Destiny Calls

by Lydia Michaels

  The longer he stared at her the more the colors of the dream faded. Sunny days turned to murky backdrops of dark nights and moonless skies. They were always alone when the color faded away, and that was when she was most frightened.

  Her body was unrecognizable, just like her hands. Her limbs had stretched and her hair no longer held that baby-fine quality. She had developed and changed, yet she was still herself, still just a little girl screaming in the silence of her mind, trapped in a foreign body, but alone all the same.

  Cybil squeezed her eyes as the images came at her. He was no longer there in body. Only glimpses of things she didn’t understand flashed into her psyche as if he were trying to show her a future she wasn’t ready to see.

  Her head thrashed on her pillow. Blood. Teeth. Sharp fangs and flesh. And those glowing eyes. The older image of her gave way to things Cybil objected to. Ugly things she didn’t want to know, yet her older self craved.

  He hushed her, and the dream fell away. He wanted to come closer, comfort her, but somehow knew that would only frighten her more. Blackness took over, yet she knew it was not finished.

  He was near. Her breath beat at the space around her and echoed in her ears. Then he said those same words he always said to her, “When you recognize what I am to you, you will say my name.”

  Cybil sat up in bed and let out a silent gasp. Her eyes darted to every corner of her dark room. Her heart raced, and her small, undeveloped chest expanded with her panting breaths as she reminded herself not to scream.

  She couldn’t talk. She was too afraid she might utter his name and change the balance of everything. She shut her eyes and imagined Cain, remembered the way he sat with her that afternoon laughing as he let her win at checkers. She was so glad he was finally home. She didn’t fit in with the rest of the Amish. They were all hiding something from her, and the longer they stayed, the more she believed her brother, Dane, was keeping secrets as well.

  Her feet touched the cool floor, and she slid them into her loose boots, not bothering to tie the laces. The loose-fitting shoes clip clopped down the silent hall as she headed toward the kitchen. She paused outside of Dane’s room. His long body dangled off the small bed, and his chin was hairy. He had stopped looking like her brother some time after they came to the farm.

  It was as if the minute their mom died, he had become a man to restore the general order of things. The more he aged the more Cybil felt forgotten and left behind.

  In the kitchen she found her black cloak hanging from a low peg on the wall. The heavy wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and she pulled up the hood. As she stepped out the door, the cold winter wind kicked up her cloak and chilled her legs under her thin nightgown. She missed wearing pants.

  Cybil rushed along the dark dirt road and headed toward the house with green shutters. Her dreams wouldn’t reach her here. They never did. She snuck quietly into the kitchen and shut the door behind her. She hoped Cain wouldn’t mind her climbing in bed with him.

  She had gotten so used to coming here in his absence to chase away the haunting images of her dreams. Dane always let her sleep with him when she used to have nightmares as a little girl, but since that night in the woods when that beast killed their mom, Dane had seemed somewhat…small. Cain was strong though. He would always protect her.

  She quietly passed the stairs after removing her boots. When she reached the closed door, she took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn’t send her away. She couldn’t go back to her room and the shadows. She couldn’t go back to the same confusing dreams. She held her breath and pressed through the door.

  The room was dark and still. His name was on the tip of her tongue. Rather than call to him, she slowly felt her way to the bed. Through the moonlight seeping from the glass, she could make out the shape of a body.

  Cybil gently tapped the form lying on the bed and came up short. It was cold. She pressed harder into softness. It was a pillow. Patting her palm over the messy covers she found the bed empty. She went to the nightstand and lit the lamp. Empty. Her jaw clenched in anger, and her eyes burned with tears of disappointment. Where was Cain?

  Chapter 9

  Destiny awoke in her bed and stretched as the warm light teased across her face. She reached for her phone, and her hand landed on her iPad. She picked it up and wiped her eyes as she waited for it to turn on. Saturday. As she read the date, she stiffened. So much had happened. She needed to call Vito.

  Destiny tossed her iPad on the rumpled bedding and looked for her phone. That was odd. It wasn’t on her nightstand where she normally kept it. She stood and grabbed a pair of yoga pants off the pile of laundry she had yet to put away and headed toward the bathroom. She really needed to talk to Vito, but by her reflection she needed a shower more.

  Rather than beat herself up about her disheveled appearance, she thanked her lucky stars she was still alive. That was one nasty fall.

  An hour later she unplugged her straightener and tossed the last of her makeup back in her cosmetic case and headed into her living room. Her body jerked to a halt the moment she set eyes on the place.

  “What the…”

  Papers were everywhere. News articles pinned to the wall, index cards with masculine scribble across them, maps, highlighted text books scattered across her coffee table, empty beer cans and pizza boxes, and most frightening of all, a hand gun. Her hand reached for her pocket out of habit, but her phone wasn’t there.

  Just then something bumped and shifted in the spare bedroom. She panicked and looked for a place to hide when she heard heavy footsteps approaching and a deep voice letting out a hoarse morning cough. She grabbed the gun and prayed she didn’t shoot herself in the process. Huh, the thought was oddly familiar, as though she had thought that same thing not too long ago. She shook off the sense of déjà vu and steadied the weapon in her hands, pointing it at the hall.

  Her hands shook as the sound of the guest bathroom toilet flushed. Intruder! Maybe she should just make a run for it. Backing toward her front door she stumbled over another empty pizza box. Trying to gain her footing, she slipped over a pile of glossy brochures and lost her hold of the gun.

  The discharge of the bullet rattled her hands, and she screamed. The slug whizzed through the air and plaster flurried down from the ceiling, leaving a nasty hole. The gun clattered to the floor and the sound of footsteps came charging toward her.

  She ducked farther behind the chair she had fallen near and heard the click of another gun cocking. “Don’t move, mother fucker!” She stilled. She recognized that voice. “Climb out from back there,” the man ordered.

  Without moving, Destiny slowly said, “Vito?”

  “Destiny?”

  “Yes. Please don’t shoot me. I’m coming out.”

  The sound of his weapon being placed on a table gave her the courage to move. She climbed out and quickly stood.

  She faced her brother, prepared to throw herself in his arms and hug the life out of him. She didn’t understand why she was suddenly so emotional and relieved to see him. However, the second she faced him, she screamed. “Oh my eyes! Where are your fucking clothes?” Just before she smacked her hands over her face her brother blushed and grabbed a dainty throw pillow to hold over his man parts. “What are you doing here?”

  “Me? You’ve got a lot of nerve. I’ve been going crazy looking for your ass all week. I thought you were dead!”

  “What? I was fine. I just…” Her brow crinkled, and she hissed as a quick, sharp pinch pierced her temples. She shook her head. “First go put some clothes on and then I’ll tell you what happened.”

  Vito was gone only a matter of seconds before he returned in a pair of jeans and a Phillies T-shirt. Destiny had already begun gathering trash. She couldn’t tolerate one more minute of her house in this condition. “What the hell is all this stuff, V?”

  “No, no, me first. What happened?”

  Destiny collapsed into an overstuffed chair with newspaper spilling over the upholstere
d arms and held an empty pizza box on her lap. She sighed. “I’m really sorry you were worried. I lost track of my crew somehow and got lost in the woods. I must have fallen and hit my head or something. My back’s a little sore. When I woke up, I was in a convent where this handsome and extremely kind bishop offered me shelter and food. He was probably the nicest man I’ve ever met.” Destiny pursed her lips. She suddenly had a bad taste in her mouth, bitter like a lie, but she knew she was speaking the truth.

  “A convent?” Vito asked skeptically, sitting across from her.

  “Yes. A beautiful nun there named Sister Larissa took care of my injuries and a—”

  “Wait, did you just say a nun named Larissa?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s kind of a weird name for a nun. Anyway, go on.”

  “So she took care of me, and then the bishop arranged for this man, Officer Aesel, to escort me home.” She frowned. She had no recollection of getting home.

  “Officer Aesel?”

  “Yeah. The bishop said the officer was a little slow, but promised he would see me home safely.”

  “Hold up. This doesn’t make any sense. First of all, why was a bishop at a convent? Don’t they usually stick to the fancier places like the Vatican or that big old cathedral in Philadelphia? I thought you were in Jim Thorpe.”

  She frowned again. “I was.”

  “Then what was a bishop doing there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was visiting the nuns.”

  “Well, that’s beside the point. Why didn’t this bishop or this nun call the police? I’ve had a MPR out on you for five days now.”

  “What’s a MPR?”

  “A missing persons report. You had me worried sick, D. After I called you—”

  “What? You didn’t call me.”

  He looked at her as if she lost her mind. “Yes, I did. You told me you were in the woods and your crew abandoned you right after I told you I was going to kick your ass for stealing my crossbow.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t take your bow and arrow.”

  “Crossbow,” he corrected. “And, yes, you did. It was my Barnett Buck Commander Crossbow to be exact, and I’m telling you right fucking now it better be here somewhere because that bitch cost me well over five huni’.”

  “Vito, why the hell would I take your”—using her fingers she made air quotes—“crossbow?”

  “I have no idea, but you did. You told me you did, just before we got disconnected. How hard did you hit your head? Maybe we should take you to a real doctor instead of having some backwoods nun examine you.”

  Destiny’s hand again went to her empty pocket. She stood and searched for her phone. It really scared her that if what Vito was saying was true and they had talked when she was in the woods, that she had no memory whatsoever of doing so. Her phone would have his number in her call log. Where the hell was it?

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find my phone in this pigsty!”

  “For what?”

  “Because I lost it! I can’t find it.” Destiny’s phone was usually attached to her hip. The withdrawal itches of not having it were already kicking in. She needed her phone.

  “Here, use mine,” Vito said holding out his phone.

  “I don’t want that Miami Vice piece of crap. I want my own phone.”

  “D, who gives a shit about the phone right now? We need to keep talking this through. Too much doesn’t make sense. Aren’t you the least bit concerned about what’s been going on since you left?”

  “Yes. That’s why I need my phone—”

  “Fuck the phone!” She flinched and he lowered his voice. “Destiny, I know I blew you off before, but when I couldn’t find you in the woods and the cops couldn’t track even a footprint of yours, I came back here and started looking through your notes from work. I’m starting to believe that you’re right. There’s something out in those woods, something not human, but not an animal either.”

  She slowly turned and looked him in the eye. Chills suddenly covered her body, and she whispered, “What are you talking about, Vito?”

  “All this,” he said, sweeping his arm across the mess in her living room. “I think we need to go back out there and find this thing because the cops don’t want to consider that what’s killing those women could be more than an animal or human. And get this, I found records of women being murdered in that town dating back to the 1920s, all basically left unsolved.”

  “The woods are dangerous, and good little girls should stay in safer places.”

  His eyes bulged, and he looked as though he had swallowed his tongue. “Uh, do you fuckin’ hear yourself? What the hell was that? Look, just ’cause you made friendsies with the religious folk out there, doesn’t mean you can start spoutin’ off some crazy shit like that. I need you to be normal, Destiny, right now, okay?”

  She shook her head. She had no idea where that comment about the woods and good little girls came from. It had simply propelled out of her mouth as if triggered by a reflex. “Okay. Sorry.” She sat up straighter and focused.

  “See here on this map?” he pointed and pushed some other papers aside. “Here’s where the first victim was found this year. Here are the next four. Nothing special, right? But then look here, there starts to be a pattern. The ones that were sexually assaulted were all murdered in this vicinity, up by these higher altitudes. The ones that were more or less just tortured were done more sporadically. These two were found two days apart, but time of death was narrowed down only to an hour apart. There’s no way that thing could have killed both women that fast in two places so far apart.”

  Destiny recognized bits and pieces of her own notes now overwhelmed by her brother’s notations and conclusions. He must have started obsessing over all this when he was trying to find her. Terrible guilt for worrying him swamped her. She could at least listen to what he had to say. She could humor him. “What are you saying? That there’s more than one killer?”

  He nodded slowly. “And, look at this. The ones that were tortured, from the pictures you had, I noticed certain things.” He shuffled through photographs. “Here, look at this one. Natasha Price. She was one of the ones that were raped. See that mark on her leg?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What does it look like?”

  She hated looking at these pictures. She had seen them enough. Something deep inside her wished she never had to visit those woods again. “It looks like a bruise.”

  “Look closer. See here, these small spaces where the skins blood vessels are still intact?”

  Her stomach twisted and chills ran up her spine. “A handprint,” she rasped.

  “Yes!” Vito cheered, a little too enthused and a little too detached. “Now look at this one.” He handed her another, and she squinted, trying to blur out some of the carnage. This was one of the ones that were tortured. “See there?”

  He pointed with the tip of a pencil at another handprint. She nodded, unable to speak for fear of being sick.

  “Okay, now look at them side by side. What do you notice that’s different?”

  “Well.” She swallowed. “This one’s a rape victim and this one isn’t. The one that wasn’t sexually assaulted seems to have been tortured. They were both, like the others, drained of blood.”

  “Right, but look at the handprints. Look how this one wraps around the girl’s hip and how the other barely fits around this girl’s arm.”

  “Smaller.” She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before. Did the cops notice what her brother had? “One of the murderers is smaller. Maybe even a woman. Oh my God, Vito, this is huge! What if this is some twisted Bonnie and Clyde sociopath couple out there? This whole time the cops have been searching for either an animal or a male suspect. It never crossed anyone’s mind that a woman did this.”

  “Right, but not just any woman.”

  “What do you mean?” He slowly pushed all the pa
pers off of the coffee table and revealed a collection of Destiny’s books stacked in a messy pile, Salem’s Lot, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and several by Anne Rice and other fiction writers. “What the hell’s this, Vito?”

  “Vampyres, Destiny, I think they’re vampyres.”

  She shook her head. For a moment she thought her dumb brother was wasting his time working as a bouncer in a strip club and should maybe look into joining some sort of crime unit, but now she just felt sad for him. “Oh, Vito.”

  “What? I’m serious! They’re all drained of blood. Those are human hands not paw prints—”

  She reached for a hardback sitting on the table. “Twilight? Come on, Vito! Grow up!” She tossed the book down and turned away.

  He continued to rattle on about everything from garlic bullets to the possibility of werewolves as she cleaned. By the time she had the room back in some sort of order, she had a splitting headache. She told him if he wanted to keep talking he would have to come with her because she was going to go speak to the police. He followed her out to the garage still yapping.

  “You think I’m playing, but I’m telling you, whatever’s out there has been at it longer than you or the cops realize. I went to the library and pulled up old articles. Bodies of women have been turning up in those woods since the late 1920s. No men, D, all women and always in that same area. There was a spree of killings around 1929 and then they slowed, but recently they’ve picked back up again. They aren’t random. It’s after something. After someone, I think.”

  She stilled. “Where the hell’s my car?”

  Vito looked around the garage like an idiot looking for a mouse rather than an automobile. “Uh, did you leave it at the station?”

  Destiny thought, but everything from the day she left was a blur. “I don’t know. Maybe we should stop by the hospital, V. I’m missing stuff, and for the life of me I cannot remember where I left everything.”