Shamrock Samurai

8 | WINGS OF DEATH

I was cleaning up the chiropractor's office Thursday night when something tried to kill me.

Sweat formed in my blue gloves as I scrubbed the windows. The smell of Windex and latex irritated me. I was ticked altogether. You could call me a utility specialist, but that's just a fancy way of making me feel like a unique snowflake. In reality, I was a janitor.

I was trying to get my work done before nightfall. The fluorescent lighting didn't give any indication as to what time it actually was outside. The ultra-tinted windows of the chiropractic office didn't help either. The problem with my part-time job as a janitor was that the office couldn't be cleaned until after it closed. Closing time was an hour and a half before sundown, with little spare time to clean the whole place. Which is explicitly when Nehemiah the wizard said to be indoors. Before dark. But I only had several large windows left to clean and then I'd be done.

I took about three paper towels, bunched them up and applied a healthy amount of Windex. Then I began a thorough scrubbing of the next window.

Across the street a small homeless man took refuge under the bus stop covering provided by the city of Vallejo. With one hand he sorted aluminum cans and plastic bottles into trash liners within his shopping cart. His other hand clutched a tarp that served as a waterproof windbreaker and blanket.

Like him, I was trying to sort things out.

There was a spot of dirt on the window that resisted all my attempts to remove it. Much like the cursed symbol on my chest. No matter what I did, no matter how much rash cream, lotion, or soap I applied, the mark on my chest, the scar would not go away.

I threw away the paper towels since they were starting to fall apart. The scratch bothered me because I couldn't go to the doctor for it. They'd think I was into some crazy occult skin burning practice. The wizard had called it a Keening, a curse Banshees conjured. She marked me for death, particularly welcoming Fomorians to come get a piece of yours truly.

Windex ran down the container dripping onto the floor. I set the container down and wiped the spots on the floor and then unscrewed the top of the Windex bottle. Nothing seemed wrong under further inspection.

Since the big event last Thursday my supernatural senses had caught glimpses of things, and I did my best to get indoors before nightfall. The wizard's warning sounded like the very next day I'd get murdered. And yet nothing happened. No weird creaking doors opening by themselves, no ghostly apparitions appearing to haunt me, no angry Banshee's sisters ready to avenge the death of their kin. Nope, just me and my senses stressing me out.

I went to screw the lid back to the bottle but fumbled and dropped it on the floor. The contents splashed out into a huge puddle. I gritted my teeth. Perhaps the wizard didn't know what he was talking about. He sure as heck couldn't help me at all.

We defeated a Banshee together. You'd think we'd bond over our shared experience. Afterwards he mentioned something about training. He'd escorted my family and I home, saw us to the front door of my mom's house, but when I turned to thank him, poof, the pickup truck drove away. No cell phone, no email, no way to contact him. Only a first name. He split as soon as the threat was over. Thanks, bro.

As I bent down to clean up the mess something fluttered past the large window in the reception area. I looked out to the front parking lot but saw nothing other than the homeless guy who flailed his arms and moved his mouth. Probably high on drugs.

That's weird. I thought I saw something. Was my mind messing with me? It's like when your friend buys a blue Ford Focus and then all you see all around town is blue cars and Ford Focus models. Maybe I was on edge because of the Keening marring my chest and I was starting to see things that weren't there. Take a chill pill Sean.