The Will Worker Chronicles: Wordsmith

By Xlibris US

Under the streets of Boston lies a hidden world where magic is used by the Under Dark, a secret society. Basil James, a frustrated young woman, finds herself in this world by accident when she bumps into the mysterious Mercutio. Trouble builds as Basil finds herself in the middle of a war between two enemy factions of will workers. How could Basil possibly come to grips with mounting danger and intrigue this secret world offers her? Delve into a world of sorcery, adventure, and romance as you open the first installment in The Will Worker Chronicles: Wordsmith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493121069

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

B asil looked up. A small collection of white spiders garnished her ceiling.

Hello, she said to them in a mock cheer that was mostly drowned out by her weariness. This is what remains of my vacation, an echo of days resulting in the downfall of my youth.

All your responsibilities lie in eating… catching food to fill your maws. How I envy you. And she did. Meanwhile this mock Cinderella is trapped in the shambles of what she refers to as a life. Basil griped bitterly to the spiders. I mean, I work part-time for near-minimum wage at a grocer. I have no savings, no boyfriend, and no time to follow my passions. What I wouldn’t give to just spend my days writing and painting and drawing, Basil said dreamily into the dishpan. "Making my dreams become the stuff of reality. But what would a bunch of spiders know about that? The human world requires money and certifications. I live in poverty and squalor; I’ll never get anywhere. And when I’m not working I have the complications of my family. Kelvin left a decade ago and is only now finding happiness. Basil glanced around her distressed kitchen. Mom tries, but she’s no help either, Basil rambled. It no longer mattered if the spiders were listening. Basil would rant one way or the other. It’s like her life has become an endless recurrence. Mom has made herself the compliant woman that sees her duty as guarding the world from her husband; and she’s bad at it. It’s like he’s killing her slowly with the eternal grind of work, making his dinner, then listening to him drone about whatever the world is making him shout about now. Mom gets less than six hours of sleep per night because of him. And he spends her hard earned money on things he wants but will never get to use."

"Sure he’s sick, but he hasn’t worked since I was eight. He doesn’t even try. He could have done dozens of things with his skill sets to keep his mind and body active and still avoided the things that affect him. Instead he looks in the wrong places and picks sketchy people. And he drags me and mom down with him," Basil set to work drying the dished she had just washed.

His mind was completely gone by the time I turned sixteen from boredom, his own darkness, and the neighbors.

Basil’s neighbors were evil people known for doing evil deeds. There were both Tong brothels carting Asian girls into the United States as slaves and dirty cops on her street. More than once, she had found used needles and condoms amid the detritus of cigarette butts and dead leaves littering the Newton gutter. Basil didn’t like to remember that there were children living on her street as well. Surprisingly, she never felt that her life was in danger. She didn’t know why. She just knew that people were afraid of her family, and the Tong was superstitious, if nothing else.

Basil got back to the dishes. Her mother was on a well-deserved vacation from her husband and child, which had left Basil, at twenty-two, to do the chores and deal with her father.

Sometimes he seems almost lucid and well informed… sometimes. Basil sighed resignedly. It was Father’s Day, and her brother had come for a visit. Basil had decided what would be just the thing to have a few hours of sanity. She had gotten her father a small collection of DVDs and headphones, things that he had asked for. She had a special dinner planned of imitation crab and mussles, two things her father enjoyed.

She sighed over the lunch of spaghetti that Basil, her brother, and her father would share. Basil’s brother, Kelvin, and their father were only partially on speaking terms. Lunch will be a tedious affair. Basil thought.

Basil thought of all the things that had gone wrong when she had turned sixteen. First, she hadn’t had a sweet sixteen. Now that Basil had six years between the pain of that day and the present, she understood. And part of her forgave. Part of her never could.

That year, her family’s only form of transportation, their glorious old silver minivan, finally died. It had been older than Basil as her mother had always commented. Back when her father was working, he had bought it because he thought it looked like a spaceship.

Basil’s teachers and classmates had difficulty understanding how her family got by without a car. It hadn’t been easy, but eventually, they got it down to a system. And because of it, Basil missed out on a lot.

Basil knew that they were poor, and she knew her mother knew how sad and lonely it made her. Basil wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend because of how paranoid her father had become. The one thing Basil could dream of on her silent nights of not doing homework was the prom. She had dreamed about the prom since she was seven. Basil had made dozens of designs and had decided on a final one when she was thirteen and saved up the money to make it when she was sixteen.

Basil had never been a popular girl, but she was known by everyone. She was hard to miss back then. Crowns, cloaks, and bare feet with shoes in hand were hard to miss in a New England public education building. Basil loved the attention and never minded being strange or weird. She wanted glory and she wanted fame. Six years later, she still did.

On the cusp of her final summer vacation came prom day. She had her perfect dress, and she knew it would be a glorious night. The location was beautiful; Basil had studied dinner etiquette and ballroom dancing. Basil and her date had picked a theme that they both loved. She would be dressed as an ornate Moon Princess from a popular anime, and her date would be her Tuxedoed Knight. It was supposed to be a night of no regrets.

When her father found out that her date, a friend that she had had since elementary school, was black, he spent her perfect night trying to commit suicide with pills locking out both Basil and her mother.

He failed.

But the heart attack two months later nearly killed him, and since then, Basil’s father declined slowly in physical health having passed his point of no return.

That’s why Basil, at twenty-two, was stuck in the kitchen with the dishes and talking to spiders. She had never liked spiders. The larger that they were, the more they scared her. They were like eight-legged ninjas, some with the ability to kill with one bite. She knew it was a silly fear. There were only two kinds of deadly spiders in New England, and both were rare.

Everyone in the house knew that Basil’s dad was dying. It was only a matter of a couple of years.

Kelvin had run off hours before so that he could get to his apartment and his fiancée and his Sunday night role-playing game. Basil had watched some infamous British science fiction with her dad and their three big dogs. Two of them were dying too, she thought.

She found at that moment, with the recounting of her father’s old horror stories from his youth, that the pain she felt was like her own, the stories hers instead. Basil did not have the heart to deal with any form of death at that moment, so she went to do the dishes. She was reminded of the death of a friend of hers from a year back. She had tried to work that day but kept finding herself breaking down in tears. She had scorned him before he had died. She knew now that she would never forgive herself for that either. She couldn’t take back the things she had said about him behind his back. Her words were as good as the sickness that had snuffed his spark.

Basil’s tears mixed with the cold soapy bubbles that mulled around the dishpan, trying to avoid her pallid hands. "I just want a way out; to be left alone by the world. I want forgiveness for the stupid, dark things I’ve done in moments of weakness. I am so done with my weakness.

I deserve better than this! But I don’t even know what better is supposed to look like. Basil deflated Just that it has to be less stress than the monster downstairs and the slave drivers at work.

Basil was a supervisor at a supermarket, not quite the lowest rung on the ladder but damn near. Basil was paid less than nine dollars per hour for more stress that a CEO being indicted for fraud had to deal with. After all, a fraudulent CEO would be cared for in prison and would have no worries from the outside world.

All I would have or worry about is cellblock partners and shanking. I would have all the time she wanted to write in prison. Basil wistfully considered for a moment robbing a bank but dismissed the idea a moment later. I don’t have the nerve for something like that outside of role-playing games and storytelling.

After the dishes were draining and Basil had cleaned out the recyclables for the day including empty cat food cans from the dozen or so cats that the family also cared for, she perused a list of her agenda for the next day. It’s Monday, so I have to get a program guide for the coming week’s shows. And since I’m going out, I should put the check with mom’s forged signature to my student loan in the mail. Basil added it to the list right above ‘fill out insurance paperwork’

I’ll probably be denied because work doesn’t offer healthcare until I’ve been there for three years. I’m not sure I’ll make it to the third year without trying to blow my brains out. Fuck the stupid law.

Basil lay down that insomnia-ridden night reading about apocalyptic worlds and situations worse than her own. Somehow I don’t think the apocalypse would be so bad, Basil thought. I could survive an apocalypse, maybe even thrive in it. There’s food everywhere if you knew where to look and are willing to eat strange substances, even dead, dry grass and leather holds minute nutrients.

As she set the book down, Basil felt wasted, like she was shriveling up and coming to a close at twenty-two, her talents bottled up for the next person with the torch of hope in their hearts. And with those heavy thoughts swimming in her surface consciousness, she tried to find some sleep.

When Basil woke around noon the next day, she dressed quickly, got through her mother’s usual chores as fast as she possibly could, and walked the mile to the closest convenience store to pick up the things her mother wanted upon her return. Halfway between Newton and Watertown, she bumped into an odd long-haired fellow. It was odd because he appeared very overdressed for the heat. It was the middle of an overwarm June; and he wore a hooded overcoat, mittens, and more black than Basil usually wore when it wasn’t hot.

Sorry, Basil murmured when she bumped into the overdressed stranger; she continued on her way without a second thought once she passed him.

Three quarters of the way to the square, Basil felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun quickly in case she was being attacked in broad daylight.

In this case, she was. A pair of six-plus-foot men stood facing her, burly as professional wrestlers.

Can I help you? Basil said loud enough to be heard over the fast-moving traffic. Neither man said a word but smiled in cruel, evil, matching grins. Basil’s pulse quickened; she was in terrible danger.

Can I help you! Basil was louder this time, more forceful. Her legs didn’t want to move no matter how much she wanted to run for it. Each of the men had put one hand on a shoulder when Basil’s legs found motion again, and she stumbled backward.

Don’t you dare touch me! she cried. Basil didn’t want to scream about rape yet. Not until she had a better idea of what their ill intentions were. The two men advanced as quickly as Basil could retreat. What do you want from me? Then the right one spoke in a voice that chilled every part of Basil on a ninety-degree day.

We don’t want much, just to see a rape victim. Basil heard what she had been dreading and was about to scream when the left one added.

If you scream, we’ll kill you. Basil was terrified; she had no doubt that the two burly villains meant what they said about rape and death.

Ah, there you are, dear. Basil flinched as she felt a sturdy hand and arm wrap around her shoulder. A calming scent entered her olfactory senses, and a dulcet voice like warm English honey met her ears. Basil had no idea where it had come from until she looked up. It was the stranger she had bumped into earlier, the overdressed man. He pinned her to his side in a protective way.

I was wondering where you had gotten to. Thank you for finding her, gentlemen. We’ll be on our way now. The stranger steered Basil away from her attackers as if he had no idea what had almost happened. Basil could still feel the bad guys’ presence as they walked away from the crowded street where no one had even slowed their cars to look. They were being followed.

Now really, the strange protective man intoned as he and Basil stopped and their pursuers stopped behind them. I must insist that you leave us alone.

That girl belongs to us, Right said with a voice that was no longer human.

No, she belongs with me, the overdressed stranger said.

She belongs to no one. Basil cried as she pulled away from her protector, belatedly realizing that there might not be safety in his presence. He didn’t stop her, his full attention on the two thugs that he had saved her from. Basil knew that she should not have stuck around to watch, but she couldn’t help herself. Her legs didn’t want to work again.

That was when the impossible things began to happen. Balls of blue-green energy formed in her protector’s hands, and he continued as if no one had said or done nothing out of the ordinary.

"One more warning. Pretend that this day never came and you never chose this girl. Or keep bothering us and neither of you will see another sunrise."

The thugs rushed toward the lone stranger, and the fight was over.

Basil’s protector caused one ball of energy to crash into each of her attackers and sent them sprawling. That was when Basil fainted.

Basil woke to hard tapping on her face. She was sprawled on the sidewalk; the overdressed stranger was standing over her. He had blue-green eyes that looked remarkably like the energy balls he had had in his hands.

What’s your name? he said as soon as she had opened her eyes.

Basil, Basil replied thickly as she sat up; her two assailants were still sprawled on the ground.

I’m Mercutio, he said as he offered her a hand to help her stand. I think I should come with you for a while in case they try anything else today. Basil took his offered hand and stood, a little wobbly. He was invitingly warm, his hand rough but not calloused.

Who were they? Basil asked while they moved away from the unpleasant scene. And who are you?

They were unimportant, much like myself, Mercutio answered. An English accent colored his words to make anything Mercutio said sound elegant to Basil’s ears. "The point was that they wanted you for a nefarious purpose, while I am a gentleman."

What do you want?

To keep you safe from them.

Why?

Look, did you want to get raped and murdered?

No.

Then trust me for the moment, please. As they walked down the street, Basil’s head swum with questions, and the fellow beside her seemed to have all the answers. She swallowed most of her questions. Basil’s gut told her the more she knew, the more danger she would be in. So she asked the only question that seemed harmless.

Mercutio, huh, like from Shakespeare.

If you like.

Unfortunate character, Mercutio. He got killed.

By Tybalt, I know. Where were you heading?

The pharmacy on Main Street to grab a program guide. Basil didn’t know why she was telling the man this, but Mercutio changed headings, and they were at Basil’s destination before Basil could figure out how they had arrived.

Get what you need. I’ll wait out here. Basil entered the store. After all, there was no reason for her not to acquire what she had set out to get, Basil reasoned, and if she bought a couple of other things, who was the man who waited outside to question her on it?

The pharmacy had two separate public entrances. One entrance was located at the street, where she had left Mercutio; the other was located at a parking lot in back where Basil hoped to sneak away. Basil bought her mother’s program guide, a small can of scented body spray, and a lighter. Armed with a makeshift blowtorch, Basil decided she would head out the back door of that particular pharmacy.

Except Mercutio had outwitted her and stood at the back entrance of the store.

I do hope your plan was to go to the police two doors over rather than give me the slip. Either way, I wouldn’t recommend it. Mercutio stepped into pace beside her as she left the shop. Do you need anything else before I take you home?

You know, I’m just not comfortable with the idea of some stranger walking me home right now, Basil said in a warning. She continued walking toward the police station one block away. You know what those two guys were planning to do, don’t you?

Of course. It was written all over them, Mercutio replied. You need someone who can protect you from those sorts of people. I still wouldn’t go to the police. It would complicate things.

And I’m just supposed to trust you? For all I know, you’re some pedophile serial killer! Basil said. Mercutio let out a snort of laughter. I know nothing about you except that you’re name is supposedly Mercutio. That’s not exactly a lot to go on.

Very well then, I’ll walk you to your intended destination, but once I have, I want you to forget me. Basil caught Mercutio’s gaze, and his eyes were almost glowing. Forget me and forget this day. Once you close your eyes tonight, today will be nothing more than a dream. They had stopped in front of the police station. Mercutio fell a step back behind Basil, and when she next turned around, he was gone.

Basil marched up the stairs of the police station with her bravest face on. She had done nothing wrong. There was no reason to be afraid of the cops. There was one behind an official-looking desk that was reading the Boston Globe. When he noticed her, he folded the paper and looked up at her.

Can I help you?

I… I um think I need to file a police report.

Concerning?

An attempted rape.

Are you okay, miss? There was immediate concern in the officer’s voice. No cop liked hearing about rape victims.

I’m fine, like I said, attempted, not successful, Basil answered but was still shaken.

Where?

"They approached me on Galen Street, but I went down Aldrich Road to try to avoid them.

Did they say anything to you?

They said they wanted to know what a rape victim looked like.

Can you describe them?

I think I can do better than that. The last I saw of them, they were unconscious. It was just before I… Basil wanted to say fainted. Before I came here.

I’ll send a couple of vehicles to pick them up. Please, have a seat.

Basil sat still thinking of Mercutio. Somehow she thought it would be best if his name were not on this record. The more she thought about him, the more her memories of him, however brief, faded like raindrops washing away watercolors on the sidewalk. It wasn’t a perfect analogy, but she felt it suited.

After what seemed like an eternity, a second officer came through the doors with a look of alarm on his face. He spoke in a whisper to the officer at the desk. The desk officer turned to look at Basil as the second one spoke to him. It was a long horrible moment before the second officer departed, and Basil was led into what looked suspiciously like an interrogation room.

Can I ask what’s going on?

I just need to ask you a few more questions. When you were approached by the two men, was there anyone else present?

No, Basil said truthfully. When Mercutio had showed up, it was like he had coalesced from the shadows.

Did anyone else arrive in the time between the approach and when you came here?

I don’t understand. What’s going on? Am I under arrest? I came to you guys for help!

The two men you described were found dead where you said they were. Right now, that makes you at least a witness, maybe an accessory. Self-defense, manslaughter, or murder is the question.

Dead? Basil asked horrified. Did Mercutio kill them? And if he did, when and how? I was attacked!

And can anyone else corroborate that statement? I’ll ask you again, did anyone else arrive during the altercation? Basil didn’t know what to do. She was scared, and now she wondered if she should have stuck with Mercutio and let him lead her home or gone anywhere but the police. Basil began to cry. She couldn’t help herself, but whenever her emotions overwhelmed her, crying was how her body responded.

I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t know that they were dead. Basil sobbed. She was too overwhelmed to think that forensic evidence would clear her of any murder. The officer across from her rose from the only other chair in the room.

When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be back. So far as Basil could tell, she wasn’t under arrest. Not yet. No one had read her, her Miranda Rights. But now there was no one to prosecute for her attempted rape, and somehow she was in trouble. Basil’s crying quieted to silent tears. She tried in vain to calm her breathing. She wondered if she should have listened to Mercutio. Until things were better, calming herself past tears would be more than difficult.

Somewhere in the deep background, Basil could just make out the sound of voices. She kept her head bowed so as not to let them know that she could hear them or was listening as she dabbed her eyes with her shirtsleeve.

"You know there was no way she could have killed those two men, not unless she can compromise a power line, then use it without getting herself killed, and then put it back in place."

Yeah, I know, but she’s our only hint at what or who did this. She’s not saying something about what happened, and my gut tells me it’s important.

Just process her and let her go. She was almost a rape victim. If we need her later, we can find her.

And the reason she’s not is because there is a vigilante loose on the streets. The last thing we need in a quiet town is vigilante justice.

If you won’t process her, I will. The first one sighed at those words.

Yeah, yeah, I’ll get on it.

A minute later, the first cop had a small kit with him and took the seat across from Basil.

I need to see your hands. Do you know what this is?

An evidence kit. Basil was displeased at how small her voice sounded. She gave her still-shaking hands to the officer across from her. He scraped under her already overbitten fingernails and trimmed what he could off them.

Did either man touch you?

Both had gotten as far as a hand on my shoulder, nothing more, Basil replied. The officer took two clear adhesive pads and attached one to each of Basil’s shoulders to collect minute evidence. She hadn’t been raped, and there was no one left to prosecute. It was just procedure at this point. A moment later, he had put each one in separate evidence bags. The officer rose. At the door, he spoke.

I’ll arrange for Officer McKenzie to drive you home.

Um… thank you?

You’re welcome. But there was no cadence of welcome in his voice, just cold anger at the thought of a perp slipping away.

It wasn’t long before Officer McKenzie, a nice, thirty-something, blonde female police officer, drove Basil home. By the time McKenzie pulled up in front of Basil’s home, they were talking about past boyfriends like schoolgirl chums.

What can I say, Officer McKenzie intoned. Some men are like fire. Brilliant, beautiful, life sustaining, but get too close and you get burned. I dunno if you’ve ever met a man like that.

I have, Basil said without thinking. She didn’t know why she had said it or who she had just said it about, because by then, the memory of Mercutio was like it had happened decades ago rather than just that afternoon.

Then you know what I mean. Is this you? Officer McKenzie asked as they pulled up to Basil’s house.

Basil’s house was very recognizable. During the summer, her light-gray-painted house was covered by fruit trees and flowers and green things growing. Her father had cultivated a beautiful garden of their tiny parcel of land. During the summer, Kelvin told them when he had worked for the navy; it was also used by military helicopters as a checkpoint for training missions because it was so visible. Basil’s Father was more than convinced that the helicopters were there to monitor him and his family’s behavior. Basil loved the time of year when the mulberry tree gave off its fruit in June or when the grape vines were finally ripe in September.

Yeah, it’s me. Thank you, Officer McKenzie.

No problem. And call me Suzanne. I know Officer Caruso. Officer McKenzie gestured toward Basil’s dirty cop neighbor’s house. We went through a sensitivity training course together a few years back. She’s nice.

Yeah, Basil said, keeping neutral. I used to play with her granddaughter.

It’s a small world. I’ll wait until you get safely inside. Basil took her cue to walk up her front porch, insert and turn her key, and make sure the doors were securely dead-bolted behind her as she ascended the stairs to the second floor.

Before Basil could kick off her shoes, the intercom system in her house rang. It would undeniably be her father.

Hullo, you have reached Mei-Lings. Please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeep, Basil said into the phonelike handset after she had picked it up. She was feeling decidedly better about her day just then. It could only go downhill.

Can I ask you something? Basil’s father said on the other side of the line.

Why did I arrive home in a police car after being out for longer than expected?

Yes. Are you in trouble?

Actually, Dad, I got rescued today. And I would rather not talk about it, Basil deflected. I don’t want to deal with him right now, much less prove him right about going out alone. If he had his way, I’d have a twenty-four-hour bodyguard for days like today. Basil thought at the receiver in her hand.

What did the cop want? Basil’s Dad interrogated.

To drive me home since it was determined unsafe for me to go out on my own, Basil answered. Might as well get this over with. Basil knew he wouldn’t stop until his questions had been answered to his satisfaction.

Did they ask about the house?

No, Basil said flatly as to make clear. They’re not after the house. They’re never after the fucking house.

Did they mention the neighbors?

No, another flat response. I’m not feeding your paranoia, old man. Basil did not want her father knowing that she had been in a cruiser with a friend of the dirty cop next door.

Did they talk to you about anything? he continued.

Yes, dangerous boyfriends and men like fire.

Are you okay?

Why is it that you’re asking that question NOW? Basil replied angrily. Any other parent in the world would have asked that question first. Stop being so fucking paranoid! Yes, I’m alive. Yes, I’m whole. Why the hell wasn’t THAT the first question you asked?

Don’t yell. I have a migraine, was all Basil’s father said in reply. It only incensed her further.

Yeah, anytime I have a negative emotion toward you, you have a migraine.

Hey! Now he was getting angry. "I can’t fucking help that I get them. How would you like my pain?"

How would you like to be minding your own business when a couple of six-foot thugs try to take you down into a side street and rape you? There, she said it, and vehemently too.

You were raped? Basil’s father’s voice got suddenly quiet and scared.

No, but I almost was. Like I said, I got saved. Basil reveled in that tiny moment of power. She had never heard her father like that before, and it felt empowering.

Then next time, go with somebody like you’re supposed to. Moment over. Basil’s father was once again the spirit-crushing lunatic she had grown used to.

Dinner is coming. It’ll be in a half hour.

I’ve already eaten. I didn’t know when you’d come home so I had some vegetables. Come down and talk.

I’d rather not, Basil monotoned. She loathed spending time alone with her dad because he talked endlessly and found immediate fault with anything anyone said. He could tell the same stories in circles for hours. She knew them all by now, the old ones anyway. Every time he went to a doctor for whatever reason, he came back with a new one that he told at least seven times before it got recycled.

Whatever, I just wanted some company after being alone all day. His usual excuse. I’m more than content to be alone all day. When my friends aren’t around, I make new ones for myself. Escapism was all that kept her sane.

Basil made a sandwich, at which one of her cats, the one with the freakish metabolism, begged once again for food he really didn’t want. She still offered him a slice of processed turkey. Prince Trouble sniffed it then ignored it. The cat was wasted on turkey and ham, but Basil would bet a finger he’d try to nom on her if she gave him beef once and a while. Then again, it was rare for Basil to get beef, and she did not blame the cat for not wanting the processed turkey.

Sandwich made and soda gotten, Basil turned on one of the televisions in the house, all of which had nothing but broadcast channels, no cable. She was okay with that. While cable had its merits, there was nothing on cable that she could not access via the borrowed internet signal and Youtube. Basil had had a lot of catching up to do when she had gotten her laptop the previous summer. Now she had accounts to all the social networking sites and then some.

Basil watched the six o’clock news. It wasn’t until ten or eleven stories in that her attempted rapists were mentioned.

Now with breaking news, two suspected rapists were found dead today in Watertown. Police suspect the deaths to have been accidental. The Watertown chief of police would not comment or release the name of the intended victim but said that they are lucky to be alive. The two suspected rapists may have been linked to other cases throughout the greater Boston area. The reporter moved onto the next top story with what Basil would call mindless ease and others would call professional ease. Basil lost interest. I don’t even really know why I had turned on the news.

The intercom rang again. Basil got up and crossed her living room to pick the handset up only for it to stop ringing the second she got there. That was normal for her father. He wanted her to ring back.

When she did, he picked up almost immediately.

Were those them?

Were who’s what?

On the news, the dead circumcised rapists. Did they attack you?

Suspected, not circumcised. And yes. How do you get circumcised from suspected?

They both start with the C.

No, no, they don’t.

Eh, it’s all Greek to me. They both sound alike.

No, no, they don’t. Is there a point you were trying to make?

They’re dead then, the bad guys. Did they shoot them? Basil sighed. She regretted ever giving him the idea for the intercom system.

No. According to the police, they were hit by a really strong electrical current like lightning or something.

They told you this?

I overheard it. Can we just let the dead rapists go, please? They’re dead. They aren’t going to attack anyone else anytime soon.

You don’t know that, her father said, pretending to be all mystical. If a voodoo priest got a hold of any bit of either of them, he could make the dead do his bidding.

Dad. They’ll be in the morgue at Mass General by now. And you’re not helping.

But you have to be prepared for anything, her father replied. Basil just growled in response, a reaction that got normal people looking at her funny because when Basil growled, there was something inhuman in it. She had no answer for her dad’s last comment, and in the lull in conversation, she could hear cartoon reruns playing in the background. Clearly, her dad had changed the station.

You’re still not helping.

Oh well, just trying to help, her father replied. Basil wondered if her dad was trying to be cheeky, or if he had simply tuned her out.

It was the last of the subject Basil heard until Friday, five days later.

*     *     *

Basil’s mom had returned the previous night, and Basil was back to spending her average days slaving at a grocery store for minimal pay. Fortunately, her bosses had not yelled at her in days, despite the extra time she took on her vacation to care for her physically and mentally unstable father. Basil left work at eight and walked home safely, even though she kept thinking that the shadows were watching her. Basil shook the notion from her head several times before she ascended her front porch, popped her key in the dead bolt, and trudged up the stairs.

Basil set her bag down and discovered that she had missed taco night, but her mom had saved her some, actually a lot. Basil fed the cats their evening munchies then returned to her food, freshly microwaved like it had never been refrigerated. Basil’s mom had put on the nightly news while she did the dishes. Basil sat and began to eat happily as the broadcast aired. Once again, Prince Trouble leapt deftly into her lap, expecting Basil to share with him.

An oil spill had headline news followed by a murder in Rochester, a home explosion in Lynn, and then the missing bodies of the dead rapists. Basil looked up at the screen for what the anchorperson described as disturbing news. The corpses had disappeared from the morgue without any evidence of how they had vanished. Surveillance tapes showed nothing to disturb the quiet temporary home for the dead.

Great, my own personal murderous sidekick clowns have gotten loose and are ready to come after me. This week couldn’t get any fucking better, Basil thought with uneasy sarcasm.

It was as if her mom could hear Basil pale. Basil’s father had mentioned the dead walking among the living more times than she cared to count, and Basil’s mom was standing over her shoulder with a pan lid in one hand and a drying cloth in the other.

Don’t worry about it. A couple of dead guys like them couldn’t have gotten far. It was probably some college prank. Prince Trouble attempted to eat the prepared taco Basil had in hand while she held it