Messenger in a Battle

Fighting back the anxiety I feel, I walk up the steps to the front door of the building. Through the glass doors, I can see that the squad room is busy. Saturday night means lots of work for this group, I suspect. The person I’m looking for might not even be in. But that’s not true; I know she’s in, because this is where I was told to go. With a deep breath, I open the door and go inside. There is a central desk with a sergeant behind it, a middle-aged man who is currently entering information into his computer. He looks up as I approach. “Can I help you?” he asks. “Um, yes. May I speak to Captain Bronwyn Kelsey, please?” “Do you have an appointment, sir?” “No. No I don’t. But if she’s available, it’s important that I speak to her. I have some information that’s relevant to an ongoing criminal investigation, and I’d like to share it with her. Please.” He looks at me, probably deciding that I’m not dangerous (at least I hope so), and then picks up his phone and dials an extension. “Cap, there’s a man out here says he wants to talk to you.… Says he has info on an investigation.… Don’t know; he didn’t say.… Okay, thanks.” He hangs up and tells me, “Wait here, please.” I maintain my composure, hoping that the delay isn’t a bad sign, that someone hasn’t recognized me and they’re coming to lock me up. In less than a minute, a woman emerges from a back office. From the details of the assignment, I know that this is Bronwyn Kelsey. She appears to be in her mid-forties, with a hint of world-weariness to her otherwise powerful features. She is what I would call a handsome woman, but in a complimentary way. She approaches me at the desk. “I’m Captain Kelsey, Mister …?” “Thompson. Paul Thompson. Thank you for seeing me.” “Let’s go back to my office.” She leads me through the squad room to a corner office with frosted glass walls atop ancient wood paneling. On the door is a nameplate that reads Capt. Bronwyn Kelsey. After I enter, she closes the door behind me and offers me a seat in front of her desk. “Can I get you some water or coffee or something?” she asks. “No, thank you.” “Sergeant Jacobs tells me you have information for me about an investigation. Is that correct?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Well, Mr. Thompson, NOPD is always grateful for tips. If you’re interested in reward money, though, you’ll want to go through Crimestoppers.” “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s more …” Time for the speech. “Captain, you may find this hard to believe, but I promise you it’s true. I sometimes receive visions about people who are in trouble or in danger, and when I’m able to, I go to these people and warn them about the danger. Yesterday, I saw you in one of my visions, and in that vision, just before 11:00 tonight, a man you’ve been pursuing is going to catch you by surprise and kill you. I’m very sorry.” To my surprise, she takes this news very calmly and rationally. “I see. These visions that you get—I’m assuming that because you make the effort to warn these people, the events you foresee can be changed, is that correct?” “Yes, it is. You believe me, then?” “Mr. Thompson, I’ve been a police officer in New Orleans for ten years. You see a lot of strange things living in this city. I don’t know you, so I don’t know of any reason why you would want to hurt me. You sound calm and rational, so I don’t think you’re suffering from any delusions. So I have to go based on the belief that for whatever reason, you can see things that haven’t happened yet, and you’ve come here to warn me.” “Yes,” I reply, quite relieved. “Thank you for believing me. I’ve driven about fifteen hours to give you this message.” Oh, shit, why did I tell her that? “Fifteen hours?” she repeats with surprise in her voice. “That’s a huge trip. Why didn’t you phone me?” “I’ve found that for the most important messages, people are most inclined to believe me in person. Besides, for better or worse, this is what I’ve chosen to do with my life.” “What else can you tell me?” she asks. “What did you see in your vision?” “Usually it’s a combination of images and facts that are sent to me. I knew it was you; you were identified by name, and I was told where to find you. I know it’s a man who will try to kill you, but I don’t know his name. All I know is that he’s someone you’ve been looking for, probably for quite some time, but he doesn’t know who you are.” She looks fascinated at this. “Do you know where this is supposed to happen?” “I received some images in my mind, but they were very dark and it was hard to see. I saw grass and some trees, and what looked like statuary. But the weird part is, I got the feeling I was indoors. And then there was a name.” “A name?” “It may have been the name of the place, but I don’t speak French, so I don’t know what the words mean: Champ des Douleurs.” For the first time since I’ve met her, Bronwyn Kelsey looks upset by what I have said. “Oh my God,” she says quietly. “What? Does that name mean something to you? What do the words mean?” “They mean Field of Sorrows. I think I know who was in your vision. It’s him. It’s Kalfu.”