Do Crazies Wear Boots

I jumped in my car and headed back to town, and to the only person, I could talk to about this. I never believed that one of God's angels would ever concern himself with me, but that was before I came face to face with one, a what? A heavenly spirit, a Cherubim, Nuriel. What did the Old Testament call them, messengers? Yes, I believe that's correct, but right now I need to concentrate on the fire.

 
My headache started to get worse, and like an old pro, I lit up a Winston. Apparently, I had more than one pack. The rush of nicotine took the edge off my pain, and the eerie tune danced in my head. The ringing of my cell phone startled me. It brought me back into focus, and like a kid hiding a transgression, I quickly tossed the smoke out the window. Then answered my husband's call.
 
"Hey, there." He said.
 
"Hey yourself."
 
"Well, we are headed to the river. The Walleye are calling."
 
"So, you guys decided to camp out on the river after all?" I said playfully trying to sound casual.
 
"That's the plan, my dear."
 
"Well, catch me a mess of fish and have fun," I spoke on autopilot as I wondered what I was going to do.
 
"Will you eat in town tonight?"
 
"Yes, I thought I'd pick up some stir-fry and work on the Thomas ad. You boys be safe and have a wonderful time. I love you."
 
"Love you too. Plan on a huge fish fry when we get back. I'll call you tonight after we get set up."
 
"Okay, love."
 
"Talk to you then." With that, we both hung up the phone.

The fact that I travel with an angel is overwhelming, a Shade (that's what the old gypsy called him). All of that leaves me with an uneasy feeling.  I'm not sure if I should be talking or not, so, I plug in a CD and drive. I quickly went from wanting time alone to the need for people around me. However, now all I want is to talk to the old woman one more time.

 It didn't take me long to get to her corner of town. Last time I was here my car was the only car in the parking lot. This time there were three vehicles, two old rust buckets, and a Continental. I looked at the empty passenger seat and said, "you wait here. I'll be right back." Ya nut is what my mind yelled at myself, as I spoke to the vacant front seat.

 I made my way to the front door. Again I passed by salt lined window seal. There were papers pinned to the massive door, impaled with an ice pick. I tried the door, but it was locked. I found that odd and knocked loudly. Two hard raps rang out. I giggled to myself because it sounded very official in an 'Adam-12,' kind of way.
 
"Hello, Hello!" I bellowed as I knocked two more times. There was no reply, so, I studied the top paper, a newspaper article about a fire. I stared at it. The top story told of an attempted fire in a warehouse.
 
What were the odds that the old gypsy left this for me? I didn't even know I would come back. I removed the pick to read about the attempted warehouse fire just ten miles from here, under the clipping a pamphlet, 'Walking with Angel's.' As I cleared the last step, the front door squeaked open wide enough for an elderly man to peek out. He looked  70 if he looked a day.

"Granny wanted me to remind you not to come back here."

"Your granny!" I shook my head and wondered just how old is that woman.

"Yes, miss. Madame Zeal is my grandmother on my mother's side; all of my people have the gift. She's one hundred an three, and she's serious about you and that angel staying away."

He drew the door closed, and yelled, "one last thing, read the book," metal tumbling sounded off as he locked the door.

 Page 1. The three elements: focus, a clear mind, and a switch.

 A switch? What did they mean by a switch? I studied the pamphlet as I entered the car.
 
Without thought, I grabbed a cigarette and flicked the lighter. The flame, like a spring bud, glowed brightly and danced. "My switch," I get it, and I could see. 

The hooded man walked into the basement carrying his duffle bag. He removed several items. A rush of energy washed over him, and I could sense his anticipation. The young family had no idea of the danger. He released some gas in the vent, and in no time all three of them were asleep on the sofa.

Rage swept over me. I had to find these people. I wasn't sure what to do next, so I decided to head to the fire station. As I checked my rearview mirror, I saw the soothsayer peek out the door. 

I headed to 5th and Main to the Fire Station. After pulling into the parking lot, I sat in my car. I didn't know what to say or even how to say it. I had the two newspaper articles. I gripped both stories placed them in my hand checked my makeup, fixed my ponytail, and freshened my merlot lip-gloss. As long as I'm going to sound crazy at least, I don't have to look it. My rowan tweed sweater had a tiny cigarette burn on the sleeve. "Awe nuts, " I muttered to myself and headed inside. I glanced down at my boots and wondered if Justin's were the approved footwear of crazies.
 
Leaving out all words like visions, gypsies, and angel's I told the Station Chief that I thought the two articles were related, and I saw a white man in dark clothes and a duffle bag walking around the night of the fire. He walked me back to my car. I know he thought I was a meddling-nut. My only other idea made me nervous, but it was all I had. So, I headed to the address in my vision.

Reviews

[Neville]

When good got better... my only gripe is the font size.... Nah it aint too big... but I do love merlot lip gloss so am gonna let you off :)

[Cherrie Palmer]

merlot, would make a great lip gloss. We might be on to something.

[Neville]

you bet'cha boots...

[Shep]

Short but strong chapter full of mystery. Wondering what she going to do next. Moving on to find out.

[Coyote Poetry]

I did liked this chapter. Sometimes crazies do wear combat boots. I will read chapter one now. A amazing chapter Cherrie shared.
Coyote

[Cherrie Palmer]

Yes, I've seen a flake or two in those very boots the tutu is optional
Thank you so much for reading this story.

[Coyote Poetry]

I liked this poem and you are welcome.

[roarke]

I like how coherent the narrator is, this quality moves the story intelligently.