Ch. 7: By the dark of your own soul

Sofia continued reciting her story. "I had been in the living room, lighting candles for the cake, and had set up a video recorder to record the party when I heard their raised voices. I ran to the other room as Dick was yelling at Blaise for what he was wearing. The argument quickly escalated." She caught her breath for a moment, sighing in the stuttering way of one who was recently crying.

"They were arguing about the shop, about a recent customer, about Blaise's attitude, about many things. Blaise was non-chalant, mostly laughing at Dick's accusations and calling him various names, like panty-waste and such, asking him if his 'old man diapers needed a change', things like that."

"Dick kept getting madder at him. His face got redder and redder, and you could see veins on his forehead by the time things got out of hand. I started to worry if his heart could handle it. Blaise started to get angrier too, and more serious."

"Dick called him a drug addled punk, or some such thing. Then Blaise got right in his face and said to Dick, 'You're just a useless, lonely, old piece of crap. Your dead wife is lucky she doesn't have to see what you've become."

"Dick snapped, and went for his gun. He, of course, was carrying it, but I don't think anyone guessed it was loaded. But Blaise was quick, and grabbed his arm as soon as the gun left the holster."

Sofia shifted in her seat, and the chair made the soft farting sound of old leather. Wyland raised his eyebrows and smiled at this, but Sofia didn't look up, just stared at the desk. Wyland then felt foolish, like an embarrased teen laughing at a crude joke. But Sofia didn't notice, and just continued.

"Well, everyone freaked out at this point and jumped away, I was knocked over by one of Dick and Blaise's work associates. I didn't see what was going on, but as I was getting up, he helping me up, the man who knocked me over, and as I was turning around, all 5 shots went off, and then my ears were ringing, and..." She was crying again, and stuttering.

"I look.. I looked over, and Blaise had Dick's gun in his hands, and Dick's hand was still wrapped around it. There was 5 holes in the floorboard, and no blood. Blaise was still pulling the trigger, pointing the gun at the ground. I could just hear the clicking noise of the empty gun over the echo of the shots in my ears. I can't tell you how relieved I was!" There was a pained smile on her face now, but it lasted for just a moment, and her smile was gone.

"But then, Blaise threw Dick to the ground, and his face got so hot I thought he was going to pop right then and there! Dick looked up at him, angry but helpless as Blaise stood over him. His empty gun was still in his hands."

She sighed again, heavy and plaintive. She looked at Wyland with pleading in her wet eyes. Wyland looked back with resolve. "Please continue", he said in his most lawyery voice. This was courtroom gold, he thought. 

"Blaise did some weird thing with his hand, his right hand, he rolled it over Dick in a sweeping motion, and then pointed at his heart, at Dick's heart, that is. He was breathing heavy, with sweat dripping down his forehead."

"It felt like the room went dark and quiet, and all I heard was Blaise's voice, but it didn't sound like him, it was deep and dark and angry. It felt like time stopped. Nobody moved, they just stared at Blaise. He made a deep growling noise, kind of like a tiger or lion off in the woods somewhere. Then he cursed Dick." Her eyes closed hard, as she began to recite the curse.

"By the dark of your own soul, I curse you. You will die penniless and lonely. No one will remember your name, and no one will mourn your passing. Your soul will wander restless for all time."

"That was it. Then it was over. But it felt like hours had passed. Blaise just walked out and left. Dick slowly got up. His nose was bleeding and his hands were shaking. He threw up soon after. Nobody spoke. Everyone's ears were ringing, and they had a hollow look in their eyes. It was like we all just witnessed a murder. Everyone just left the party after that, well, everyone left after the cops let them leave."

"Jonathan was dizzy with vertigo later that night, and felt sick for several days afterwards. He kept dropping things, and stubbed his toe on things on several occasions. The poor boy." She looked at the floor. 

Wyland, concern growing over his face, leaned forward. "That's all you heard? Of the curse, I mean? No strange names or unfamiliar languages? And you felt OK afterwards?"

She was now huddling against herself now, with her arms crossed over her breast, as if trying to keep warm. She rocked gently in her chair. She just shook her head. "No... no strange names or sounds, it was clear as a bell, just as I told you. The words rang in my ears, just as I told you. I don't think I'll ever forget those words, just as I told you." There was silence for a long moment. Wyland wondered why she had just repeated "just as I told you" so many times. It sounded kind of crazy by the third repetition. "No, I never felt physically sick, not like Dick or Jonathan."

Wyland sighed. No new information. Sofia looked sick and tired, her eyes were puffy and red from crying, and she looked ten years older than when she had entered the room.

"I think that's enough. Thank you, Sofia." He stood up, walked across the desk, and reached out his hand to Sofia. She gently took it and stood up, allowing Wyland to escort her back to the waiting room.

Ch. 6: Blaise

As Wyland patiently waited for Sofia to settle down and stop crying, he carefully studied her. She had beautiful skin for an older woman, with a pale tan over her cheeks, and deep brown, almost puppy dog eyes, which were especially convincing when they were full of tears. 

There were creases around her eyes, not quite crow's feet, and lines on her brow, but they only added to the character of her face. She wore mascara, and there was light pink lipstick covering her thin lips. Her nose had a rounded bridge, and she had lightly curly hair, and Wyland thought she was likely of Jewish or Arabian decent. In reality, she was a well rounded mutt, the granddaughter of a Ukrainian Jew, a Peruvian, a Brit and an Italian. The World Wars had mostly obscured her history, as it had for so many of European decent. She had a mysterious, multicultural beauty to her, though.

She wore several gaudy baubles and rings, as many middle aged women did. Whether it was so show off her modest wealth, and make her appear younger, it didn't really work on either count. Most appeared to be silver with various semiprecious stones, such as topaz, turquoise, and faux opals. They were ugly and unnecessary, Wyland thought. 

She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, and Wyland glanced at her ring finger. It was empty, and showed no sign of having felt the touch of metal any time recently. 

"Better now?" He asked calmly.
"Yeah, sorry" She sniffed and nodded. 

"OK, back to it then. How well did you know this Blaise guy?"

"It's pronounced "Blaze". She corrected his awkward pronunciation with the dutiful and kind nature of an experienced mother. 

"Piece of shit thug is what he is... I only met him a few times at Dick's shop. Smokes, Drinks, I'm sure he's doing worse stuff, too. Tattoos and piercings, too. One tattoo on his arm showed a pentagram with a dead goat in the middle. I mean, Jesus, why would you get that tattooed on your arm?! He's been in jail a few times, too, mostly petty stuff as far as I know. DUI or something."
"I know that, Ms. Yarrow. And yes..." He shuffled through his notes. "DUI, and a menacing charge. Not much, really."

"Well, that's what I know about him. They were business partners, I guess. 20 years Dick's younger, but he could do a lot of the stuff Dick couldn't do anymore."

"Dick and him had it out a few times. Blaise wanted to buy Dick's shop, kept trying to get him to retire and sell out his share. Dick wouldn't have it. Last year, they fought, with wrenches, no less. He broke Dick's arm, but Blaise ended up in the hospital. I thought they had worked it out after that. Gotten it out of their system, ya know?"
She paused, staring at nothing in particular.
"I guess they didn't."

"Anyway, he showed up at Dick's retirement party in a ratty old shirt that had a picture of a hand sticking up through a toilet holding a knife, and it read 'metal up your ass."

Wyland smiled. "That's a Metallica shirt. They're very popular, or... at least, they were."

"Anyway, Dick and him got into a big shouting match over it. I mean, there were children there! Blaise is a father, himself! Does he wear that shit around his kids?" Her face had turned a bright pink color.

She paused again, this time for dramatic effect, and to take a breath.

"That's when it happened."