Night of The Neo-Nazi

It was a dark and stormy night - but that wasn't terribly unusual for Seattle in the middle of November.

Although this was her first trip to the area, she wasn't entirely surprised to see some rain. It was sunny when she first arrived but she understood all the large and beautiful trees didn't get that way without water, and plenty of it. Today the weather was trying hard to keep the trees beautiful.

With only a few more miles to the rental return at the SEATAC airport she briefly thought about filling the tank with the more economical off-airport gas. She decided it was raining too hard. She would stay dry, pay the higher price to have the rental company refill the car, and argue later with the reimbursement bean counters employed by the Los Angeles District Attorney's Office. "That will teach them to send me so far away for training", she said to herself.

She hated the baggage inconveniences inflicted on modern air travelers and packed very lightly even though she was away for several days. As she jumped on the airport shuttle she thought, "Whew! One more hassle, airport security, and I can relax."

At security, she presented her ticket and California driver's license. The agent held up the license and looked at her. Her light brown hair was windblown and a little longer than in the picture.

"Emma Casey?"

"That's me", said Emma brightly.

Soon she was on the plane and in the air. Fortunately the nonstop flight to Burbank was not very crowded and she was able to stretch out enough to crack open a book, read two pages, and take a snooze.

In less than three hours the plane landed. In a few more minutes she was walking through the airport on the way to her car. Famous Hollywood people could often be seen at this airport and she was pretty sure she recognized a shuffling Bill Murray, wearing rumpled hospital scrubs and looking like he could use some coffee - maybe a lot of coffee.

Burbank was a cute little airport for several reasons, but the best thing about it was you could leave the terminal and walk to your car so quickly. As she walked her cell phone chimed. The system just delivered a message sent while she was in the air with the phone off.

Emma wasn't poor, her job paid OK, but she sure wasn't rich and living in LA was expensive. Still, with a roommate, she was able to afford a few occasional treats and one was her car. An iconic 1971 Adriatic Blue VW Karmann Ghia. She could see it in the distance as she walked through the parking lot. It was simultaneously her baby, her lover, and her protector.

Picking up her pace she quickly arrived at the car. "Hiya Bruzer", she said as she tossed her bag in the passenger seat and jumped in. It's not that she named the car Bruzer so much as that just seemed to be the car's name. She hugged the steering wheel and said softly, "I missed you." Sitting comfortably in the car she thought back to the first time they met. On an impulse, she'd gone to one of the Bob's Big Boy car shows this past summer. It was love at first sight. She couldn't believe her boldness when she asked the owner if he minded if she sat in the car. Her boldness, and obvious love of the car, seemed to persuade the owner to sell her Bruzer at a bargain price. They've been together ever since.

Before starting the car she checked her phone messages. She had only one, from her friend and sometimes partner James Wozniak. Well, he wasn't really her partner but they often worked on cases together and sometimes it seemed more than a simple working relationship. James was one of the youngest, and in her opinion, the best detective in the Los Angeles precinct.

The message spoke of a problem at Aldo's Pizzeria in Glendale. They had a couple of witnesses but were concerned about keeping them safe. James wanted her to come down and discuss with them the Witness Protection Program.

"Well", she thought as the message finished, "at least I had a short nap on the plane. There will be no relaxing tonight... If only I had eaten something."

It was a quick trip from the Burbank airport to Glendale and Emma was soon nearing her destination. As she got closer she noticed the night sky in the direction of the Pizzeria was being illuminated from below by flashing beams of color.

When she reached the Pizzeria she saw six police cruisers, their flashing lights contributing to the pyrotechnic show. She tried to turn into the parking lot but was stopped by an officer she didn't know. He directed her to move along and ignored her protests even though she showed her court ID. The situation was becoming tense but he finally relented when she explained that Detective Wozniak had requested her help.

"Wow", she thought while parking, "This must be something big."

She walked briskly from the parked Bruzer to the Pizzeria entrance, then paused at the door to assess the situation. She could see James and Detective Brennan, Officers Hilliard and Johnson, and three other officers. Several heads turned toward her as she made her entrance, but only James came forward to great her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Triple homicide" he said, showing his obvious stress with short, clipped speech.

"One of the regulars started a gun battle with two strangers. He killed both of them but one lived long enough to return fire and kill the attacker.

"Gang violence?" speculated Emma, noticing that two new officers came into view from the direction of the kitchen.

"We don't think so. There are a number of things that don't fit that scenario. All of the dead men seem a little old for this to be gang related and one of the dead strangers was an archeology professor over at UCLA. We are not yet sure who his friend was. The guy who started the shooting stopped in maybe once a week to pick up carryout. This time he came in and instead of picking up his order he started yelling and firing shots.

"What did he yell?" asked Emma.

"Well, the only surviving witnesses are two employees, Ramone Ramirez and Pankaj Shukla. Ramirez was working at the cash register when all this happened. Shukla was taking a phone order. Both had a clear view of everything.

"As luck would have it, a fairly large party of customers left a few minutes before. The only customers actually present at the time of the shooting were the victims.

"Mr. Ramirez and Mr. Shukla are quite disturbed as you might imagine. We have them back in the kitchen trying to settle them down.

"So", complained Emma, "What did the shooter yell?"

"Like I was saying", intoned James with a mock air of irritation, "We're not sure because neither witness could understand what was said."

"Mr. Ramirez says it was probably German but he admits he is only saying that because it sounded like dialog from an old World War II movie.

James was about to say more but he was interrupted.

"Hey Woz!" called Detective Brennan from across the room. James looked at him coldly and replied with an icy, "Don't call me Woz."

Detective Brennan, maybe 30 feet away, either didn't hear or ignored him. "Woz, come here. We need you in the kitchen." "Don't call me Woz", annunciated James more loudly as he headed for the kitchen.

Alone for the first time since arriving at the Pizzeria, Emma took stock of the crime scene. The bodies were removed long ago and most of the blood was cleaned up. A careful observer could still see some small droplets. Most disturbing was a small spray on the ceiling. From where she was standing she could see at least one broken table and there was a bullet hole in the wall behind the cash register. Amazingly, there were no broken windows.

As she surveyed the scene she began to feel uncomfortable. Was it the spray of blood on the ceiling? She thought that unlikely, not being the type usually bothered by such things. Maybe she just needed some food? Emma had skipped lunch and hadn't eaten since a small breakfast this morning. Although hungry for the last several hours, she came to help James instead of eating after the plane landed. With this thought, she began considering the various food establishments she would pass on her way home. A smile came to her face as she walked idly between the undamaged tables, reflecting on the numerous cuisines that were available.

She'd mostly decided on Thai food when her vague uneasiness began to solidify into a specific conscious thought. Something was not right, she felt, something was really not right.

Emma stopped walking and turned slowly to the left, then to the right, and finally completely around. The general feeling of discomfort was coalescing into something more familiar. Yes, she'd encountered this before. As a powerful Channel, Emma was very sensitive to the spirit world and felt a sort of chill, a Spectral Chill, in the presence of ghostly activity. This encounter was very different, however. Normally she would feel the spectral chill when the spirit approached within a few feet or perhaps made physical contact with her. The current situation was uncommon and unfamiliar. The feeling built from her subconscious so gradually she didn't recognize it at first. Her best guess was some enormously powerful spirit triggered her ectoplasmic senses from an extraordinarily great distance.

Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

The world seemed to take on a dim reddish cast and she seemed to be looking at the room through a backlit screen or haze. She felt a force pressing against head and her body began to take on a southing warmth. In horror, she realized this unknown, powerful spirit was trying to possess her.

It had been Emma's experience that unwelcome possessions happen most easily to impressionable people who suffered from low self-esteem or perhaps had a weak sense of self-will. With her natural channeling powers and strong self-image, she had never been concerned about being possessed by any spirit. She was learning that was a mistake. Emma was hungry and tired from a long week with little rest. Her resistance and focus were down. Given her abilities, she thought she would not have much problem resisting a forced possession but this spirit was powerful and she was suddenly in the fight of her life.

At stake was her free-will and perhaps her very existence as a self-conscious entity. The pressure on the outside of her head was getting worse. It began to hurt and she began to sweat heavily from the effort and pain. Veins were bulging on her forehead and neck when Emma suddenly felt a violent electric shock applied to the left side of her face. The pain seemed to be applied in the shape of a hand and she nearly lost consciousness. She tried to fight back against the pure evil of this specter but she knew she was losing. She felt herself slipping into darkness, but she also felt something else. The entity was... curious. This was a spirit not used to resistance of the type being offered by Emma and, fortunately, it was apparently not aware how close she was to succumbing.

The ghostly hand seemed to be removed and the pressure on her head lessened. After what seemed an eternity she could feel the evil spiritual presence withdrawing. In reality, the entire experience had lasted less than a minute but she was shaken to the core. Her shirt was soaked with sweat as was her head, face, and neck. Slowly recovering her composure, she located the Pizzeria ladies room and stepped in to freshen up. She was stunned by her reflection in the mirror; the left side of her face showed the imprint of a hand. The mark appeared to be made of a chalky white substance, something like dried toothpaste.

"My God!" exclaimed Emma. "Ectoplasmic residue! I thought that was a myth!"

As she stared unblinking into the mirror, she found herself utterly fascinated as the ectoplasmic handprint slowly disappeared. It seemed to dissolve or sublime away, like dry ice melting. She shivered involuntarily, shook her head, and began vigorously washing her face.


James emerged from the kitchen to find Emma had gone.

"She must have been really pissed to leave like that", mused James. Then he noticed Bruzer was still in the parking lot. Peering through the front window he noticed Emma was sitting on one of the benches that formed a small patio in front of the Pizzeria. Walking outside, James noticed that it was a breezy night. The Santa Ana winds were warm and dry as always this time of year. There was a faint smell of burning wood, no doubt from some distant wildfire.

"Getting some air?" he asked.

Emma, clothes dry from the breeze and having mostly regained her composure, shook her head.

"I'm tired. Let's do this witness protection thing so I can go home."

"I'm really sorry but we have to hold those two over night. Discussing the witness protection program with them will have to wait until tomorrow.

Emma, still sitting on the bench looked up at him. "That's OK", she said in a passive tone.

James felt terrible but didn't know what to say. He watched silently... helplessly... as Emma rose and walked to Bruzer.

Soon she was gone, but James remained. Conflicted. Confused. Concerned. He never wanted to see Emma that way. He really liked her. He wasn't sure about his feelings but he thought, maybe even hoped, they could be more than friends. He wanted to go after her but couldn't - he and his team had more work to do tonight.


Exhausted and emotionally drained, Emma had lost her appetite and skipped the food detour on her way home. The trip was uneventful, but then again anything would seem uneventful after the last few hours. Her only thought was sleep. She virtually staggered to the door of the attractive little single family house she shared with her roommate, Amber Kincade. Emma opened the door and was greeted by a warning from the security system. This jogged from her tired brain the memory that Amber was out of town for a few days. She was a competitive, semi-professional tennis player and was at a tournament trying to work her way up in the rankings.

Turning off the alarm system, Emma lurched toward her bedroom. There she stripped off her clothes and donned an oversized t-shirt. Carelessly, or more accurately, unconsciously walking on the haphazardly strewn clothing as she moved about the room. She quickly attended to necessary personal grooming and was soon in bed and asleep.

But it was a restless sleep, filled with terrible dreams and premonitions of danger. She dreamed of the carnage, tortures, and deaths of World War II. She dreamed of Heinrich Himmler, the head of the dreaded Nazi SS. She felt Himmler's evil and imagined him reigning over hordes of netherworld minions. Himmler's image, though, was like that from a golden age comic book. He had fangs and horns and looked more satanic than human.

Emma's dreams of World War II faded, only to be replaced by a dream of being chased by a ferocious animal. An animal, seemingly not of this earth, for it walked upright on cloven hooves yet had the face of a wolf - a wolf with intelligent, hypnotic eyes. She was running, frantically running. The beast was chasing her. No, it was herding her. Herding her towards something...

She saw the pit too late. She was falling, falling faster and faster into blackness. The beast had forced her into a bottomless pit from which there was no escape. But... There was a sound and it was getting louder.

Emma woke with a start, sat dazed for a moment, then as the world once again began to make sense, reached over and turned off the alarm.

"Damn!" She shook her head, hair flying everywhere. "That was the worst dream EVER!"

Soon she was showered, dressed, and her mood was starting to brighten.

That was short lived, however. Emma liked to have a good breakfast but there was nothing in the house. Emma spent the week in Seattle and evidently Amber had finished all the eggs, bread, cereal, and coffee. Her disposition darkened and she was having especially dark thoughts about her roommate.

She hungrily gnawed on a breakfast bar she'd found in the pantry. She finished it in three bites and was out the door.

Emma's already foul mood wasn't helped by finding Bruzer covered in a fine layer of ash.

"I hate ash... and Bruzer doesn't like it either", snorted Emma through clinched teeth.

The faint smell of burning wood detected last night was stronger in the morning air. A major wildfire was obviously raging somewhere nearby.

"I'd better check the news to see if any of these fires are going to be a problem", worried Emma.

She liked a lot of things about her adopted home of Los Angeles, but she didn't like the wildfires - at all. She felt well adapted to the California culture thanks to living and working at Stanford University for several years. She'd learned, however, that Southern California was quite different from Northern California. She was surprised, shocked actually, to find the Santa Ana wind driven wildfires were annual events in Southern California.

She disliked the wildfires so much she wondered if there was an underling cause of such strong emotion. Perhaps some ancestor had died in a fire? Maybe she was burned at the stake for witchcraft in an earlier life? Her mood lightened briefly at the humor of her imagination, then quickly regressed with the realization that maybe that form of death wasn't so unlikely for someone like her.

She jumped in and was about to start Bruzer when her cell phone received a text message. Ms. Garcia wanted to know if she could meet with Ramone Ramirez and Pankaj Shukla at 10:00 to discuss the witness protection program. Emma paused, took a deep breath, and texted, "Yes." Then took another deep breath, and another. She began to recover her normally cheerful outlook. She felt safe behind Bruzer's wheel, as if she was somehow protected from the problems of the world. Feeling better, she gunned Bruzer to life... and was off.

At the precinct she discovered James had not yet arrived. She gloomily found herself wishing she'd picked up some coffee - the precinct's was always horrid. Looking at the half-empty pot she was indecisive. Maybe it was good today? While she was staring pensively at the coffee machine several precinct regulars said hello to her. They seemed to put up with her - perhaps even liked having her around. Maybe they thought she was cute? She laughed to herself. More likely they thought of her as their mascot.

She'd just about decided to try a cup of coffee when she noticed a suspect seated at Detective Browning's desk was watching her intently. Beside the desk was a uniformed officer she didn't know. The detective was doing paperwork and the officer was gazing blankly into the distance, but the handcuffed suspect was very much focused on her.

Burrr... This situation was making her uncomfortable. She was familiar with this type of discomfort. She'd felt this spectral chill many times over the years and it was always caused by a nearby spirit presence. But where was the spirit? WAS there a spirit or could it merely be that recent events made her overly nervous?

She poured some coffee into a paper cup and sniffed. Ugg! So much for it being good today. She warily kept an eye on the suspect as she shook some creamer into the coffee. The color didn't change much so she added more. Oh! This coffee was gonna be nasty.

Delicately sipping the coffee she walked slowly to James' empty desk. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the suspect still watching her; the detective and officer oblivious.

She sat on the corner of the desk. James would never allow that, but he wasn't here - so too bad. Her innate sense of the spirit world, her spectral chill, was becoming quite agitated. It was slowly becoming an annoying Spectral Tingle. Emma made sure to keep the suspect seated at Detective Browning's desk under surveillance, but her senses were fully alert for danger from any direction. That was fortunate because there was a sudden commotion at the main entrance. Three raggedy looking men had forced their way in - with the desk sergeant in close pursuit. All three headed straight for Emma. Their intent was obvious.

Moving at the speed of thought she quickly channeled the powers of marshal arts master Bruce Lee. She snapped a kick into the side of the first assailant's head and nearly separated the head from the body. As the second assailant lunged at her, she shifted her weight and effortlessly tossed him over her shoulder onto a nearby desk.

Then the entire room exploded into chaos.


James was lost in thought as he walked from the parking lot. Although he had only been a detective for a relatively short time, he'd already experienced a great deal. Nothing he'd experienced, however, was like yesterday's triple homicide. Many questions remained even though his work at the Pizzeria continued into the early morning. Some of the unknowns might be explained if the pharmacology reports indicated one or more of the victims were under the influence of psychoactive substances, but the list of unknowns was long and drugs could not explain all that transpired.

As he approached the precinct entrance the sounds of commotion emanated from within. He entered to an unbelievable scene. A limp body on top of a desk was receiving medical attention, as was a man crumpled on the floor between two chairs. A third man was being held with his face against the wall, his hands handcuffed behind his back. Papers were scattered everywhere. His desk lamp and his ceramic USC Trojans coffee mug were shattered on the floor. Emma, her long hair a mess, was sitting on the edge of his desk.

"What the hell is going on!" he demanded.

Nobody could quite explain what had happened but James managed to piece together enough from several confusing narrations to get the general idea.

"Emma, are you OK?" asked James.

"I spilled my coffee", she said vacantly.

James put his arm around her, "I'll get you another cup."

"No, I'm OK", she said thinking about how bad the precinct coffee was. James' arm around her felt good, reassuring and she slowly regained her spirit.

"I have to meet with Ramone Ramirez and Pankaj Shukla at 10:00 to discuss our witness protection program she said. I have to get going.

Emma was able to navigate the LA traffic well enough to arrive in time for the scheduled witness protection meeting. Ramone and Pankaj were extremely nervous and distraught from the violence they had witnessed the evening before. Emma distributed the paperwork and began to explain the standard rules for the witness protection program. She was perhaps 10 minutes into the hour long explanation when Ramirez reached across the table and touched he hand. With a start she felt the increasingly familiar spectral chill of a spiritual presence.

"What now?" she began to think but Ramirez interrupted her thoughts.

"Please turn off the recorder, Ms. Casey".

Eying him suspiciously, still feeling the spectral chill, she said, "Mr. Ramirez?"

"No. Not Ramirez. My name is not important, but what I'm about to tell you is."

This wasn't the first time such a thing happened. She occasionally received unsolicited advice from the spirit world and, so far she'd been able to trust it.

Making a casual motion, Emma paused the recorder and backed it over the burst of audio that was Mr. Ramirez asking her to turn it off. She then repositioned her chair so her head would prevent anyone behind the one-way observation mirror from reading his lips. She wasn't sure if anyone was observing, but it was better to be safe than have them both taken for psychological evaluation.

Mr. Ramirez, or whomever he had become said, "We can speak freely. Mr. Shukla will remember none of this."

Emma waited patiently for her spirit visitor to begin his story.

"During The Rise of The Third Reich, before the hostile invasion of any country, the Nazis came into possession of at least three mystical artifacts.

"I'm sorry?" interrupted Emma.

"Of course we didn't learn about this until years later, many years later."

Emma squinted skeptically. "Mystical artifact?" she repeated.

After a long pause, perhaps as long as 20 seconds, the spirit presence said with a tone that could not be questioned, "Ms. Casey, I'm president Franklin Delano Roosevelt."

"Mr. President", Emma said respectfully, perceiving the truth.

"Heinrich Himmler was an occult master and he led teams of Nazi faithful that travelled the world looking for artifacts of power during the 1930s. We learned that he was able to acquire at least three. One, the Aryan Ring, was forged from the blood and tears of tortured innocents during the 16th century. It was forged by an Indo-Aryan alchemist hired by monks of the Spanish Inquisition to create methods of torture so horrific as to extract confessions from the most obstinate of the suspected sinners and heathens.

"In 1942 the French Underground was able to steal the Aryan Ring. At the time we did not grasp the importance of this event. We later understood this was the singular event that began the downfall of the Nazis. This was, in fact, the turning point of World War II. You see, the legend of the Aryan Ring is that it's possessor will have great success. We did not understand for many years afterward that there was also a dark side to owning the ring. It seemed the price to be paid for worldly success was the very mind of the owner. Some of us believed the ring may have been partly responsible for Adolf Hitler's psychosis, although he was not a well balanced man for many years.

"Mr. Howard Hughes was a great friend to the United States Government during World War II and he had accumulated some of the country's best minds in his company. We didn't object when he acquire this artifact, the Aryan Ring, from the French Resistance. At the time we didn't quite understand the consequences. His scientists worked on it for some time. When the war ended, Mr. Hughes took personal possession of the ring and the research. The ring may have been more than a little responsible for both the great success of Howard's company as well as his mental instability in later life. Unfortunately, none of this was even suspected during my lifetime.

"During the war and the 1950s, many of the Hughes Aircraft facilities were located in the El Segundo area and Howard spent a great amount of time there. It wasn't surprising that, in 1950, Howard used his personal funds to build a public library on El Segundo Blvd. The library was badly damaged by fire in 1965. Mr. Hughes was again supportive and paid for it to be rebuilt before he relocated to Las Vegas in 1966. The library has continued to serve the El Segundo community ever since.

"Shortly before his death in 1976, Howard secretly hid the ring and all the research in the library basement. Yes, in the basement. As you know, basements are not commonplace in Los Angeles. With the temperatures so warm, there is no frost line below which building foundations must be set. Builders in Southern California usually just pour a cement slab and start building. However, for reasons known only to him, Mr. Hughes demanded a basement in the library when it was rebuilt in 1965.

"You must go there Emma. Go to the basement of the El Segundo Public Library and claim the ring to prevent the evil of Heinrich Himmler from again asserting power on the earth.

With these words the piercing expressions of Pankaj Shukla and Ramone Ramirez slowly faded, being replaced by the normal somewhat dazed and bored look of someone participating in witness protection discussions.

Emma turned the recorder back on and resumed the conversation as though nothing happened. Completing the discussion and paperwork seemed to take forever. It was early afternoon before all the details were complete and she could get away. She was so excited and anxious, she unleashed Bruzer's full power as she left the police station. Sixty horses pulling with all their might sprayed dirt and gravel as Bruzer lunged out of the parking lot.


When she arrived at the El Segundo Library she was surprised to find the only person working there to be an elderly Mr. Vargas.

"Where is everyone?" asked Emma.

"We'll be busier in a couple of hours when school lets out", said Mr. Vargas.

"I mean", said Emma. "I'm surprised you are the only one working here."

"Oh, the others just left for Ms. Kramer's baby shower. You're a little late if you were to meet them. They won't be back for an hour or more."

Emma explained that she was with the Los Angeles District Attorney's Office and wanted to look around the basement. Mr. Vargas explained that the content of the basement had not been disturbed for many years. In fact, it had not been disturbed at all during the thirty years of his employment at the library. Emma showed her identification. Mr. Vargas patiently explained once again that nobody ever disturbs the content of the basement. Somebody important, years before he ever started working at the library, said to keep people out of the basement and, as always, he intended to do just that.

Emma tried to charm him, first by channeling Mae West and then Marilyn Monroe. When that didn't work she decided to mesmerize him by channeling Franz Anton Mesmer. She didn't often do this but she was desperate. She had to be very careful with Dr. Mesmer. Not only because of the obvious free will and personal rights issues, but he was very powerful and not always gracious in his assistance. Under the influence of Dr. Mesmer, she was able to "persuade" Mr. Vargas to be much more cooperative and show her to the basement.

Finally alone, Emma began the arduous mission of searching for the ring. She walked around the damp, dark basement of the library, running her hand down book spines and touching old, decaying cardboard cartons. At one carton, she felt her spectral chill. She opened that one and found damp, rotted, illegible and crumbling papers. She dumped the content onto the cement floor and a decaying wooden box clattered to the ground. Kneeling beside the decayed documents, she picked up the small box. There was a lock on it but the wood virtually fell apart in her hands. Inside was an ornate ring. No doubt this was the Aryan Ring she'd been sent to retrieve.

Suddenly uneasy, she looked up to see the elderly Mr. Vargas standing above her. However, Mr. Vargas did not look as old and frail as he had only a few minutes earlier. In fact, he looked rather menacing.

"Heinrich Himmler", gasped Emma.

"Yes, Ms. Casey. It is good we know each other. It has taken me decades to find the Aryan Ring. I had to kill dozens. Now you keep me from it. That is not a wise thing for you to do, Ms. Casey. I tried to possess you and tried to kill you. I failed both times and I do not often fail. You have made an enemy of me, Ms. Casey but I can't defeat you today. This vessel is far too weak for that. You have formidable powers but you know nothing of my true nature. Go about your life, Emma Casey. Enjoy it as you will for your time on this plane is limited. We will meet again.

He spoke the last words while walking away and looking casually over his shoulder. Then he was gone and she was by herself. For several moments she was silent.

Just great she thought to herself. Yesterday I had no real problems. Now I have a powerful evil spirit as an enemy and, until I come up with a better plan, I'm the owner of a potent mystical artifact. An artifact that could provide me with worldly success but also an artifact that will slowly corrupt my mind.

I need a plan she thought as she looked at the ring. Damn! 24 hours ago I didn't even know mystical artifacts existed. Now I have to figure out how to destroy one. She stomped her foot twice in frustration and shouted, "I don't need this!"

She immediately regretted losing control as the old librarian rushed into the room. "Are you ok, ma'am?"

He looked timidly at her, having no recollection of his possessed conversation of only a few minutes ago.

Channeling the illusionist abilities of the great Doug Henning she deftly pocketed the ring. "I'm sorry", she said. "I seem to have made a mess."

He gave her an understanding look. "I can clean that up for you ma'am. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No, I'm afraid everything is faded and rotted. It's useless, I can't read any of it."

"I'm sorry ma'am."

Emma looked at the withered pile of papers on the floor. "Can I at least help you clean this up?"

"No thank you, ma'am. I can see that it is all trash. I'll just wheel a bin down here and get rid of it."

Emma thanked the elderly librarian and headed toward the exit. Emma would regret this later. She unwittingly caused herself more problems than she could imagine, for in the pile of illegible, faded, and rotted documents was a sealed Mylar envelope. A Mylar envelope, the content of which would come back to haunt her.

Leaving the librarian behind, her thoughts turned again toward the ring. She patted her pocket and reassuringly felt it.

"What am I going to do with you?" she mused quietly.

Stepping into the sunlight and allowing the library door to close behind her, she paused. I suppose I could just smash the ring... but what if the mystical forces simply migrate to some other object? She again stomped her foot, then stamped it again and again until she was literally hopping and cursing. She regained her composure in just a few seconds and looked around. Fortunately, no one was nearby to witness her embarrassing loss of control.

I'm not usually like this", she thought to herself. "Could the ring be affecting me already?"

It was clear she needed assistance with destruction of the ring, but who could possibly help? After all, you can't call the Psychic Support Hotline and say "Excuse me, I have a mystical artifact I would like to destroy. Can you help me?"

In some despair she headed off in the direction of Bruzer. By the time she reached the car she was starting to feel better. She had an inspiration. Of course! She knew who could help - the greatest scientific alchemist of all time, that's who! She would channel Sir Isaac Newton!

She knew her problems weren't over - far from it. Her problems weren't solved but at least she now had a plan. In a few more steps she'd reached her car, unlocked it, and got it. Ah, Bruzer, she said as she hugged the steering wheel. You're not a puppy but you always make me feel good.

Letting out a deep sigh she slowly released her hug on the steering wheel. She regained her poise as the stress of the preceding days faded away. In fact, it seemed like she could see the stress receding in Bruzer's rear view mirror.

Laughing at the silliness of her imagination she felt much better... and hungry. She hadn't eaten anything substantial since forever. She grabbed her cell phone and called James.

"Hey!" she said. "Wanna get some sushi?"