When she had almost reached the main park gate, he was astonished to see her fall onto the ground and begin to mutilate herself. He almost intervened then, fearful that she had fallen prey to some sort of mental break.
Something held him back, for though her actions seemed insane, she carried them out with such a grim determination that he felt there must be some hidden purpose behind them. Not insane at all, but brutally calculated.
When he heard her call out for help, he almost revealed himself, but though her aura was faint in the inky blackness of the forest, he could see it well enough to tell that she was in no mortal danger. In addition, he felt very strongly that he was witnessing the unfolding of a plan, however deranged it might seem.
Within moments a figure entered the park through the main gate, and made its way toward the young woman, her limp form now leaning against a tree. Though she was pretending to be badly injured, her aura continued to present a glow of health. As the figure moved closer, Adamel could identify it as the man who’d earlier been walking down the sidewalk.
The man slowly closed the distance between himself and Stella, and as he drew nearer, her aura began to react. The rays began to pulsate to such an extent that they lit the surrounding woods in dark swirling tones of the deepest red. As the color intensified, Adamel could feel each beat of her heart, could hear each of her measured breaths. She’s ready to kill, he thought.
Bringing his attention back to the approaching man, Adamel tried to gauge his intent, but failed. The man had an aura like nothing he had ever seen. The colors, if they could even be called colors, were new to him. He sensed a bottomless void, a blackness darker than night. This one is extremely dangerous, thought Adamel. Yet clearly, he is her prey. You must trust her, he thought, for on this plane, one such as her would have far more insight than he, and though he did not understand this strange tableau, the one called Stella would not have arranged it without a reason.
The man was standing right in front of her now. Adamel could hear him speaking. The words were muffled, but the tone was comforting, kind. The man reached out a hand toward Stella, as if to offer aid, then suddenly, he was upon her, tackling her to the ground, an unearthly keening sound coming from his throat.
For a moment it looked bad.
Maybe she didn’t really have much of a plan after all.
Adamel was on the verge of rushing to her aid, when the man suddenly stood and backed away from her.
There was a casual quality to the movement. It was as if the two had merely been wrestling playfully, and the man had come to the sudden conclusion that the game wasn’t fun anymore.
Then Adamel noticed the blood stain rapidly spreading on the fabric of the man’s shirt in the region of his stomach.
No more fun for you, I suppose.
Stella leapt to her feet, obviously unhurt, and came at the man, screaming at the top of her lungs, eyes blazing with fury, teeth bared.
She had the big knife held up high, ready to stab down.
The man turned from her and started running, moving with surprising speed considering his condition, coming right towards Adamel.
She was gaining on him. Soon she would bury the knife in his back.
Adamel relaxed. Things appeared to be under control now.
She’ll either stab him, or the two will run right into me, and I can give her a helping hand.
But then the man reached inside his coat, came out with a black semi-automatic pistol, and suddenly Adamel couldn’t wait on the sidelines any longer.
He moved then, and he moved fast, faster than any human or animal of this world was capable of, so swift that he could not be seen with the naked eye. One moment he was at least 20 feet from the action, the next he was right on top of it.
He threw the man to the ground, then reached down and disarmed him as easily as taking a toy from the hand of a babe. Finally, using only one hand, he snapped the man’s leg to make sure he couldn’t get up and run away.
The broken leg, naturally, led to howls of rage and pain.
Adamel balled up his fist and knocked the fellow into unconsciousness with a light tap, partly to spare him some of the suffering, but mostly to make him shut up.
For a space of seconds, Stella seemed too shocked to react. She simply stared up at Adamel in complete confusion and surprise. Recovering quickly, she raised the knife and held it out in front of her threateningly.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I think I’m helping. Don’t you?” He looked down at the man he’d just assaulted, his left leg bent and broken. “Do we kill him now or do you have another plan?”
Stella let the knife fall from her hand and slowly dropped down onto the ground. In that instant, all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. No longer did she seem like some avenging angel, but more like a beaten dog, resigned to whatever punishment might be about to come.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she finally answered. “If I told you. Not that I will.”
“You don’t need to tell me much, you know,” Adamel said. “Most of it I’ve figured out on my own.”
“Yeah?” she carefully sheathed the knife in the scabbard around her waist. “You can call the cops if you want. I can’t do this anymore.”
Adamel saw her aura begin to change. It was becoming smaller, and the vicious redness was turning to soft tones of coral and pink, tinged with the yellow of surrender.
“You know I didn’t plan to stab him. I was gonna use a taser on him, but it was like the knife just jumped into my hand, and once I had it, I just wanted to see him bleed…” She gave Adamel a searching look. “How did you do that—break his leg, I mean—and where the hell did you come from anyway. Were you watching me?”
“Leg bones are thicker than most, but they’re still just bones. And of course I was watching you. I was back there,”—he pointed—“near the swing.”
“So you were spying on me?” As she spoke, Adamel could see her hand slip back to the knife at her waist. The rose tones of her aura quickly changed back to vivid red.
“Try to calm yourself,” he said. “You can’t possibly understand this yet, but I’m here to help you.”
“What makes you think I need any help? If you’re going to call the cops, just do it and get it over with. I’m tired of talking.”
“I already said I’m not calling anybody. But what are we to do with this man.” He looked down at the figure on the ground. “He won’t be out forever, and I’d as soon not have to slug him again. So, do we kill him or what? You decide.”
“I want to remind you that I have a taser and a knife. I can deal with you if I have to.”
“That’s interesting, but surely you can tell that I mean you no harm.”
Stella shook her head, obviously exhausted, her features reflecting the confusion his presence had brought. “Then who are you and why were you following me?”
“That’s a very long story, and one I’ll gladly tell, but right now, we have to do something with this lump of flesh.” He gestured to the still form of the man on the ground. “It’ll be daylight soon.”
The sun was streaming through the kitchen window by the time Adamel and Stella finished their work. Alexander “just call me Alex” was chained in the basement. Stella had administered enough sedative to ensure that he’d be out for at least a few hours. Adamel could tell that Stella was only a thought or two away from attempting to jab him with the same needle.
“I feel like I’m dreaming,” Stella said as she placed two cups of coffee down onto the scarred pine table. Though she was offering him coffee, her movements were brusque, her eyes clouded with suspicion.
“No,” Adamel said. “This is all real enough.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say. At this point, I don’t know who scares me more, him, or you.”
“I understand.” Adamel took a sip of the steaming coffee, and thought about how much he wanted to share with her. �
�I know my presence here must confuse and frighten you, but please understand—I’m here to help, and I’d feel a lot better if you put your weapons on the table. It’s hard to chat when you’re so heavily armed.”
She shook her head. “You can forget that. Not gonna happen.”
“Very well, but by now you must have determined that I’m no threat to you.”
“How do you know anything about me at all? How did you know what I was up to?”
“I’m not sure I do know. Not everything anyway. But let me hazard a guess. You have identified the man in the basement—correctly I believe—as something more, or less, than human. You believe him to be a threat, and have decided to… Well, I must confess, this is where I’m drawing a blank. Why not kill him outright? Why bring him into your home?”
The answer was awhile in coming, but when Stella spoke, it was evident that she had decided to trust Adamel, at least to an extent. “I’ve seen his kind before. As far as I can tell, they exist to inflict as much pain and suffering as possible. Usually they go after the little ones, maybe because that’s what hurts us the most.” She paused for a moment and gave him a long look. “You don’t seem very surprised.”
“No,” he answered.
“I guess you’re wondering how I know all this.”
“No, that’s one answer I already have.”
“But how?”
He ignored her question, instead offering up one of his own. “When you refer to his kind—those others that you say you’ve run into—how have you dealt with them? I’m assuming you haven’t dragged all of them into your basement? Seems that would be more than a little inconvenient.”
“This is only the second time I’ve fought one, and I killed the first. But there’s more like him, plenty more. I see them everywhere, all the time now.”
“What’s different about this one?”
“I believe he’s…” She paused, searching for a way to explain. “This one’s not like the others. I want answers, and I think he has them.”
Her left hand, previously under the table, slowly rose. Adamel wasn’t completely surprised to see that she was now holding a gun. “Don’t tell me, you keep one taped under the table?”
“Since this started, I keep them all over the house.” A small smile formed on her lips, but her eyes were still as cold as the gun she held in her hand. “I’m pretty good with these things,” she said. But hey, if you want to test me, that’s fine. I could use some target practice.”
“Ah! Some levity. We’re making progress I believe. Humans usually joke when they’re feeling comfortable.”
“Humans?”
“Yes, well. That doesn’t really apply to you. Not completely.”
“First of all,” she said. “Humans very often joke when they’re nervous, so, you’re wrong. Second, I can assure you that I’m completely human. But what’re you?”
“Is it so hard to grasp?” he asked. “If you have accepted your own… talents, as it were, surely it isn’t that much of a leap to accept just a bit more? Think about it for a minute. If you exist—and believe me you are just a bit more than human—and they exist, what other beings might also exist? Isn’t it possible that someone such as I might exist?”
“But what the hell are you?” She wondered perhaps if she was sitting at the table alone, simply talking to herself. “Are you telling me that you’re something supernatural, cause if you are, let me tell you, I’ve had it up to here”—she made a slashing gesture just under her chin—“with scary demon shit. If you want to tell me something like that, then please just shut up right now. I can’t take it.” Tears began to flow from her eyes, and the look of terror that had been present during the entire ordeal had been replaced by a look of pleading and loss that was stunning in its intensity.
“Alright, alright,” he soothed her. “Just calm yourself, if I had some ill intent, wouldn’t I have done some dreadful thing by now?”
Stella did not answer, but he could sense that she had regained some control over the hysteria that had threatened to consume her.
“I am not supernatural,” he continued. “That is, I am as real as you. Not a ghost or a monster.” He put his hand under her chin and tilted her head up until she was looking at him instead of the table top. “Look at me Stella, and don’t be afraid. There is much I have to tell you, much you have to learn, and that’s why I’m here.”
From his pocket he removed a well worn book, bound in leather with gold leaf trim, and placed it on the table. “There are two others like you. The other two are both more, and less, than you. Each has her own special set of talents. I have identified one of the other two—in this life she is called Jilly.” He shook his head, bemused. “Odd name, Jilly… The other one still eludes me.” He tapped a long pale finger on the book. “Everything you need to know is in here. And I will help you understand it all.”
He leaned back into his chair, picked up his coffee cup and took a long drink. He had to admire her plan. Capturing the beast was both daring and ingenious. Not really surprising, considering she was a Wahri. Though often reckless, her kind were nothing if not clever.
“Stella,” he said. “your journey is just beginning, and I will help.”
“Journey?” Her voice was flat, but he could see that some of the fear and distrust was being replaced by curiosity.
“Yes, it has always been a journey, and the other two I mentioned, right now I’m sure they’re both asking themselves the same kinds of questions you are. In so many ways, you are all three as one. The one called Jilly, however… she is so much more dangerous, more deadly than anything you’ve ever imagined.”
“What makes her so deadly?”
“She has the power to literally shatter reality, and she doesn’t know it. Even her awakening has already begun to crumble the walls that hold this realm together. She has the kind of power that could bring about the end of days.”
“So what? Do you want to kill her?”
“No. Not kill her. What we need to do Stella, is save her.”
If they didn’t, everything the Makers had built, in both this world and his own, would be doomed.
Adamel picked up the book and pushed it across the table to Stella. “Let’s begin.”
Epilogue
The beast who wore the skin of a man watched from a cluster of tall pines just at the edge of the forest. She was on the porch swing, her dark hair pulled tight into a pony tail, long tanned legs dangling, swaying, keeping time with the back and forth of the swing, a wild youthful vigor radiating from her like some ultraviolet heat. He adjusted the binoculars and zoomed in on her face, the patrician features so at odds with her surroundings. A diamond in the rough, trapped forever by her class, this particular trailer park just one in a series of many more to come.
Her release when it came, would be a blessing, and he her savior.
The bucket was in her hand now, and she was saying something to the old woman who had just joined her on the porch. The resemblance between the two of them was striking, and he wondered if the girl could see in the old woman a portrait of her future self.
They were laughing at something, then the old woman made a show of looking at her watch and the girl tossed a backward wave, descended the porch steps and began walking toward the woods, the bucket swinging by her side.
He picked up the sports bag lying at his feet and moved deeper into the forest.
It was berry season, and for the past three weekends, he'd watched and followed her. Each Saturday and Sunday morning she would take her bucket, walk into the woods and spend about an hour filling it with blackberries; then go back to the trailer park, exchange the full bucket for an empty one, and repeat the process, usually three or four times. Then in the evenings, she and the old woman would load the washed and repackaged berries into the old station wagon, and drive into town where they sold them at the grocers.
One weekend, they had stopped on the roadside and sold the berries directly from the back of the c
ar. He bought some, and they laughed when he told them he was going to make a pie. They teased him, telling him that pie making was not men's business. The grandmother said he should stick to teaching school and find himself a good wife to do his cooking for him. He had laughed along with them and explained that women weren't exactly lining up to take on a lowly, underpaid, and overage English teacher such as himself.
"What about Miss Garrison?” the girl had asked. "She's single, and awful pretty."
"Now Piper,” he said. “I think you mean awfully pretty, right? Your grandmother’s gonna think I haven't taught you a thing about speaking proper English."
As he spoke, he wondered what it would feel like to have her blood spraying into his face. Wondered if it would be hot and sticky, wondered if her eyes would go wide and frightened, or if they'd close up tight in horror.
That was when he decided he would eat her.
The thought had come to him so easily, so readily, that he now supposed it had always been there, just on the edge of his consciousness. Killing her would be one thing, and a thing of beauty to be sure, but to consume her, well that would be quite another. It would bind her to him forever. He had wanted to do it right then, as he passed the bills over in exchange for the berries, his fingers had brushed hers, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping into her flesh then and there.
Somehow he had made himself wait. But today the waiting would end.
She was getting far ahead of him now, having the advantage of following the well worn path, while he was forced to stay deep in the woods, his progress slowed by thickets of undergrowth and low hanging limbs. Twice he'd almost stumbled over roots that seemed to rise up out of nowhere, obscured by dead leaves and the never ending carpet of tangled vines. He was tempted to step out onto the path himself, confident that there was more than enough distance between them, that there was little risk of her seeing him, even if she stopped and turned. There were numerous bends in the path, more than enough to offer him the necessary cover.
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