedom more than anything, but pride is a fragile thing. To submit to another’s claim to authority was too much for him to bear.
“He took it personally when one night his path crossed with an officer of the law and was made to show himself a coward. There was a barroom scuffle, and Sinclane was about to smash a bottle across someone’s skull when the officer manhandled him in a restraint.
“The officer’s name was Mason. Mason was a good man. He worked the second shift as a patrolman and lived with his young
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