All things that were born owe a debt. A building owes its financier plus architect. A human owes its biological parents. A computer program owes its programmer. Some debts are called in; some are not. Some parents call in their debt by pushing their children into what said parents wish they were. Some parents feel the debt is paid by the child's first breath and they joy of watching them grow, no matter the fate. A building or computer program's life equals their function or the payment they are due. Investigative reporters... owe many; our only payment is a story but our need is the infinite number of truths held by humans in themselves or various devices. Truths of such value or quantity, we can never have enough money to pay for our power to protect from the unknown negatives in the future of the truthteller, consequence. But what happens when you owe someone a debt you can't pay?
I didn't know the answer to said question driving to a reading of Rex Pietra, internationally known poet; his birth name is Rinaldo; he had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket; he wasn't married but all his girlfriends, in the various regions where humans lived, vouched for his character; yet, none of that explained why one person attending each of his poetry readings, in the current tour, has gone missing. The internet hash tagged it #RPPSK, some pronounce it "rip piss", but it stands for Rex Pietra Poetry Serial Killer. Some have tried to record the readings or follow the attendees, or follow themselves after being at the reading. But none of the missing were recorded at the time they were last seen.
I drove five blocks from Imperium Tavern and walked to the mad scene. International news networks, online influencers, betting app pundits, and other media folk, were all settled, their cars on the Tavern's block, their bodies plus teams taking up the outdoor sitting area for the Tavern. Inside was a packed house, so that the barmaid couldn't bring the beer, so that only those at the bar could get drinks. The police had a barricade for viewers outside, repeatedly telling them to go home, for their own safety. I got by the police with my freedom of the press badge and overhear media folk talk about the witnesses to the reading, while none of them enter the Tavern to hear. The last two murders were not listeners, who are all recording themselves but media folk who didn't record themselves, and went missing. I realized this was my chance.
At the door I mentioned I am a friend of K. The doorman asked me for a password. I replied: "Amen for three." I was let in, and the luck of having my old school mate Kirby Hooper as the bartender today is a debt I probably will not be able to repay. After I squeezed through folk, I went to the bar and sat down. I waited till K noticed me, and we each gave the gesture only we would comprehend. I listened to Pietra while I waited.
"Next, I will read the sonnet, The Stone In Me...
When did my blood cure my soul
When a child, maldict upon
When a teen, wish for no toll
When a man, want to be done
When can my curse change its goal
When fate rupt through as swift bon
When merit fill my ow'd role
When time exhaust all eon
When will you know, why you soon
When you face an equus rule
When one witness is the moon
When no recite from a tool
When you heard this private boon
When your stone side nature duel "
And people clapped, and Pietra spoke more and more people clapped. Finally, the reading was done. All the attendees inside left while streaming. One of the media people wanted to interview me. She asked if I will keep some sort of recording device on me, as I am the only person who witnessed the reading that didn't have a livestream feed. I told them I wanted to find the killer for Renaissance News. And, I left to speak to K.
I noticed K had cameras about the bar, and I thanked him for helping me get in; he warned me not to go find the kidnapper; I told him someone has to. Everyone knew one viewer disappears off camera after hearing a reading. Pietra had already given interviews stating he didn't know what happened. But luckily for me, another person I owe, Doctor Williams, was asked to look at the forensic evidence by the Federal Bureau of Investigation [ F.B.I.]; she told me, the only thing the federal investigation had for a clue was a particular dust appeared at each site; she thought from the photos it must be stone, crushed into a dust; but on observation in a lab, she realized the dust came from petrification; her evidence was a lack thereof. The dust had the composition of petrified remains through the process of replacement alone, which unlike when permineralization is more present, has little to none of the original specimen. Without any biological proof in the dust or the ability to recreate the petrified structure, the case was cold. Williams told me her theory is that whatever is acting petrifies the individuals in a process using only replacement that completes in at most a minute, based on the time individuals have gone missing coupled with the time needed to completely crush the petrified into dust; I asked her, does she have any ideas of what could cause this to happen; she replied, Medusa's head atop a road roller. I knew the legend of Medusa, the guardian, and I knew, in reaction, what I had to do.
I thanked K and left him in Imperium Tavern, while I had a live stream of me on myself. The one viewer, whomever they were, kept me safe. I prepared my mirror and drove to an empty lot. I exited the car with my camera and prepared to end the livestream. I had no idea what to expect, but figured to not look through anything but the mirror. I cut off the live stream.
Instantly, I heard hoofs on concrete. I turned to get my mirror reflecting the direction the hoof sounds came from. The sounds got louder and louder, too quick for me to position the camera or think of a question to ask. It was right on me, and I jumped hard wide, with my eyes closed. I knew I needed to get a live feed or a phone call. But even before that, I needed to stay clear of the horseman. I dodged it and it turned to run at me again, and again.
I saw in the mirror fragments of a single form. I realized later is a female centaur with long hair the texture of a horse mane, bare breasted, a long apron tied at the waist of her human torso. I started to fatigue, and fell down on a side, with not enough speed to evade. And the phone rang; I was too busy trying to hear hoof steps and let it ring a number of times. Eventually I picked up the phone and it was Santos; she told me I had asked her to call at ten forty-seven p.m. In my fear of fatigue, I forgot; I owe her; I thanked her and asked her to stay on the phone till I start another live stream; she did and i told her I owed her another; she said she will collect but she needed sleep for Miguel Flanagan is returning to the show "Alto Savana" and she has an early morning interview. We bid each other well and I went to my hotel.
No photo, no video, no security camera recording. My memory recall a medusa, a guardian, whose mirror image I only saw, while I dodged her houses. The next day, I listened for the news, none of the viewers died. I called Williams and she told me, the F.B.I. have not contacted her about any new occurrences of dust; I told her what only my memory recorded; she said it explains the dusty remains of the petrification explaining: after the individuals saw the creature, it trampled on them; I comprehended her logic but I didn't comprehend what was being guarded. The Doctor had no idea of what could be guarded but only Pietra would know. I stayed in the hotel for five days and twelve hours and fifteen minutes with the live stream on, when news media reported Katy Morcegos, who viewed the Pietra reading I did, had gone missing. I had my mirror ready and cut off my live stream. And nothing, no hooves or sounds. I wasn't fully convinced and went into the garage, and I recognized the camera. Then I drove aside the highway, on the way home. I stayed till the dark, when no cars were about. The trees echoed sounds of life amidst them. I finally accepted I owed another, Katy Morcegos, and like so many debts I wouldn't be able to repay.
A month passed and others went missing who saw Pietra read. I published my story and my suspicions that a gorgon was behind it all; I can't say how many read it, but no emails or letters came in about it.
Six months after Pietra had his last reading of the deadly tour, he said he was going away.
I don't know what happened, but a month after, Pietra went missing. I asked the doctor if she found any dust and she said no. But if the legends are true and gorgons are immortal. Then whatever Pietra owed them would have to be collected someday.
CHARACTER LIST
Marcus Preacher- narrator, investigative reporter for Renaissance News
Rex Pietra- author
Kirby “K” Hooper | Barkeep [ Tumblr is @homesickhalfling]
Doctor Williams- friend of Marcus Preacher
Santos- female reporter for entertainment news, Renaissance News
