The light from a single light bulb illuminated the front yard, where a garden of herbs and flowers had been planted. Inside his vehicle, Morazan glanced at the profile of the curandero, whose full name was Miguel Angel Pascual. Satisfied, he put the documents away and stepped out onto the yard.
Read other episodes:
The detective noticed that in addition to herbs and flowers, the garden contained a variety of mushrooms. He walked up to the door and knocked a few times.
No answer.
Turning on his flashlight, he looked through the window. The light fell upon a large wooden table covered with bottles and vials of various sizes. Scales and other measuring instruments. An assortment of notebooks, pens, and ink bottles. And hanging from the ceiling, dried herbs and plants.
Morazan knocked on the door again, but still there was no answer. I guess I have to come back in the morning, after all, he thought.
On the way back to his vehicle a glint on the ground caught his attention. He shone his flashlight on it and was surprised to see a familiar object. Reaching down, he picked up a colourful little bead, holding between thumb and forefinger. He raised it to the light and saw the bead come alive, shimmering like a rainbow.
He caught sight of another bead on the ground, and then another, and so on- a trail of them scattered around the house. They continued along a path that cut across a grassy field. Sparkling under the light of the moon and Venus beside it.
In the distance loomed the shadow of a structure, a shed perhaps. The beads led directly to its door, which was locked from the outside with a rusty chain.
No windows.
He put his ear against the wooden door and listened.
There!
A rustling sound. What could it be?
With a single kick, he broke the old lock and pushed open the door.
The light flashed in the darkness. A face. It belonged to a girl slumped against the wall, her hands tied with a rope. Dressed in rags and feathers, beaded necklaces dangling down her chest. She turned away from the glare of the flashlight and uttered a single word, "help."
Morazan knelt beside her and pulling out the knife strapped to his boot, he proceeded to cut the rope.
"Patricia Castillo?"
She nodded, barely able to keep her head up.
"My name is-" he began to say when a voice behind him shouted.
"Who the devil are you?!"
Morazan looked back and saw the tall figure of a man silhouetted in the doorway. He stood there holding a bucket. A large dog beside him.
The detective reached to his side and unholstered his revolver.
The animal gave a low growl.
"Put your hands up, Mr. Pascual. You're under arrest!"
"Arrest? For what?" His eyes darted nervously back and forth then fell upon the girl. "Wat a minute. I don't know what's going here. I had nothing to do with this."
He took a step back and threw the bucket at Morazan, showering him with a pile of mushrooms. Instinctively, the detective flinched. A crucial lapse, for it gave the hound enough time to bound across the floor and leap at him. The creature's powerful jaws clamped onto his forearm. Morazan howled in pain. The gun fell from his hand and clattered across the floor in the darkness.
He punched the dog with his free hand, but the enraged beast would not let go. It snarled and jerked its head, threatening to dislocate his shoulder.
Lunging forward, beast and man rolled across the floor and slammed against a shelf. Bottles fell and shattered on the floor.
Flailing, the detective grabbed a bottle and smashed it over the dog's head. The animal whimpered and fell to the floor.
Mad with rage and pumped with adrenaline, the bleeding Morazan staggered outside in search of the curandero, who was nowhere to be seen. He peered into the forest, dark and foreboding, then across the field where he could see the curandero's home. He was about to head in that direction but then heard Patricia calling out.
Groaning, he turned around and ran back to the shed.
"Come!" he said, bending over her. He lifted her gently.
With the girl secured in his arms, Morazan ran across the grassy field. He didn't have a flashlight, but the moonlight bathed his narrow path with its radiance.
He laid her on the back seat, using his jacket as a pillow. He would phone headquarters for backup. Then take her to a hospital.
The road to Santa Clarita was dark. The headlights reflected off many eyes. Stray dogs, wild cats, and other critters of the night. His vision blurred. Some sleep would do him good. Later. Always later. As he drove, he came across strange scene. He thought he saw a white man walking with two dogs along the road. The dog in front of him was white and the one following him was black. It was a brief event. Morazan rubbed his eyes and wondered if he was dreaming. He made a mental note and stared ahead at the road.
Hello @litguru, thank you for sharing this creative work! We just stopped by to say that you've been upvoted by the @creativecrypto magazine. The Creative Crypto is all about art on the blockchain and learning from creatives like you. Looking forward to crossing paths again soon. Steem on!
Right on! Thank you.