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A Prophecy of Shadows

Chapter 11

"Well, where are they going to put her, in order to keep her from being a security risk?" Cam asked after Janet had gone over the report.

"The military has their own psychiatric facilities, as well as long term care facilities given the critical nature of security clearance and the ensuing problems due to mental destabilization. She’ll receive top of the line care."

"Fancy straight jackets?" Jack asked sardonically.

Janet eyed him seriously. "Restraints are only used as an absolute last resort. Medications to correct the chemical imbalance in her brain due to the drug use, individual and group psychotherapy and a controlled environment will do wonders in getting her back on the road to normalcy. For the short term she will be confined to an urgent care facility—once she has been stabilized, a long term residential setting will come into play, combined with therapy and counseling. In fact, the psychiatrist at the long term care facility is a personal friend of mind. Dr. Bailey is very involved with her patients, and has a high success rate in integrating them back into society."

Jessie leaned back in her chair. "So she won’t be out for a while."

"Given the initial assessment, no. She has multiple overlapping issues that need to be dealt with. As soon as all the paperwork is processed, a team will be sent out to the house she was leasing. They’ll pack up her belongings and transfer them to storage until she’s deemed mentally stable and capable of release."

"Gotta talk to herbs and ginger and get the books before they’re packed."

Everyone turned and looked at Casey.

"You want to fill us in, Radar?" Jack asked nonchalantly as Casey doodled on a piece of paper with her pen. Watched as her head came up, her green eyes blinking in surprise as she realized everyone’s attention was focused on her.

"Huh?"

Daniel reached over and rubbed her back gently. "You said, ‘gotta talk to herbs and ginger and get the books before they’re packed’."

Casey shook her head. "Sorry…I haven’t got a clue."

"Wait a second." Janet started flipping through the sheets of paper. "There was something…here. Apparently Calandra kept telling the staff to get hold of Virginia Atkins." She pulled out a handwritten form from the psychiatrist who did the initial eval. "Dr. Caballero made a notation that she also called her ‘Aunt Ginger’. Said she worked for her."

Jessie looked at Janet. "I’ve heard that name somewhere recently, or read something about it."

"Dr. Caballero?"

"No. Aunt Ginger."

"There’s an address listed, and it’s local."

"Well, it’ll have to wait until after we get back from our mission," Jack replied. "A couple of days won’t hurt, will it Radar?"

Casey bit her lower lip. "I don’t know for sure." She sat quietly for a moment, then shook her head. "There’s a definite urgency, though I have no idea why. This is something that needs to be done right away."

"Cam and I can do it," Jessie replied as she reached for the paper Janet held. "If it’s local, it shouldn’t take long."

Cam shrugged. "SG-7 isn’t on the schedule, so I don’t see why we couldn’t. Are we supposed to get the books from this Ginger person, Case?"

Another pause. "No. They’ll be at Callie’s place, since you’ve got to get them before they’re packed."

Jack grinned. "Don’t forget about the talking herbs." Casey immediately backhanded his shoulder. "Hey! I’m just repeating what you said!"

"Actually, she said ‘gotta talk to herbs and ginger," Daniel replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"Maybe Ginger has a husband named Herb," Jessie said absently as she noted the addresses for both Ginger and Callie. Looked over at her friend. "Any other hints? What kind of books, what we need to ask about?"

Casey sighed. "Ask Ginger about Callie, what she knows about her. Something important will come up, though I have no idea what. The books?" She shook her head once more. "You’ll know them when you see them. It’ll definitely be more than one, though." Casey felt a chill sweep over her, goose bumps covering her arms. "There’s something about Callie…something we need to know." The chill dissipated as quickly as it had come. "Just…be careful," she whispered.

The drive down I-25 was relatively quiet. Jessie had taken a few precautions, especially after a quick search on the internet revealed where she had heard of Ginger—an article in the local newspaper about prostitution, madams, and a comparison between historical accounts versus modern day activities. Aunt Ginger had run a brothel out in Nevada years back, and had been interviewed about her role as a prior madam. Apparently this was the same Aunt Ginger they were going to go see.

The directions on the map Cam had printed out eventually led through a very seedy side of town, and he was glad they were both discretely armed. The buildings were run down, graffiti was rampant, and it looked like drug deals could be made on just about any corner one was willing to risk a stop at. Cam was hoping things would go smoothly. He really didn’t want to have to replace Daniel and Casey’s jeep; Casey had been insistent that they use it, the thought being that Jessie’s Lexus or Cam’s Mustang wouldn’t last five minutes parked where they were headed. They hadn’t been eager to accept her offer—only with her stubborn insistence did they reluctantly agree.

Cam pulled himself out of his reverie as Jessie pulled off the main strip and started traveling the side roads. Ever vigilant, he noted the buildings were starting to thin out. About fifteen minutes later, they arrived at their destination.

"Well, it definitely ain’t the Hilton," he said wryly.

The structure had seen better days. A house of modest size, the paint was peeling, the wood rotting in spots, and the roof had needed repair for at least the last decade or so. Scanning the area, it looked as if they were alone for the moment. Cam stayed close to Jessie, his hand resting on her lower back as they climbed the wooden steps, carefully avoiding the hole in the center one. Jessie stood looking at the screen door for a couple of seconds before raising her hand and knocking on the side trim, for lack of a doorbell.

It took a few moments, but soon they heard a shuffling gait, and the main door creaked open. A woman, possibly late middle aged but looking far older than that, peered at them through the torn screen.

"Whada ya want?" she asked cantankerously.

"Information. About Calandra Jones," Jessie replied.

"I don’t know nothin’," she said as she started to close the door.

Jessie had anticipated such a reaction; she held up three $100 bills. "I’ll make it worth your time."

A shrewd, calculating look entered the older woman’s eyes. Opening the screen door partway, she looked closely at Jessie, then Cam. Reaching out, she snatched one of the $100 bills and held it up to the light, authenticating it in seconds from years of practice. Taking the rest of the money more carefully, she gestured with her hand. "Follow me."

Stepping over the threshold into the front room, they silently took in the threadbare rug, the walls stained yellow by smoke and the passage of time(;) years taking their toll on what was once, ages ago, a quaint parlor. Antique lamps with faded silk lampshades graced vintage side tables. Pale ocher lace curtains, which probably at one time had been white, covered leaded glass windows that overlooked the front and side yards. The wood plank flooring was scuffed, the countless number of individuals who had crossed the threshold seeking either a form of employment or a diversion ultimately wearing down the finish. Forever the do-it-yourselfer, Jessie thought it would take a lot of elbow grease to restore the room to its prior state, but in her mind’s eye she could envision how it must have looked, once upon a time. The woman’s voice brought Jessie out of her musings.

"Ya don’t look like a cop."

Jessie shrugged. "We’re not."

"Then why are ya nosin’ around about Callie?"

Cam had crossed his arms over his chest. "Let’s just say it’s personal."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Don’t look stupid enough to have gotten mixed up with her."

Jessie couldn’t help herself; she snickered. "Believe me, it wasn’t voluntary. I’m Ms. Watson, and this is Mr. Mitchell."

"Hmmm." The woman was silent for a moment before continuing. "People call me Aunt Ginger." She glanced at the money in her hand before folding it neatly and tucking it into her ample bosom. "Whatcha wanna know?"

Jessie remembered what Casey had said. "Anything you can tell us about Calandra."

"Ya want the long list or the short one?"

"Everything," Cam replied.

"That could take some time, darlin’," Ginger said cheekily.

"We’ll pay extra," he added.

"Ah, a man after my own heart," she said with a grin. "Might as well sit down and get comfy. Want somethin’ to drink?"

"No ma’am," Cam said, and Jessie shook her head.

With a shrug, Ginger disappeared into the next room, reappearing a short time later with a beer in hand. Settling her robust frame into an overstuffed armchair, she took a long draw on the bottle before setting it down beside her. "Where ya wanna start?"

"At the beginning," Jessie said as Cam took her hand in his.

"All righty then." Ginger focused her gaze in the corner of the room, obviously searching her memory. "Callie showed up on my doorstep three, maybe four years ago, lookin’ for work. Said she had been referred by a friend to the Soiled Doves."

Cam had a puzzled look on his face. "Soiled…doves?"

Ginger shook her head wryly. "Too damned young," she muttered. "Soiled doves was what prostitutes was called in the old west in the 1800’s. My Earl liked history. When the time came, it was a fittin’ thing to call the business. Havin’ a theme set us apart." Picking up the beer bottle, she took another long drink before continuing.

"Theme?" Jessie asked, trying to follow the woman’s train of thought.

"Yep. Whores are a dime a dozen; can find ‘em on any street corner. To be successful in this business, ya gotta stand out. So I came up with the Soiled Doves…had the girls dress up like they had just stepped outta the old west; dance hall girls; fancy corsets. Had some flappers thrown in there, too. It attracted a certain clientele, and they gots money to spend, let me tell you!" Aunt Ginger stretched her legs out, crossing them at the ankles as she got more comfortable in the chair.

"Callie, there’s a piece. Yeah, she thought she was sumbody, all full of herself when she showed up here. Kept going on about how she knew lots of important people, rubbed elbows with politicians and stuff. I didn’t give a shit about any of that. Told her if she was wantin’ work, she wouldn’t be rubbin’ elbows, she’d be spreadin’ her legs." She shook her head as she remembered that day long ago. "Like flippin’ a switch, she went from Miss Important to bein’ Miss ‘everybody wants to fuck me’." Ginger made the exaggerated motion of flipping her hair. "How ‘all of us natural redheads do it better than anyone else’. I started laughin’ my ass off; told her ‘honey, I can spot Clairol 6R Light Auburn a mile away; save your load of bullshit for someone who’ll buy it."

Picking up the beer bottle, she stared at the label before continuing. "She built a reputation for herself, I’ll give her that. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do; most folks don’t think about it much, but there’s most always sumthin’ a chickie won’t do. Callie? Not her. Made good money when she put her back into it, let me tell you! Melodramatic little shit, though. I didn’t care much for that crap."

Cam shifted in his chair. "Like what?"

Another swig from the bottle. "She was always playin’ the victim. The ol’ ‘poor little me’ bullshit. Sumbody was always doin’ her wrong. Shit, nine times outta ten she started it herself! Start a bunch of shit up, then turn it and try to say sumbody had dun to her exactly what she had dun in the first place. That got old real quick, let me tell you. Always playin’ the violin, as my Earl would of said. And she’d hint around that she’d been abused, but never would come out and say it."

"Abused? You mean by the men she…did business with?" Jessie asked.

"Nah. I always checked out who came through to do business with my girls, did my best to keep them safe. That’s where my reputation came from—bein’ a mother hen to my doves," she said with a grin. "Nope, Callie kept hinting that her daddy had done her. Whether it was the truth or not, her daddy diddling her, I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot durin’ my time in the business. Lots of reasons why the girls come to work. It’d probably take a shrink to figure out if she was tellin’ the truth or not; or at least hintin’ at it. Like I said, she never came up and said so out n’ out."

"Did she work for you full time?"

Ginger set the empty beer bottle on the table next to her. "Not really. She’d work in spurts; a few tricks here, a few there. I’m sure she was pickin’ up some on the side, but she always did good work for me when she was workin’, so I let it slide. Sometimes I wouldn’t see her for months at a go, then she’d be around for a few. Sometimes it was just a weekend here and there, ya know? She wasn’t consistent, but she’d turn up sooner or later."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Not quite a month ago. Figured she was gettin' ready to go through another meltdown, so wasn’t much surprised at her disappearin’ again."

"Meltdown?"

"Yeah. She had ‘em regular like, every few months or so. She’d start actin’ weirder than normal, go mental an’ disappear for a while, then show up again like nothin’ had happened."

"When you say ‘go mental’, what would she do?"

"Well, for one, she’d start talkin’ to herself. Now, I talk to myself, like when I’m tryin’ to find my keys and such, but this was like she was havin’ a conversation with someone, but there’s no one there. And her paranoia would get worse, her thinkin’ that everyone was talkin’ about her, and everything centered around her. I called it her ‘Miss Important’ syndrome. But nothin’ you could say to her would convince her she wasn’t the center of the universe, that everyone’s lives didn’t start n stop with hers. If she hadn’t brought me so much money in when she was workin’, I would’ve kicked her ass to the curb long ago."

Just then a knock came at the front door. Ginger pushed her large frame up from her chair with a "scuse me" before going to answer it.

"So, what do you think? Is this what we needed to know, or is there more?" Cam said in a low voice.

Jessie blew her breath out. "This is way more than I needed to know," she said as she eyed the room. "So we’ve confirmed Callie’s been mental for years. Turned tricks as a side job. Maybe these books we’re supposed to get have something to do with this…job?"

Cam shook his head. "If Casey hadn’t been so insistent about all this, I’d just as well head back home now. But, she’s never been wrong."

Ginger came back into the room. "I hate to cut this lil’ meeting short, but I’ve got some customers comin’ in real soon."

Cam and Jessie rose from their seats. "We appreciate you taking time to talk to us, ma’am," Cam said, his southern manners firmly in place.

Ginger might have been jaded, but she wasn’t dead. She could fully appreciate the Mitchell charm. "Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, honey, feel free to stop by anytime," she said with a cheeky grin.

They had reached the screen door when she called out. "Wait a sec. There was sumthin’ Callie said the last time she was here." She tapped her fingertips against her forehead as she squinted her eyes shut, like she was trying to coax the memory out. "Said she probably wouldn’t be back; talkin’ about how she had found her mate. Somethin’ about havin’ to take care of a problem first, but then they’d be together. Said it was her reward for her devotion, whatever the hell that meant."

"Her devotion…to her mate?"

"Uh, no. She was a strange duck, that one. Did a lot of weird stuff, messing with things best left alone. Her ‘devotion’ was more like tradin’ her soul, if you ask me. I ain’t no saint, but I ain’t stupid, either. You play with fire, and you’ll pay, sooner or later."

Whatever else Ginger would have told them was cut off by two vehicles pulling up to the house. Seeing that the customers had arrived, Cam and Jessie made a hasty exit, left to ponder exactly what Ginger had meant as they headed out to the house Callie had been renting.

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