Zero Worship: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #6

Chapter 5 - Simulacraceae

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A stake with a placard in the grass marks the street address for the empty lot. The half-acre is only empty if one doesn't consider a natural break in the line of old houses along the street to be worthy of counting. Trees, grass, brush, and fallen branches offer somewhere for wildlife to avoid cars and dogs.

"Am I the only one not seeing a house here?" a stoned Chad says.

"I see a house for the woodland creatures," an equally stoned Bexley says.

A garbage truck drives by, sending a cloud of dust onto the sidewalk where the three stand. Zandra watches the truck barrel down the street toward a perpendicular intersection a few blocks down.

"Did this guy in the van get the address wrong?" Bexley says.

"No," Zandra says.

"Huh?"

"Silence, child. I'm getting a vision," Zandra says. She raises a finger to her lips like a shushing librarian.

Zandra looks up and down the street. Unlike "grandma's house," the rot of economic decay hasn't made a visible imprint on the houses. It's not a "nice" neighborhood, but it isn't a rough one, either. In the sun of midday, Zandra spots vehicles parked in most of the driveways. Garbage bins line the ends of the driveways.

What day of the week is it? Must be a weekday, right? It's a garbage day. People are at work. Or not, given the economy in Stevens Point. Anyway, there are still cars and trucks and SUVs in driveways. Maybe some people are at home. They can see us, standing here like the garbage bins. I don't like being exposed like this.

After waiting for a few cars to go by, Zandra steps off the sidewalk and onto the street. The street runs in a straight line, as it does for most of the core neighborhoods in Stevens Point, flanked by old-growth trees that lean over the pavement. Leaves conceal some of the road signs, so Zandra shuffles down the street for a better view.

"Hey, where're you going?" Chad says, but Zandra doesn't bother to explain.

I'm looking for something. I hope it's there.

Not seeing what she's expecting, Zandra turns around after half a block and walks the other way on the street. She passes Chad and Bexley, keeping her eyes focused on what the parting leaves reveal as she walks. Chad tries to join her, but Bexley holds him back.

"Let her work. This is real psychic stuff," Bexley says to Chad.

Yes. Let me work.

After another half-block walk, Zandra finally spots what she's looking for: a yellow road sign with the words "Dead End" printed in bold, black letters. It marks an intersection with the street Zandra's on. The dead-end street winds into a curve that's draped with even more old-growth trees. There aren't any houses from what Zandra can see, but she needs a better look.

My ankle's killing me, but I don't feel like going back to get the Two Stooges.

Zandra starts down the dead-end street. She keeps to the inside of the curve and close to the trees. There isn't a sidewalk down this stretch, so she shuffles through the grass next to the shoulder. Rounding the curve, Zandra ducks behind the thickest tree trunk she can find and slips half an eyeball around the bark. The street terminates at a cul-de-sac with a single house. The house is a rambler with an attached garage. No vehicles rest in the short driveway.

This is it. This is where she lives. The man in the van's concubine. I'm sure of it.

Zandra wobbles away from the tree and returns to Chad and Bexley on the sidewalk by the empty lot.