The Walker: Episode 2
Author's note:
This is Part 2 of an ongoing series, which you can catch on the last Friday of each month. You can read the first episode here.
Officer Owen hooked his thumbs on his belt as the tow truck loaded the crumpled muffin of a Suzuki. That would be a write off, that was for sure.
He made his way over to Officer Wills who was talking to the taxi driver.
“What did you say your name was?” Wills asked, pen poised in hand over the flip notepad.
“Arwen Hughes,” the driver replied, cigarette hanging from his lip, his hands visibly shaking. Owen observed the grey to his already pale complexion under the black stubble of his cheeks.
“What happened?” Wills continued.
“It’s like I said. They were all in the back there, talking some nonsense between the four of them disgusting things like toenail bits and of some horrible woman—”
“Where was it you were headed?” Wills interrupted.
“They were havin’ me take them to Trawsfynydd, to that lake you know—the reservoir that the English filled over that village. Tourists, ya know.” He removed the fag from his lip between too fingers, and was gesturing somewhat urgently in the vague direction of the lake. Owen continued to listening, shifting his attention to the other officers talking with the paramedics who were pulling sheets over the bodies of the three passengers in the taxies. Not one of them made it. Tragic.
Another paramedic tended to the woman he had just finished interviewing, Eve, her name was. They had her wrapped in a blanket to assist her own shocked, paled face, her hand entangled with her partners who in turn was smoking his own rolly. The blue lights of the neon emergency vehicles danced over the scene in the humid evening.
“They were busy in the back seat—I was only half listenin’, ya know—about some woman, when this lady came out of nowhere. She was just walkin’ on the side of the street, and stared straight at me. It was shockin’. I don’t like to admit it, I ain’ a movable man, ya know. But she just stared straight into me, as if she could see my thoughts.”
“The incident?” Wills prompted.
“That’s what I’m getting’ at. She fell, and hand to God, I hit her! She fell right in front of my taxi and I felt the thing go over her body. There was nothing I could do, not a thing!”
Officer Owen turned his attention back to Jones, who was inhaling deeply on his cigarette while shaking his head. “It weren’t right,” the driver muttered. Wills shifted an arched glance toward Owen, who raised his eyebrows in return.
Officer Wills stepped away from the man toward Owen and they both surveyed the scene. The trees stretched their branches over the road, shielding the from the light drizzle.
“Well,” Owen said, “that’s two that say there was a woman in the road. Both said the taxi went right over her.”
“But where’s the woman?” Wills asked.
Owen scoffed. “The other witness said she saw the woman stand up and continue walking down the road.”
Wills chortled, trying to keep its sound from carrying. “You can’t be serious.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“Did she hit her head?”
“From what the medics tell me, she’s fine, just a bit shaken.”
Wills shook his head. “What a mess. Three dead, and two claiming a phantom woman the cause of it. I mean, look at the taxi. There’s not a scratch on that bumper. The wheels are fine. There’s no way it hit anything.”
“Has anyone else seen anything?”
“Nah, not from what I can tell. Jones is talking to the driver that hit the taxi, but I haven’t heard anything really. It was a single car occupancy, though. So I’m sure he was just watching the road.”
Hearing her name, Officer Jones approached her colleagues. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said.
“Aw don’t tell me they’re saying they saw a woman,” Owen rolled his eyes.
“That’s exactly what they’re saying.”
“Where is this bloody bird then?” Wills demanded. “This is ridiculous!”
“Wait, what’s that?” Jones asked, moving toward the taxi, bending forward. The other officers strained to see around her. She bent forward and retrieved something from under the vehicle. She straightened her back, revealing two black, draw-string bags. She glanced toward the two men before opening one of them and peering in.
“Well?” Owen asked.
“It looks like talcum powder,” she replied, tilting the bag toward the fading, cloud-filtered light. “Smells like it to.” She brought the bag to the other two officers, and fumbled open the other one. “Oh God!” she recoiled, horrified. She fumbled, the two silk bags spraying their contents on the three of them. Owen and Wills jumped back at the splaying toenail clippings mingling mid-air with the powder, landing at the hems of their uniform trousers, whitening their feet.
“What the fuckin’—” Owen exclaimed.
Wills said nothing, only stared at the ground, his face ashen while his chin wagged soundlessly.
“Spit it out,” Owen demanded.
“The witch—“
“Oh shut your gob—you’re not one of those are you?”
“What’s he talking about?” Jones asked.
Owens rubbed his face before looking around at the scene, which seemed to be looking after itself. Information was being exchanged, other officers were directing the traffic around the accident. He rolled his eyes, and groaned at having to actually entertain this idea. He began, his voice hushed.
“You know about this lake, right? Well, when they filled the village to be the reservoir, that there was a witch that drowned in there. She supposedly seen by the locals from time to time—Oh for fuck—Wills it’s a damn children’s story!”
But Wills continued to stare down at the powder and clippings scattered up their trouser-legs, Jones’ hands snowy. “Th-th-there’s a curse,” he stammered.
“There’s no damn—” Owen started to yell, but lowered his voice, “—curse. It’s nothing.” He shifted his gaze to Jones. “You hear that? Nothing.”
She nodded, pulling together the tops of the black bags, concentrating on keeping her hands from shaking.
“There’s no curse,” she repeated, slowly.
Her eyes drifted beyond the scene, toward the bend in the road where a woman stood, a white summer dress flowing in the breeze that had picked up, the woman’s gaze bearing into Jones, her shoulder bent backward, out of place. As Jones watched the woman, she shifted her shoulder back into place as she moved forward, toward the scene. Another ambulance arrived, blocking Jones’ view for a second. The woman was gone.
“There is no curse,” she said one last time, firmly.
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