A Knight Of The Word

Nest stopped thinking about it, went back to her room, brushed her teeth, put on her heavy windbreaker and scarf, and went out to greet the day.

She had looked up the address to Fresh Start and consulted a map of Pioneer Square, so she pretty much knew where she was going. The map was tucked in her pocket for ready reference. She walked down First Avenue, retracing her steps from the night before, until she reached the triangular open space where she had heard the death screams of the demons victims. She stood in the center of the little concrete park and looked around, No one acted as if anyone had died. No one seemed to think anything was amiss. People came and went along the walk-workers., shoppers, and tourists. A few sad-looking homeless people sat with their backs to the walls of buildings fronting the street, holding out handlettered cardboard signs and worn paper cups as they begged for a few coins. The former mostly ignored the latter, looking elsewhere as they passed, engaging in conversations that kept their eyes averted, acting as if they didn’t see. In a way, she supposed, they didn’t. She thought that was an accurate indicator of how the world worked, that people frequently managed to find ways of ignoring what troubled them. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe that was how the demon got away with killing homeless people; everyone was ignoring them anyway; so when a few disappeared, no one even noticed.

Maybe that was the cause that John loss had taken up in joining forces with Simon Lawrence. Maybe that was his passion now that he was no longer a Knight of the Word. The thought appealed to her.

She walked on, doing her best to turn away from the gusts of cold wind that blew at her. Winter was corning; she didn’t like to think of her world turning to ice and snow and temperature drops and wind-chill factors. She didn’t like thinking of everything turning white and gray and mud-streaked. She glanced bark at the people begging. How much worse it would be for them.

At the corner of Main, she turned east and walked through a broad open space that was marked on her map as Occidental Park. It wasn’t much of a park, she thought. Cobblestones and concrete steps, with a few shade trees planted in squares of open earth, a scattering of bushes, a few scary totem pales, same benches, and a strange steel and Plexiglas pavilion. Clusters of what looked to be homeless were gathered here, many of them Native Americans, and a couple of police officers on bicycles. She followed the sidewalk east and found herself at the entrance to an odd little enclosure formed of brick walls and iron fencing with a sign that identified it as Waterfall Park. The space was flied with small trees, vines, and tables and chairs, and was backed by a thunderous man-made waterfall that cascaded into a narrow catchment over massive rocks stacked up against the wall of the building it attached to.

She glanced back at Occidental Park, then into Waterfall Park once again. The parks here weren’t much like the parks she was familiar with, and nothing like Sinnissippi Park, but she supposed you made do with what you had.

She crossed Second Avenue and began to read the numbers on the buildings. There was no sign identifying Fresh Start, but she found the building number easily enough and went through the front door.

Once inside, she found herself in a lobby that was mostly empty. A heavyset black woman sat at a desk facing the door, engaged in writing something on a clipboard, and a Hispanic woman sat holding her baby on one of a cluster of folding chairs that lined the windowless walls of the room. Behind the black woman and her desk, a hallway led to what looked like an elevator.

Almost immediately Nest experienced an odd feeling of uneasiness. She glanced around automatically in an effort to locate its source, but there was nothing to see.

Shrugging it off, she walked up to the desk and stopped. The black woman didn't look up. “Can I help you., young lady?”

“I’m looking for John Ross,” Nest told her. “Does he work here?”

The black lady’s eyes lifted, and she have Nest a careful once-over. “He does, but he’s not here right now. Would you like to wait for him? He shouldn’t be gone long.”

Nest nodded. “Thanks.” She looked around at the empty seats, deciding where to sit.

“What’s your name, young lady?” The black woman regained her attention.

“Nest Freemark.”

“Nest. Now, that’s an unusual name. Nest. Very different. I like it. Wish I had a different name like that. I’m Della, Nest. Della Jerkins.”

She stuck out her hand and Nest shook it. The handshake was firm and businesslike, but warm, too. “Nice to meet you,” Nest said.