The Resurrection of Jeanie Turner

From the notes of Arthur Grimwald:

It is inconceivable what I have done resurrecting a young woman apprentice named Jeanie Lee Turner. In my alchemic ritual of raising someone from the dead, I have unleashed powers that I cannot control even as a master wizard of the tenth degree. There are times when I have a mortal fear of the powers I have brought forth.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Grimwald.” The police officer ordered as I followed him into an interrogation room. Already seated was a man in a suit and tie reviewing the notes I had written.

“Good evening, Mr. Grimwald, I am Detective Oliveira.” He spoke with a slight accent as he shuffled through the pages I had written without looking up at me. “Do you wish to tell me about Miss Jeanie Turner?” He said as he looked up at me.

“She was my apprentice.” I said in a single breath.

“Yes, you were very precise in the matter.” He smiled.

“She died in a automobile accident.” I added.

“So, you have written.” He held up a page of my notes. “Very tragic. She was so young.”

“I am aware of that.” I shook my head. He was trifling as he fished for facts that were not written.

“Your relationship was as you put it, professional.” He tilted his head to one side.

“You are trying to insinuate that our relationship was more than professional.” I was finding his prodding tedious at best.

“Was it?” He shrugged.

“It most certainly was not.” I put my fist under my chin. “If our relationship was anything more than professional, I would not have been able to perform the ritual.”

“What ritual was that?” He tilted his head in the other direction.

“I am a wizard in the tenth degree.”

“Which means what to us lay folks.” He forced a smile.

“As an alchemist, I have a wide range of powers.” I turned my head and sighed in frustration.

“According to your notes, you resurrected her.” His expression changed. His lips were pressed together and he squinted his eyes.

I sat there with my legs crossed and my fingers in my mouth as I tried to say something that would make sense.

From the notes of Arthur Grimwald:

I cleaned off the corpse and applied the ointment to her forehead with an upside down cross as I whispered the words from the large tome entitled Alchemy: Rituals, Spells and Curses. There was a chapter on Resurrection at the end of the large volume. It was as if I wasn’t supposed to see it, but I did. Miss Jeanie Turner lay lifeless on my table, still wearing the clothes she had been buried with. Jesus called Lazareth forth after he was three whole days in the tomb. The words he uttered are recorded in this chapter. I shall repeat this word for word to bring Miss Turner back from the dead. I did this ritual on a small rodent who had died from the poison in left by a tenant in the building. I managed to reanimate him for about three hours before he returned to his eternal sleep. I learned more since then as my plans are to bring Miss Turner back for a longer period of time.

“So, what happened, Mr. Grimwald? What happened to poor Miss Turner after you exhumed her body from the cemetery? “ He shrugged as his black pearl eyes dug into my skull.

What happened to Miss Turner should never be repeated, I thought to myself. Detective Oliveira would never believe a word I said if I told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“I have your notes.” He shrugged one shoulder this time as if he had no real interest in what was at stake, but he was playing a game the police play when they are interested in finding a motive. My motive was to bring her back so she could learn all of the secrets I had learned from some of the masters who were my teachers. “You can tell me, Mr. Grimwald. We have most of the information we need, but there are a couple pieces that are still quite fuzzy. I was hoping you could fill them in for me.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked already knowing what he wanted to find out.

“What happened? Did your ritual work? Did she start breathing like she did before her accident?” He afforded himself a quick grin.

“It worked.” I assured him.

“And then what?”

“There were complications.” I stared at my hands folded in front of me on the table.

“What sort of complications?” He sniffed.

“You don’t want to know.” I shook my head.

“I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered asking.” He leaned his head back.

I closed my eyes, but when I did the whole event seemed to come to life, just like Miss Turner did.

From the notes of Arthur Grimwald:

I had studied the texts from the Takwin from alchemical hermeticism of the Islamic philosophers like Jabir who believed that human life could be artificially created and according to the records he left behind in his Book of Seventy where he introduced the concept of the Philosopher’s Stone. The search for this sacred artifact eludes us to this day, the ritual has been developed by a long list of my predecessors. As I stand over her decaying body, I feel a force move within her body as I say the translated Arabic words that will make her breath again.

She stood up and opened her eyes, but there was nothing buy empty sockets where her eyes once were. But even without her eyes, she seemed to be able to see. Her bony hands reached out and wrapped her fingers around my throat. Her voice came from a deep place that reeked of an evil I had never encountered.

“Why did you bring me back?” Her voice raged from deep inside her rotting flesh. I fall to my knees unable to breath. “You will join us in the underworld.”

She told me what her life was really like and why she didn’t want to come back. When she was finished with her rant, she lets go my throat and sneers at me.

“How could you do this to me?” She howls before running through the door. She disappears in the night shadows as I stand there rubbing my sore throat.

“This is how it’s going to be.” Detective Oliveira stands, his eyes still watching me, “You will be held in custody and in the morning charges will be brought against you. At that time, we will have a public defender if you need one. Judge will determine the bail.”

“I have to stay here?” I gulped.

“Yes you do, Mr. Grimwald.” He nods as the police officer opens the door.

“Follow me.” The police officer says while his facial expression remains stoic. “I will take you to your cell.”

I follow the officer through the open door of the room and down a long narrow hall past some unoccupied jail cells. The officer stopped in front of a cell with an open door. He turns to me, “Home sweet home for the night.”

I walk in as he shuts and locks the door behind me.

Sleep does not come easy and when it does the dream is misty as I find Jeanie Turner stalking me through the fog.

In the morning when I wake, an officer delivers a covered dish which will be my breakfast. She puts it on a small table next to my cot.

“Good morning.” My eyes are barely open.

“Have you heard?” She asks before leaving my cell.

“Heard what?” I yawn.

“Detective Oliveira was murdered last night.” She opens the door and exits leaving me stunned. “They may ask you about it in the hearing an hour from now.”

“What is an hour from now?” I asked half-interested.

“Your preliminary hearing.” He answered as she walked away.

An hour later, I was led to the courthouse in chains. There were television cameras trained on me as I walked the block to the courthouse. I could hear voices shouting out questions when I heard the name of Detective Oliveira that made me skip a step. I turned to see who had said the detective’s name, but everyone wore blank expressions as I climbed the stairs to the glass doors. The police did not allow the press to enter my hearing, so I walked into the courtroom unmolested.

Once inside the courtroom, I was seated at a table where a man wearing a suit and tie had his briefcase open.

“Good morning, Mr. Grimwald, I’m your lawyer, Mr. Isaac Romel.” He was a young olive-skinned man who still hadn’t had his first shave.

I sat in the empty chair without saying a word as I glanced around at the unfriendly faces surrounding me.

Wearing a tailored skirt and jacket, a woman in high heels strode to the middle of the room addressing the judge sitting on the bench. In a very professional tone, she spoke, “Good morning, I’m Prosecutor Beverly Mantel and we are going to determine if Mr. Arthur Grimwald should be charged with murder.”

A silence fell over the courtroom. I turned to Isaac Romel and whispered, “Murder? Since when.”

“Relax, murder will hard to convince the jury.” He answered in a whisper.

“Easy for you to say.” I muttered.

The two lawyers spent an hour debating just how I was guilty of murder. Sitting suspended in limbo, I did my best to stay awake as Isaac and Beverly verbally jousted back and forth until I was called to the witness stand.

“Mr. Grimwald, please tell the jury what your occupation is precisely.” Beverly Mantel leaned in.

“I am an alchemist.” I answered.

“And please tell us what an alchemist does.” She smiled.

“An alchemist uses potions and spells to change other substances into something else entirely.” I knew my answer would muddle up the proceedings.

“Change things? Using potions and magic?”

“If you wish to call it that.” I nodded glancing out of the side of my eye at the expressionless jury.

“Could you tell us about Miss Jeanie Lee Turner.” She stood up right making sure she was facing the jury.

“She was hired as my apprentice. I was teaching her the finer practices of alchemy.” I coughed as my throat was parched.

“And what became of her?”

What a damnable question.

“She was killed in an automobile accident.” I nodded.

“And she was buried in St. Mark’s cemetery, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And what did you do about her demise?”

“I exhumed her body from the grave.” I swallowed hard.

“Did you have permission from the authorities to do such a thing?”

“I did not.” I shook my head. The gallery began to buzz with an undercurrent of shock.

“So, you took her body from her coffin and did what to her?” Beverly turned to look at me.

“Brought her to my laboratory.” I turned my head to see what reaction the jury has having. Most of them were sitting as they had before, staring at me without blinking.

“I used a potion and said some words over her body.” I closed my eyes so I would not have to see their expressions, “I had to rub in the ointment, but I had to be careful since her skin was as thin as paper and very delicate after three days in the grave.”

I heard the groans and gasps, but I would not open my eyes.

“What were the results of this peculiar ritual?”

“It worked.” I opened my eyes to look at her.

“What do you mean, worked?”

“She sat up.” I shook my head hearing what people were saying about this being an abomination of Satan.

“She sat up?” Beverly’s expression was that of amazement. Her mouth opened, but she was unable to form words.

“She was alive. She however was not happy to be returned to the land of the living.” I exhaled.

“How do know this?”

“Because she tried to strangle me.” I put my hands on my neck that still twinged from her deadly hold.

“It is odd that she did this, because Detective Oliveira was found in his driveway with his windpipe broken from being strangled. Funny how that happened to be what you claim she did to you.”

I felt as if another stone had been place over my chest.

“I was in jail last night.” My voice was harsh as I spoke.

“Yes, I know, but there are ways of controlling the dead through voodoo rituals.”

“I am an alchemist. I do not practice voodoo.” I stood up jabbing my finger in the air.

“Mr. Grimwald, please take you seat in the witness box, or I will have the bailiff return you to your jail cell.” The judge said calmly as he hit his gavel one time. I did as he ordered and sat down.

“Take a few minutes to compose yourself, Mr. Griswald.” Beverly Mantel requested.

“Water, please.” I bowed my head. Isaac poured a glass from the pitcher on the table and walked it up to me.

From the notes of Arthur Grimwald:

Jeanie Turner walked out of the door without opening it. She just knocked the door off its hinges. I was trying to catch my breathe before I could pursue her. Once I got to where the door had been, I could no longer see her.The darkness engulfed everything entirely. I called her name but heard no response. I feared for the safety of the surrounding neighborhood. What she had done to me; she could easily do to someone else.

She told me that she had been resting in peace when I disturbed her. Before she died she confided in me that her life was wretched for the most part. She had answered my advertisement in the newspaper because her significant other had thrown her stuff into the street and told her to leave. He shouted many unkind names as she collected her things. She was trying to turn her life around before her accident and working with me seemed promising.

I shall never forget what she said as she was strangling me, “Why did you bring me back? My death was bad enough and because of you, I will have to do it all over again. Why couldn’t you leave me alone? For the first time I can remember, I was where I wanted to be. There was no one to kick me out of the place I called home. My mother threw me to the streets when I was sixteen and pregnant. The kind sisters took my baby when I was in the hospital and said she’d be better off with a loving family. No one thought to ask me how I felt about this. Just like you didn’t ask me if I wanted to be resurrected. Now I have to go through this misery all over again. How could you do this to me?”

She let go. There were tears flowing from eyes that were no longer there.

“I will have a death mask for a face.” She screeched as she ran up the stairs from my laboratory. Those would be the last words I would hear her say. I tried to find her, but without success.

“So, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” Beverly leaned on the rail in front of them, “He has brought back a homicidal demon that will murder as she did to Detective Oliveira. Like the Manson girls did to Sharon Tate almost sixty years ago. What you must do is agree that Mr. Arthur Griswald must stand trial for murder.”

It was unanimous. I was going to stand trial for murder despite my efforts to find Jeanie Lee Turner. I know without a doubt she is hold up in some transient camp where no one knows who or what she is. I am guilty of this awful thing I have done to her and while I have not murdered anyone, I feel responsible for the victims that will come.

“Hey, I need you to sign this.” Officer Halley put a piece of paper in front of me on a clipboard, “Sorry about your preliminary earlier today.”

“It’s alright. I guess I had it coming.” I sighed. I saw a blank space for “date of birth.” I filled it in and handed to Officer Halley.

“Okay, are you trying to be funny?” He looked at me with his puppy-dog eyes, “Date of birth? Really?”

“October 15, 1739.” I nodded and wink.

“No, no, that can’t be right.” He shook his head furiously.

“I assure you it is.” I smiled as I leaned back against the wall, “When I started practicing alchemy, they had me arrested for witchcraft. I was tried and executed. My colleagues brought me back like I did for Miss Jeanie Turner. My resurrection was on July 10, 1766.”

I pulled the collar of my shirt down with two fingers so Officer Halley could see the scars of my execution when I was beheaded for witchcraft. The expression on Officer Halley’s face was priceless.