Free It's No Picnic by Kenneth E. Myers

off to the old church, moving, seeing the low light go down and dark.
     
     
     
    12:34
     
    O NCE M ORE , Alex spied the clock, noting the timein the top right hand corner. Twenty—six steps left to the old church. Of course, it would help if he could see and not feel. But the path was dark, deep, and dire. Each step hard and dry. And time marked. So each move must count.
    The last thing he needed was farce. Yet there they were twin pairs in wit both near and far. Dark barred him from a point of view. Trusting as it were in faith that the sounds he heard were in fact them, the twins that is.
    Alex slowed as the sounds grew louder loathing any hint of touch or tint. Yet bump they did. Blocking the way up and down the path, First saying, “My dear Alex,” with Second aft, “And vile…”
    “Why are you two out at this hour?” Alex said.
    “For a stroll,” First said.
    “And race…” said Second.
    “A stroll. Please. I was not born just now.”
    “We are out here for you,” First said.
    “And me…” said Second.
    “How did you know I would be here? Let me guess. The lord.”
    “He knows,” First said.
    “And scorns,” said Second.
    “Knows what ?”
    “Not what, who nit wit,” First said.
    “And sage…” said Second.
    Alex mused at the set of the lord. How can this boss be in all places and each time? And how is it he sees, turning the helm of each soul?
    “So, the lord is it?” Alex rode.
    “Yes, she sent us here to talk,” First said.
    “And hear…” said Second.
    “Now a she is it?” Alex said.
    “Yes, she.” First said.
    “And he…” Second said.
    “Is it Cap?”
    “No. Cap is a dolt, cast—off by the lord.” First said.
    “And serf…” Second said.
    “Then who is it?” Alex pushed.
    “In due time.” First said.
    “And space…” Second said.
    Then—the twins turned, facing the hill, First saying, “Do you hear,” with Second on back, “And cloak…”
    Alex opened each ear— one by one —to the sound, hearing a
     
    — s c r e a m m m m—
     
    sinking out of the void, at once pushing the twins out of the way and running up the steep hill. No grasp of where he was or when he would get there Alex— ran —‘til he could run no more, stopping, putting on the breaks till…
    A dim, jet light shown; lighting the last few feet to the old church door.
    By this time—old and out, Alex inched the last brief gap, at once seeing the drawn lines and edges of a form with a fire lit point raw in rage and high cast arm saying, “Good night Alex .”
     

7
     
    12:59
     
    A LEX W OKE W ITH A S HARP cruel ache on the head. It was firm, forcing him to stay put. The puce broth seeping from that gash served to make those once calm cheeks blush, ebbing as it were down the front of the head and into the face. With beet soup eyes, he could just see the brief form of a man. The man stood up high and tall, a pose clearly forced as if hiding the vile scant of it. Yet pose he did and for some time.
    As the face of the man stilled, Alex found a die taking shape. Each point aiming at one nearby, stressing to find a close friend to join.
    At once—the face fixed; each point still, true, all tied to form a whole. Then—Alex said in a low and faint voice, “ Cap? ”
    The clock struck 13:00 —being a 24 —hour clock—as Alex heard the voice say,
     
    —
     
    “I told you hanging around this dump would get you in trouble.”
    Alex, exhausted, bloody, not in the mood for any of this nonsense sarcastically replied, “Yes you did.”
    “ Detective Alexander Lax. From what I hear quite the big shot in the day. But it seems that day is up doesn’t it? I mean look at you, lying there. What a pathetic wretch. In plain English, did you think you could catch me with these, these false teeth ?”
    Cap was holding up the dentures with index and middle fingers letting the entire thing rest on the thumb, all the while watching as Alex looked on.
    “Yes,” Cap said, “whacked you right