by Angie Sandro
“Sorry about that.” I lean closer to inspect her artistry. “Pretty.”
“Do you want me to paint your fingernails?”
My nose scrunches. “I thought redheads weren’t supposed to wear pink.”
“I dare you to defy stereotypes.”
Why not? “Defiance is my middle name today.”
She catches my sigh and frowns. “That bad, huh? Did Alonso tell you more about the mystery goo?”
“No, it was a total waste of time. He spent five minutes checking my wounds. The next twenty he tried to get me to give up my blood.”
“Bet that was a lost cause.”
Gabriella and I sing in unison, “I don’t do needles,” then laugh.
“You should’ve seen his face. He was so angry, I thought he was going to throttle me.”
“I would’ve enjoyed seeing that.” She snorts, jostling her hand. This time she paints the wheel. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to throttle you since we met.”
“Very funny, but really, he was a complete jerk. First, he denied finding the mystery substance on my body. Then he tried to trick me into giving him my blood. Said he wanted to test it to see if I’d contracted a blood-borne illness from Tolson. What if I had believed him? I would’ve been a nervous wreck waiting for the results, with him knowing the whole time that I’d already been given a clean bill of health.”
“Why would he do that? You’d think he’d want you to cooperate. It’s not like he hasn’t known you long enough to know how stubborn you can be.” Gabriella clears her throat. “He’s a strange man. Remember the condition of your early release from the hospital? I promised to go on a date with him. Well, we were supposed to go out Tuesday, and he was really upset when I postponed because I was taking care of you. He sent a text before you walked out, asking if we could reschedule for tonight. I said yes, but maybe I should back out?”
“No,” I say, considering his motives. “He’s probably desperate.”
“Dena,” Gabriella squeals, slapping my shoulder.
“Oh, sorry; that didn’t come out right. I meant, he probably can’t see through your façade of a flighty, naïve ingénue. He thinks you can be manipulated into helping him.”
“That retraction doesn’t make me sound any more attractive, Dee. You don’t think he’s interested in me?”
“A normal man would be,” I say, wincing at her hurt tone. “But Alonso’s egotistical. The only thing he’s attracted to is his reflection in a shiny surface. Be grateful he doesn’t find you appealing. It would be an insult if he did.”
Gabriella remains silent as she seals the polish up and drops it in her purse. I can’t tell what she thinks of the matter. Maybe she really does enjoy flirting with the man. And isn’t sharing out of sisterhood-solidarity. If that’s the case then she needs to be filled in on the rest of the conversation with Estrada or she won’t be of any help.
“Do you know what Estrada had the nerve to tell me after I confronted him about his lies? He said my mother would approve of his experimenting on me. That we’d make a lot of money selling a compound that could save millions of lives.”
Gabriella snorts. “What? So you’re supposed to agree to let him stick holes in you—for money?”
“And because the compound can heal people with life-threatening illnesses.” I bite my lip, feeling guilty, but also knowing it’s a slippery slope. After I awoke from the coma, Estrada conducted test after invasive test to find out why. He used the same argument about saving lives to get me to comply. It wasn’t until after the bone marrow biopsy that I realized he didn’t see me as a patient, but as a test subject to be exploited. “I’m not sure if I can handle being turned into a human pin cushion again, but if this mystery goop could save lives then wouldn’t it be selfish not to help him?”
Gabriella pats my hand. “You’re so strong, I sometimes forget how much you’ve suffered. It’s okay to be selfish.”
“I need to figure out what he’s really thinking before making a decision, ’cause right now, I trust him about as far as I can throw him.”
“So I need to practice my feminine wiles before going on my date?” She bats her eyelashes and pokes out her bottom lip.
I laugh, my mood lightening at her sultry pout. “Don’t go overboard, Gabby. He’s older than he looks. If you come on too strong, he might have a heart attack, and I’ll never figure out what he knows. See if you can get him to lower his guard long enough to let something slip. He’ll be trying to do the same with you.”
“It’s still weird that Alonso’s being so secretive. Have you spoken with Anders?”
“No, not yet. I just got through one agonizing experience and already you’re pushing me to have another.”
“Dena, you’re being melodramatic. Anders is not that bad.”
“Yes he is! Can you imagine how much satisfaction he’ll get once I finally use one of the stupid business cards he keeps throwing at me? He’ll be insufferable.”
“Drama queen, just get it over with and make the call.” Toenails finally dry, Gabriella slips on her shoes and starts the car. “Where now? Popeye’s for their famous fried chicken? Maybe the mall so I can find a dress for tonight?”
“Sounds good. I could use a little retail therapy before my actual therapy. I’ve got an appointment with my shrink at four.”
“Ferdinand works fast.”
“He wants me to meet with a hypnotherapist who is going to try to interpret my dreams.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “Maybe read my aura or something”
CHAPTER 12
Astral Hijinks
Downey Flood works out of her home, a modest one-bedroom cottage painted my favorite color—a pale yellow, with blue-trimmed shutters—too cute, like her name. A variety of plants dot the small yard. The atmosphere she’s created seems designed to lull a person into a more relaxed frame of mind, but I can’t relax.
Ferdinand and Downey meet me at the car. The house is the polar opposite in aspect from Downey. If I’d seen the home first, I would’ve thought a flower child resided here. Instead, Downey seems perfectly modern. She wears her chocolate hair in a short bob that brushes her jaw line. Tailored brown slacks match her hair and compliment a teal, turtleneck blouse. Rings glitter on her manicured fingers. Since I’m dressed for comfort, I feel shabby in comparison.
Despite her upscale appearance, Downey comes across as amazingly laid back. She gives me a welcoming smile, and the hand grasping mine holds on long enough to show her pleasure at our introduction. Ferdinand promises Gabriella that he’ll drive me home after the session concludes, while Downey places my hand on the crook of her elbow and leads me toward the house.
I nod to Gabriella, who gives a little wave.
When I turn, I catch Downey studying me. “Ferdinand shared that you began having nightmares after being attacked and that recently you sleepwalked?” Her voice swoops upward on the question.
“Ferdinand told you all that, huh?” From his expression, I can tell he hasn’t divulged the whole reason for the meeting, which is fine by me. The whole entity angle’s a little difficult to swallow unless witnessed firsthand.
“I hope you’re not upset?” Downey frowns slightly. “I typically schedule sessions a month in advance. He had to provide a good enough reason for bumping up your appointment. He felt the sleepwalking posed a risk to your safety.”
“I wondered about the quick service. If you think you can keep me from wandering into traffic again, I’m willing to try anything you ask.”
Downey leads me into her home, and again, everything seems perfectly normal. It’s a bit of a letdown. I guess she leans toward “con” when it comes to believing in the supernatural aspects of hypnosis. The sofa’s a boring brown, but it’s plush. I sink into it with a sigh, exhausted from my nights with so little sleep.
Downey sits in the chair across from me. “Are you thirsty? I made tea.”
“Yes, please. I love tea.”
“Good, it’s a speci
al blend. It’ll help you relax.” She waves her hand toward what I assume is the kitchen. “Ferdinand, the kettle’s on the stove. Could you bring Dena a cup while I get to know her?”
Ferdinand nods and leaves the room. How the big guy moves so soundlessly is beyond my comprehension. He’s got catlike reflexes.
“I hope you’re not too nervous about this?” Downey asks.
Again with the swoop to her voice. Since Downey’s the professional, shouldn’t she be trying to ease my worry, not the other way around? I catch myself about to roll my eyes and vow to use this opportunity to work on my patience and tact. “Not yet, but give me few minutes and my answer might change.”
Downey laughs. “I appreciate your honesty. I’m a bit nervous myself. I usually get to know my clients for several sessions before attempting hypnosis. You don’t know me. The tea will help loosen you up a bit. Ah, speaking of…” She angles her body toward the kitchen door.
Ferdinand returns with single cup on a tray and places it on the table. I give it the evil eye. “Are you saying the tea’s drugged?”
“No, it’s made from a special blend of herbs designed to relax you. I grow them in my garden. I’ve found that a person’s receptivity to hypnosis is greater if there is trust between the client and therapist.”
I need this hypnosis thing to work to find the spirit before he kills anyone else. My hands shake as I reach for the cup, and I down the tea in one gulp. The flavor lingering on my tongue tastes strange—a blend of licorice and cinnamon.
Downey takes the cup from my hand and sets it on the table. “Okay, lie back and get comfortable. Even with the tea, some people have difficulty going into a hypnotic state the first time, so this will be a trial run.”
Great, if this doesn’t work I have to come back again. Nerves hold my body tight with tension, but as I listen to the soothing sound of Downey’s voice, I relax. Damn, she’s good.
I stretch out my senses, attempting to locate the connection stretching between the entity and myself—I really need his name. Surely he has one. My spirit elongates then separates from my body. From above, I look down. My body lies boneless on the sofa. A silver cord connects my body to my spirit self like in a book I read about out-of-body experiences. The book also warned that if the cord gets severed then my body will die—not a comforting thought when the cord looks so flimsy.
I drift upward, passing through the roof of the house and into the sky. I search the city for anything that might pinpoint the spirit’s location and catch a swirling darkness forming downtown. Thinking about the darkness draws my spirit toward the churning energy of the shadow. He senses my presence. The cloud coalesces, spiraling in agitation, and I feel his hesitance in approaching.
Mentally, I reach out, drawing him closer. “I’m sorry,” I send, infusing my apology with the intensity of my emotions. “Please, come back. Trust me. I won’t hurt you again,” I beg—pleading for him to return from that dark place he has been lost in since our last encounter. It hurts to know he fears my rejection. My actions make him vulnerable. If I don’t earn back his trust, he won’t let me get close enough to read his thoughts.
On this plane, he manifests as humanoid in form. Featureless but for wounded, dark eyes staring at me with a hunger that reaches deep into my core. His energy flows outward, inching closer, then envelops my own. I drop my defenses and let him in, but I’m not consumed.
Our spirits join. We become one.
Tranquility fills my body, spilling out in a cooling wave of utter peace that flows into him. His rage drains, rinsed away by the clarity of my thoughts, like new rain washing the dust staining a rose petal. He drinks it in. The darkness in his aura lightens. If asked to describe how the change affects us both, I don’t think I could find the words. His embrace fills with warmth and light. He draws our energies closer. We dance, whirling. I imagine, if anyone can see us, we look like twin tornados, twining together higher and higher into the clouds.
The tug from my body shocks me. I grab onto him, unwilling to go without learning why he’s trapped. What he wants from me.
“What’s your name?” I ask, fighting to hold on to him. “Tell me.”
The tug on my body’s harder this time. It hurts.
“Please, tell me.”
Ashmael…The name floats through my mind, lavender letters against the darkness filling my thoughts. I release my hold. “Follow me,” I beg. “Please…”
I fall toward the earth, so fast I become dizzy.
My eyes open on a spinning room. I roll sideways and my stomach heaves, splattering vomit across a pair of shiny brown pumps.
Downey’s worried face fills my vision. Sweat dots her forehead. “She’s awake,” she cries, patting my back as I gag again. “Ferdinand…”
Ferdinand runs out of the kitchen with a telephone clutched to his ear. “I’m sorry, false alarm. She’s awake,” he says to the person on the line.
I frown up at him, uneasy at his panic-stricken expression. “Who’s on the phone?”
“Ferdinand called 9-1-1,” Downey says in a shaky voice. “I lost my hold over you. I couldn’t get you to come out of the trance. You stopped breathing…”
I draw in a deep breath in response. “Oh; that’s not normal?”
“Definitely not! To get that deep is dangerous.”
“I wasn’t deep. I left my body behind. I remember looking down and seeing myself on the couch. I saw both of you, and then, I was out there…in the world. It was the most amazing experience—ever.”
“You’re talking about astral projection?” Downey’s lips purse. She grimaces at Ferdinand, who shrugs. She shakes her head. “Are you sure what you remember is accurate? Sometimes the mind invents a scenario in which we confuse ourselves into thinking we’ve left our bodies. It’s really just another form of a dream.”
“It felt real.” My face flushes.
I glance at Ferdinand to see whether he shares her skepticism, but he still appears shaken. “I think I should take Dena home,” he tells Downey. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
“But we need to analyze this now, while the memory’s fresh.”
I reach for the hand Ferdinand holds out to me. He helps me to my feet, and I lean on him for support. “I’m a little woozy. I don’t mind putting off the deep psycho-babble for another time.”
Whew, astral projection really takes a lot of energy out of the body…literally. Despite the nausea, I’m delirious with happiness. More than a little giddy. I found him…my deadly shadow, Ashmael.
Ferdinand refrains from making a scene until we’re in the car and heading home. He stares at the street with an intensity that leaves me afraid for anyone who dares to cut him off. “Okay, promise you’ll never do that again,” he says in a clipped tone that accentuates his accent.
“Are you referring to astral projection or hypnosis in general?”
Ferdinand shoots a glare in my direction. “I haven’t known you long, but I’ve noticed you revert to sarcasm when confronted by extreme emotion. You know you’re not funny, right?”
“And I’ve noticed you get all analytical on my ass when confronted by the same.” I cross my arms. “And I am funny. I’m an acquired taste—I’m considered too spicy for most people.”
His jawline tenses, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones. “Dena, you stopped breathing. Some people aren’t meant to slip their skin.”
Slip their skin? What an unusual, but accurate description of what happened.
“You could’ve died.” He glances over at me to hammer in his point. “Again.”
“For some reason, I’m not too worried. From what I can tell from my many near-death experiences, Death’s on my side.” I’m joking. Except it also feels like the truth.
“Immortality goes against the natural order of the universe. It comes with unforeseen consequences. I also speak from experience here.”
The laugh bubbles up from deep in my stomach, releasing all of my pent-up tension. “
Right; very funny.”
Ferdinand’s lips pinch shut. He closes himself off, as if he builds an invisible brick wall between us. Shit! I swallow my laugh and lean back in the seat. I screwed up. Was he serious about “immortality” and “unforeseen consequences”? If so, what the hell?
My closest ally and I totally threw his concern in his face. How stupid can I get? “I’m sorry, Ferdinand. I didn’t expect to stop breathing. I also shouldn’t have joked about dying. I know I’m not immortal.”
His hands clench on the steering wheel.
“Come on, I didn’t know I’d be in danger when I agreed to hypnosis. Downey should’ve warned us that something like this could happen.” Remembering the shock on Downey’s face, my own anger rises. “It’s not like I planned to almost die again. I just wanted to fool around in my dream a little bit.”
“And did you?” Ferdinand’s foot eases off the gas. “Fool around, I mean? Did you find the spirit?” Seeing my expression, Ferdinand’s lips quirk. “From the shiny glow on your face, I assume the contact went well.”
“It was good for me.” I grin.
“So, did you figure out why he’s linked to you?”
I reflect on the main points of my experience. “My initial intent was to gather information about what caused him to be a vengeful spirit.”
“He’s more powerful than a vengeful spirit,” Ferdinand says.
“Yeah, he’s not like ghosts you see on TV.” I can’t believe I’m even talking about ghosts like they’re real. When did my life get so surreal? Yeah, right after I came back from the dead. I cough to cover the hysterical laugh bubbling up from deep in my gut and continue, “Once I found him—Ashmael, that’s his name—I realized how betrayed he felt by our last encounter. I had to do some serious apologizing to get him to come close and, well, the apologizing was nice. It was different being on an equal plane of existence. Two spirits floating in the clouds…” I rub at the goose bumps on my arms. “Okay, I know this is an alternative relationship that doesn’t have a shot in hell of working out since he’s not…human or…alive, but I’m not creeped out like I should be, or as much as you probably are looking in from the outside.”