Carkeek Park: The Psychic
The Evergreen Echo
July 31, 2019 – 12:00 p.m.
The police department started taking Opal seriously after she helped them with their last three cases. Finding a missing child would be a literal walk in the park after catching a serial killer, saving the life of a wrongly convicted man, and uncovering a string of hit-and-runs terrorizing Queen Anne.
The captain called her to the parking lot of Carkeek Park Beach around noon. An open field, cradled by a crescent of evergreens, had people sprinkled throughout. The grass quivered in the summer breeze as the sun bore down on everyone bobbing through the barricades and the towering trees.
“Missing child,” Captain Long said. “This is the mother.” His red hair was pulled back into a slick bun. Opal knew he meant business.
With her hands folded and her eyes closed, Marina mumbled something to herself. Opal could make out only two of the words: Jesus and please.
“Hello. I’m Opal. Can you tell me what happened?”
“My son August and I came to the park for a picnic. As I was setting everything up, a cargo train sped by, and then he was gone,” the young woman worriedly explained.
Opal gazed at the train tracks that split the forest and the shoreline.
“I will find your son. I promise.”
2:30 p.m.
Mr. Bubble’s white van, covered with blue, pink, and purple bubbles, was parked when Opal arrived. His purple beard drifted down his face, a dark maroon velvet top hat sat on his head, and his tie-dyed shirt shimmered like a colorful beacon for all the children. Mr. Bubble wasn’t a clown per se but close enough. He had pastel chalk laid out on the sidewalk along with a giant bubble wand.
“Did you see the missing boy?” Opal inquired.
“Can I see his picture again?” he asked kindly.
Opal flashed the wallet-sized picture to him that Marina gave her.
“He may have been here. I think he drew that picture right there.” Mr. Bubble said, gesturing to the chalk drawing closest to the playground.
Opal made her way over to the masterpiece and knelt. The drawing consisted of green trees, a boy playing, and a black shape with red eyes behind the tree line. She drew her own version of it in her emerald green notebook that accompanied her to every case. She plucked her white cotton glove from her right hand and picked up the closest piece of chalk. She twirled it in her hand. Nothing.
Opal continued to scour the scene. She looked down and saw a paladin figurine on its side. It wore shiny platinum armor and carried a mammoth sword with two hands. Is this August’s? she thought. She picked up the lonely hero. At once, her eyes flashed bone white as they clouded in a fog.
In her vision, she watched August drawing on the ground. Then she saw a black shape watching from the tree line, its eyes glimmering like rubies. Suddenly, a stick of chalk snapped in half. The paladin fell to the ground, bouncing hard. Opal returned to the ways of reality. The switch between the two always gave her chest pains, but her heart always hurt more if she didn’t try.
She looked up to the trees and swore she saw a silhouette from the residue of her vision.
5:00 p.m.
Opal didn’t always have to touch things to trigger a vision; her other senses were susceptible as well. Sometimes a smell or an emotion was enough.
She walked along the bare train tracks, remembering what August’s mom said: Would he have followed the train?
Just then, Opal saw something next to the metal tracks. It was a black bird figurine with monk attire clutching a wooden staff. In the distance, she heard the humming of a train whistle. She ran for the monk and cradled it in her hands. The train sailed across her frame, the weight of the air pressing and the sound growing louder. She fell to her knees and covered her ears while the monk guarded her. The sound bellowed, vibrating her body and the trees themselves.
She saw a glimpse of August running along the trail parallel with the train tracks further into the labyrinthine forest. Then Captain Long yanked her arm back to reality. Opal’s gaze snapped back, noting the train was completely gone.
“What are you doing out here?” Long asked.
“Following my gut,” she stated as she stood facing the woods, preparing to go deeper.
The Evergreen Echo
Dusk
The park was a hidden gem. Many people didn’t know it existed, but when someone stumbled upon it, they didn’t forget it. The river flurried through the forest and flowed into a secluded marsh. Opal listened to the running water filter through as she walked the wooden bridge until it bled into stillness. Tall trees surrounding the marsh stuck out like jagged toothpicks. A dam huddled over the water, appeared to be abandoned. Her hope wavered. Was there any sign of August’s life left?
Opal peered at the two figures she’d found, the paladin and the monk, and placed them on the ledge of the bridge.
“What do you have to give me?” she whispered to them.
12:05 a.m.
Opal’s psychic trail grew cold. Many of the volunteers went home; a new batch was scheduled for the morning. Her sheer determination was often stronger than her psychic ability.
“August!” Opal cried as the wind howled and the stars radiated in the Seattle sky.
A little boy tentatively emerged from behind a tree, his raven hair disheveled and his hands coated in dark blood and dirt.
“August?” Opal asked. She reached out her hand to see if he would take it. He reluctantly grabbed her hand, smearing blood on her white cotton glove. Hard to tell if the blood was his or someone else’s. She took the glove off. The blood had seeped onto the surface of her skin.
August opened his other hand to reveal the last of his heroic trio: a druid with deer antlers and a dark purple cloak. He placed the figurine into Opal’s hand and let it do the talking, as though he knew.
Eyes white. A vision. Marina sitting at the edge of the bed. Her husband screaming. And little August staring at the closed iron door from inside a dog cage.
“We were just fine being us two!” Marina yelled.
“Couples are supposed to have kids,” his father spat back.
A flash of light as fog rolled into a new scene. Marina setting up the picnic blanket, the picnic basket spilling, and the horn from the train blaring like an owl screeching for dinner. Little August darting for the woods and, more importantly, to freedom.
Then she saw the cloaked, red-eyed figure finding August in the forest. “Your mother didn’t see you run off. But I did.”
August turned to face him. Opal’s mind moved closer.
“She’s looking for you. So is another lady,” he continued to speak, moving closer to the boy. August took a step back. This time, the shadows began to disperse and the man’s eyes dimmed into a deep green in monochrome with the surrounding pines.
When the man turned to signal the watch party, August picked up a rock and hurled it at the back of his skull quick as a catapult. He fell to the ground, and August gripped the rock and bashed him repeatedly until the blood coated his fists like a second skin. He kicked the body into the marsh and watched it sink slowly as the blood dripped from his hands.
The vision died as a blanket of red brought her back. Opal fell to her knees, clutching her chest tight.
“Come with me,” she said.
July 31, 2026
“You promised you would find him. You must have found something. I have been holding my breath for seven years. I deserve to exhale,” shared an exasperated, weary Marina.
Opal hung her head in defeat. She didn’t know how to give Marina the closure she needed. Each year at Carkeek was another pull at the thread of her sanity.
The women walked toward the beach, crossing the fenced pedestrian bridge hanging over the train tracks. Old school neon locks. Industrial copper locks. Four digit combination locks. Secret journal locks. Every lock wrapped around the metal like Christmas ornaments.
“I brought this for August,” Marina said, pulling a neon green combination lock from her bag. She popped it open and wrapped it around the chain link fence facing Puget Sound.
“I’m sure he would love it,” Opal said, attempting to satisfy her pain.
The Evergreen Echo
The city slowly drifted to sleep. The sun cascaded between the high points of the Olympic mountains, the last bit of it shining behind the jagged points like a jack-o’-lantern’s sinister smile.
Opal entered the threshold of her apartment nestled between Elliot Bay and the Space Needle. She set her purse on the counter as the contents spilled out. Papers, cherry lip balm, and a poetry collection about grief. She proceeded to pry off her black gloves.
In the corner of the room stood a slender, raven-haired preteen looking out over the dark cityscape. The Space Needle, lit up like a comet, caught Opal’s view. After so many visions, her sensitivity to bright lights wavered on the edge of caution. The boy turned to face her. His eyes were bluer than the Sound itself.
“How was my mom?” he asked with little care in his voice.
“Sad but she still doesn’t know.” Opal stated.
“Good,” he said. The boy came over to Opal and embraced her in a hug. “That’s good.”
