by Jude Hardin
And no telling how many people were going to die.
John tried to find a phone number for Dawn Kline, the nurse anesthetist at the clinic, but apparently it was unlisted. He did find an email address, and he wrote to her and explained the situation. He told her about Lori Lorry, about Dr. Bratcher and Jeri Dawson. He told her everyone who worked at the clinic was in grave danger. He told her to seek protection from the police immediately.
Of course the whole thing sounded insane. Dawn Kline would probably just delete the message. John hoped not. She would most likely be sorry if she did.
John looked for Lisa Whitaker next, the administrative assistant. There were two Lisa Whitakers in the white pages, and one L. Whitaker. John dialed the first of the three, and got an answering machine. He left a message. He tried L. Whitaker, and a man picked up on the first ring.
“What the fuck you want now?” the man said. He sounded as though he might have had a cocktail or two.
“May I speak to Lisa Whitaker?” John said.
“Who?”
“Lisa Whitaker.”
“Wrong number, dumbass.”
Some harsh clattering noises assaulted John’s left eardrum before the line went dead. The drunken idiot must have dropped his phone on the floor before hanging up.
John tried the third and final possibility for Lisa Whitaker. While he listened to it ring, some very disturbing images popped up on the computer screen in front of him. For thirty seconds or so, before running out of the apartment and climbing into the Toyota Corolla and tearing out of the parking lot like a screaming bat out of darkest hell, John watched in horror as Jana Lorry
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
crept into Lisa’s bedroom with her bucketful of goodies. Lisa was sound asleep, lying on her back and snoring softly. She looked so peaceful, Tori almost hated to wake her up. In fact, Tori decided to do a few things before waking her up.
Tori eased the bucket to the floor, careful not to let its contents rattle around too much, and then gently peeled the bedcovers back. Lisa wore an oversized T-shirt that said What Happens at Grandma’s Stays at Grandma’s. How cute! Such a perfect shirt to be slaughtered in.
Tori reached into the bucket, pulled out the roll of Saran Wrap. She reeled off several sections, each long enough to secure a limb to the bedframe. She tied the plastic sheeting around one ankle, and then the other. She did likewise with Lisa’s wrists.
Lisa cleared her throat, started mumbling some sort of incomprehensible gibberish. But she didn’t wake up. She was dreaming. The sleeping pills had done their job. They’d knocked her out good.
But, all good things must come to an end. Long walks on sunny spring mornings. Loving caresses from that special someone. Music in the park. A favorite book or movie. Funnel cakes at the state fair. Sweet slumber. Life. All good things must come to an end, and all Lisa Whitaker’s good things came to an end the instant Tori Lorry switched on the bedside lamp and rammed an ice pick through the word Happens on Lisa’s adorable nightshirt.
Lisa’s eyes opened and she started to scream, but Tori was quick with the dishtowel. She stuffed it into Lisa’s mouth, noticing for the first time what a nice set of teeth Lisa had for a woman her age. Those would have to go. Maybe with the potato masher.
Lisa grunted and moaned, her eyes wildly focused on the wooden handle sticking out of her left breast and the bright red spot blooming on her T-shirt. She tried to get up, but her arms and legs were secured to the bed’s steel undercarriage. She was helpless, and she knew it, and she started to cry. Big tears.
“There, there,” Tori said. “No need for all that. This dreadful, dreadful night will be over before you know it. I promise. You probably have some questions, right? Like who am I, what do I want, all that stuff. Or maybe you recognize me from the clinic. Do you? No? Jana Lorry? Name ring a bell? Only I’m not Jana. I’m her daughter Tori, the youngest of her twins. I’m going to use Jana’s body to destroy everyone who had a hand in destroying me, and then I’m going to destroy Jana too. Oh, I have big plans for Mommy when I’m done using her body. You better believe it.”
An expression of understanding washed over Lisa’s face. A pinched and cringed expression, but one of understanding nonetheless. Tori continued: “You answered the phone and made the appointment to have me killed, Lisa. You answered the phone and made the appointments to have a lot of people killed. Ever think about that? And don’t tell me you’re just doing your job. That’s bullshit. There are other jobs, ones that don’t involve murdering babies.”
Lisa grunted frantically. She was trying to say something. Tori thought about pulling the rag out of her mouth and allowing her to speak for a minute, but then decided against it. Tori wasn’t interested in what Lisa had to say. Undoubtedly it would be the same old pro-choice song and dance everyone had heard a million times. A woman’s right to do what she wants to do with her body, blah, blah, blah. Action speaks louder than words, and Tori was ready for some action!
She reached into the bucket, grabbed the rubber gloves and put them on. She poured about four ounces of the Drano into the measuring cup and then sucked it into the turkey baster. She reached between Lisa’s legs and parted her labia, and she was about to shove the fat syringe inside and blister a total hysterectomy with the scalding alkaline drain cleaner when she heard the sound of tires screeching outside.
She turned the light off, walked to the window and looked out. There was a Toyota Corolla at the curb, and from the driver’s side door emerged a giant of a man.
He was well over six feet tall, and he wore khaki pants and a khaki shirt and work boots. Sandy blond hair, chiseled features, the chest and shoulders of an athlete.
It was John Rock, and Tori was damn glad to see him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
John Rock walked toward the front door, his shirttails concealing the 9mm semi-automatic pistol stuffed in his waistband. This was it. Lori Lorry was here. He could feel it.
John made it to the porch, saw the broken sidelight, stepped to the side and pulled the 9mm. Jacked a round into the chamber. There was a stabbing pain in his right ear, same as before, and a voice in his head said, “I told you, I’m not Lori.”
“I know it’s you,” John said. “I’m going to guide you back to the other side, where you’ll be at peace. I want you to—”
“There were two of us,” the voice said. “My name is Tori. Lori and I are identical twins. I’m the younger one, but I’m the stronger one. I’m going to twist your balls off and feed them to you, Mr. John Rock. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it.”
A twin. John had never even considered the possibility of there being a second entity, an identical one. Now that he thought about it, it made sense.
John thought back to what had happened yesterday evening, in Jana Lorry’s hospital room. It had ended with John being thrown out of a window and an army of spirits apprehending Lori and whisking her away. And a benevolent entity named Mildred promising to watch over Jana.
Lori’s last words were I’ll be back.
So Lori had made good on her promise. She was back now, here at Lisa Whitaker’s house, only in the form of her twin sister.
Tori Lorry.
Tori now possessed Jana’s body, and was working her like an evil, demented, sadistic puppet.
All in the name of vengeance.
So where was Mildred now? She had promised to become Jana’s guardian angel, to protect her forever. Why hadn’t she protected Jana from being possessed by Tori?
John didn’t know. Maybe Mildred had tried, and had failed. Maybe Tori was stronger.
Occasionally, a particularly difficult spirit known as a super-entity came along.
An SE.
They were very old souls. Wily. Crafty. Very powerful, and sometimes very dangerous. An SE could possess a person and control him or her for decades.
In all his years as a medium, John had only encountered an SE once. The man controlled by the spirit had killed fourteen
young women. The spirit stayed with him through the trial and conviction and all the appeals. The spirit stayed with him all the way to the electric chair.
John had read practically everything ever published about the spiritual realm, and to his knowledge nobody in history had ever been able to expel a super-entity. The only way to rid the physical world of their presence was to kill the host and hope the spirit moved on voluntarily. Sometimes it would. Other times it would simply find another host. Death Row was full of super-entities.
John didn’t want to, but if it came down to it he was prepared to shoot and kill Jana Lorry. Once Jana crossed to the other side, maybe Tori would follow. There was no guarantee, but killing Jana might be the only way to save the lives of the remaining employees from the clinic. Starting with Lisa Whitaker.
John stepped through the door, arms extended, pistol gripped tightly with both hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lisa Whitaker wasn’t the least bit sleepy anymore. Adrenaline had blasted the effects of the Ambien capsules away, and she was in severe pain from the stab wound in her left breast.
She felt the sticky hot blood pooling under her ribcage.
Being impaled with an ice pick was bad enough, but Lisa had trembled in utter terror as she watched the young woman in her bedroom—Jana, or Tori, or whatever the lunatic’s name was—draw half a cup of Drano into a turkey baster. What the hell was she going to do with that? Lisa had shuddered at the possibilities. Then, when Jana/Tori reached between Lisa’s legs, and Lisa suddenly knew what was coming—knew with certainty she was soon going to experience the worst pain of her life, maybe the worst pain anybody had ever experienced in the history of mankind—she had actually prayed to God for death to come quickly.
Then came the miracle. The screeching tires outside.
Jana/Tori had quickly tossed the turkey baster aside, had grabbed something else from the bucket and turned the light off and slithered into the walk-in closet across from Lisa’s bed.
Now Lisa was struggling, with all her might, to free herself from her restraints.
She hoped the police were outside. That had to be it. One of the neighbors must have seen or heard Jana/Tori, and they must have dialed 9-1-1 and reported the break-in.
Lisa expected to hear a voice come over a bullhorn any second now, a deep authoritative voice demanding Jana/Tori to come out with her hands in the air. That’s how it would have happened in the movies. That’s how it should have happened.
“This is the police. We have the house surrounded. You need to come on out and give yourself up. Surrender peacefully now and nobody gets hurt.”
But several minutes went by, and the deep authoritative voice never came. All Lisa heard was the sound of Jana/Tori in the closet trying to stifle her own laughter.
Crazy bitch. Lisa was no psychiatrist, but it didn’t take a medical professional to tell that this young lady was totally off her rocker. Nuts. Insane. Bonkers. What kind of madness would compel someone to break into a house, gather supplies from the kitchen, and set up a makeshift torture chamber in a stranger’s bedroom? Lisa couldn’t imagine. She had briefly worked at a mental health facility years ago, before signing on with Dr. Bratcher’s clinic, but she had never heard of anything this bizarre. Nothing even close. This took the cake.
Lisa struggled against her restraints, but as the seconds passed she felt herself growing weaker and weaker. Her vision was blurry and her toes were numb and she was starting to get short of breath. She wondered if the ice pick had punctured her lung. If so, she was going to lie here and slowly suffocate. She was going to drown in her own blood, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Jana/Tori had stuffed a dishtowel in her mouth, so she couldn’t even scream for help.
Please hurry, she thought. If you’re out there, please hurry.
What was taking them so long? Didn’t they know she was dying in here? No, she supposed they didn’t. All they knew was that someone had broken into a house. And who usually breaks into houses? Burglars. The police were probably outside waiting. They probably had a guy at the front door and a guy at the back, planning to nab the thief on his way out. That would be the prudent thing for a cop to do, Lisa thought. Fools rush in and all that.
She felt the plastic wrap securing her arms and legs to the bedframe giving a little, maybe, stretching ever so slightly. If she could only free herself before crazy lady came back out, maybe there was a chance she could still survive. If she could only free herself, maybe there was still hope.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Blinding flares of red and white exploded in John Rock’s head, like a Fourth of July fireworks display. His Cerebral Radar was going nuts. Tori’s presence was more powerful than her sister Lori’s had been. Way more powerful.
John edged his way into the living room. A yellow wedge of electric light bled dimly from the kitchen, allowing him to make his way without bumping into the furniture. He tried to think of a way to get out of this without killing Jana Lorry, but he could not. Jana had to die, and that’s all there was to it.
John had never killed another human being before. He didn’t even hunt animals. Not that he was a pacifist. He had just never felt the desire. If he were alone in the wilderness, of course, he would do what he needed to do to survive. He would snare a rabbit or shoot a squirrel or a duck or whatever, roast the meat over an open fire and consume every bite with no hesitation. But so far he hadn’t, and he doubted he ever would. Not as long as there were day labor pools in every town and fast food joints on every corner.
John stopped at the sofa and studied the layout of the house. It was small, probably no more than seven or eight hundred square feet. To his right he could see the stove and refrigerator in the kitchen, and part of the countertop. He assumed the dining area was in there as well. The bathroom was directly in front of him, evidenced by a slight glimmer reflecting off the bottom of the porcelain toilet. To his left there was a partition, and a dark hallway that undoubtedly led to the bedroom. Judging from the dimensions he’d seen from outside, John guessed there was only one. The house must have been at least sixty or seventy years old, he thought, because it had been that long since anyone had built anything with a single sleep chamber.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” a deep booming voice said. It came from everywhere, yet nowhere.
John fell to his knees, pointed the gun toward the dark hallway. He used the coffee table to steady his aim. “I know you’re in the bedroom, Tori. I want you to come out now.”
“I have a better idea,” Tori said. “Instead of me coming out there, you can come in here. It’s nice and cozy, and I’m sure my friend Lisa with the ice pick in her chest would be happy to see you.”
“Is she still alive?” John said.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. Why don’t you come on in and see?”
“A spirit named Mildred helped your sister find the way, Tori. Maybe she could help you too. You’re not welcome among the living. You need to move on.”
The voice changed to that of a little girl. “Why does everyone hate me? I didn’t do anything wrong. All I wanted was to be born. All I wanted was a chance.”
“Nobody hates you. Like I said before, it just wasn’t your time. You’ll have other chances. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re so sure, then why don’t you come with me? Yes, I want you to come with me. Tonight. How about it, Mr. John Rock? We’ll go together, hand in hand, just you and me!”
“My job here isn’t finished,” John said. “But when the time comes for me to go, I’ll go. I won’t have a problem with it.”
Tori whinnied like a horse, and then grunted like a pig. “You’re no fun,” she said. “So since you won’t go to the swirly whirly spirit place with me, maybe we could at least play a game. You know, a quick one before I leave. How about hide and seek? That’s a good game. Yes, let’s play hide and seek. And you’re it!”
“
I don’t know how to play,” John said.
“Oh, come on. Everyone knows how to play hide and seek. You just close your eyes and count to ten. While you’re doing that, I run off and hide somewhere. Then, after you count to ten, you open your eyes and try to find me. But you have to say, ‘Ready or not here I come,’ first. That’s all. See, it’s easy.”
“Come out where I can see you first. Then we’ll play.”
“Really? You’ll play with me?”
“Sure.”
“OK, then.”
John took aim at the edge of the partition and waited. Thirty seconds later, a trail of fire erupted in front of the bathroom. Something had been squirted on the floor. John recognized the smell. Lighter fluid for a charcoal grill. Now the hardwood planks lining the hallway were ablaze. Flaming, crackling, smoking. John could have darted out the front door and saved himself, but he didn’t. He had a feeling Lisa Whitaker was still alive, and he wasn’t going to stand outside and watch her burn.
John stuffed the 9mm into his waistband, ran to the kitchen and started slinging cabinet doors open. He was hoping to find a fire extinguisher, but there wasn’t one. He grabbed a stainless steel crab pot, filled it with water, hustled back to the hallway. Luckily, the fire hadn’t started climbing the walls yet. It was still confined to the oak flooring. John poured the water on the base of the flames, and the red-hot planks sizzled and steamed and popped and moaned. He stepped into the bathroom, refilled the pot with water from the bathtub spigot, flooded the hallway with it.
The fire appeared to be completely out now. John coughed and retched and wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirt. His lungs felt as though they’d been dipped in acid. He needed to go outside, at least for a minute. He needed fresh air.
When he turned for the door, Tori started barking like a dog. “Don’t leave,” she said. “We haven’t finished our game.”