There is no longer anything in the void.
No emotion.
No memories.
Nothing…
Only me, and I am nothing.
A chorus of screams echoes in my ears as light blooms in my eyes. They come to an abrupt end as once again silence falls swiftly like a sharp guillotine blade.
There is a complete end to all sound.
The light dulls to blue-black night. Muted colors bleed into a grainy landscape before me as my eyes try to adjust. Sound fades in once again, but all I hear is the beating of my own heart and the rhythmic rush of blood in my ears.
I am standing on an empty street. A lone streetlamp casts a dim sodium vapor glow around me, sending my own oblique shadow across the cracked asphalt to meld with the darkness.
I stare at the shadow where it falls across the curb. There is a storm drain to my right. The street is dry, but a narrow river is flowing along the gutter and into the gaping mouth of the sewer.
But it isn’t water.
It is red…
And thick…
It is blood.
I look up and away from the horrid sight. In front of me is a boarded up house. I try to focus on it. It is old, and the brick facing is streaked black where smoke and fire once billowed out. Fallen leaves choke the stands of browned weeds that cover the yard.
A short flight of concrete stairs leads up to the front door. They are in a state of extreme disrepair, pocked with holes where chunks have been broken off through years of abuse and neglect. The vinyl soffit is scorched, now hanging in drip-like slags where it eventually cooled, frozen in time. Warped and greying plywood covers the windows. Graffiti marks the boards with names and crude drawings, but the weather has faded them beyond recognition.
It appears that even the vandals have abandoned this place.
I stare at the unlit porch light to the left of the door. It is really nothing more than a metal protrusion jutting from the outer wall. The glass globe is long missing, and a dead yellow bulb sags beneath as the detached socket in which it is set dangles from the frayed electrical wires. The motion draws my attention to the area below where reflective numbers step downward across the brick at a shallow angle.
2 – 3 – 0 – 2.
The last 2 in the sequence is canted to the right, apparently missing the top fastener that held it to the brick. The curve at its back rests against what remains of a frame for a now missing storm door.
Something soft brushes against my palm then gently clasps around my fingers. I don’t start with surprise, as I would expect. I simply accept it and look down to see what appears to be a woman’s hand holding mine. I bring my eyes up to a face that isn’t there. I find only darkness where it should be.
She feels familiar. I am certain I should know her, but without a face I can’t attach a name. I stare into the darkness where it should be but still find nothing.
I don’t feel fear, only curiosity. I sense secrecy. I feel that she is hiding from me. As if she does not want me to know her identity.
As I watch, she lifts her other arm, bringing a pale hand into the air before me, index finger stiffly extended as the others curl against her palm. As she stretches out, I follow her finger with my eyes, turning my head slowly to gaze upon where she is pointing. Sitting atop a metal post, directly in my line of sight, I find a rectangular sign that reads South Millston Street.
The faceless woman tugs on my hand, and I turn to see that she has already stepped onto the curb. She starts up the leaf-strewn walkway, and I follow her without question.
As we silently make our way up the crumbling stairs, time shifts, leaping forward, then back, then forward again. There is no warning, yet there is no surprise.
It simply is.
I am standing in an empty room. The walls bear soot marks from the fire. There is water damage to the sheetrock, causing it to warp and crumble, leaving holes that reveal the bare wooden studs beneath. Trash litters the floor, and a heavy coat of grime and dust seems to coat every surface. I know that I am in the house.
I glance around and see that the woman is now gone.
I understand that she has brought me here for a reason but has left it unspoken. I am beginning to feel like I am acting out a scene from a twisted parody of a Dickens novel. As if the ghost of murders past, present, and future has brought me to witness my own fate.
I wonder at the feeling.
Curiosity at my lucid state creeps in and tries to usurp the vision before me. The grainy tableau shifts and flickers.
A sharp odor assaults my nostrils-metallic, harsh, and unique as it overwhelms me. It is liver being cooked. I feel a thin wave of nausea tickle the back of my throat. I can tell by the stench that it isn’t being properly prepared.
The softness touches my hand again.
The faceless woman is pulling on me now. She seems impatient, as if dealing with a small child who won’t listen.
I realize that I am the reason for her irascible state.
I follow her as she tugs, leading me through the trash-scattered room and deeper into the house. We stop before a door. It is partially burned. A pattern of thin cracks spreads out along the edge of the charred wood in a scaly pattern, like those on a burnt out shard of blackened log from a fireplace.
I look at the woman and she merely points.
I turn back to the door then reach out and touch the surface. The fire-ravaged wood is stone-like to the touch. I grasp the handle and pull it toward me. The barrier opens, and I see a long flight of stairs descending into blackness.
I look to my guide, but once again she is no longer there, so I bring my gaze back to the stairs. As I stand there, for the first time since crossing the veil, I hear something besides the sound of my own heart.
Wafting up from the darkness comes an androgynous voice. “Just a little sting… Don’t worry it will all be over soon…very soon… I envy you. To be chosen like this. It’s such an honor… I wish it were me…”
I feel a slight pressure on my back.
I turn around and find the faceless woman standing there. Without a word she thrusts her palms outward against my chest, and I fall backward into the darkness.
A barrage of words assaulted my ears with an unmistakable Celtic accent wrapped firmly around them. “Damn your eyes, Rowan Linden Gant!”
Behind the crystal clear exclamation, a flood of other voices were chattering, yelling, and generally creating an unintelligible cacophony. Some sounded authoritative, while others came across as excited, and still others seemed almost conversational. In any event, they blended together to create a boisterous hum in the cold air that only served to add to my disorientation.
My head was pounding again, my too brief respite from the migraine now over with a vengeance. However, that wasn’t the only pain with which I was forced to contend. My shoulders were arched up into the sides of my neck, and it seemed that someone was manhandling me. I could feel knuckles digging into my chest as a pair of arms hugged beneath my own. It took me a second to realize I was still moving backwards, but instead of a sensation of falling as before, I could tell I was now being dragged.
“Is he bleedin’?” Ben Storm’s gruff voice penetrated the overbearing murmur.
“I can’t see,” Felicity said. “His shoulder is in the way…”
“Get that paramedic over here!” my friend shouted.
My wife’s soft hand slipped into the fold between my neck and shoulder then pulled away.
“No blood,” she announced. “Thank the Gods.”
We had stopped moving, but Ben was still holding me up in a bear hug from behind. Disorientation was now giving way to a thin thread of lucidity, and I seemed to be remembering where I was. Of course, knowing my location didn’t keep me from being completely out of synch with my surroundings. After such an intense trip through the veil between the worlds, my mind was still trying to sort out what was real here, what was real there, and the in between where it all overlapped.
This was far from a new experience for me, but old hat or not, it was never an easy process.
It crossed my mind that it would probably be a good idea to let them know that I was okay, instead of letting them run amok as they seemed to be doing at the moment. I tried to say something but couldn’t seem to get the words out. It was then I realized that Ben was holding so tightly around my chest that breathing, in and of itself, was more than enough effort on its own. Talking was simply out of the question. However, before I could attempt to wave my hand or try to grab their attention some other way, a fresh voice entered the mix.
“We need to get his jacket off,” the paramedic ordered.
The pressure released on my chest as Ben let go and supported me with a single arm while the paramedic quickly stripped off my coat. I immediately wheezed in a deep breath then exhaled heavily. After drawing in another, I started to speak, but apparently I still wasn’t able to form actual words, and all that came out was a moan. By then, they were already lowering me onto the asphalt. A shadow immediately came over me as I felt a pair of hands groping around my neck and another pushing up my sleeve.
I sputtered as I tried to demand that they stop, but for my trouble I was treated to a flashlight in my face and a pair of gloved fingers in my mouth as my head was tilted back.
“Labored respirations, but there’s no obstruction,” the paramedic barked. “Get the oxygen.”
A soft hand pressed against my forehead as my wife brought her face in close to mine. “Rowan, can you hear me?”
“Ma’am,” the paramedic said, trying to push her away. “You need to step back so we can work.”
As he pushed her, I was already moving my arms to fend him off before he hurt her or could continued gagging me. I slapped his hand from Felicity then grabbed his wrist and wrestled his other hand away from my mouth. I was still out of breath from the bear hug, but I managed to suck in a fresh lungful of air and finally form words that made some kind of sense as I groaned, “Better watch it. She’ll make your hair fall out.”
“Rowan?” Felicity was up in my face again.
“Yeah…”
Her concern made a quick metamorphosis into anger, “What the hell were you thinking?”
I gulped air again and said, “That you were going to be really pissed.”
“Aye,” she replied. “You’re right about that.”
“We still need to check you out, Mister Gant,” the paramedic told me.
I tried to shake my head as I objected, “I’m fine.”
“Best see if you can do something about his thick skull while you’re at it then,” my wife snipped as she pulled herself up to her feet and stalked off.
I was going to have to worry about patching things up with her later. Right now, I needed to talk to Ben.
“Get off me, dammit,” I exclaimed as I pushed the paramedic away and levered myself up into a sitting position. “Ben? Where’s Ben?”
My friend’s voice hit my ears. “I’m right here, Kemosabe. You really better let ‘em check you out.”
“There’s no time for that,” I said, as I started struggling to my feet.
With a quizzical look on his face, Ben reached out and gave me a hand up. “What’s up, you see another dead swan or somethin’ over in la-la land?”
“No,” I said as I focused on the grainy memory looping through my mind and rushed to get the words out in a frantic declaration. “I saw the killer’s address.”
CHAPTER 30:
“Is Judith all right?” Captain Albright demanded.
I had barely finished blurting out the revelation about the address to Ben when her words came at me from behind. I turned to find her staring at me with the same look of concern she had been wearing earlier, but there was no mistaking the thread of hopefulness in her voice.
“I don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head. “I didn’t see her.”
“What do you mean you didn’t see her?” she insisted.
“I mean I didn’t see her,” I replied before swinging back around to face Ben and fire off, “Twenty-three oh two South Millston Street. The killer is there. Right now.”
“You sure?” Ben asked.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said.
Albright stepped around and grabbed me by the collar. With urgent panic in her tone, she shouted, “Damn you, Gant! Where is my daughter?”
I reached up and grasped her wrists as I started to respond, but the moment the question sank in I hesitated. Instead of struggling, I simply stood there motionless and stared back into her contorted face. Her outburst brought an instantaneous halt to all conversation around me, or so it seemed.
After a few seconds that felt as if they dragged on for minutes, Ben cleared his throat and said, “Um, Captain… Don’t ya’ mean niece?”
Albright didn’t even bother to look at him. A dim flicker of realization over her slip showed in her eyes, but rather than respond to my friend’s question, she let out a small shriek then pushed me. I stumbled back but maintained my footing.
“Is Judith with the killer?” she spat.
“Maybe…” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’t know. All I can say is that I think he had someone…”
She cut me off. “You think?”
“Barbara, I told you I didn’t see her. I just heard the killer talking to someone.”
“Are you certain it wasn’t Judith?”
“Whoever it was didn’t say anything,” I replied. “But, you’re missing the point here. I saw the killer’s address and yes, he has someone with him. Don’t you think you should send someone to at least check out what I’m telling you?”
She huffed out a heavy breath and glared at me. After a moment she looked over to my friend and said, “He’s your devil worshipper, Storm. Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
I sighed and dropped my forehead into my hand. I couldn’t win with this woman no matter what I did. I had to bite my tongue, but I knew getting into another altercation with her would just be wasting valuable time.
“Listen, Row… This address you gave me. Is it around here?” Ben asked, gesturing with a sweep of his arm.
“I don’t know,” I told him.
“But you’re sure about the number and the street?”
“Yes.” I nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”
“Okay, what I can do is call it in and have dispatch run a search on Millston Streets,” he offered. “But here’s the problem-we either need a warrant or some serious probable cause to kick down a door. Like I’ve told ya’ before, you and the Twilight Zone don’t qualify on either count.”
“Hey, if I remember correctly, it was the police who insisted on my involvement in this,” I countered. “Especially you, Barbara.”
“I know,” my friend replied. “I’m just sayin’ this is a sticky situation. And if you’re wrong and what we end up with is a grandma sittin’ there readin’ ‘er Bible…”
“I’m not wrong, Ben,” I appealed before he could finish. “Besides, it’s an old, boarded up house. It looked like it had been burned at one time, so you aren’t going to find a grandma with a Bible there. Just a killer and a potential victim, unless you keep screwing around and let her become a statistic.”
“Chill out… Now, you’re sure about all this?”
“Goddammit, will you stop asking me that?” I shot back. “Why the hell are you doubting me all of a sudden?”
He reached up and smoothed back his hair then rested his hand on the side of his neck while gesturing with the other. “No offense, white man, but this ain’t how you usually work. Normally, ya’ don’t just hand us an address and say go get the bad guy. Ya’ tell me somethin’ like ya’ saw a bunch of blood and a flash of light, or a spirit makes ya’ write bad poems and ya’ have nightmares about flyin’ monkeys or some shit.” He shrugged. “Somethin’ off the wall like that… Ya’know… Twilight Zone…”
“So maybe I’m getting better at this,” I snapped. “Are you going to completely
discount what I’m saying just because I’m being specific this time?”
“Okay… Okay… Calm down.”
“How can I calm down? I just told you where to find the killer and that he has someone with him. But instead of doing something about it, you’re just standing here giving me the third degree.”
He glanced over at Albright who was remaining completely silent.
“Look, Row, I told ya’, we’ll check it out,” he replied, turning back to me and pulling out his notebook. “Gimme that exact address again.”
“Twenty-three oh two South Millston Street,” I repeated.
“Twenty-three oh two…” he mumbled back to me. “You’re…”
My frustrated retort was already poised on the end of my tongue, but fortunately he stopped himself before completing the question.
“Yeah, I know,” he muttered as he scribbled. “You’re sure.” He turned and looked toward some of the other cops a few feet away. “Hey… Yeah, you. Is there a South Millston Street around here anywhere?”
“No,” the deputy replied, shaking his head. “Don’t know of one in the immediate area. Maybe in Saint Charles.”
“Okay, thanks.” Ben pulled out his phone and directed himself back to me. “I’m gonna call in and have dispatch run a search for me. Just so ya’ know, this is prob’ly gonna take a coupl’a minutes, so ya’ need ta’ just get a grip and calm down.”
I stooped and snatched up my jacket from the asphalt where it had been dropped during the earlier havoc. I slipped into it while he started punching a number into the keypad of his cell. I wasn’t excited about the delay, but there was nothing else I could do. At least he was starting the ball rolling instead of interrogating me further.
I let out a heavy sigh then glanced around and spotted Felicity leaning against a light standard in the distance, well on the opposite side of the crime scene tape. If there was going to be a wait, then now was as good a time as any for me to start my own ball down the lane.
“Well let me know what you find out,” I said to my friend, my voice unintentionally sharp. I nodded my head in the direction of my sulking wife then added, “I’ll be over there finding out how long I’m going to be sleeping on the couch.”
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