The First Interlude
A Full Excerpt from "The Memoirs of Patrick Midnight"
Provided here for your entertainment is the First Interlude from the forthcoming MEMOIRS OF PATRICK MIDNIGHT. The fourth book in the Patrick Midnight & Reverend Blackstone series, this brief tale sees the special agent for the Society of Gentlemen Geographers and his ghostly ancestor fend off an attack from a demon cat.
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Patrick Midnight wiped the heavy sweat from his brow. A quick flick of his fingers sent the sweat flying across to the other wall. The perspiration made a strange pattern on the unpainted concrete. Midnight studied it for a moment, then made a joke about Modernist art that Reverend Blackstone either did not appreciate or did not understand.
“You know, it’s only been a few hours, but I now understand why Congress hightails it out of the city every summer. This town is unlivable after June.”
It was the afternoon of July 21st, and Midnight and Blackstone were busy with one of their weirdest cases. The duo was deep in the guts of the Capitol building, where a series of twisting caverns connected all the major appendages of the federal government. For armaments, Midnight sported a portable Leica and an electric torch given to him by the Metropolitan Police. Of course, the special agent also had his trusty Browning .25 automatic tucked away in his sport coat, but the Society of Gentlemen Geographers had given him explicit instructions to leave the creature alive. Trophy hunting was not allowed on this mission.
“But what if I’m attacked?” Midnight had asked Stanley Hopkins prior to being escorted into the Oval Office. On the other side of the door, the wife of the most powerful man in the world awaited them both.
“I’d lose respect for you, Pat. Imagine needing a gun to defend yourself against a house cat?”
“A cat? What do you mean…”
Midnight’s question was cut off by a secretary informing him and Hopkins that the First Lady was ready to see them. The snooty, hatchet-faced functionary announced Midnight and Hopkins, which caused the regal and sad-eyed First Lady to leave her chair and to extend her hand. Rather than a title, she introduced herself simply as Grace.
Midnight felt an immediate attraction to the kind, motherly woman. She looked much younger than her age, and her cheerful, vibrant demeanor was a stark contrast to the dour taciturnity of her husband. The president was not there that day, so Midnight felt bold enough to pay the First Lady a compliment.
“I must say that you look beautiful, madame. Oof!” The swift ejaculation, which caused Hopkins to smirk and the First Lady to take a step backward, was the result of Reverend Blackstone kicking Midnight in the stomach from the inside. The special agent apologized, blaming the interruption on a too-generous helping of Colman’s mustard on his lunchtime sandwich.
“I see,” said the First Lady. “Well, do you wish for me to call a physician?”
“No, no,” Midnight said. “I’ll be quite alright.”
“I see. I’m sure that you are quite used to pain. Your employers tell me that you are tough, Mr. Midnight.”
Midnight scratched behind his ear. “I suppose I am pretty hard-boiled, Mrs. Coolidge. Been in a fair number of scrapes.”
“My, you speak just like a ballplayer. As tall as one too.”
Midnight wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment, but then he remembered that the First Lady was the unofficial president of the Babe Ruth fan club. To her mind, a ball player must have been the pinnacle of virile masculinity. Midnight smiled and nodded his head.
“Well, Mr. Midnight, are you ready to play a game?”
“A game?”
“Yes, it will be quite a sport. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hopkins?”
Stanley stood up straighter and subtly adjusted his tie. It cheered Midnight to see his superior nervous. “That is correct, Mrs. Coolidge. Mr. Midnight is the perfect hunter for this occasion.”
Midnight interjected. “Hunter? Ballplayer? I’m everything but informed.”
The First Lady burst out laughing. She complimented the special agent’s quick wit. “You’re like my dear husband,” she said.
“Let’s not get his head too big just yet, Mrs. Coolidge,” Hopkins said. This statement caused the First Lady to laugh even harder.
“My, my. Isn’t your Society just full of natural comedians.”
“Not true, Mrs. Coolidge,” Midnight said. “Stanley and I are the best of the bunch. The rest are dullards.”
“Please, I beg of you. If you two keep making me laugh, then I shall be forced to adopt you like Rebecca and keep you near at all times.”
“Who is this Rebecca personage?” Blackstone grumbled from inside Midnight.
“A pet raccoon,” Midnight whispered so that only Blackstone could hear. The ghostly Puritan made a face of shock and disgust that no one saw.
“We should get down to business then,” Hopkins said. “Our organization would like to get this problem solved as quickly as possible.”
“I am not sure that it is a problem that can be solved, Mr. Hopkins. The demon has been with us for a long time.”
Midnight’s eyes widened. “The demon?”
“Yes, that is what it has been called since the time of President Van Buren. The demon cat has been the bane of every administration since the mid-1800s, and sadly, my husband is no exception. He has yet to see the feline fiend, but I have. The black shade visited me in my bed on the night of the last séance.”
“Okay, for the sake of total clarity, we’re talking about a demonic…housecat?”
“I am not entirely sure if it is a demon or if it is only a specter. Legends have it that the cat was once a gift from some foreign legate or another, and when it burrowed underneath the Capitol, it stayed there until it died.”
“And then rose again?”
“Correct.”
Midnight looked at Hopkins in confusion, but Stanley gave the special agent no response in return. He expected the other man to be more critical. Then again, like the First Lady, Hopkins was once a dabbling occultist. Maybe there was a residual bit of superstition in his hard-bitten soul?
“I can tell by your demeanor that you have doubts. Is that the case, Mr. Midnight?”
“It’s not that, Mrs. Coolidge. It’s just that…I…uhm…need a little more information.”
“Splendid. Well, I can tell you that the cat is no bigger than your average tom. Its coat is black—pure black. The thing is as silent as the grave, so when it appears, it does so without warning. The demon has been seen in almost every building, but it prefers to haunt the Capitol. An old rumor has it that there was once a burial chamber beneath the Capitol, and that is where the demon hides.”
Midnight whistled. “Boy, that’s some tale, Mrs. Coolidge. Getting a scare from that puss in your bedroom must have been rather unpleasant.”
“Seeing the demon is only half the problem,” the First Lady said gravely. “The larger issue concerns what the demon’s appearance portends.”
“Portends?”
“Yes, Mr. Midnight. It has long been held that the demon’s appearance is a warning. Whoever sees the black cat is doomed to misfortune. Not so long ago, a member of the Capitol police force stumbled upon the demon one night while doing his rounds. The following evening, he was dead of a heart attack! I have seen the demon, and I worry about my health and the health of my husband. I do not need to remind you and Mr. Hopkins that my husband’s safety is of great importance to the American people.”
“And we’re both Americans, and damn proud of it,” Midnight said as an aside.
The First Lady chuckled. “My, you really missed your calling. Can you pitch, Mr. Midnight?”
“I was okay as a reliever, but lousy as a starter. Couldn’t keep to the plate, even if my life depended on it.”
“I do enjoy your frankness, Mr. Midnight. So, with that same frankness in mind, what do you think about the idea of capturing the demon?”
“Normally, I’d ask ‘alive or dead,’ but that’s a silly question given the circumstances.”
“Yes, indeed. And by ‘capturing,’ I truly mean documenting the creature. We will have no gunplay in the Capitol.” The First Lady looked stern for the first time that afternoon.
“Duly noted, Mrs. Coolidge. Forgive me for being ignorant, but what good would taking pictures of the demon do?”
The First Lady folded her hands in prayer. “My last communication with the spirits convinced me that the demon is not all-powerful. It is a minor being, and as such, certain human activities can impede its larger designs. In plain English, I believe that you can scare the little devil enough by chasing after it to cause it to forget all about my family.”
Midnight shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose it’s worth a shot.”
“And if you’re successful,” the First Lady added, “pictures of the demon can be used as evidence. We can take the photos to the church and have them cleared. Plus, if we’re all so inclined, we could give the photos to the press. Imagine that Mr. Midnight: you become the man responsible for showing the world that ghosts really do exist.”
The special agent had to admit that, yes, that idea sounded terrific. Blackstone, on the other hand, boiled over with rage over the flippancy with which the entire assemblage treated the diabolic.
“Bunch of heathens!” he thought. “A filthy bunch of unbelievers.”
Hours later, after the sun set on the capital city, Midnight found himself sweating in the bowels of the Capitol building beside an equally cranky Reverend Blackstone. The pair had been hunting the spectral feline for hours without luck. Midnight was tired and hungry and longed for the cool bed of his hotel room. When he said as much to Blackstone, the Puritan silenced him with a single question.
“Are thou willing to deceive Goodwoman Coolidge?”
Midnight admitted that no, he did not feel like lying to the First Lady. He wiped more sweat from his brow and then picked up the Leica. Come hell or high water, he was going to get that damned cat’s photograph.
“For what purpose were these tunnels built?” Blackstone asked as he and his young charge walked through yet another hot, cloying tunnel. The walls were bare and unpainted, which spoke to the tunnels’ fully functional purpose.
“Hopkins told me that the original plan was to house all the presidents down here after their passing. A sort of American Valley of the Kings. You know, where Howard found King Tut a few years back.”
Blackstone sniffed. “A wretched idea. Blasphemous idolatry.”
“For once, I agree with you. Treating the president like a pharaoh rubs me the wrong way, too. Seems like something cooked up by an egghead at Harvard, or maybe one of those Virginia Cavaliers in Congress. You know they adore pomp and circumstance.”
Blackstone nodded his head in agreement.
“But nowadays,” Midnight continued, “the tunnels are seen as a kind of security guarantee. If the Germans or Bolos or Japs ever decide to invade the city, Congress can keep the government going down here.” Midnight tapped one of the stone walls. “No bomb is reaching this far below the surface, and no munition is breaking through these walls.”
“The devilry may not yet exist, but the works of man and Lucifer are ever expanding.”
“Speaking of the devil,” Midnight said with some flippancy. “What’s your opinion on the demon cat?”
“If it be real, then the feline is a familiar for some as-yet unknown witch or necromancer. Methinks that the giver of the animal intended to curse thy president. Sorcerers are capable of the sin of forethought owing to their diablerie, so it could be that the feline and the sorcerer are one and the same.”
“I see,” Midnight said. “A wizard wearing cat’s fur is a smashing notion. Then again, it could all be bunk.”
“Aye. Pestilential magistrates, which ye call ‘politicians,’ are not above gossiping like old hens.”
Midnight laughed at his ancestor’s scornful remark. The old Puritan was showing more and more of his humor lately, and it was a welcome development so far as Midnight was concerned. The haranguing sermons were still common, especially whenever the Society forced Midnight to take a train or (God help him) an airship, but the special agent hoped that they too would disappear with time.
Midnight’s mind stayed focused on the quirks of his ancestral shade until, with a quick poke of the finger, he was roused out of his reverie.
“Look, lad,” whispered the Puritan phantom. “I espy our quarry in the darkness.”
Midnight stopped and stood still. He narrowed his eyes and used the flashlight to illuminate the darkness in front of him. He moved the beam up and down and from east to west.
“I don’t see anything,” he said to Blackstone.
“Forsooth, the creature was there. Mine eyes have never betrayed me before.”
“It’s not there now,” Midnight said with a quick deployment of his flashlight. The yellow light flashed again before him, but this time the darkness was alive with movement. A quick jolt of blackness moved away from the light. Midnight saw the shape and decided to follow it.
“We may have found our Felix,” he said as he chased after the elusive specter. Blackstone did his best to slow down his descendant, but the special agent was too caught up in the chase to hear the warning.
“I wonder if I can get a candid photo,” Midnight said over his shoulder. While still traveling at a steady gallop, he held the Leica up to his right eye and aimed it out in front of him. The bright flash of the bulb temporarily blinded Midnight, but he saw just enough to notice that the camera had captured the demon cat as it took up a defensive posture. After rubbing his eyes, Midnight saw the bristly hairs raise on the cat’s back, and he saw its evil eyes sharpen with malice. A quick hiss presaged a pounce. The special agent was caught completely off guard by the demon cat’s strike. Its razor-sharp claws hacked away at his face’s flesh.
“Lord almighty! Since when can ghosts hurt the living?”
The demon cat not only clawed at Midnight’s face but also began biting him. Blood flowed freely from the small, yet painful wounds. The special agent’s first instinct was to reach for his .25, but he found the Leica again instead. From an awkward angle, with his arm outstretched away from his face and his wrist bent painfully, Midnight took a second picture. The bright flash once again harassed the demon, which leaped from Midnight’s bloodied face and scurried into the darkness.
“Got ‘em,” Midnight said. “I’ll bet that picture will fetch a million.”
“Thy face is a bleeding tapestry, and yet thou thinkest only of lucre?” chided Blackstone.
“It’s not just the money; it’s the job too. I think I just earned us another round of RnR.”
Blackstone harrumphed. Midnight pulled himself off the floor and met the shade’s eyes.
“You think I should get one more snap before leading up topside?”
Blackstone looked once over Midnight’s shoulder, then returned his gaze to the special agent. “Methinks that another picture matters not. If thou wants to get even bloodier chasing after the demon spawn, then be my guest.”
“Okay, then. If it’s okay with you, then why do you seem so sour?”
“We’re suffering a witch to live, lad.”
Midnight saw what Blackstone meant and agreed, but he also knew that Hopkins and the First Lady had been explicit in their instructions: the demon cat was to be left unmolested.
“Just one more picture to be sure,” Midnight said mostly to himself. He held the flashlight in front of him and took up a brisk jog. He huffed and puffed with the lungs of a chronic smoker but kept up his steady pace. He looked everywhere, but after ten minutes of exercise, he ceased his labor.
“The damned cat has fled,” he yelled back towards Blackstone. “He’s absconded too far down these tunnels. He’s probably across the border into Virginia by this point. Guess I’ll have to settle for two pictures.” With that, Midnight began walking back towards Blackstone, who hovered in the darkness as a translucent and floating head.
A heavy thwack sent the special agent back on his heels. The strike felt like a punch from Jack Dempsey, but the former heavyweight champion of the world was not down underneath the Capitol with Midnight and Blackstone. Someway and somehow, the demon cat had learned pugilism.
Midnight turned and tried to face his attacker. He groped in the darkness until his fingers folded the cold metal of the flashlight. He picked it up and held it in front of him one last time.
“Mother of God!” shouted the special agent. He turned on his heels and ran as fast as he could back towards Blackstone. When he found the Puritan, he demanded that the shade flee with him. Blackstone did not know what had frightened Midnight so, but he nevertheless did as instructed. His ectoplasm thinned into nothingness, and Blackstone returned to the familiar confines of Midnight’s lower intestine.
***
A heavily bandaged Midnight sat next to Hopkins in the latter’s Chrysler. Rather than take the train back to New York, Stanley offered to give Midnight a ride in style and comfort. Midnight took the offer but stayed mostly silent. He was not good company, for he pouted until Hopkins finally broke the ice somewhere near Kingston, Pennsylvania.
“The First Lady is happy with the work you did, Pat. She was very complimentary.”
Midnight sighed and looked out the window. “But the photos were no good. I don’t know how, but the demon didn’t show up.”
Hopkins patted Midnight on the thigh. “You can’t win them all, Pat. Besides, the First Lady and her circle of homespun spiritualists are convinced that you spooked the specter into an extended vacation. The frisky feline won’t bother the White House again, or at least not for a while.”
Midnight audibly agreed but silently contradicted this rosy picture. After what he had seen, which he could only describe as the beast’s true form, he was convinced that powers greater than himself and Reverend Blackstone were needed to exorcise the creature. He wrote as much in his final report, which Hopkins accepted, then quietly forgot. Over the ensuing weeks, Midnight noted a general willingness among members of the Society to treat the demon cat case as permanently solved. Whenever he would bring it up, or suggest that someone, preferably a priest straight from the Vatican, be sent back down into the tunnels to get rid of the demon cat for good, Hopkins and the others would smile and tell him to relax. None of them knew the true horror of the entity, so it was easy for them to scoff and carry on.
But, on that ride back to the city, Midnight was upset with himself but also happy to hear that the First Lady appreciated the sacrifice of his face. He touched one of the plaster bandages and winced.
“Does this case qualify for leave, or are you going to tell me it was a mild?” Midnight asked.
“Depends, Pat. If you tell me what you saw down there, then I’ll give you RnR. If you keep clammed up, then it’s mild, and you’re expected back in the office on Monday.”
Midnight’s cold, hard eyes looked at Hopkins. “I’ll see you Monday,” was all he said.
For the remainder of his life, Midnight would never tell a soul about what he saw that night underneath the Capitol. Not even Blackstone could coerce the truth out of him. And insofar as cats were concerned, Midnight preferred to keep them at a safe distance.
Black cats especially.