They say the Mutations come from the Devil. That either they’re here to test us or it’s the apocalypse and we’re all goin’ to Hell. Well now I ain’t ever had much use for religion, but through my life I’ve kept a healthy fear of the unknown and uninvestigated...people like to call that “superstition”. In my line of work, there’s no room to let superstition interfere until you need it to keep you alive. After all, everyone believes in somethin’ when they’re pinned down by enemy guns, right? Besides, there’s not much difference between that and a good old-fashioned hunch.

Anyway, in this crazy world we live in, you don’t get to the meat of things without keepin’ to the facts. You can’t make wild assumptions, or blame God or the Devil when it won’t bring you any closer to a solution. I don’t blame my problems on a bunch of intangibles...I solve my problems.

With all of that said, it appeared for all intents and purposes as though the guy on the floor had been struck by lightning.

The deceased, one Louis Frost, had been hardly recognizable when he was found inside Edward Albert Thorson’s workshop about three a.m. by a neighbor with a waderin’ streak and an insatiable urge to piss...or so the story goes. I went to “palaver”, as they say, with that neighbor, who had this to say:

“That there Thorson, I knew he warn’t up to no good in that there workshop. Crazy man, playin’ with springs n’ things when he oughta be out in his field...ain’t grown a lick o’ his own food since spring. Come to think of it, I don’t reckon he ever put that beautiful field to the use God intended.”

Open and shut, right? But I hadn’t forgotten what I saw when I looked over the body before I talked to this presumably well-meaning yokel. Frost’s eyes had oozed out and over his cheeks and nose like melted cheese. He was burned all over and still had a look of abject shock. Whatever hit him, he definitely wasn’t ready for it.

Checkin’ over the floor, I found prints leavin’ the scene from inside the workshop, past Frost’s fried corpse, dating roughly from a time long before three a.m. A more thorough workover of the body showed no signs that he’d been shot, and the burns didn’t match up with those that a guy might get if he’d been caught in a fire; added to all that, nothing in the workshop or the woods around it showed signs of a fire of the right size. Lastly, no one reported witnessing any type of crazy bonfire.

“Can’t say I entered his property,” Cletus Cutler responded, when I asked about the footprints. Then I hadda wait through some annoying jabbering about my interest in women when I asked for his shoe size. I explained that he’d go to the top of my list o’ suspects if he didn’t cooperate, so he quickly, grudgingly allowed me to measure him.

As a faithful reader o’ what Poe called “tales of ratiocination”, I can say I learned a thing or two from the main characters. The only difference is, whereas some o’ those guys might be willin’ to use trickery to throw off a mark, I’m generally more likely to give ‘em a punch in the nose.

Satisfied that his footprints didn’t match the ones in the workshop, I thanked Mister Cutler, lit up a cigar and left.

The town, Adobe Walls, didn’t offer much in the way o’ distractions, making it that much easier to focus on my job. Kinda place like this, though...trees, birds, streams and stones, the whole back-to-nature kaboodle...really makes you think about your place in the grand scheme o’ things.

My mind went back to that body, and I kept bein’ drawn to one thought: Frost couldn’t have been killed by another man.

So then what did it come down to? Struck by lightning inside the door of the workshop on, by all accounts, a clear night? He’d only been a few feet in and the door was found open, but what are the odds? Then I remembered Occam’s Razor, and objectivity, and my job. Then came the real nitty-gritty.

Guys in my line o’ work need to have an office. Mine was a pavillion-type tent in a clearing by the road into town. I took it with me as I traveled the countryside, ‘cause you never knew when you’d be in some outta the way place like this and need to hole up on your own. Inside I had all the equipment of my trade: Small desk, paper and pen, magnifying glass, spyglass, coffee pot, tweezers, corn meal mush, and other odds and ends. I got back after that first interview, and I ended up grabbing an item that was no stranger to people in my profession.

Swirling amber liquid around in front o’ me, I put the bottle back down on the corner of the desk and placed a glass next to it.

The way the color of light is changed passing through a bottle o’ rum is beautiful. Rum and its cousins in the alcohol world bring me insights into things few men dare think about...though most men are safer away from certain subjects. The point is, you wanna get to the bottom of a case like this, sometimes you gotta see things in a different light.

Well, I was gonna pour, and that’s when she pulled back my tent flap and shed some light on the subject. She was a comely, tall blonde with legs that made my tentpoles look like tree stumps. She walked by placing one foot right in front o’ the other like some kinda wiggly tightrope act, her white gown clingin’ to her like a creamy second skin, but bloomin’ out at the bottom in an array o’ pleats. I don’t expect that women in this sleepy town dressed that way every day.

If she was tryin’ to impress me, she didn’t have to try so hard. I’m not such a looker. Born handsome, maybe, but I got a nose that’s been broke more times than I can count, and my copper hair wasn’t exactly what you’d call thick, though I was a long way from goin’ bald. My baby blues mighta made some o’ the ladies swoon, and I’m built like an ironclad with just a bit of a paunch.

“You oughta be careful where you pitch a tent around here,” she purred by way of a greeting. “You never know who might take an interest.”

One side o’ my mouth turned up a little in a smirk. Lady had guts. Takin’ the cigar out and blowin’ a puff away from her direction, I said, “Mind if I ask who’s takin’ an interest today?”

She lifted her chin, not unkindly, and answered, “I am the Lady Jacqueline Marijohn Alexandria.”

She came to the desk, picked off a tight white glove finger by finger and offered me her hand. I gave the dame my best sidelong glance and slowly shook it.

“I’m afraid the only seat I can offer you’s this one,” I said, startin’ to get up. But she stopped me.

“Please keep your seat, Investigator,” she said. “I won’t be long.”

My eyebrows crept upward with anticipation. I offered the lady a cigar, knowin’ she’d refuse. She was the type who pretended to have class, and what’s more, I could already tell she was gonna pretend a whole lot else.

“I’ve come calling because I know Edward,” she explained. “He was our neighbor for ten years, was Edward. Hardly said a word to anyone, poor soul. But we—that’s my husband and I—we tried reachin’ out to him, we really did. I’d guess my husband simply got too close one night, went where he shouldn’t, and well...” she trailed off, and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “You wouldn’t know where Edward’s gotten to, would you?”

“No, ma’am. As far as I can tell, he fled the scene and possibly the area. On foot, I don’t wager he’s gotten so far I can’t catch up with him.”

She nodded once. “I see.” There was somethin’ about that look she had, like she was thinkin’ about something—or someone--far away.

“I do hope you’ll tell me if you find him. I’d like to see his face—the face of—of Mister Frost’s killer.”

“I can only do my job, ma’am. The rest is up to my professional discretion.”

Her face fell faster than a hooker’s skirt on Christmas Eve. She got up from the corner of my desk, all business, smoothed her dress, and said, “The town all think Louis’ death was the Lord’s work. Ain’t no way one man can shoot another with a bolt of lightning, is there?” The veneer of class was gone. Suddenly I knew I was dealin’ with a dame who ate nails for breakfast. But I smiled at her, friendly-like, and said, “I don’t buy that line o’ hooey. You can rest assured, I’ll find out what really happened. I won’t leave until I find a cause o’ death I can prove.”

Her face was a mask of ambivalence. All she did then was say “I wish you the best of luck,” and then march out the way she came in.

I knocked back a shot o’ rum. Hadda hand it to the lady. She knew how to make a guy doubt what was in his skull. If the guy who split the scene after Louis was struck down had been in front of him, how’d Louis get hit in the back?

So I was thinkin’ on that later when I mozeyed back to Thorson’s homestead. Was there some kinda clue inside this house that’d tell me what his deal was? Either he was involved or he was scared he’d be fingered for the crime. If he was just runnin’ scared, who was the culprit?

This town didn’t even have a general store. Closest thing was Mister Dooley. Franklin Dooley was the Mister Fix-It ‘round those parts, and he had some funny things to say about his man Thorson.

“Yee-uh, well, Edward was mostly quiet, but every once in a while he’d come down here lookin’ for strange things. Length o’ copper wire, glass...um, bulb, that kinda thing. And he’d suggest things ‘bout how I could fix everything from a barn door to a water—uh, water pump. Well, that was a new adventure o’ his or someone’s, I reckon. Tried to get me to set one up. Get it instilled. Yeah, anyway, nice guy. Quiet guy. Never out past ten, never out actin’ crazy, dancin’ that sort o’ thing.”

“Right.”

“They say you gotta keep an eye on a quiet man. Chances are he’s keepin’ somethin’ dark locked up tight in his head. Not like some o’ these KKK fellas. Least they let you know what they’re about.”

“Mister Dooley, I’d caution you against worrying too much about the affairs o’ quiet men. You’ll find out most often they’re peaceable people who’d just like to be left alone.”

Dooley turned his head to one side and gave me a squinty look, then said, “I reckon you’re a funny one yourself.”

“Maybe one day I’ll buy myself one o’ these funny little farms,” I remarked dryly. “In the meantime, tell me about Mister Louis Frost.”

He sighed. “If I’m gonna tell ya ‘bout Mister Frost, instead I should tell ya all about Missus Frost.”

I nodded for him to continue.

“Well, Jacqueline allus seemed like a lively little angel growin’ up.”

I noted the name, but kept my face straight. It seems I’d met the dead guy’s woman and not even realized it!

“I went off to fight in the war, and when I came home, she was married at the tender age o’ sixteen. Louis was ten years older an’ generally respected all about the town, but he couldn’t go an’ fight on account o’ the trouble with his right leg. Everywhere he went, that man carried an iron walkin’ stick. Carried a mighty chip on his shoulder, too.

“Anyway, as concern Jackie, well, I come back and she’s a different person! There’s them that says marriage calms a lady down, but I been married this thirty years, and I can tell ya,” he chuckled. “Anyhow, she warn’t the same person. Looked haunted, acted all quiet like her husband. The other men who used to talk to her’d still tip their hats and give her a ‘how d’ya do’, and she’d not stop. The other ladies acted like wasn’t nothing the matter when they’d strike up a conversation, but all the gentlest of gentlemen’d be cut short like she had to hurry home; though she allus had to hurry home. Didn’t see her outside but once a fortnight if we was lucky, unless she’s out hangin’ clothes or fetchin’ water.

“Bout Louis? Ain’t much else to say.”

I thought about askin’ Dooley what he suspected was goin’ on, then thought better of it. I had the same hunch as any guy would at this point, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t dirty up the facts with Dooley’s opinions.

“One more thing, Mister Dooley. Do you know where Louis, Edward and Jackie all were the night o’ the murder?”

He seemed to think this was a strange question. “Reckon they was all at home.” He plucked a sprig of mint and began to chew on it while fixing me with an odd stare. I thanked him and left. It was time to find Edward.

The way my blood was boilin’ by the time I marched up to Jackie’s place, it’s a wonder I didn’t bust the door in. Guess it took me a while to learn the finer points o’ diplomacy, ‘cause I knocked pretty loud...but she opened up, so it don’t make no nevermind in this case.

“Can I help you?” she asked sweetly, but all I tasted was bitterness.

“Where’s Edward?” I shot back, my voice firm and forceful.

She blinked like an owl tryin’ to solve arithmetic. “I haven’t the foggiest notion!”

“Listen, lady, I’m in no mood. I got a stiff needs justice served for him, and reason to think the stiff’s widow knows buckets more than she’s lettin’ on. So let’s haul out those buckets and spill, pr else things are gonna get real tough for you, understand, sugar?”

Well, that didn’t mellow her so much as it set her to tremblin’. Now I don’t make light of a girl’s feelin’s, that’s a fact. But I don’t make light of a murder investigation either. So when she started to cry, I offered her my handkerchief and she invited me in.

“I can’t say where Edward’s gone to,” she explained. “But it seems you’ve nailed one detail I can’t escape from. You see, Edward and I were engaged in an affair that...oh, by God, you won’t tell everybody, will you?”

“Ma’am, that depends entirely on what I find out. If you’re innocent in the case o’ the murder, it may not be necessary.”

There’s times when honesty ain’t a real bright policy, and this coulda been one o’ them. As it turns out, though, she kept talkin’. Guess she’d been needin’ to tell someone all this for a long time. A sympathetic ear—now, that policy never fails.

“Oh,” she quavered, “Louis could be a kind man, when he wanted to be. But he was cruel, too. It’s just, you see, life had been so hard on him, so I couldn’t blame him for how he was when he was,” she sobbed, “was upset. Even so, a lady needs comfort, and happiness, and the passion of joy that he, well, he didn’t feel. He had his moments when he would smile and laugh, hold me in his arms and call me sweet names. It’s just...there was always a darkness hovering around us. He could change at any moment. If anything threatened our—his—happiness, he’d tense and change. And it could be anything. Well, I needed a different experience. I found that in Edward.

“Edward’s not like other men. He’s private. But that doesn’t mean he’s not also passionate, and opinionated, and even headstrong, in his own way. Why, no one but me could even have guessed that...that...”

Her eyes changed in that moment, as if what she was about to say had to be locked up behind a face like a stone keep. I leaned close to her. “If you got somethin’ to say, now’s the time. Or else I gotta turn your life upside-down to find it.”

I hadda stare her down when she gave me a look o’ contempt and hoped she could guilt me into backin’ down. Don’t often work when I’m right.

“It’s just that he fancies himself a scientist, is all. He, I think, called them ‘experiments’. That’s what the shed was all about.”

“Right.” I stood up. “Don’t skip town. I’m gonna check out that shed.”

Without further ado, I headed straight for Thorson’s little workshop. Now if I was right, if he had somethin’ goin’ on with the Jacqueline woman, well, he hadn’t gone far in the space of a day. He’d find it hard to skip town without sayin’ goodbye, and even then...well. But before I figured out how to man the dragnet to find him, I figured I’d better look things over.

So first things first, I stepped on somethin’ outside by the door. Looked like a post had been knocked over. Funny thing about it? Only thing on it was a small mirror which, by the way it’d fallen, woulda faced the inside o’ the shed.

Okay, so what? I thought. This where he shaves? But it was only as high as a man’s chest...or the spot between the shoulder blades where Louis’d been struck.

Okay...so how’s a man get struck by lightning with a mirror?

Now, sure, I ain’t stupid. I heard and seen some o’ what some men are doin’ harnessin’ the power of electricity and all that. But what’re the odds that some hillbilly in this podunk town west o’ nowhere’d figured it out?

Inside, it got crazier. See, the guy had light bulbs and wires and other kindsa sophisticated stuff on the table, and tools on the workbench, on the floor, everywhere. Plus diagrams pinned on the walls, and two metal poles on either side o’ the bench that were stuck straight up through the floor. Now I ain’t a scientist. So, you ask me where the magic all comes from, I couldn’t tell ya. Thought it was pretty fishy, though, with not a single possible source o’ lightning power that I could recognize.

Used to be, our ancestors thought lightning was a lotta things. God, expressin’ anger at us mortals for, I dunno, killing and other sins. Or the gods fighting on Olympus, somethin’ like that. A titan stole fire from the gods and gave it to us, and he was treated to an eternity o’ torment. Wonder what happens to a regular guy steals lightning from and gives it to us ordinary folks? Held me breath when I thought maybe I was gonna find out. Edward learned a thing or two about the stuff, and the husband o’ the woman he loved was killed with it; act o’ God my foot.

Well, he wasn’t around his workshop now, so I loaded my gun and got his trail after a quick lunch; wasn’t too tough. Just hadda match up his prints with those on the workshop floor. Little Plaster o’ Paris, and boom!

If I told ya that I knew what to expect, I’d be a liar and a half. Not only did I not know, but if you gave me a clue and a thousand guesses, I’d never nail it.

I came up to a clearing way off the beaten path, every now and then spottin’ a scorched patch o’ ground or a tree that’d seen better days. Gotta tell ya, my hand stayed near my revolver and my wits stayed sharp. Somethin’ moved, my head snapped around and my arm tensed to draw. This guy mighta made, I dunno, a lightning gun. I thought any second I could wind up as an incinerated investigator.

Well, he stepped out from behind a tree like a frightened lamb. To his credit, I only saw his hands shaking a little, and hell, from the conflict in the man’s eyes, it might just as easily have been pent-up fury.

“Lotta people wonderin’ where you got off to,” I announced. When he just stayed stuck to the spot, I thought he could be in shock. Okay, poor choice o’ words. Still, thought I’d test the waters. “You might not be in any trouble, see. If you come along quietly, I can make sure you get treated fair and square.”

Now he smiled. He looked like he wasn’t ready to believe me, and there was irony written all over him. “I can’t. I have to stay away. But I don’t expect you to understand.”

There wasn’t real commitment in his voice, but my words could push him either way no matter what I told him to do.

“Listen, pal, you stay on the run, try to fight, it just gets worse. That’s no threat, pal, because I don’t personally wanna hurt anyone. But, you know, you’re in a damn funny spot. People think you killed Louis Frost, and people don’t sit back and put their feet up when they think a killer’s gettin’ away.”

I picked that moment to close the gap between us, and he pointed a shaking finger at me.

“Stay back!” he cried. I stopped. “So,” he threw his hands out to both sides and let them drop, “how’d I do it? Man was electrocuted, from what I saw. Unless you think I can throw bolts of lightning.”

That one caught me off-guard. Not that you wouldn’t expect anyone in his situation to say it, but because...

Nah.

He kept talkin’, full of adrenaline, tryin’ desperately not to fight and not to run. Both could end bad for him. “I suppose I am Mighty Zeus, now, raining down punishment from on high!” He laughed a nervous laugh. “Why not arrest the whole town! Accuse us of being runaway Olympians who are plotting to overthrow the United States! Yes! Do us all in, why don’t you? You’ve nothing to go on, so you’ve chosen to harrass me, while all I intend to do is remove my obviously disturbing presence from a scenario which is already bad!”

“Alright, that’s it!” I drew my gun, and he brought his arm up too. Thank God I dodged his aim, but he wasn’t armed with a gun. Somethin’ bright and hot seared past my cheek with a loud clap and a buzzy hummin’ sound. My heart thudded like a Chinaman on a railroad line, and then I hadda shoot. Didn’t aim, just shot, and took him in the solar plexus. He dropped like anybody else would, but I was careful.

When I heard his breath rattle in and out for a dozen or so seconds, I thought it might be safe to approach. My pretty mug musta floated into view when he said, “You will...never know...what you’ve just cost humanity.”

It was my turn to be in shock. My hands still gripped my gun tight enough to almost drip sweat, but I didn’t even feel them. A guy’d just shot lightning at me. I wanted a good look at him.

Just an ordinary guy. Short chestnut hair, green eyes, thin, average height...he was different only in that he had that look smart people get—I mean, really smart people—when they lose it. He grinned at my gape-mouthed expression.

“...and the mortal...gazed down in awe at the god he had slain. The...god who had stolen lightning from the sky, with the promise to give it to man. Oh...but now he would...never fulfill his...destiny. For man is an...impulsive, capricious creature. Never able to appreciate a gift....look a gift horse in the mouth...call it Mutation...kill it. I wonder...will I go to live with the other lightning bolts...when I pass?”

I knelt beside him. Numbly put the gun on the ground.

“Tell me what happened, and maybe you’ll get a fair shake on the other side. Gimme a confession. I listen good.”

Did I have a clue what I was yammerin’ about? Not a one. But it sounded good, and I hoped I was right.

“I was entertaining an affair with his wife. He found us out, and came to confront me. He didn’t know I would be in my shed. All day long, the electricity builds inside me, like I’m a living generator. At the end of each day, I must release it, or else it comes out as a burst which can do a lot of damage. The two rods by my workbench...I grip them with my hands...channel it into them. I was about to...that night...when he surprised me. I keep...mirror for...self-defense and experimentation. But...not meant to kill. Too much...too much...”

“Hey, an accident? That’s what I like to hear.” I wanted to sound glib, but I don’t think I tried hard enough.

“An...ac...cident...”

He locked eyes with me in that moment of what coulda been absolution. Then, when he breathed his last breath, a stream o’ lightning blasted outta his eyes, streakin’ to the nearest cloud. I didn’t know what to make of it, but my eyes were drawn away at the last second when I felt a tiny shock where the back o’ my hand almost touched his arm. I recoiled and realized it was just static.

But was he just givin’ me static...or somethin’ more?

When I went back to town, it was like I was seein’ it with new eyes. Always is that way when ya solve a case. Suddenly all the secrets of a place and the people who live there are laid bare, but this was different. I told myself it’s just because it was the weirdest damn case I ever took apart. Well, then she came out to talk to me. It was the most gorgeous sight I’d laid eyes on in a month, though it coulda been her red dress. She saw that I looked shaken, and worry clouded her features.

“I found him,” I explained gently. “He put up a fight, but in the end he...explained that it was an accident.”

I put my hand on her arm to comfort her, but reflexively pulled it away when I passed on a burst o’ static. Her eyebrows shot up like it meant somethin’ to her, but she didn’t say nothin’, and that was that.

“He went in peace.”

As I packed up my things to head for the nearest sheriff’s or post office to scope out their wanted posters, it hit me that I might think about a change o’ tune. Most guys in the P.I. business don’t exactly got the stomach for Mutation-related cases. It ain’t that I’m some kinda crusader, but it occurred to me there might be money to be made by acquirin’ a specialty...even if it scared the bejesus outta me.

The other part of it’s that this case raised a lotta new questions for me, ‘bout where Mutations come from and where we all end up when we die. Not that I’m scared or nothin’, but hey—a man’s gotta have a hobby. I figure the two questions are connected. If they are, I wanna get as close as I can to figurin’ it all out.