The Shaman's Favor

For a moment, Officer Charles Hilary was back in the robbery scene at Greenfield. There was the spontaneous flashing of lights and the horrified screaming of people as they scampered away from the chaos. The officers from NYPD were scattered around the scene like grains of sand in the seashore, trying to catch the bad guys. But everyone was careful. No one wanted to be martyred tonight. 

While others hid in the shadows, waiting for who was going to make the first move before they joined in. Their fear of the unknown would not allow them to follow their instincts, Detective Yolanda Hamilton had evaded the barricade they had set up and had smuggled himself into the bank which was being robbed. 

He was quick, like a fox in the woods. An operation that had lasted for almost a full hour was busted in seconds and the bad guys were caught and brought to books. The following day, the boss had asked to see Detective Hamilton, and that had been the beginning of his journey to fame. 

Officer Charles Hillary was not sure why he was having that memory now. The glowing house, now more visible than the way it was when he was still inside the car messed with his mind, turning him in circles. He wondered if this was part of the voodoo that the shaman had in store for their guests. 

Before his daydream or nightdream was over, Detective Hamilton had reached the door. Surprisingly, the door opened without any resistance and officer Hillary watched as she walked in slowly, like someone in a trance. 

He began to run to his friend at once, eager to save her from whatever was drawing her inside. He doubted this was going to end well for either of them. 

Once inside, he was met with some eerie ominous music that sounded very odd to his ears. Officer Hilary looked around for the source of the ominous music but he could not find a visible record player. 

All he could find were various colors of candles arranged in a semi-circle around a graven image that looked like something cut out from one of Michelangelo's works. He was not sure which one exactly it was. Michelangelo's works were not exactly his favorite. Da Vinci's was. 

The predominant color of the candles was red and as the flames swayed with the steady flow of the air in the atmosphere, the reddish hue in the room continued to deepen. Officer Hilary was gripped with fear as he realized that he was alone. There was no sign of his friend, yet. 

He pushed further from the anteroom and opened the next door which also did not resist. He stood still by the door and watched the woman seated on the floor gazing at a much older man before her. Officer Hilary swallowed hard. This must be the Shaman, he thought. 

His attention once again drifted to Detective Hamilton who was seated on the floor like a faithful scholar at her master's feet. The Shaman was in some sort of meditation when he walked in. His eyes were closed and his wrinkled lips were muttering silently to a mantra Charles could not make out easily. Is this some kind of cult? He wondered. 

His eyes flashed brightly as he looked up and found that the Shaman had opened his eyes while he was standing at the spot wondering what the hell he was looking at. Yolanda was barely aware of his presence. It was as if she had been hypnotized. Otherwise, why was he seated there so calmly like he had nowhere else to go? 

"Come here, my son," He heard the Shaman's voice say. "Come have a seat with us."

His voice was small, barely a whisper. But it was filled with strength and authority. Officer Hillary had not realized when he'd begun to walk toward him. 

He took a seat beside his friend and returned his gaze to the Shaman, questioning him with his eyes. 

Without another word, the Shaman lifted a bowl that contained amongst other things, a human skull with droplets of blood on it, a string of beads, and a silver bracelet. He lifted the bowl over his head and began to turn it, mumbling some words along with every spin. 

Officer Hilary was taking a careful look at him. His face and entire body were a mass of wrinkles. This man could easily be over a hundred years. But who was he and what was he doing here? 

"My name is Omar," The Shaman suddenly said as if reading his thoughts. "But my clients prefer to call me 'Father'," He looked into their faces and continued. "What brings you here, Yolanda Hamilton, and you too, Charles Hilary."

Officer Hillary opened his mouth to speak but his attention was immediately drawn to something else. 

"How did you know our names?" He demanded. Then, he turned to look at his friend and asked, "Yolanda, did you tell him who we are?"

"She didn't have to," The Shaman responded. "I saw you both from the moment your car stopped on the road and I knew you were going to come in here."

Officer Hillary felt his head begin to spin. 

"Look, I don't know what this is about but we're done here," He said sharply. "My friend is obviously drunk and out of her mind to bring us here and I sincerely apologize for wasting your time but now, we have to go."

He heard the Shaman give a light chuckle. This time, his voice sounded hard, like wax. 

"Your friend is sober, for now. I made sure of that. Actually, I had to do that for you both to ensure that you consult me with a stable mind. Whatever happens afterwards ceases to be my concern."

"Wait, what?!" Officer Charles shot at him, his mind thrown into confusion. 

"I did you both a favor. Tell me, Charles, don't you feel soberer than you were a moment ago?"

Instinctively, Officer Charles turned to look at his friend and their eyes met at once. Then, the truth hit them both like a bolt.