Disenchantment 1

Disenchantment: Part I

 

 

“You need to start at the beginning. You’re really not
making any sense,” said Hornblende, exasperation creeping into his voice.

 

They were in an interrogation room, usually reserved for
suspects. Normally when someone came into the police department to file a
complaint or make a report, he would see them at his desk. However, this man
was filthy, bedraggled, muddy and mucky, and he stank to high hell. Hornblende
was not at all interested in having the man at his own desk. In addition, he
wasn’t so sure about the man’s mental state. He was supposed to have gotten off
of work hours ago, but Chu hadn’t come in. This should be Chu’s case.

 

“In the wash, she’s gone.”

 

“Yes, you’ve said that, the wash, the LA river, so to
speak.”

 

“Yes,” said the man.

 

“Your name again?” asked Hornblende, finally taking out his
notebook, ready to get to work. Apparently this would be his missing person’s
case, not Chu’s.

 

“Oren, Oren Sebastian Phileus.” The man suddenly seemed to gain
some composure. He blinked and looked around the room, for the first time since
Hornblende had met him, lucidity seemed to start coming into his face,
intelligence slowly replaced confusion and the blank stare was becoming sharp.

 

“That’s a bit unusual,” said Hornblende, attempting to
lighten the mood, allow the man to get himself more composed so that he could
speak a little more coherently, what nationality is that?”

 

“Look, my nationality is American. My ancestry? I’m a mutt.
I have a little bit of everything in me and I’m not here to discuss that. It’s
not relevant. Officer...”

 

“Detective, Detective Hornblende, Mister Pileus,” Hornblende
opted not to shake the filthy man’s hand. Regardless, the man seemed to be
getting a bit more rational.

 

“Phileus, not Pileus.”

 

“Right, my apologies, so let’s start at the beginning.
Where—”

 

“What’s your ancestry?”

 

“I thought ancestries were irrelevant, but I don’t mind
answering. As you can probably tell, my ancestors were African.” Hornblende
usually preferred to play the good cop, the friend, the one who understands,
and he was quite good at it.

 

“From which part of Africa?”

 

“I’m sure you are aware that most of my ancestors came here
involuntarily, so I don’t know. Does this mean you are interested in sharing
your ancestry?”

 

“European, some Native American. My mother liked to say we
were Greek, but she was only half Greek, a quarter Italian, and then a quarter
Persian, although she never elaborated on exactly what country. Also, from my
father, I get some German, Chech, English, Cherokee, Swedish, and probably some
other shit too, thrown in for good measure. I’m just a mutt. My wife is
more Greek.”

 

“Okay then, back to your wife.”

 

Officer Reynolds, who had brought the man to the station,
claimed he was homeless and drunk. But he had had a cell phone and had called
the police. His appearance, strange behavior, and the bizarre things the man
was saying did lend some credence to the man possibly being homeless.

 

“She’s gone. I already told you guys.”

 

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning.”

 

Just then, Reynolds knocked on the door, and then abruptly
entered, giving Hornblende the man’s ID card. “Everything checks out. No
warrants. Seems that’s his legit address. Vehicle is registered to a...uh...Pursie-phone
Phileus.”

 

“Persephone,” stated Phileus, “It’s pronounced Persephone.”
The man looked almost offended by the young officer’s mispronunciation.

 

“Whatever, foreign gibberish.” As many police often had a
habit of doing, quite prematurely in a confrontation, he immediately went on
the offensive.

 

“Thank you, Officer Reynolds, you can get back to other
duties now.” Hornblende made a mental note to suggest to his superior that
Reynolds might need another batch of sensitivity training before he got himself
in trouble.

 

After the officer had exited the room, Phileus spoke again:
“So, I can see that this won’t get anywhere. Why would you all want to look for
a foreign gibberish woman?”

 

“Look, he’s young; he’s new; he’ll get better at his job.”

 

“Or worse.”

 

“Also, Officer Reynolds isn’t an investigator. You can think
whatever you will, but your disdain for him won’t help find your wife.”

 

“Do you think it’s the weather?” asked Phileus.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“The weather, we’re having. The strange weather. Do you
think all this craziness is related to that?”

 

The weather that Phileus mentioned was the fact that it was
late December, yet they hadn’t actually had any sort of winter, barely even an
autumn. The temperature had gotten down to the eighties in October, then just
leapt right back up to the nineties and triple digits in November, and it
stayed there. If it only occurred in the Los Angeles area, where Hornblende
lived and worked, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal, but it was
happening all over the world. No one was going to have white Christmas, even in
areas that were normally sub-zero at that time of year.

 

Many theories were exploding on the nightly news with even
more all over the Internet, many scientists had theories, mostly related to
global warming, but there were also many scientists that claimed to be at a
complete loss as to why this was happening, saying that it didn’t fit the
pattern of global warming. Several mentioned a historical loss of winter in
Europe during the middle ages that lasted a couple years. Hornblende wasn’t at
all trained in meteorology and had no idea why this was occurring, and the more
that he watched the news, it seemed that no one else did either.

 

“Do I think your wife is missing due to the weather?”

 

“Not just her, other things seem to be happening.”

 

“I don’t know what craziness you are talking about. I’m sure
that it must be hard for you to deal with this, but please let me assure you, we
do solve most missing persons cases and the odds look very good for you getting
your wife back. To be honest, most missing persons cases solve themselves. The
missing person returns on her own.” While that was true, the circumstances of
this case, even though he knew very little so far, were not looking good.

 

“Look, I was drinking. I drank too much. I drank too much to
make it home without a stop, so my wife pulled over for me to pee. When I got
back to the car, she was gone.”

 

“That simple, huh?”

 

“Basically.”

 

“What was all the talk of...’creatures,’ or ‘monsters’
that Reynolds mentioned?”

 

“I was just drunk,” said Phileus.

 

Hornblende liked to pride himself on his ability to tell
when someone was lying. A clear tell was when the person you were interrogating
looked up and to the left while speaking, which the man had just done. It
wasn’t a foolproof method, as it can just so happen that one might do that, but
more often than not, it meant a lie.

 

“Mister Phileus,” started Hornblende, “I’ve been drunk
before, more than once, and even if I hadn’t, I know that erratic behavior
brought on by alcohol does not involve hallucinations of monsters. Do you have
any other chemicals in your body this evening? LSD? Ecstasy?”

 

“No.” Phileus sighed, and lowered his head, like a child
caught in a lie.

 

“And your appearance...”

 

“What about it?”

 

“Do you often walk around caked in mud and grime? How did
that happen?”

 

“I fell over while pissing?”

 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” The man obviously had
very little experience with lying and was portraying an almost childlike
innocence.

 

“You’re not going to believe me. I’m not sure I believe what
I saw, what happened, and even then, I’m not even one-hundred percent sure that
what I saw, what happened to me, is even related to Perry’s...absence.”

 

“Tell me anyway.”

 

“If I tell you anyway, you’ll think I’m crazy. Look, I got
out to piss, on Newhall Ranch Road, I think, where your cop picked me up. I was
drunk, I fell down into the wash. It was difficult to get out, I got all muddy.
When I got out, she was gone.”

 

“Okay, let’s say that I believe that. You and I both know
that something else happened.” Hornblende did believe that, but the guy was
hiding something. “Look, maybe anything else that happened might not seem
related to your wife’s disappearance, but let me decide. It could help. You
want to do everything you can to help, right?”

 

“Yes,” replied Phileus.

 

“So...help me.”

 

“You won’t believe it.”

 

“Try me.”

 

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

 

“Begin at the beginning. Tell me everything that happened.”

 

“The whole day?”

 

“If it helps, if it’s relevant.”

 

“We went shopping. Uh...you don’t need to know all that. We
went to her parents’ house to celebrate Christmas. It’s early, but her sister
usually spends actual Christmas with her husband’s family, so we do it early
with her parents.”

 

“Okay, anything unusual there?”

 

“No, I got a little drunk, but that was to be expected, so she
drove.”

 

“Where do her parents live?” asked Hornblende.

 

“Northridge.”

 

“Why were you on Newhall Ranch Road? Why didn’t your wife
take the freeway? It seems it would be faster and easier, certainly not a lot
of traffic that time of night.”

 

“She doesn’t like the freeway. She prefers scenery... or
whatever.” Hornblende noticed the present tense he used in discussing his wife.
Either he was very intelligent or he believed that his wife was still alive. He
didn’t believe that Phileus was lying at this point.

 

“Did anything strange or unusual happen at all the entire
day, the entire week, anything unusual when you left?”

 

“No.”

 

“What time did you leave?”

 

“Uh...ten? I’m not sure, I think around ten.”

 

“Mister Phileus, I know you were drinking. Did you black out
at all this evening?”

“No, I sometimes do...but not this evening I can only wish that I blacked out this evening.” Phileus’s eyes started watering up, and he
used his filthy sleeve to wipe the several tears that started rolling down his
cheek in an almost unconscious gesture, causing him to smear mud about his
face.

 

“Let me get you a towel, Mister Phileus,” said Hornblende.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The police station did have some towels in the janitorial
closet. They kept new ones that weren’t typically used for the day to day
cleaning. This was due to the fact that often in the cells there was bleeding,
vomiting, pissing, and shitting, that occurred more often than one would have
guessed. Hornblende thought that the fact that they had to keep towels said much
more about the world than it did about the department.

 

Hornblende grabbed two towels and stopped by the break room
to run one under the faucet, allowing it to absorb water. He then returned to
the interrogation room.

 

After Phileus wiped his face and was given a few moments to
recompose himself, he spoke: “Thanks again.” He seemed to have lost most of his
confusion and appeared not at all drunk anymore.

 

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” asked Hornblende. “It’s
not the greatest, but we cops love our coffee, and we can always have some fresh
stuff here, anytime of day.”

 

“Maybe in a little bit.”

 

“Okay,” said Hornblende, picking up his notepad again, “Where
were we?”

 

“Leaving Perry’s parents’ house.”

 

“Right, so what happened then?”

 

Phileus started, “Well, we left her parents’ maybe around ten
or so. And we started driving home. Like I said, Perry doesn’t like the
freeways...”

 

 

*****