October 24th: Right after I posted that last blog entry, I went to check on Sara over at the Albany Medical Center.
She was all alone in her room and still unconscious. I allowed myself to dream that just touching her hand would wake her up, but we all know that dreams never come true.
I told her I loved her. I told her everything I should have said weeks ago. I promised her that it was going to be all right now, that I had burned the idol of Luna and a whole bus full of clowns to boot.
There was a long silence, then I heard a familiar voice say, “What’s this about burning clowns?”
I wasn't surprised to turn around and find myself looking at the stern, yet rodent-like features of Detective Phillip Bradshaw. Sure enough, five minutes later I was in handcuffs again.
This isn’t the first time you readers have read about Detective Bradshaw and some of you have asked why he has it in for me. Well, I’m going to let him explain it in his own words...
THE NIGHT BLOGGER:
The Graveyard Game And Other Cemetery Plots
The Tale Of Detective Bradshaw
Al Bruno III
“...yeah this is one of those new iPhones. We’ve got Brian Foster in holding and I took it off him.
“I'm trying to see if he has any videos or pictures on it but I don’t think anyone over thirty can figure these damn things out.
“Foster’s gonna stay in holding until I find out if he had anything to do with the fire over at Keller & Sons. Yeah, where we found those bodies.
“You’re damn right we find a lot of bodies when Foster is around. Did I ever tell you how I first ran into the little bastard?
“It was about four years ago, back when all those people ended up sick or dead in downtown Albany. Everyone was freaking out thinking it was some kind of a biohazard or chemical attack. The FBI and Homeland Security were crawling over every crime scene, and who had to deal with them? Me.
“One day he shows up at my desk, Mister Night Blogger himself. He says he has information for me.
“So, of course I have to listen to what he’s got to say even though the whole damn city knew about his nutty theories. That was back when they were still printing his blog posts in Metroland, all this crap about ghosts, vampires and psychic volcanoes.
“Now he tells me that these attacks weren’t the work of terrorists or an isolated nutjob. He said it had something to do with the new exhibit at the Albany Museum of Art and History.
“I guess they had a new display there, some kind of pottery they dug up over in Egypt. They were these ugly cookie jar looking things with lids that looked like animal heads. He said the one that looked like a jackal contained the ashes of a ‘crimson lady’, which was some kind of evil spirit. He said we needed to destroy the container to stop what was going on.
“It gave me great pleasure to throw him out of my office but I wasn’t really surprised when a couple of nights later the alarm over at the museum went off. I got there shortly after the patrol officers. They were both lying on the sidewalk, one was dead, one was puking his guts out. The front door of the place was wide open.
“I drew my pistol and went in. I didn’t bother to look around, I went straight to where the stuff from ancient Egypt was.
“Sure enough Brian Foster was there, but he wasn’t alone. He was fighting with some homeless broad I had seen hanging around some of the crime scenes. We even interviewed her as a witness but all she did was spout gibberish.
“So there she was chasing Brian Foster around one of the glass cases they keep the mummies in. She’s got this huge knife in her hand and she’s already cut him up pretty bad.
“Also I notice that Foster is wearing one of those flu germ mask things. I tell them both to get on the floor but all that does is make the crazy lady crazier. She forgets about Foster and goes right after me swinging the knife and screaming nonsense.
“So I shot her almost point blank range. She went down. First time I ever shot someone. I get ready to tell Foster to get down again but he suddenly points and screams 'Behind you!'
“I guess the whole thing had me more spooked than I thought because when I spun around I thought I saw something. I don’t know what, it was just this flash of red. I fired without thinking but thank God the only thing I hit was one of those Egyptian cookie jars.
“Yeah the one with the jackal shaped lid.
“Dust goes spilling out of it and Foster falls to his knees and started hyperventilating. I pulled off the germ mask and I see he’s laughing. The son of a bitch is laughing!
“Hey, are you sure this thing isn’t on?"
...that night didn’t do much for my relationship with Detective Bradshaw but then again shooting a priceless antique didn't do much for Bradshaw's career.
I notice he didn't mention that after that incident the deaths and illnesses stopped. That thing in the canopic jar was a plague spirit, not that anyone believed me. No one but you dear readers ever does.
There was talk of jail time for me or worse yet sending me back to the mental hospital I had called home. Imagine my surprise when the powers that be decided to let the whole thing drop. One of my contacts at the morgue told me what happened.
The body of the woman I was fighting with, that ersatz priestess of Sekhemet had completely decomposed to nothing within twenty four-hours.