She regretted having to do it, but just before he exploded, she reached for his mind and enveloped it. David responded by screaming and grabbing his head. She tried to be as gentle as possible while sifting through his mind. It took seven seconds before Amanda retreated back into herself. By that point, David was on the floor, howling in agony.
“Are you okay?” Amanda leaned over the counter, back in character. It took him a full minute to register that someone was talking to him.
“Huh? What?” He looked back up at her, wondering who she was and why he was on the floor.
“I asked if you were okay. You slipped on something, and I think you hit your head.”
He climbed back up to the counter, dazed, and still confused. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he repeated. He looked at Amanda as if he had never seen her before. “Are you checking in?”
“You were about to give me the room key.” This was more an instruction than an answer.
He looked down and found a room card with a sleeve. In his handwriting, the number 456 was scrolled across the top. “Oh yes, I’m sorry. Please excuse me. I’m just getting over a cold, and I’m moving a little slower than usual.” He handed her the card. “It’s room 456. Go through the lobby and take the elevators to your left. Do you need help with your luggage?”
“No, thank you,” Amanda answered. She walked away, leaving David Ruiz with a headache and a five-minute memory gap. She reached her room, dropped into the chair by the window, and called Greg.
“Hello,” Greg said tentatively.
“I’m here,” she said quickly. “It’s not the same virus, but it’s close. The clerk downstairs has been sick for a week; if it was my virus, he would be dead by now instead of getting better. I’m fairly certain that this is a mutation, and that’s why people aren’t dying by the thousands.”
“What about the violence? Is it related?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you know who’s doing this?” Greg’s voice was rising in excitement.
“Not yet. I can feel him, he’s close, but for some reason I can’t break through.”
“So how do you find him?”
“I don’t know, but I’m worried that we may be too late. A slower-acting virus has greater infectivity. Thousands could already be affected.” Amanda wondered how many travelers Ruiz had infected in the last week, and how many those people had infected once they left. “We need help, and it’s not going to come from Atlanta.” Amanda quickly summarized her exchange with Martin.
“Our Chief Medical Examiner is brilliant but somewhat unusual. I can start with him.”
“It might be more effective if I talk with him.”
Greg laughed loudly. “I think if you met with Phillip Rucker, we wouldn’t be able to get him out from under his desk for a week. You better let me handle this.”
“All right,” Amanda said. “Greg, I really do need to see you and Lisa.” Aside from Emily, they were her last real contacts with humanity. “Let me find someplace safe, and I’ll call you back with a location. ’Bye.”
Amanda put her phone away and let her mind drift. The killer was frustratingly close, but he remained shrouded. If she could find him, she could extract every thought from his mind and quite easily take what was left of his life, without ever getting up from her chair—except, she couldn’t find him.
Her mind came back around to the early morning conversation with Greg. His parish priest had abilities similar to her own? It wasn’t possible; she would have been aware of him long before now. Could he be the one that was spreading the virus? The man who was seeking her? The killer?
There was no way of knowing without seeing him, but first she needed some sleep. It had been over forty-eight hours since she had last slept, and while her need for sleep wasn’t great, her body did need to recharge every once in a while. Two hours, I can afford two hours. She turned back the sheets, stripped down to a T-shirt and panties, and fell into the bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
It was the same dream; it was always the same dream. She was walking along some sugar-white beach in the early evening twilight. She was alone, not by herself, but alone. There wasn’t another human being left on the planet, or perhaps the universe. Either way, she didn’t care. Nothing else had changed. Everywhere she looked, the world was the same; the birds sang as she kicked up the sand, waves lapped at her feet, and the wind blew through her hair. Off in the distance she heard her dog bark. Mittens, her mottled and often mangy mongrel dog from childhood, now a sleek golden retriever in the prime of life, ran towards her with a smile on his face. He had a look of sheer contentment, and Amanda realized that she too was completely content. She bent down to greet Mittens, and he lapped at her face relentlessly. She was naked, but it didn’t seem to bother Mittens, and as he was the only other sentient being in sight, Amanda ignored her nakedness. Besides, he was naked, too. She felt liberated, free from more than just clothes. The worries, the responsibilities that had crushed her all her life were gone. She ran, jumped, and wrestled with Mittens for hours, and the sun never set. She was both child and adult, fused in some strange synergy that only dreams can produce.
Mittens leapt from her grasp and streaked down the beach, running for the absolute joy of it. He crested a dune and jumped far into the sky, snapping at the seagulls as they took to flight. He landed in a heap, rolled over, and came up shaking, sending sand flying in all directions. Amanda laughed, and Mittens’ smile broadened. He existed only to make her happy.
A sudden loud drumming noise broke their reverie, and Amanda instinctively covered herself. This wasn’t part of the dream. Mittens stood alert, searching for the source of their interruption. His fur began to stand on end, and Amanda could hear his low, menacing growl over the surf. He stared up the dune that he had just run down. Something was over there. More specifically, someone was over there, unseen, but watching. Amanda could feel the curious eyes exploring her, and she felt more naked than she ever had felt in the waking world. Mittens jogged back to her, waiting for the command to destroy the interloper.
“Easy, big boy,” she said while patting Mittens, who seemed to have grown to an unnatural size. Amanda stood, fully clothed, no longer the fragile flower of her youth, but a force of nature, more than capable of defending herself. “Let’s see who it is.” Her mind reached for the intruder, but it slipped her grasp. She chased it, but it kept scurrying away; it was like trying to pin a mouse with a tennis racket. Mittens barked and shot across the sand and over the dune with dream-like speed. Through his eyes, Amanda first saw him, the intruder, and he saw her.
“Let me kill him,” Mittens whispered, and Amanda was suddenly by his side, standing at the crest of the dune, staring at a man dressed all in black. She looked down to see a ferocious wolf where Mittens used to be, his eyes burning with a murderous light. “He’s the killer, and he means to destroy us. Evil runs through his veins. I can smell it.” Mittens the wolf was drooling and licking his chops.
“No, he has answers that I need, besides I promised,” she said weakly to her dog. But a part of her, a part beyond Mittens, toyed with the idea. Did she really need answers? Were they as important as stopping him, killing him? It would be so easy. There was no possibility of escape. She could see him, and that was all that was necessary. She felt the old cruel smile cross her face, and the blood lust rose in her chest. Mittens tensed, waiting for his release, but Amanda hesitated. She had promised Lisa and Greg, and for six years, she had lived by that promise.
“Aunt Emily said to kill him,” Mittens countered. Amanda looked down at her enormous wolf, but still she hesitated.
The Dark Man tried to speak, but Amanda couldn’t hear him. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t understand him. They were closer now, and the sound of the surf had receded, but she just couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. She strained to listen, but all she could hear was an annoying buzzing sound.
“I can’t understand you,” she said over the b
uzzing. Mitten’s tail brushed her leg, his threatening growl clearly audible.
The Dark Man started waving his arms, and Mittens jumped to his feet. “No,” Amanda commanded, and Mittens obediently sat by her side. She didn’t feel threatened. It was her dream, her mind, and her turf.
He became more agitated with her lack of response, and he took a step closer, his face registering anger now. Mittens had risen to a crouch, ready to launch himself at the strange man and tear off one of the waving arms. One more step and Amanda would let him, but the man stopped. He put down his arms and just stared at her, frustration and anger radiating from him.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you?” Authority filled her voice. He didn’t respond, and Amanda wondered if he was having the same difficulty hearing as she had. “Can you hear me?” she screamed, although she was not really sure why she screamed the words. Dream or not, she was in the realm of thought where screaming only communicated emotion.
Apparently, he had heard something. He took a step back out of surprise, then suddenly screamed and lunged at her. Mittens, now the size of a bear, exploded from his crouch. Amanda was struck by the thought that the Dark Man hadn’t seen Mittens the Bear. She sidestepped their collision as the two tumbled into the sand. Mittens was up first, and he bit deep into the Dark Man’s right shoulder. At that instant, an explosion of blue light blinded Amanda.
She awoke in agony, her face and chest burning from the flash. Her skin was searing, almost as if she had been splashed with a powerful acid. Blindly, she rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the sink; but before she reached it, the pain was gone. She stood over the sink, her chest heaving, and her heart hammering against her ribs. She blinked several times, but all she could see were blue dots. Slowly, her vision returned to normal. She studied her reflection in the mirror, but her skin appeared to be unharmed. She rubbed her face and chest, and they both felt normal. She looked back at the bed, and instead of finding a pile of smoking, charred linen, there were only rumpled sheets. She had managed to knock over the bedside clock, and its upside-down numbers told her that she had been asleep for less than sixteen minutes.
It hadn’t gone as planned, but it had turned out better than he could have hoped. He had met the old man briefly two months earlier when he had first started following Rucker, but he had long forgotten George Van Der; he just didn’t seem relevant at the time. Reisch had originally intended another of Phil’s neighbors, the pretty little mother who lived across the street, as his mark. She had caught his eye on several occasions, and each time he had found himself aroused, which made her unusual, and therefore interesting. He had grown beyond desires of the flesh—the very thought of sex nauseated him. Rutting was something animals did. Still, she was capable of eliciting a physical reaction from him, which at some level was disturbing and enticing. On several dark nights he pondered this weakness, finally concluding that he was changing, but not yet changed. His evolution was a process and not an event, and parts of him had taken a step backwards in anticipation of a leap forward. This theory also nicely explained the presence of the madness, and the irrational need for violence. At some point his ordered mind and ordered life would return. Ex chaos ordo.
Until then, he had to deal with the reality of the situation, and presently, that required a sacrifice on her part. Years ago, when the madness first began, a blood sacrifice had been sufficient; but as time went on, more was required. A simple violent death would no longer appease the demon; it demanded body, mind, and soul.
On the drive to her house, he could barely contain his excitement. It had been over a year since he last had taken a mother, and that had been one of the most satisfying experiences of his life. It had lasted nearly six hours; and she struggled exquisitely all the way until the end, when she willingly offered her very being to him. He had hopes that this woman would prove to be even better; she was younger, so were her children, and she had much more to live for. He would touch her, stroke her, have her, and when the moment was right, when the horror had reached unimaginable heights, when every coherent thought and shred of will had dissolved away, he would destroy her.
But she wasn’t home. Her house was dark, and her carport was empty.
The madness within him raged, and only an act of extreme violence and bloodshed would appease it. He imagined driving his car through the front of her house, crashing through her picture window, and destroying everything she owned. He would search for a pet—a dog or a cat—and he saw himself tearing it apart with his teeth, its hot blood smeared over his face, the thick coppery taste filling his mouth. But even this wouldn’t be enough, not by a long stretch. She would now have to pay for denying him, and it would cost much more than the life of a pet. Two children lived in the house—a toddler and a preschooler. That something might happen to them was her ultimate fear, far greater than any fear of being physically violated. But he would have to wait until they returned before he could act. Only, he couldn’t wait. Soon, the madness would overwhelm caution and experience.
The sound of a motor disturbed his tortured thoughts, and Reisch looked up to find George Van Der attacking a snowdrift with his blower. Plumes of snow shot high into the air, and Reisch accepted Fate’s decision.
Killing the old man hadn’t been nearly as gratifying as killing the young mother would have been, but it had been better than he had expected. The old man’s mind had been stronger than his failing body. At first, he resisted Reisch mightily, which only made the inevitable collapse more satisfying. He died slowly, horrific images filling his mind, while Reisch watched. He fed off the old man’s terror as a vampire feeds off its victim’s blood.
The bonus, which made up for his missed opportunity with the pretty mother, was having Rucker discover him. It was almost as if everything had come full circle. Phil had become somewhat of a problem of late. His mind had become more difficult to access, and Reisch didn’t have a satisfactory explanation as to why. No one had ever been able to resist him as well; of course, Reisch had never given so much attention to one individual before. It was possible that the frequent forays into Phil’s mind had led to a type of resistance. It made sense, but Reisch was still somewhat uneasy.
It doesn’t matter how he’s doing it, Reisch thought. The whole episode would wear more on Phil’s mind than his, and it wouldn’t take too much more for Phillip Rucker to be consumed by his own mental chaos.
After killing Van Der, Reisch had slowly driven back to the hotel, basking in the ecstasy of another life absorbed into his being. The only thing left of George Van Der was now a part of him. He had quieted the madness, and anytime he wanted, he could reach back into his memory and feel George struggling for life. It had been a good morning, and he had turned his mind back to Amanda. As he stripped off his jacket, he imagined that he could almost reach out and touch her. The certainty that today was the day he would find her filled his racing heart. He had restored the balance that had always guided him, and now it directed him to the Flynns. They knew where their daughter-in-law was hiding, and before the day was out they would tell him. He had enough of circumspection; the direct approach had always served him well, and he knew that it would not fail him this day. He stood to retrieve his jacket, and a wave of fatigue rolled over him. It wasn’t uncommon after a kill, and despite the fact that he had already slept nearly four hours, he reasoned that a nap was probably in order. He crawled beneath the covers and fell deeply asleep, feeling like a lion that had eaten its full.
Every dream he had ever had as an adult started out in exactly the same way. A six-year-old Klaus sat at a small kitchen table watching his mother make breakfast on a rainy Saturday morning. She was droning on about something that was completely mindless, and Klaus finally stopped pretending to listen. He wondered how he could have sprung from this utterly inconsequential person. This wasn’t a new thought; he had wondered about it most of his life, so why his mind kept coming back to this point in his childhood he couldn’t explain. It had no part
icular importance as far as he knew, but it always had to play out before the good stuff started.
He loved watching himself kill women. Their fear was so real he could actually taste it. He didn’t hate women, at least no more than he hated men; they were just better fear factories. In his dream, he had just finished cutting off the clothes of a screaming blonde when a powerful consciousness outside the reality of his dream interrupted him. It wasn’t human, and it came from a plane of existence far beyond human thought. It was his plane, his special world, and something had invaded it. He left the blonde behind. She would wait; she had no choice. He had sacrificed her to his demon three years earlier. His mind floated upward—at least, it felt upward—but it could have been downward or sideways as far as he knew. It was a familiar trek, and he didn’t need to worry about directions. He reached the Barrier, which marked the limit of human thought and existence. Beyond, it was a world that until now had been his and his alone. He had been the only one to ever breach this barrier, the only one to sever the bonds that confined consciousness to a physical reality. The key was to relax, and the barrier would open. Try to force it, and it would forever remain closed. It had taken him months to learn this simple trick. His mind became a void, free of thoughts, emotions, memories, and finally existence, only to re-form an instant later in his new, special world. Except now, it was someone else’s world.
He was on a beach, and he hated the beach. The sun, the heat, the bugs, the salt, the sand, the wind—he loathed everything about the beach. He tried to change it with a thought, but nothing happened. It should have changed, but it didn’t. She had control. Amanda. So his question was answered. She had evolved just as he had. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had thought about this moment for more than six months, from the moment he learned of her.
A blast of hot wind suddenly knocked him down. He rolled down a small hill, but the wind seemed to follow. Four more times he was brushed by it, and each gust seemed hotter than the last. Reisch didn’t know the rules of this new reality, but it was becoming obvious that Amanda did. A lone figure appeared at the crest of a dune, and for a long moment, they stared at each other. At first, he couldn’t see her clearly, and he suspected that was her intent. She was caught off guard by his arrival and was naturally cautious. He reached for her mind, but she blocked him. He could feel her suspicion and a good deal more. Hostility and anger were tempered by curiosity. He sifted through her emotions, and a part of him was disappointed that there was no fear. He wasn’t ready to reveal his true form or intent, and instead, projected his usual dark and sinister guise, which had, up until this point, reliably provoked some degree of terror. She moved closer, and he could see that she now felt comfortable enough to reveal her true self. She was older than he had expected, but still very lovely.
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