Many of my family members suffered with dementia. It manifested late in life. What’s really important to me are the good memories which remain. The funny mistakes, the oops. Laughing so hard we snort beverages out our noses.

The good memories stay, the bad ones drift away.

My father disappeared through Alzheimer’s Disease. He no longer remembered my sisters or me. While he lived, he could still repeat his favorite stanza of a nursery rhyme.

“Wire, briar, limberlock
,

Three geese in a flock
,

One flew east,


One flew west,


One flew over the cuckoo’s nest”

The last line becoming the title of the book and movie, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

A fitting rhyme for someone with Alzheimer’s Disease.

When my father left our family, his not remembering me faded. What remains: Blowing bubbles in our milkshakes, fishing on the open ocean and puking up our lunches—and reciting nursery rhymes.

At the end of your life, what will you remember? Will you remember the things that made you laugh? Will you remember the things that made you cry? Will you remember the ones you love? Will you look back with regret, with pride, with joy?

What will you find within yourself?

“Wire, briar, limberlock


Three geese in a flock
One flew east,


One flew west,


One flew over the cuckoo’s nest”

Manifest what remains.

#manifest, #prosechallenge

Veteran Seattle homicide detective, Melissa Hunter stooped under the crime scene tape strung from the west side of Pioneer Square’s Pergola. Her long time partner, Edmond Gammond followed.

The late night February rain washed blood into the sewer. Hunter stepped over the stream.

The flashing red lights from the coroner’s vehicle strobed through the downpour.

“Hey Hunter, aren’t you on vacation?” Officer Chang asked.

“And now I’m not,” she said. The slap in her voice made Chang step back.

Gammond punched her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she said, nodding to Chang. “What have you got?”

Chang looked at his notes. “Caucasian male, homeless, 25, torn in half.” He gulp some air. “The top half is under the Pergola. The bottom half, over there.” His stylus shaking, pointing to the other side of Yessler Way at the splayed human wreckage.

Water dripping from the brim of his SPD baseball cap, Gammond asked with a bass-buttered voice, “Anything else found?”

“A half smoked joint,” Chang said, shrugging his shoulders.

Gammond scowled. “Like the others,” he said, under his breath to Hunter.

Scanning the surrounding street, Hunter asked, “Do we know the approximate time of death?”

“We know the exact time. One-thirty-nine A.M.. About ninety minutes ago,” Chang said, rocking on his feet. “We have witnesses. A homeless woman and her two teenage kids. Parked in that sand-colored Subaru wagon across the street.” Chang nodded over his left shoulder. “They’re freaked out. We sent ’em to Harborview after we got their statements. They must’ve been tripping on something.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter asked, her voice dropped half-an-octave.

“They said the Devil came and ripped the guy in two.” Chang licked his lips. “Ten feet tall, horns, tail, hooves for feet. They said he looked right at ’em with his black eyes, winked, and ran toward Fourth. Patrol’s searching the area.”

Hunter ran her fingers through her long, rain soaked, silver-blond hair.

Chang stared at her. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It’s one of your whack job perps on the loose, right?” He shuddered, checked over his left shoulder, faced her. His voice trotted up the scale like a young teenage boy, “Only one of your perps could do this, right? You’re gonna get him, right?”

Hunter rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath and huffed. “Always.” She walked under the Pergola.

Gammond put his hand on her shoulder. “Whatcha thinking?”

“Anything weird happen while I was gone?” Hunter asked, studying the torso.

Gammond scratched the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. His brown eyes lit up. “Yeah, a break-out at the Moore Theater four days ago.”

“A Break-out?”

“Nothing taken, but the door to the alley—damaged from the inside.” Gammond wiped the dripping water from the brim of his cap. “Got any ideas?”

“None that make sense.”

“Ockham’s razor?”

Hunter snorted. Her voice snide. “Why do you always do that? Ockham’s razor.” She leaned over the body. “Five bodies in four nights. All homeless. Pot at every scene. Each vic torn apart. No witnesses, until tonight. Description of a corporeal demon.”

“One of ours?”

Hunter’s head shot up. Anger spread across her violet eyes. Her voice terse. “No.”

Gammon held his hands up. “Just speculating.”

“Why now?” Hunter stood. Rubbing the back of her neck, she said, “There’s nothing to be gained. No religious festivities. No planetary alignments. No harmonic convergence.” She zipped her SPD Gore-tex jacket. She looked around. Chang joined the coroner’s crew speed-smoking cigarettes. She tugged her right earlobe. She looked at Gammond. “You carrying tonight? The real stuff?”

“Always.”

“Good, because I’ve got that feeling.”

Gammond’s shoulders slump. “I hate it when you get that feeling.”

The Medical Examiner joined Hunter and Gammond under the Pergola. He took a long drag on his cigarette. Exhaled. “Hunter, you two about done here? I need to get this body back to the morgue.”

“Yeah.” Hunter nodded. “Send me the report when you’re done”.

A wolf howled under the viaduct north of their position.

The hairs on Hunter’s arms stood up. Her stomach churned. She grabbed her gun.

The M.E. jumped. Eyes wide.

Gammond’s head whipped toward the sound. He pulled out his gun. “There aren’t any wolves in Seattle”.

A primal scream pierced the rain.

Hunter shoved the M.E. out of her way. “Gammond, you've got my six.”

She sprinted two blocks to the viaduct. Her lungs aching. Gammond far behind.

Another scream.

She pushed. Pumping her arms, hard. Thighs burning. Lungs on fire. She rounded the corner under the viaduct.

Two blocks north, a high pitched scream—cut short. The demon, his back to Hunter, held his victim by the throat.

“In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti praecipio tibi est ad me . . . I command you to face me,” Hunter said, panting. She stopped twenty feet from the demon. Gun drawn.

He tossed the body onto a car—and faced her.

Hunter vomited in her throat. She clutched her stomach. Lowered her gun. Coughing, she asked, “Ascodell, why are you here?”

“Momma,” his black eyes gleaming under the street lights, “I missed you.”

“Didn’t Balian give you my message?” Her voice faltered.

“Balian.” His voice trembled. “He said you’re ashamed of me. He said you wouldn’t see me because I’m a half breed. He said you don’t even know who my father was. I figured if I crossed over and killed the stench to proved my love for you, you’d remember when you loved me and bend the rules just this once.”

“Ascodell, I’ve always loved you.” Pain shattered Hunter’s china doll mask. “I was on my way to see you. And I love your father too.”

Tears rolled from Ascodell’s black eyes. He shook his head, lips quivered, arms outstretched.

Hunter raised her gun and fired a single round. Her youngest child fell to the ground. Her legs collapsed. She crawled to him and cradled him and rocked him.

Gammond arrived, gasping. He fell to his knees next to her.

“Edmond, we didn’t loose one child tonight—we lost both.” Her voice filled with bone melting grief.