February 23, 1997

The cold east winds blew through the empty fields as moonlight cast its seductive glow across the furrows of dirt and dry ground. Such a sparse, open plot of land was becoming rare in Midnight City. Most had been tilled and crafted into buildings, universities, entertainment structures, or convenience stores. Out here, near the boundary lines of Midnight City, the land was free for the taking.

But why was the land open? Why had nobody laid claim to this piece of property yet? There had to be reasons, and those reasons—on the surface, at least—seemed suspicious. This is what Augustine Rose questioned as she drove the beat-up pickup truck across the bumpy dirt field. Midnight City—especially the suburban areas—was subject to strange and unusual happenings, even moreso to evil and malevolent entities. Did something live out here, away from the rest of the city? Did something or someone consider this land their home, and they just hadn’t bothered to tell the rest of the residents of the city?

Augustine felt the engine slip as it misfired. The vehicle was overdue for a tune up. 300,000 miles did a number on a vehicle like this, but it continued to remain dependable for her. For now. She hoped it would continue to serve her well. She couldn’t afford another car, not with the mountain of student loans she had accumulated at the university. She had managed to secure the botany masters she had been toiling over the last six years, but the price was more than she could responsibly handle.

The truck hit a stone embedded in the tilled land and caused the vehicle to swerve to the right a bit. Augustine tugged on the steering wheel and righted her course, gripping the outside of the car door as she hung her arm out the window. She cursed under her breath, hoping the truck would keep it together. If she broke down out this way, who would help her? Nobody. Nobody she would want to help her, anyway.

In reality, the only real threat she had out here, under the blanket of moonlight, was the Order, a cult obsessed with plants. In fact, Augustine surmised, they cared more about plants than they did human life. She only knew of the Order because of her own diligent research into the cults of Midnight City. The group was all about self-sufficiency, ruthless politics, and the preservation of priceless flora. They were probably the biggest threat—of the cults, that is—to Augustine’s own endeavors. She was surprised they weren’t out here, beating her to the punch.

Of course, maybe they were watching her. That was always a possibility. She had adopted the distinct suspicion over the course of the past few days that someone had been following her around town whenever she left her home. Shadows that trailed her to the grocery store, the pharmacy, the home improvement center.

She didn’t really care though. Risks had to be taken in the name of botany. If they were going to do something sinister, they would have done it already. No, they were watching her. Waiting for her to lead them to something. Maybe to this. This was why she had taken special precautions on her way out here tonight to shake any tales she might have ‘grown’ over the course of the last week.

Augustine was convinced she was alone out here. At least, for the moment.

The field went on for at least a mile, ending at a line of trees that served as a boundary line connecting Midnight City to the Wastelands beyond. She had no reason to go any further, so she slowed the truck and shifted it into PARK, cutting the engine. The truck made a horrible clunking sound, and she wondered if it would start again when it was time to head home.

Then she sat in silence. The night was late—at least eleven, and the air was cold and smelled of pine and cow manure. It was a sobering smell, something Augustine enjoyed due to the fact it was one she had grown up with living on a farm.

This land had sat, abandoned, for years. Nobody else had seen the value in it. But there, in the middle of the field, stood a patch of tall grass. Something in the middle of it glowed bright, but it’s light was dimmed by the circle of grass surrounding it. Even from here, that beacon seemed to beckon her.

She opened the truck door, and the screeching sound the hinges made echoed through the moonlit field. She froze, hoping it hadn’t attracted the attention of any beast or killer. Then she realized how foolish that thought was and stepped out of the truck. As her sneakers touched the hard dirt surface, she felt a sudden pulse of energy. It was as if something…called to her.

Augustine left the truck door open—in case she needed a quick escape, she told herself – and started toward the patch of tall grass. She traversed the uneven terrain between, using the moon’s light to illuminate her path. She had to stop and skip here and there to avoid tripping on the large stones imprinted in the earth. She figured most of the rocks would have been kicked up during the tilling of the field, but she reminded herself that this field hadn’t been toiled in a very long time. Whoever had tried to plant in it must have realized the ground was not going to give up its life, and they probably moved on to other more abundant fields elsewhere.

As Augustine approached the tall grass, she felt her connection with whatever was there grow even stronger. She withdrew a small flashlight from the pocket of her cargo pants and shined the light on the blades of grass. They were blue in color—bright blue when shined upon—and looked soft. She wanted to touch them but wasn’t sure what it was she was looking at. She knew nothing of blue grass existing in Midnight City. What if it’s poisonous?

She pushed through the grass tendrils and moved inward toward the center of the patch. There, nestled in the center of its protective ring, stood a glowing white tulip. The light seemed brighter than the moon, and the tulip itself looked as healthy as any tulip she had ever seen. The curves of the flower’s petals gave off an elegant form, sensual almost. She could smell the scent of the tulip, and it was intoxicating. Strange too, as it was middle of winter, a time when tulips were not known to bloom.

Augustine knelt down and examined the ground beneath the flower. The soil was soft, moist, and dark – probably rich in minerals and nutrients. She examined the soil the grass blades resided in, and it was the same. It all looked healthy and ideal for plant life to grow, answering her question as to how plant life like this could survive in a field otherwise deplete of resources.

She stood to her feet, turning the flashlight off. She allowed the glow of the tulip to engulf her, engulf the blue grass blades around her. The flower seemed to sing to her a song of acceptance. It had summoned her here—she was sure of it.

Augustine pulled her phone from her coat pocket and dialed her assistant’s number.

“Augustine?” A young woman answered. “Is something wrong? It’s almost midnight.”

“Purchase the land east of Lorraine Hill.”

“What? There’s…I thought you said there was nothing there. We went together the other day. Don’t you remember?”

“Purchase the land. Immediately. Make sure all of the contracts have me as the sole owner.”

The woman’s groaning on the other side of the phone was an annoyance, but Augustine fashioned herself to ignore it right now. She was too excited, too enamored by her find. If someone had come out here to explore this, they would have taken it for themselves. Someone might have pulled that flower up from its roots, destroying it. But now Augustine had the opportunity to protect it. To cultivate it. To nurture it.

There was the sound of rustling papers on the other line. “The price on that land is—”

“I don’t care. Pay it.”

“I know it’s not my place, but you realize your funds are extremely limited? You don’t even have enough in savings to procure that land. Where are you-”

“Use the other account. The one I told you not to touch.”

“Isn’t that someone else’s—”

“Do it, please. Get those contracts to me to sign. Let’s get this done in the next couple of hours.”

“Next couple of hours? Really? It’s almost midnight, Rose. You woke me up, and you want me to contact this landowner and wake him up too?”

“Do what I asked.”

There was a long, irritating pause before the young woman replied. “Alright. Yes, alright, I can do that. I’ll have the contracts sent your way as soon as I have them.”

“Very good.” Augustine disconnected the call abruptly and shove the phone back into her jacket pocket. She didn’t even care if the truck ran. She didn’t care about anything but securing that land for herself and her future.

The alarm clock buzzed and blared, shimming itself across the small nightstand. It fell over the side, crashing to the floor while it continued to let out a harsh noise that cut through the peace of the morning.

“Shut up!” Harvey Elder groaned as he reached down to shut the infernal contraption off, but his hand missed the alarm and instead smacked a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs. He tried again, this time smacking his palm into the side of a beer can, tipping it over and causing it to vomit the remainder of its contents on the brown, already-stained carpet.

Harvey rolled to the side and tumbled out of the bed.  His body fell on a variety of different wrappers and drink containers, and he groaned again as he opened his eyes and spotted the insubordinate alarm clock. He smacked it as hard as he could with his palm, and the alarm stopped mid-blare, letting out one last electronic whine.

“Finally. Piece of junk.”

He slowly got to his feet, and then sat on the edge of his bed. The morning light pierced through his trashed blinds, another reminder that it was a new day. A fresh start. Another chance in this life he considered a prison.

He rubbed the stubble on his face and ran his hand through his short brown hair. The worst feeling in the world, he thought, was first waking up. A new day brought new problems. New irritants. New reasons to not want to continue forward in this life.

The small apartment suddenly shook. “Stop it!” Harvey yelled as the 9:10 train sped past his window. The tattered blinds shook and then the entire rod holding them up fell off the wall, landing on the floor.

Harvey shook his head and rubbed his eyes. His body ached. His head hurt. He couldn’t really remember what he had done last night. He remembered lying in bed, drinking. That was it. Apparently, he had also eaten his fair share of junk food. Cynthia had called him? No, he had called Cynthia.

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and scrolled through the call log.  He had definitely called Cynthia. Probably left a very stupid, very immature voicemail too.

He went to throw his phone on the bed when it suddenly rang. He looked down at the Caller ID and saw a number he had never seen before.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Harvey Elder. As I live and breathe, you actually live and breathe.” The voice was raspy and rough, most likely from years of smoking.

“Who is this?” Harvey stood to his feet. He liked to pace when he took calls, but his floor wasn’t going to offer him that option today. His room resembled a junkyard more than it did a living space at the moment.

“You wanted employment. Right?” The voice seemed to be hiding a cough. The caller was sick with something.

“I’m listening.”

“I have a woman who lives downtown. Wants someone to find her missing necklace.”

“C’mon, man. I don’t have time for stupid scavenger hunts. Who are you, anyway?’

“A…friend…of yours gave me your number, said you were looking for work. Also told me to be surprised if you actually answered.”

“Cedric? Yeah, he isn’t my friend.”

“Do you want the work or not? Help an old lady. Find some missing jewelry. Make some pocket change. Win, win, win.”

“That’s not a win, win, win. And my answer is no. When you have a real case for me, go ahead and send it my way. I don’t have time to help old ladies find their missing trinkets.”

“Well, you have my number if you change your mind.”          

Harvey disconnected the call and threw his phone on the bed. He felt the tension in his neck at the frustration of getting yet another call to find someone’s piece of junk jewelry or their missing pet.  When he ventured out into the entrepreneurial field as a private investigator, he thought he’d be called in to consult for the police department or have people hire him to find their missing loved ones. Instead, all he’d been getting for months were calls to hunt down objects of interest—mostly heirlooms, and search for missing cats. Why were so many cats going missing in Midnight City all of a sudden?

He stretched, listening to the joints of a forty-something-year-old crack, and then he moved through his morning routine: showered, dressed himself, ate a bowl of kids’ cereal that had gone stale from the package not being closed tight enough.

An hour later, he slid his overcoat on and stared at the main room, shaking his head at the sight of the mess. He knew he had to clean himself up. Drinking the nights away and avoiding work—any work—wasn’t going to get him very far. He reminded himself that searching for an old lady’s necklace was conceivably better than flipping burgers at Patty Time. Conceivably.

Harvey left his studio apartment and ventured into the city. His errands of the day included depositing twenty-dollars into his bank account to cover the thirteen-dollar overdraw, picking up his suit from the cleaners, and picking up some microwave meals from the grocery store to last him the rest of the week.

As soon as he finished his errands, the day had moved into night. Harvey returned home, cleaned up a bit of the place, and microwaved himself a bowl of macaroni and cheese.

Before he could sit down to enjoy his dinner, his cell phone rang. He saw Cynthia’s name on the Caller ID and cursed the world.

“Hello,” he answered, a heavy sigh in his voice.

“You called me last night, Harvey. Again. What did I tell you about that?”

“I don’t…I don’t remember calling you. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You left me a five-minute voicemail going into great detail about how much you hate that I’m with Gregory now. You’re lucky I didn’t let him listen to it.”

“I said I’m sorry. I just…I miss you, you know? And I get weird when I drink.”

“That explains why you’re always weird. I told you that we’re done. I left you weeks ago, and you need to learn to pick yourself up and create a new life for yourself. I do care for you, you know? But I can’t be your crutch. You have to want a better life for yourself. Pull yourself together. If Gregory were to find out about your calls, I promise he’d have you thrown in jail, with a restraining order.”

Harvey crossed his right arm across his stomach and stared out at the somewhat-clean room. Baby steps, he thought. I made some baby steps today.

“Find yourself some decent work. Refocus.”

“I’m trying. Some guy offered me a job hunting down necklaces.”

Cynthia scoffed at that. “You’re better than that. Much better. If you actually applied yourself, I’m sure you would make a great actual detective. You know, like you used to be?”

“I don’t want to work for others, Cynthia. You know that. Look, I just need time. Time to get things together. Maybe you and—”

“No, Harvey. No, you and I are done. Get that through your head. We’re done. You need to move on. The only way you’re going to make it through all of this is to accept that fact. I don’t hate you, I just find that I’m not compatible with your…means of living.”

He felt the sting of that last comment, but he brushed it off. She meant to say he was too poor to be with her, but she would never say that aloud.

“I’m sorry I left you another voicemail. I’ll work on that.”

“Thank you. Don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself. Goodbye, Harvey.”

Harvey listened to the phone disconnect and then set his cell on the kitchen counter next to his macaroni and cheese. Cynthia was right. He had to pull himself together. The drinking, the laziness, the inability to let Cynthia go. All of these were factors to his current failures. He just had to find a way out of it all.

At least it doesn’t smell like a homeless man relieved himself in here anymore. Mostly.