image [https://i.imgur.com/jpOYNWV.png]

I’d sounded a lot more confident than I felt.

That evening, Colson and I prepared to head out and investigate whatever was plaguing the streets of New Orleans. I was nervous as hell and as we got closer to our departure time, I was constantly back and forth about my decision to join. Whatever it was they weren’t telling me, was like a boulder in my stomach.

Every time I was on the verge of panicking, Imara’s presence calmed me down and I thought about the experience I had when she grabbed onto me. There was something… ethereal about it, that I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. The negative emotions lurking under the surface had simply vanished, replaced by warm thoughts, similar to wearing a psychological safety blanket.

My wavering self-confidence aside, they trusted me to be able to handle what was happening and I didn’t want to let them down. Ethan Margrave, seventeen years old, eager to please. All you had to do was be a little bit nice.

While Colson had been waxing the Ute, annihilating an entire package of cigarettes, I asked him what her deal was, phrased slightly more politely.

“Dunno what to tell you, kid. The Mother’s the Mother. Your greatest ally or your worst enemy. She’s got skills, but everyone she talks to always comes away from meeting her with a different experience,” he told me.

She had skills alright. Deciding not to press that particular issue, I didn’t miss the slightly standoffish tone of voice he’d been using since Imara had asked me to join him and I wouldn’t want to make his job harder for him in case he’d resent me for it.

Boasting a little emotional growth, I asked him about it instead of just ignoring it. I let it simmer for another two hours, to work up the courage to do so, but I did it in the end.

He seemed surprised but pleased at my inquiry.

“I didn’t even notice that thanks for letting me know. Nah, kid, it’s not gonna change anything really. If you had the aptitude for it, I’d planned on taking you on Enforcement runs in a couple of months after we’d gotten some basics down. It’s all going a little fast for my tastes, but Imara insists, and I trust her judgement.”

“Fair enough. Enforcement runs?” I frowned at the words.

Colson’s voice took on a lecturing tone as he bobbed his head, “Yeah, the contracts have to come from somewhere, right? The organization that issues the contracts is called the Board of Enforcement, so we call ‘em ‘Enforcement runs’ on a day-to-day basis. That’s about all I’ll tell you right now though, we’ll get to it later, I promise.”

I’d never heard about it. I mean I guess it wasn’t strange considering the life I’d led so far, but someone somewhere had to be in the know and put it on the internet or something.

We waited for another hour and despite Imara’s presence, my nervousness mounted.

I was sitting on the veranda outside to get some air while they were having a private conversation in the living room. Bending over with my head almost between my knees, I was breathing deeply. The doorbell went and I didn’t even hear Colson’s footsteps before his meaty hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump.

“Ease up, kid. I know it seems weird and unconventional right now, but I promise you there’s a good reason for it,” he assured me.

Not convinced in the slightest, I felt a little sick at his words. “I don’t know, Colson. It seems so unusual, you know? I barely know you guys and now you want to take me along on some wild goose chase where people have gone missing and shit. I’m afraid I’ll mess up, or we’ll get hurt or something.”

He was quiet for a few seconds.

“Yeah, I get it. Completely understandable. I won’t tell you to sit it out, but it’s still your decision. No pressure. Well, some pressure, but you can ignore it if you want.”

Pressure indeed. I’d thought about using the tranquil mind to calm myself down, but that wouldn’t make my emotional state disappear, it would just mute it. It would be back in force whenever I dropped the technique. Better to process it all in real-time.

“No,” I simply stated, shaking myself off, “I said I’d do it, so I will.”

As I said. Eager to please.

“Then get up and let’s go,” he slung a bag I hadn’t noticed over his shoulder. I didn’t even think to ask what he was bringing along.

“We’ll use the last bit of daylight to start our little adventure," Colson continued, "the latest intel suggests checking out Louis Armstrong Park. There’s a community near there where someone disappeared two nights ago. It’s on the other side of the river.”

Getting in the car we drove to the French Quarter and parked a stone’s throw from the park.

It was around dusk when we entered, the air a bit humid under the cover of the trees as the day was wearing off. There were some people around, but not as many as I’d expected, with it being in the middle of the city. Many of the people we walked past stopped in their tracks and stared and I suspected that Colson’s size was what grabbed their attention.

I wondered if that was ever an issue for him if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

He wasn’t saying much, concentrating on the job, and I decided to keep my questions to myself and let him do his thing. My anxiety felt like a snake coiling and uncoiling around my chest.

We walked to the middle of the park, Colson looking around until he suddenly spotted something and started walking towards the northeastern corner.

As we got closer, I spotted some people sitting in a secluded part of the park, where some benches and tables were placed haphazardly. Some of them were just idling or sleeping, but two of them were huddled around an old chess board, a couple of brown bottle-shaped bags keeping them company.

With no reservations, Colson went up to them and started up a conversation.

“Evenin’ gents,” he said, interrupting them in the middle of a move.

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Knight to E6, taking a pawn.

“Piss off chump can’t you see we’re in the- holy shit you’re a big fucker aren’t ya,” the guy playing the white side began, doing a doubletake as he looked at Colson.

His eyes widened and there was a touch of what I thought was fear in his haggard features as he realized this was someone he might not want to mess with.

“So I’ve been told,” Colson smiled easily, his voice taking on its normal cadence.

“Why’re you wearing sunglasses when it’s dark?” he asked.

“Character flaw.”

“Whaddya want?” the other man asked barreling over his opponent’s next question.

He narrowed his eyes at us suspiciously.

“I was wondering if you could help me out. Name’s Colson. I’m a P.I.,” he offered while he produced a license from the wallet he kept in his back pocket and showed them. “I’ve been hired to look into the disappearance of a man who was known to frequent this area. His niece is pretty keen on finding him.”

Not knowing how much of what he said was the truth I was amazed at his easy use of authority and confidence.

“Yeah? Not our problem,” intoned the suspicious one, “now fu– uh, I mean please leave, we’re trying to play a game ‘ere.”

“Hol’ up,” the white side said, “Brett didn’t ya say that Anna told you she saw André in the company of some woman a couple nights ago?” He was eyeing the wallet Colson still held in his left hand.

“Yeah, so?”

“Well uh, maybe if we, you know, help this giant gentleman out he’ll give us a lil’ something. You know, as compensation or wha’ not.”

“Ugh, alri’. Tell you wha’ Mr P.I., you put Jackson on the table, and I’ll tell you wha’ I know. Fair’s fair 'n all.”

Without missing a beat, Colson pulled a twenty out of his wallet and placed it on the table, holding it fast with a finger.

“Deal. Tell me what you know and it’s yours,” he told them with a smile on his face.

The pair of them looked at each other for a second and the distrustful one started talking.

“Two nights ago, Anna saw André walking arm in arm with a woman down on St. Peter. Close to the cathedral. Anna was heading back here from her… job, an’ he was walkin’ in the other direction. She thinks he was walking from his shelter since they were headed in the opposite direction—his shelter’s in an alley behind a gallery near Toulouse.”

“And?” Colson prompted.

“An’ nothin’. We ain’t seen him since.”

“Thanks for the info, have a nice evenin’” Colson said as he released his finger from the money. He turned on his heel and started to walk back in the direction we’d come from.

I fell into step behind him, unable to hold my silence any longer. “You’re a P.I.?”

“Sure, professional inquirer,” he said and smirked. “I inquired about André, didn’t I?”

I shook my head at his antics, “Isn’t that a federal offence? Forgery and impersonation or something along those lines.”

“Sure is,” he agreed, “which is why I wouldn’t flaunt it in the face of a bunch of cops. In my experience, people will believe what you tell ‘em pretty easily as long as you’re purposeful about it. When you’re gonna go around asking questions it helps to have a reason why. Pretending to be a P.I. will get most people talking, whereas pretending to be a cop will keep a bunch of ‘em quiet. Depending on your locale.”

We walked out of the park and joined a throng of people on the street as we headed further downtown. Night had fallen, and the sun was replaced with streetlights. Though it was a Tuesday, there were still a lot of people around, most being polite enough to move out of our way as we progressed.

“I don’t expect to find much,” Colson supplied, “but we’ll check out his shelter on Toulouse, I think I know the place they were talking about. Then we’ll head to St. Peter and see if we can’t sniff something out.”

“You got it, boss,” I intoned dutifully.

Truthfully being around this many people was kind of freaking me out. It felt like I was being pressed on from all sides. I chucked it down to being a new experience, but I suspected my anxiety about the entire situation was making things worse.

We entered Toulouse near the art gallery and found the alley pretty quickly. There was a long line of cardboard stacked neatly almost up to chest height to provide shelter, and several people living here. Colson unceremoniously stuck his head into one of the card boxes and asked where André’s spot was. In reply, he got an angry tirade with a bunch of expletives but containing the location.

Walking further down the alley, I followed closely behind Colson. The further we headed in, the darker it got. When we reached a certain spot, he stopped and tore off the piece of cardboard acting as the “front door”. André’s name was written on it in an unsteady hand.

He crawled down on all fours and entered the unsteady creation. After a good thirty seconds, he gestured for me to join him.

“What do you see?” he asked as I moved to sit beside him on the ground, and he lit up the space with the flashlight in his phone. His head was stooped to avoid hitting the ceiling and I had to suppress a giggle despite our situation.

I looked around. A sleeping bag, a couple of bottles of water, a camping kitchen set and various memorabilia from a previous life. Strange that he’d left those here.

“Seems pretty normal to me. About what I’d expect from someone who’s been homeless for a while. Seems odd that he didn’t bring the photo or his more valuable belongings with him. Almost as if he just upped and left suddenly. I assume it’s of his family,” I surmised.

“Good catch, kid. Very good. Those were my exact thoughts.”

I flushed a little at his praise.

“What do you make of this?” he asked.

Looking where he pointed his flashlight, I saw a small green impression on the ground right next to the entrance. It was a small footprint.

“Footprint. Why’s it green? Did someone step in paint?”

It felt extremely out of place.

Colson touched a finger to the green substance and brought it up to smell it. Then he gestured for me to do the same.

It smelled like iron, though it was faint. Turning to look at him I asked him what it was.

“Oxidized copper,” his expression was serious, his tone sombre.

Not understanding I smelled it again, then smeared it on my jeans.

“What’s it mean?”

“Means we have to hurry,” he pointed at me to crawl out while he spoke, and we hurried out into the street.

His worry was rubbing off on me and adrenaline started flooding my already hyperalert system, increasing my heart rate and breathing.

“Ethan,” he caught on to my nervousness. “Take a couple of deep breaths. If you have somewhere nice you can go in your mind, try to go there, and calm yourself down.”

Not waiting to be told twice I entered the tranquil mind immediately.

Hurrying through the open space I arrived in front of the mirror and was shocked at how worn and weathered it looked. Small spiderweb cracks were running along the glass and the frame, but when I looked into it, my other mirrored self appeared as it normally did. Going from a blurry reflection it sharpened gradually.

Then my reflection did something it had never done before. It smiled at me sadly.

Startled, I almost lost the technique but managed to hang on by a hair as I came to in the street, Colson next to me.

The difference was instantaneous, and my breathing steadied as my heart rate went down gradually.

Colson was looking at me, a frown on his face. He asked me what happened.

“I entered a meditation trance my father taught me for combat,” I answered, my voice empty of emotion.

“What’s it called?”

“The tranquil mind.”

Colson swore.

“As long as it works. Ethan, can you walk and maintain the technique at the same time?”

“I usually enter this state of mind when I fight. Walking around shouldn’t be a problem,” I affirmed, nodding.

Colson looked astonished but said nothing.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, kid, nothing. Let’s head out. Follow me, please.”

Entering Toulouse, Colson led the way through to St. Peter and we walked down the street in the direction of the cathedral, all the while seemingly observing everything around him by the way his head was flicking in all directions. Was he smelling the air?

When we reached one of the intersections, he suddenly stopped in the middle of the street. People swore as they had to swerve around us.

“It’s here,” he said.

His head was pointed at a large white four-story building that was under foreclosure, the façade cracked and worn as it stood abandoned.

If you'd ever run across an abandoned building, you'd probably realise it instantly. There was a certain air about them like you could tell there was no one living there. All the windows were shuttered, and the entrance held a white door with a bunch of graffiti on it and a “KEEP OUT” sticker attached to the front.

Looking from side to side, Colson walked up to the door and effortlessly twisted the handle, breaking the lock.

He looked at me, then back to the door.

Why not. Let’s add breaking and entering to the list.

“Age before beauty,” he muttered and entered with me right on his heels.