First You Make a Stone of Your Heart

The boat instantly leaned even more, the edge of the deck slipping into the water again, so he backed off and steered more to the right...and the boat leveled the more he turned...

"You're starting to feel it now, aren't you?" Devlin whispered, still holding onto Harry.

"Yeah. You know, in some ways it feels like a real light Huey..."

"A what?"

"A helicopter."

"Vietnam?" she asked.

"Yup."

Her grip tightened on his arm and she seemed to pull herself even closer to his side, almost like she wanted to meld with him. "I'm sorry you had to go through that...oh...my God..."

"What?" Callahan said, suddenly aware of a galvanic impulse ripping through his body. "What's wrong?"

"Falling...falling...you're falling and I see a white snake...and there's fire everywhere..."

Callahan cringed under the weight of sudden recall. To getting his Huey shot up and crashing in the swampy marshlands just outside the perimeter wire trying to get people out of C-Med during the first wave of the Tet Offensive, and he could see the white python closing on the shattered windshield and machine gun fire ripping through the engine compartment...

"Harry? You still with us?" Sam Bennett said.

And in the next instant he was back on the bay behind the wheel of a sailboat standing next to a girl he didn't recognize and yet he could still feel the concussive blasts of mortar rounds zeroing in on his position then the womp-womp-womp of another Huey circling low overhead and he felt plastic shattering on the overhead panel as more machine gun rounds slammed into his Huey and now he was spinning spinning spinning in some kind of pale vortex...

"Harry?" Bennett barked.

And then Callahan turned from the wheel and leaned over the aft rail, heaving his guts out into the grey-green water of the swamp and the white snake was suddenly gone...

...yet as he looked up he saw a huge white owl perched on the rail by the side of his head, its amber eyes staring into his innermost being...

And then Devlin was beside him, holding onto him, and after a moment she leaned close again and whispered in his ear: "You didn't see that coming, did you?"

He shook the remnants of the Huey and the glistening white python away, then he looked for the owl but it was gone now, too, gone and as suddenly forgotten -- so he turned and looked at Devlin, and as he looked into the owl's eyes again everyone started laughing.

C1.5

Callahan looked up and saw Peter Weyland was now at the wheel and with a start he realized he was laying down and that his head was in Devlin's lap; Captain Bennett was sitting nearby, looking at Callahan with frank concern in his eyes.

"You okay, Sport?" Bennett asked.

"What happened?" Harry replied.

Then he felt Dev's fingers running through his hair and he moved his head, saw she was looking at him, smiling and without a care in the world showing in her bright eyes. "You lost your breakfast over the rail," she sighed, "then you slipped and hit your head."

"You're going to have a little knot on your forehead," Dr. Weyland advised professionally and with an offhand grin, "but otherwise I think you'll live."

Callahan rolled his eyes and tried to sit up but immediately thought better of it and moaned.

"You might want to take it slow for a half hour or so," Weyland added.

Callahan nodded and then realized the wind had died down and that now they were sailing along slowly, the boat not leaning at all now, so he took a deep breath and just let go again -- and a moment later he felt himself falling asleep...

"Hey! Sleepyhead!" he heard his mother say, "You ready for some lunch?"

He opened his eyes again and now his head was resting on a folded up jacket and then he saw Devlin was coming up the companionway with a plate full of sandwiches, so he pulled himself up and rubbed his eyes then tried to remember where he was and why he was on a boat...

"Harry," Sam Bennett said, "always has a big appetite. You need a hand there, Miss Weyland?"

Callahan looked around, saw the boat was apparently at anchor and a couple hundred yards away kids were frolicking on a rocky beach and two other sailboats were anchored about fifty feet away. The air was still and smelled of eucalyptus and the sea at low tide, and for a moment Callahan thought the air almost almost smelled like iodine -- and he cleared his head as Sam helped get the cockpit table set up. Devlin handed over the sandwiches then disappeared below again, surfacing a moment later with a pitcher of iced tea that had big juicy slices of fresh peach floating in lazy circles around the rim, and then a little tumbler was thrust into Callahan's hand.

Weyland came up the companionway a moment later and handed Callahan a couple of Tylenol tablets and as he drank the tea Callahan thought life was the most amazing thing. So simple...just a peach or two and it felt like he was drinking the nectar of the Gods...in a tight little cove surrounded by the simplest beauty of all -- the wind passing through trees, little wavelets smacking into the side of Weyland's sailboat. He felt a passing moment of sublime perfection and leaned back, let the sun skip across smile on his face.

Then a sliced turkey sandwich with a simple slathering of mayonnaise and a little cracked pepper and a nice thick slice of summer's finest treat, the beefsteak tomato, just sliced so the bread remained light and full of goodness. Callahan took a few bites then leaned back again to let the sun bathe his face -- and he couldn't remember feeling so good, or so totally confused.

'There was an owl back there. I saw it. I watched it watching me and I was not imagining it.'

His detectives mind raced to find an explanation where none could possibly exist, but that didn't stop his searching. He looked around the back of the boat, back where he had been kneeling and retching and where he had seen the owl, then he remembered seeing the owl's eyes were also Devlin's...and that just couldn't be...

He looked at her now and no, her eyes were still those of a human being and certainly not the huge amber orbs he'd seen in that blinking instant -- which he had to admit was reassuring but the fact wasn't exactly comforting, given present circumstances.

"Where are we?" Callahan asked as he finished his iced tea.

"North side of Angel Island," Weyland said, watching Callahan closely now, "on a mooring ball in Ayala Cove. How're you feeling now?"

"Foggy."

"We'll give it another hour. You should be up to snuff by then."

Sam was plowing through his sandwich and enjoying every bite. "Where on earth did you find these tomatoes?" he asked. "They taste exactly like a summer afternoon!"

"Oh, once a week or so," Weyland began, smiling now as he talked, "we drive south along Highway One and check out the stands that farmers have set up by the roadside. This time of year the tomatoes are coming in and we found some good ones last weekend."

"I'll say," Bennett said. "Do you get out here on the bay very often?"

Weyland nodded between bites. "Try to. Of course this is the time of year for it."

Callahan wasn't paying attention to this chatter; he was looking at Devlin, still trying to make sense of the morning when he saw a white feather flutter off the aft deck and fall into the pale, grey-green water in the shallow little cove -- and he watched as it landed on the mottled surface and drifted on idle currents into the maelstrom of a dream he didn't quite understand.

Yet.

+++++

They sailed to Sausalito as a cooling fog rolled in through the Golden Gate, and smartly dressed dock-boys helped them tie-off to the guest pier at the Sausalito Yacht Club, then the four of them walked over to The Spinnaker restaurant as the day's sunbeams and cool breezes gave way to scudding clouds creeping through the trees along the low coastal foothills. Shadows gave way to the blues and grays of evening and the sudden enveloping warmth inside the restaurant felt soothing, like a respite from the many changes they had endured that day.

Weyland recommended a few things on the menu and drinks magically appeared, then platters of fresh seafood in a bewildering display of excess that Callahan simply couldn't relate to. Was Weyland, he wondered, trying to assert the fact of his obvious wealth to a couple of poor cops, or was he simply a generous soul? But more than anything else, by the time dinner was over Callahan was left to wonder what this day had really been all about...

Weyland had put Harry back to work after lunch, stood beside him while they navigated around Angel Island before circling back and sailing up Richardson Bay, all eyes focused on the depth gauge as they closed on the old cream-colored Victorian house that now served as an Audubon Society preserve. Weyland was a patient teacher but for the life of him Callahan couldn't understand what all this instruction was about.

And neither could Sam Bennett, but by the time Weyland's foggy excursion came to a wet, soggy end back at the St Francis Yacht Club, he felt more than certain that both he and Callahan had been taken for a ride.

+++++

Weyland decided to head back into the club for a late evening libation, but he thanked Harry for being such a good sport. "Maybe you'll catch the bug!" he said cheerfully.

"Oh? What bug is that?"

"Sailing, of course. And anytime you'd like to go out please let Devlin know and we'll try to lay something on! You're an able student and I enjoyed my day tremendously."

Callahan nodded and smiled. "I did too, sir. Very much."

Bennett smiled and watched this exchange carefully -- if only because Devlin remained back and kept to the periphery now...as in: out of sight, out of mind...but Bennett was certain the girl was, against all odds, falling in love with Callahan. And that did not bode well, for anyone. But Bennett turned to Weyland and smiled as they shook hands. "I did as well, Doctor. Thank you for a memorable day."

"You're most welcome, Captain. I hope to see you both soon," Weyland said, now looking at Devlin. "Perhaps now would be a good time to take Captain Bennett down to where all this happened," he said to her before adding: "I'll probably be late so let yourself in."

She nodded then walked up to Harry and took his hand. "C'mon, let's go before it gets too cold."

Bennett fell in behind Callahan and the girl and he could feel Harry's dis-ease at the girl's sudden possessiveness. As they walked along she pulled a reluctant Callahan closer and closer, and Bennett wondered why Harry was going along with it...

Streetlights were coming on now, and lines of glowing orbs stretched away in the gathering fog as Harry and Devlin talked about what she thought the 'creature' really was; she had no idea but when Callahan suggested squids and octopi she just shrugged and gathered herself up against the growing chill. Sam listened intently -- but he also watched her body language, looking for signs of reluctance or deceit. Or insincerity.

And yet he saw nothing of the sort. Not even ambivalence. Yet he could feel her fear as they approached the spot where the boy from the club had been eviscerated.

There was still ample evidence something odious had gone down on the beach; there were still deep maroon splotches on the sand where neither time nor tide had lingered long enough to wash away the quiet detritus of an evil death. The water was calm now, very calm, and if not for the glowing orbs reflected on the inky black surface there would have been no way to discern any difference between the water and crude oil.

And then an Old Man wearing a black loden cape and walking with the aid a walking stick approached, and while the old fella tipped his hat as he passed he said not a word. Sam watched the old man for a moment, as the old man approached Mason Street, and when he stopped suddenly and looked out over the water Sam turned and looked in that direction, too.

And he saw something out there. Almost like a man but tall and slimy-black, black with latent malice -- and the thing suddenly turned and was staring at Devlin.

"Callahan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you see that?"

Callahan turned and looked at Sam, then followed his eyes out to the water. "What the hell is that, Captain?"

"That's it," Devlin whispered. "That's what got Jimmy..."

Bennett reached for the Colt 1911 in the shoulder holster under his left arm and pulled it free...

...and at the same time the Old Man slammed the silver tip of his cane down onto the sidewalk...

...and the creature slipped under the inky surface and disappeared, just as thunder rumbled somewhere out beyond the Golden Gate.

And when Bennett turned to find the old man, all that was left of him was a dark hole in endlessly swirling mists.

And next to a streetlight not at all far from where Bennett, Callahan, and Devlin stood watching, a tall, thin man in a hooded jacket stood watching, too. He coughed once then lit a cigarette before he stepped back inside a passing shadow, and then his silent features vanished in the fog.

C1.6

Callahan jogged from his apartment to the Central Division homicide bureau on Bryant Street at least three times a week, getting there early enough to put in fifteen minutes in the weight room before taking a quick shower in the locker room. Once dressed he usually walked up the five flights of stairs to the main Homicide Bureau offices before picking up a cup of coffee and flopping down at his desk to catch his breath, then he would usually walk over to his 'mail box' and pick up copies of incident reports from Patrol he'd been assigned. With these in hand he would then drop by Captain Bennett's office to pick up any other assignments from him, then he'd spend a few hours reading through the incident reports from the shifts before to see if any follow-up investigations were warranted.

But not this morning.

By the time he'd made it to the coffee pot he saw Bennett standing in the doorway to his office just waiting for him. "Good morning, Captain..."

"My office. Now," Bennett growled.

Callahan sighed and took a pass on the coffee -- for now -- then he trudged into Bennett's office and then came up short. Al Bressler and DiGiorgio were already in the room, as were Captain McKay and Frank Bullitt.

"Shut the door, Callahan," Bennett grumbled as he made his way to his desk.

Callahan's eyes swept the room trying to read the mood, but even Bullitt looked confused -- and that was not a good thing.

"Alright," Bennett said as he picked up a pale blue incident report form from his desk, "as you know, Harry and DiGiorgio had a weird one a few nights ago, but we were doing some followup last night down at the scene and both Harry and myself saw something...of interest. But before we get to that, Lieutenant Briggs called me at four this morning to let me know there'd been another homicide. A piano player working at one of the jazz joints down by the wharf. He and some friends were walking down to look at the fishing boats and something came out of the water and hit him with something that literally blew his body apart. Like Harry's case there was nothing left but body fluid, no bone, no sinew, no nothing, and we have five witnesses that describe the same thing. Black, slimy body described as looking like a wet snake's skin, vaguely human is shape but much taller, like seven to eight feet tall, and when it fled the scene all five witnesses saw a large green area of what looked like glowing gas, a green gas glowing under the water just beside the wharf."

Bennett paused and looked around the room.

"You said the victim was a pianist?" Callahan asked.

"That's right."

"My reporting person is a pianist," Callahan said.

"Coincidence?" Bennett wondered out loud.

Frank Bullitt cleared his throat: "No such thing as a coincidence in a homicide investigation, Captain. It's a lead."

Bennett nodded then turned and looked at Harry. "You play the piano, right?"

"I, uh, yeah, I play a little."

Bennett nodded. "Okay, I want you and Bullitt on the case from last night, so Harry, get Frank up to speed on your original incident report and include yesterday's events, then you'd better head out and get your witness interviews knocked out. I'm still not sure what we're dealing with here, and I'm not sure if we're dealing with a human or some kind of marine life, but we need some answers in order to develop some kind of protective strategy. DiGiorgio? I want you to take Chico and a crime scene artist and work up some ideas of what this thing looks like, then take your sketches up to Steinhart and see if any of the biologists up there can help us figure something out."

DiGiorgio nodded. "Right. Anyone know where Gonzales is?"

"Weight room," Callahan said. "He doesn't come in 'til ten, so he'll be down there now."

Bullitt and Callahan walked out of Bennett's office and went to Harry's desk, but both stopped off at the coffee pot on the way. "What happened yesterday?" Bullitt asked as they sat at Harry's desk, nursing their cups of coffee. "Bennett looks pretty miffed."

Callahan recounted their day out on the water, all of it, finishing up with spotting the head and torso of a black creature in the water by the marina.

"You're kidding, right? You sayin' you really saw this thing?"

"We both did...yeah. About a hundred, hundred and fifty feet away. Shiny and with amber eyes. Big eyes..." Callahan said, his voice almost trancelike as his mind drifted back to the moment on the sailboat.

"So, what's up with you and this girl? Devlin, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and nothing's up."

Bullitt looked at Callahan, his eyes looking for an opening -- as if he was peeling through layers of deceit, pushing past dangling webs of momentary diversions. "Bennett said she's on some kind of heavy psych meds. Know what's going on with her?"

"No," Callahan said, suddenly on the defensive.

"Seems like basic stuff, Callahan, so I'm wondering why you're protecting her...?"

"Am I?"

Bullitt shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Any other witnesses last night?"

"Yeah. An old guy out taking a walk stopped and stared at the thing, too -- but then it was like he just faded into the fog."

"How thick was it last night?"

"I'd say I could see things that were maybe a hundred yards away, like to Broderick Street."

"Which way did the old guy walk?"

"West on Mason..." Callahan whispered, "I think..."

"So, towards the trees?"

"Yeah."

"What was he wearing?"

Callahan closed his eyes and drifted on those currents... "Cape. Loden and it hung below the waist. Gray corduroy slacks. One of those funky hats. You know. Bavarian, like with the bristles on one side..."

"Did he have a beard?"

"Yeah. White, medium long. Bushy white eyebrows. Not tall. Maybe five-eight and two hundred pounds. And he was walking with a cane..."

"Limping?"

"No. But he did the damndest thing, Frank. I caught it out the side of my eye, but he swung the cane in a circle above his head then brought the tip down -- and hard -- on the sidewalk. And then it started to thunder, like way out past the bridge."

"Thunder? You're saying you think he, like what? He summoned the thunder?"

"I know it sounds nutty, Frank, but that's what I saw."

"Uh-huh."

"I know, I know, it sounds weird..."

"It sounds as nutty as a fruitcake, Slick," Bullitt sighed. "So, you got the number at her house?"

"Yeah. Maybe you ought to call her."

"Ya think?" Bullitt looked at Callahan and tried not to think the worst. Callahan had recently been assigned to the bureau after testing high on the exam, and he didn't have any reported history of mental illness, but this was over the top. The only thing that mattered right now was that Bennett had seen this thing in the water, but Bennett didn't see the old man and the cane. "Gimme the number," Bullitt growled. "I want to get to the bottom of this -- today."