The creature left her alone, and searched the small compartments. They were empty. A bestial roar shook the conference area, as it jerked its head from side to side, scanning the entire facility for Nick. It was perplexed and angry by its failure to locate its quarry. When the creature returned to Lynn, she was barely lucid. Her vocal chords were strained, drool leaked from the corners of her mouth, and her eyes were glassy from shock.
“Your body is a brittle statue,” it announced in a hollow, unearthly voice. “If you lie to me again, I will break part of you off, and when I release your spell, these parts will be permanently detached.” He snagged her flowing red hair, and jerked her head back. “Do you understand me, Lynn Baker? If you don’t tell me the truth, you’ll live your remaining years as a freak! People pointing at you. Laughing at you. Pitying you. Is that what you want?”
Her mouth refused her brain’s command to verbalize, so she shook her head vigorously.
Its lips peeled back, revealing teeth the size of piano keys. “What have you done with Bellamy?”
Her lips moved like a silent guppy’s for several moments before sound spilled out. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t . . . know.”
It’s talons struck her left arm, and cleanly severed it from her shoulder. Lynn watched, horrified, as it crashed at her feet, exploding into pebbles and dust.
“Bellamy!” it demanded.
“He . . . was here. He . . . disappeared . . . just before you . . . arrived.”
“Liar!” it roared, and caressed her other arm with the back of its claw for several seconds before snapping it away from her shoulder. It tumbled as if in slow motion to the floor where it, too, burst into shapeless dust.
Tears spilled down Lynn’s cheeks, and dripped across her stony breasts. Her face was contorted and etched in horror.
“Please,” she pleaded. “I’m telling . . . the truth! Don’t hurt me any . . . more.”
“Then tell me about Bellamy!”
“I had him snatched . . . from the mall and . . . brought here. He was pushing my door shut over there when . . . he just . . . disappeared into . . . thin air.”
The creature kicked Lynn’s legs above the knees, and they shattered beneath her. She free fell the short distance to the floor, and landed abruptly upon her thigh stumps. It dragged her away from the wall, laid her flat on her back, and made a deep incision across her fleshy abdomen with a single talon. Blood crept from the slit, and was absorbed quickly into her porous, stony stomach and pelvic regions.
It bent close to her face. “Have you ever watched a rat eat someone alive?”
Another whimper escaped her lips.
“It enters a person through an incision like that.” It pointed to her bleeding abdomen. “Then it travels up the body, eating your internal organs as it goes. But you’re still alive when it devours your heart and lungs, because your brain is alive. In fact, Lynn Baker, you’ll feel it as it enters your skull, and begins munching your brain.”
“No, no, NO!” Lynn shouted, her head shaking convulsively. “I don’t know . . . where Nick . . . is! I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t goddammed know!”
“Then I have another question for you, Lynn Baker,” it growled.
“Anything, anything!” she screamed, as a rat appeared in the creature’s claw and leaped the brief space to her wound. Its black nose sniffed the blood, poked its snout into the slit, and then burrowed its way inside her.
“Oh god, no! Call it off! Get that rat out of me!” she screamed hysterically.
“After you answer me.”
“Hurry! Hurry! The little bastard’s eating me!”
“Where’s the video your man took at DelaHoya’s place in Columbia?”
“Above me. In the DVD player. Oh God, get that thing out of me!”
The creature studied the various controls and drawers before stabbing the DVD disk compartment. The tray slid out, but it was empty.
The rat reached Lynn’s chest cavity, igniting a searing pain, as its razor teeth minced her heart into pulpy, bite-size muscle morsels. Her eyes were clenched shut and her breath rattled in her throat.
“HELP ME!” she shouted. “TAKE IT OUT OF ME!”
Again the creature was frustrated, but it knew who must possess the DVD – Bellamy. He was clever to have filched it right under Baker’s nose. A laugh rumbled from its chest.
Suddenly, out of the blue, it recalled the powerful spell at Bellamy’s apartment, the one that had decimated the apartment manager, and it realized that Baker must be telling the truth about him disappearing into thin air. There was only one possible explanation for that happening. Those damn, pesky witches must be watching over Bellamy. But why? Why was Bellamy so important to them?
The situation called for increased surveillance of Bellamy to discover the witches’ purpose. With the election campaign approaching, there was no time to deal with unpleasant surprises.
It glanced down at Baker. Her screams were reduced to infant gibberish, and her terrified stare was now large and blank.
It waved its talons over her prone, dismembered body, and magically she became clothed and whole again. Her body’s petrifaction, dismemberment, and the rat-eating episode had merely been illusions, but to Baker they had appeared genuine and drove her insane. The DEA’s egomaniac would spend the rest of her life as a raving lunatic confined to a padded cell. It had nothing more to fear from Lynn Baker.
The creature ambled to the inoperative elevator, chanted quietly, and ascended the shaft as a curl of black smoke.
Chapter 22
Nick appeared beside his car in the empty mall parking lot, his pulse thumping loudly in his ears. One second he was closing a vault door in the DEA safe house facility, and the next he was back at the mall as if nothing had happened.
It began raining again, and lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the black, overcast sky. A drum roll of thunder followed seconds later.
Nick got in the car and studied his refection in the vanity mirror. His face was pale and drawn. He desperately needed a stiff drink, but with his luck today, it would vanish before it reached his lips. His usually keen, orderly mind - when he wasn’t drinking - was in disarray. For a disbeliever of the supernatural, it was becoming very difficult to sustain his skepticism. The number one question, of course, was why this was happening to him? At the moment, he was empty handed in the answers department.
The mercury vapor lights cast an eerie glow upon the parking lot. He jumped as a car sped past with several joy-riding kids hanging from the open windows. An SUV followed seconds later. Nick tensed, as the driver slowed to get a good look at Nick before continuing on. Any driver could be the Creeper or another gunman about to take him for another ride.
I’m getting paranoid, he thought, as he started the car. Nick couldn’t get away from the mall fast enough. At the third red light, his breathing slowed enough to call Neo at home. His partner picked up on the second ring.
“What’s up with calling me?” Neo hissed into the phone. “It’s my ass if I’m caught talking to you. Remember what Osborne said about arresting your sorry ass for obstructing an FBI investigation? That goes for mine, too.”
“Just listen.”
“No way man. I’m hanging up for our sakes, since obviously you’re too stewed to follow orders.”
“If you do, a woman’ll be murdered, and her death’ll be on your head, not mine. And for your information, I’m as sober as a church mouse, Neo.”
Silence.
The light changed to green, and Nick accelerated forward. He didn’t know where he was going, only that he wanted to keep moving.
“Goodbye, Neo.”
“Hey, hold on a minute. Man, I can’t believe I’m going to listen to more of your bullshit.”
“Contact the DEA. Tell them that their safe house in Virginia has been compromised, and that Lynn Baker is in mortal danger.”
“How the hell would you know that?”
“I wa
s there.”
“Shit, man, why didn’t you save her?”
“It was beyond my control. Let’s leave at that for now, okay?”
“I could get in a lot of trouble for this,” Neo groaned. “Hell, we could both get into a lot of trouble for this.”
“Suit yourself. But if you just happen to find your balls, give me a call back and update me.”
“Damn you, Nick!”
After Neo, Nick dialed Crow’s direct line at the Bureau’s computer center. Lester Williams, Crow’s wimpy, arrogant assistant, answered in his high nasal drone.
“Oh hi, Special Agent Bellamy. I heard about your suspension today. Tough break.”
Nick imagined a grinning Lester. The little jerk was jealous of Nick’s close relationship with Crow that mostly left Lester out of the loop.
“So why you calling? Did you think Crow’s still here?” Lester asked smugly.
“Just cut the crap, and put me through to Crow.”
Lester chuckled. “I guess you haven’t heard. Crow quit.”
“What?”
“After he heard about your suspension, he marched right upstairs and read Osborne the riot act, and then quit. I tried to stop him, but you know Crow.”
I’ll bet you tried, Nick thought. “Did he leave me any messages?”
“You?”
“No, the Pope.”
“Look, Bellamy, I am in charge over here now, and if you want any cooperation from my department, you’re going to have to show me some respect.”
“Listen, scumbag, you have to earn respect, and for you that’s going to be nearly impossible. I’ll give you three months before you’re thrown out on your ass.”
“Why you . . .”
Nick cut Lester off, and speed dialed his home phone to check for messages. Quit? Just when he needed Crow’s computer wizardry the most. That damn hothead! He wondered why Crow had gotten so indignant over his suspension. For some reason, it really ruffled the Indian’s feathers. Another enigma in day chock full of them.
There was one voice mail message. It was from Crow.
“Nick. Crow. Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.” Click. Dial tone.
Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go was their own secret code to be used only in urgent situations, but what was the crisis? Crow wouldn’t classify Nick’s suspension and his own resignation as emergency situations. There had to be another reason. A damned important one.
There was only one way to find out – take a trip to grandmother’s house.
Nick cruised past his apartment building, and saw a lone cop car parked below his apartment. He left his car in the shopping strip down the street in front of The Great Wall Chinese restaurant, and walked back to his complex.
There were two cops on duty; both were sipping coffee inside the patrol car with the engine running and the air conditioning on. It was a muggy late June night, and the thunder in the distance portended more rain. A light, humid breeze failed to cool him as he crouched low, and made his way behind the cars in the parking lot toward the back stairwell of his building.
Nick kept to the shadows hugging the stairwell as he ascended quickly. Upon reaching his floor, he checked the cops. They were in the car, completely unaware of his presence. A minute later, he was inside his apartment.
The penlight beam explored the darkness. The livingroom was just as he had left it, except for scorched tile and yellow tape criss-crossed in the bedroom entrance. He cautiously entered the bedroom. After a brief search, the only evidence of that morning’s insanity were the crumpled blinds on the floor and Jill Sandlin’s phone number on the Caller ID display. The number could be trouble. The intruder who murdered Mr. Dugan could have seen it, and that was bad news for Jill Sandlin. Her life could very well be in jeopardy. He needed to warn her as soon as possible.
He copied her phone number, stuffed the paper into his pocket, and opened the closet door. His hand felt for a metal release hidden beneath a counterfeit circuit breaker box, located it and pressed. The circuit panel sprang open, revealing a small space. The penlight beam revealed a gun, a dozen spare ammunition clips, and a banded stack of hundred dollar bills. He emptied the contents into a small travel bag.
He stiffened. There was a slight shuffling noise in the livingroom. He clicked off the penlight, slipped into the closet, and quietly closed the door to an inch from the frame.
A wide flashlight beam swept the room ahead of a man and his large revolver. The glare lingered on the closet door, and Nick slid away from the crack. For what seemed like minutes, the light remained glued to the door. Nick’s finger curled around the trigger, waiting.
Finally, the beam retreated from the bedroom, and he breathed again. He had been careless. He’d have to be more cautious from now on.
He listened to two voices at his doorway. The two cops! They spoke in low tones, and Nick heard one call in the apartment security check to headquarters. Finally, the door closed with a soft click, and they were gone.
Nick stripped, changed into black clothes, and shoved a ski mask into the bag. He left the rest of his clothes. He’d buy new ones before rendezvousing with Crow at grandmother’s house. He wouldn’t be coming back here, even if he survived this crazy case. And that was a big if. Too much bad magic in the place as well as a Peeping Tomasina in the mirror.
As he turned to leave the bedroom, a powerful flashlight beam snapped on behind him. Nick threw a hand over his eyes, as he reached for his gun.
“Don’t,” a deep, male voice warned.
Nick lowered both arms. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew the voice didn’t belong to one of the duty cops. He would have read Nick his Miranda Rights by now.
“We figured you might come back here,” the gunman said.
“I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you,” Nick replied stiffly.
Chapter 23
The phone rang at the front desk of the Duneden Bed ‘n’ Breakfast. The desk clerk, the nephew of the owner, put aside the newspaper and plucked receiver from the cradle. He nodded once, placed the caller on hold, and shouted across the small lobby to a woman who was half way out the door.
“Jill, it’s for you.” He went back to reading the sports page in the Columbus Dispatch.
Jill Sandlin pivoted, and took the call at the desk.
“Hello,” she said cheerily. This was going to be the best day of her life.
There was a click followed by a dial tone.
The attractive, thirty-one year old cocked her head at Jeff, the desk clerk. Her light brown hair was trimmed neatly at the neck, and framed her delicately carved face. The v-neck top and brief tennis skirt revealed perky breasts and long, shapely legs.
“Nice one,” she said facetiously.
Jeff glanced up from the paper and frowned. “Nice what?”
“Joke,” she said. “There was nobody on the line.”
“Well, there was.”
“Sure.” She waved her tennis racquet playfully at him. “Next time, I’m going to whack you over the noggin, college boy!” She laughed, and looked at her watch. “Now I’m going to late for my match.”
Jeff watched her rush out the door, shook his head, and turned back to the paper.
An elderly man dressed in navy shorts and a blue and yellow plaid shirt pensively replaced the pay phone receiver, and merged with the noon lunch crowd along High Street in downtown Columbus, Ohio. Those traveling beside him massaged their temples to relieve the pain from sudden headaches. The elderly man was exhausted from his all-night drive from Virginia, but he needed to clean up one more loose end before launching his search for Bellamy.
The Creeper had discovered two things from his phone call to the Duneden Bed and Breakfast. One, Jill Sandlin was in town. Two, by her cheerful greeting, he deduced that tonight was indeed her big score. The culmination of years of hard research and deep disappointments.
Well, he had distressing news for the
jovial Jill Sandlin. He would add yet another disappointment to that long list of disappointments.
Glenna Guttentag sat beneath a black umbrella that shielded her from the intense sunlight and cheered for both women during the tennis match. Her great-granddaughter, Della Carver, was getting the best of Jill Sandlin, but that was expected. Della played varsity singles for Ohio University for three years, winning the Mid American Conference Championship the past two years at her number one singles position and qualifying for the NCAA championships last year, where she lost in the second round to a University of Florida player. Her senior year promised to be her best yet. Della played Jill was for fun and conditioning, although Jill was a pretty good player in her own right, having played tennis two years at Northwestern University before tearing cartilage in her left knee during the Big Ten tournament.
After Della hammered a cross-court winner for match point, the two women retreated to the bench and toweled their glistening faces.
The heavyset Glenna applauded, her plump triceps wobbling with each handclap. “Wonderful match, girls,” she said cheerfully.
Both nodded breathlessly as they slid their racquets into their bags and zipped them shut.
“You should be inside where it’s cool,” Della reprimanded her great-grandmother through the chain link fence. “You’ll get heatstroke.”
“You worry too much.”
“Della’s right,” Jill added as they pushed the gate aside and joined Glenna beside the bleachers. “It’s ninety-two out here.”
“A perfect match for my age,” Glenna quipped, a smile slicing her wrinkled lips and revealing her third set of false teeth. “Now let’s get some lunch.”
Della slung her tennis bag over her shoulder, and pushed Glenna’s wheelchair toward the parking lot. A breeze ruffled the old woman’s silver, permed curls.
“Maybe later, Glenna,” Jill replied. “I’ve got to shower.”
Glenna clucked her tongue. “You would deny an old woman’s request?” she asked lightly.
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