by P. A. Lupton
While in New Mexico visiting Sherri’s gravesite, Morrison and I decided to head over to the hospital that Susan Marcone stayed in to see about Nathan’s media theory. We lucked out when we arrived—most of the nurses who treated Susan were working. Morrison questioned a young, blonde nurse who was audaciously flirting, and he was like a sponge soaking up the attention.
“So, Angelina...what a beautiful name can I call you angel...you look like an angel?” Morrison crooned in a low, seductive voice while leaning in close to the giggling, blonde nurse. It would be a miracle if I kept my stomach contents down, did women actually fall for this crap?
Where I would’ve probably gagged at his cheesy lines, she giggled in response. “You can call me Angel”
“Well Angel, I was wondering if you’re aware of any news stories, or human interest pieces featured while Susan Marcone was being treated here for her leukemia.” He curled up his mouth at one side in a devilish grin. Grudgingly, I had to admit he was a good looking man. And when he turned on the charm, women melted.
“Um...I remember there was a news crew here covering a story about a fundraising drive to raise money for bone marrow testing. I don’t know if they interviewed Susan, but they filmed while patients were undergoing their chemotherapy treatments...I can’t believe you’re an FBI agent. That is so cool, can I see your badge again?” she asked, while stroking her hand suggestively up and down his arm.
“Sure...” he drawled as he pulled it out. “Do you remember which news crew did the broadcast?”
“I think it was Eyewitness News 4, KOB, but there was also a piece in the Santé Fe Times, “she said. “What do you do for fun agent Morrison?”
I walked away leaving Morrison to chat up the bimbo nurse while I went to call the newspapers and news stations. An hour later, I reconvened with him. I’d contacted both news stations, and they not only confirmed the stories, but agreed to send copies the Denver field office.
“So, are you done flirting now?” I asked him in a scathing tone.
“Reece, are you jealous?” he teased.
I snorted in disgust. “Hardly. It’s just women like that make us all look bad. Do all women fall for your big strong FBI agent routine?”
“Not all women.” He said pointedly, giving me a knowing glance. I ignored the dig. “But I have to admit being an FBI agent does have its perks, women like it.”
“You know that is such a freaking double standard.” I snapped, a little angrily. “The men I’ve dated in the past have always been intimidated by it. Yet, you male agents have women falling all over you.”
My reaction seemed to amuse him. “Reece, unfortunately most men are sexist and they don’t want to feel that their woman is stronger than they are. They want to be the protector. I know this is a shock to you, but a lot of women actually like to feel protected.” My eyes narrowed and I could feel my jaw clenching, he seemed to pick up on my reaction because he chuckled. “I know the concept is hard for you to grasp.”
I rolled my eyes at his take on men and women,” You know Morrison just because you’re a sexist pig doesn’t mean all men are.”
“Well, from what you just told me about the men you’ve dated they’re all the same, well except for Nathan. It doesn’t bother him that you can kick his ass?” He probed, truly puzzled by the thought.
“Actually, I can’t.” I blurted out without thinking.
“Oh...Do tell.” That definitely piqued his curiosity.
Crap. I had purposely withheld telling him about our training matches. He would want to know why we were sparring, and I didn’t want to reveal the truth about Nathan to Morrison. “Okay fine...Nathan and I have been training together. He wants me to learn to use my ability to slow down the killer so I can take him down if I have to.
“And he can take you down?” he asked with suspicion.
“Don’t be so surprised, he’s a pretty strong guy.” I answered, insulted by his reaction.
“Yeah well I’m strong too, and I haven’t beaten you.”
“Well Nathan can block my powers, you can’t.” I reassured him. That seemed to pacify him and he let the subject drop.
In the car on the way back from New Mexico we continued our discussion. “Besides the women, why did you get into the FBI?”
Suddenly, overwhelmed by an incredible sorrow, the mustard color aura emanated from his heart again. He scrunched his brow, lost in thought. Before he could mask it, I saw the sadness overcome his expression, but I watched as it disappeared quickly as if nothing had happened. He smiled at me now, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and no matter how hard he tried I felt how sad my question made him. “Do I need another reason, besides the women?” he evaded.
“Morrison, I think that you’re forgetting I’m empathic. I know that there’s something that made you go into the FBI, something that is extremely painful for you. I’m not trying to pry, but I trusted you with my secrets, and I just want to let you know that I’ll listen if you want to share yours.” I said sincerely as I reached over and squeezed his hand.
“You can trust me too, you know.”
I felt the inner battle he waged with his emotions. He was sad, but also felt comforted by my words. “Okay Reece. I haven’t told anyone about this so I’d appreciate your discretion.”
“Of course.”
He blew out a deep breath and started in an unsteady voice, “I lost my older sister about twelve years ago. She was raped and murdered.”
My heart clenched at his admission. The agony he felt invaded my body and literally hurt my chest. I rubbed at the spot absently as I listened.
“The police have never caught the man who did it, and it’s eaten away at me every day that her case remains unsolved. The thought of that man being free while my sister lies in the ground… I fucking hate it.” He raked his hand through his hair, steadying his breathing. It helped that he was driving, gave him something to focus on.
“I work her case sometimes, just hoping that one day I’ll find the man who killed her. I know it’s a long shot, but I still hold out hope that someday I’ll be able to bring her justice.” His eyes watered a little, but he cleared his throat and tried to hide it.
At first, I hadn’t noticed the errant tear that had escaped, but I brushed it away quickly before Morrison saw it. He didn’t need my pity, he needed understanding.
“I’m really sorry Morrison. I understand how you feel right now, for more reasons than you know.”
“Yeah I know you can sense what I’m feeling.”
“It’s not just that. If I wasn’t empathic, I would still be able to identify with you.” I took a deep breath and hesitated before continuing. “I was attacked ten years ago by a serial rapist and murderer.”
He whipped his head around to look at me, “What? “He spat.
“I’ve never told anyone about it, but it was the reason I became an FBI agent. I stopped him before he was able to...” I left the sentence unfinished.
“How did you stop him? Ten years ago you would have been a teenager.”
I nodded.
“Tell me about it?”
If I had felt anything but compassion coming from him, I might not have told him. But after he shared what happened to his sister, I felt I owed it to him. Threading fingers nervously through my hair, I gathered my courage. I’d never told anyone about that night. “I was driving home from an after grad party...” As I began telling him the story that I’d kept locked up for so long the memories washed over me and it was like I was reliving that night all over again.
The party was fun, but my friends were still stunned my father had ‘cut the cord’ so to speak and allowed me to drive us all there and back. I dropped off the last of the girls and relaxed back into the seat to prepare for my half-hour drive home. Turning on the radio, I sang along to one of my favorite songs, so I didn’t pay attention to the fact that I’d edged over the speed limit. It wasn’t until I noticed the blue and red lights in my rear view mirror that I real
ized I was speeding.
“Great, dad is going to kill me, so much for proving how responsible I am.” I berated myself impatiently while I pulled the car to the side of the road.
I dug in my purse for my driver’s license, and then turned to unroll the window. Blinded by a flashlight shining directly into my face, I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the bright light.
“License and registration please.” He demanded, tartly.
I’d become accustomed to shielding myself from emotions so I didn’t become overwhelmed, but I could still sense the anger rolling off him in waves.
He looked over my documents and handed them back to me, “Have you been drinking tonight miss?”
“No sir.” I responded without hesitation.
“Then you won’t mind stepping out of the vehicle and performing a sobriety test, will you?”
“No sir.” I responded, nervously, while stepping out of my car. Irrationally, I was overcome by an uneasy feeling. I let my shields down and the emotions washed over me more intensely than I’d ever felt before, this man was enraged. Fury was suffusing every nerve in his body. Why was he so angry? He couldn’t feel this way simply because I was speeding.
The hairs at the back of my neck stood up and I wanted to run, but he was a police officer, I couldn’t leave. Glancing to his vehicle, I looked for a partner, but the headlights impeded my view inside the car.
“I want you to turn and face your vehicle, lift your right foot so you’re balancing on just the left.” He commanded. His voice took on a strange, husky tone that sent warning tingles down my spine and caused my skin to prickle.
I was terrified. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me not to turn my back on him, but he was a police officer so I did as he said. Once I was standing the way he told me, balanced on one foot, he barked out more instructions.
”Now I want your hands out to the side, close your eyes and alternately touch your nose with the tips of your finger. If you haven’t been drinking it should be easy to remain balanced.”
Maybe that’s why he was so angry, he thought I was drinking and driving. The other girls that I went to the party with were actually quite drunk, maybe he could smell the alcohol in the car. I decided to do as he asked and prove to him that I was sober.
I felt a jolt of adrenaline spread through my body, and I was confused. Was that coming from him or me? Having never experienced sensations quite this compelling, it was unnerving. What was going on? “Is that all officer?” I asked, hesitantly. Voice shaky.
“One more thing. Stretch your arms out in front while still balancing on one foot, and then pull them behind you and clasp your hands together.” He instructed specifically.
Okay this was weird, but I would do whatever it took to avoid a ticket. I did as he asked, but when I put my hands behind my back he cuffed my wrists quickly, throwing me against the car. “What...what are you doing? I did what you asked you can see I’m not drunk.” I pled with growing alarm. Something was definitely wrong with this situation.
Pressing his body tightly against my back, I felt the distinct bulge of an erection pressing into my side. Oh god he has an erection, and he has me cuffed helplessly against the car. I felt his hot breath down sliding along my neck, it was revolting. He reeked of cigarettes and alcohol. My stomach heaved, and I struggled not to throw up as he whispered into my ear.
“Yes, well there’s still the matter of your speeding. You will have to be punished for that.”
“Please don’t hurt me.” I begged between frightened sobs.
Pulling me up, he dragged me roughly to his car. As we neared the vehicle and I could see past the glare of the head lights, I noticed that it wasn’t a police car. My knees felt weak and I was afraid they would buckle under me. Fear consumed me. I knew something was wrong from the start.
“Oh god. You’re not a cop are you?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer. He didn’t bother answering the question. It really didn’t matter anyway, by now I had realized I was in deep shit.
Frantically, I tried to think of a way to escape. With my hands cuffed behind my back, it severely limited my options for self-defense. I could hear the words I’d spoken to my father this morning. ‘I can take care of myself’ I’d assured him, the promise echoed through my head—mocking me.
This was the first time my father let me drive myself at night, and I feared I was letting him down. I just wanted a little freedom. I couldn’t let him protect me forever. I was smarter than this—I should have listened to my instincts and ran when I had the chance. Calmly, I steadied my breathing and tried not to panic. I needed to find my own way out of this mess.
We were just about to his vehicle when I remembered my martial arts classes. I heard my instructor’s voice telling me what to do in this situation. Without thinking, I lifted my legs up, allowing my own weight to pull me to the ground and out of his grip. Once free, I rolled onto my back and thrust both legs into the side of his knee. I heard the bone snap right before he dropped to the ground screaming and writhing in pain. With my hands behind my back, I clumsily managed to get to my feet and I ran toward the woods that bordered the road beside us.
The stinging whip of the branches sliced into my face as I raced through the trees. I ran as quickly as my legs could carry me, but I still heard his grunts getting increasingly louder as he chased after me.
Trying to remain quiet while racing through the forest with my hands cuffed behind my back was not the easiest thing I’d ever done. I tripped so times I was sure my body would be covered in bruises, but each time I stumbled I got back up and kept running. Although I was sure I broke his leg, I could hear him gaining on me. I was at a disadvantage with my hands cuffed. Not to mention, the ground was uneven and every time I fell it took valuable minutes to get to my feet.
Suddenly, pain exploded in my head as he crashed into me from behind, throwing me face first into the ground. My face landed on a rock, and I felt the warm trickle of blood seep from a burning gash on my cheek.
Flipping me onto my back, the weight of his body pressed down on me. “You stupid bitch, you’re gonna pay for that!” He screamed while he struck me with the back of his hand, hard, across my face. Stars burst behind my eyes while I struggled to remain cognizant. I absolutely refused to lose consciousness, no matter how desperately my body wanted to succumb to the numbing retreat of darkness.
With his seething anger and his physical proximity, my gift was more pronounced than ever. I sensed everything with much more clarity. Suddenly, I just knew that this wasn’t the first time he’d attacked a woman this way. I felt it. He’d done this before, and he thrived off instilling fear in his victims. It was a power rush for him, that’s what gave him the adrenaline spike I’d felt earlier.
“Get your hands off of me!” I yelled. He was pressing his body against mine and I felt his hardness straining against my leg.
”Don’t worry honey, you’re gonna love it.”
He laughed while he groped my breasts in a painful grip. The sticky, disgusting wetness of his tongue ran along my neck and I thought I would puke when he groaned. My stomach heaved. Turning my head to escape him, I was relieved when he stopped. My relief was short-lived though, when I realized he was only distracted while attempting to undo my pants. I struggled hysterically to get him off me and I screamed until my throat hurt, but he wasn’t budging. He was too strong, and my hands were still trapped behind me. And even worse, the more I struggled the more excited he got.
I felt so helpless. If only I had trusted my instincts and run earlier. I couldn’t help but blame myself.
The fear and adrenaline surging through my body increased what I was channeling of his emotions. Then, before I knew what was happening, I was somehow feeding his other victim’s emotions as well, not just his. I thought my terror was debilitating, but his victims’ fear was downright crippling. I felt their physical pain, as well—dozens of women—every excruciation detail of their attacks, suddenly as clear a
s if I had experienced the attacks myself. The pain they’d suffered was unfathomable, and I knew without a doubt that he was going to kill me the same way he’d murdered every one of them. Never had I experienced the depth of hurt and misery I was at that moment. This man was truly evil. I couldn’t move or fight back. I was paralyzed by fear and pain.
Oh god, I have to do something! I need to get away, this can’t be happening.
Inspirationally, I had an idea—somehow I had to make him feel what I was feeling, even if it was only long enough to catch him off guard so that I could run away. Something inside me impulsively knew that I could do this—I could project the feelings I was channeling, push them away from myself and into him. Closing my eyes, I concentrated with every ounce of energy I could draw. I visualized the fear, the pain, and the terror coursing through me. I imagined that it was something tangible, something that I could touch and hold. I was vaguely aware that I had stopped fighting him and lay there unmoving. I pictured myself as a conduit for the pain, and I took all of the negative and agonizing sensations flooding me and I thrust them forcefully into him.
At first, I didn’t think it was working, but he stopped so abruptly. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he rolled off me, screaming and clutching his temples.
”What the fuck?” He screamed in shock.
“What the fuck is right, asshole! How do you like it?” I shouted back at him. I was so angry and my voice was thick with tears.
Confusion momentarily immobilized him and lay there stock-still. I knew that I could get away now. I knew that I should run, but for some reason I remained there unable to force my body to move. Instead, I relentlessly continued with my psychic attack. He deserved to feel every ounce of pain and suffering that he caused those women. I watched with a strange and almost unreal sense of detachment, and then finally satisfaction as he gripped at his chest, the onslaught ultimately too much and he died.
I shook my head returning to the present.