The jealousy lingering in her gorgeous blue eyes cripples my heart to see it again in my mind’s eye and tears pool behind my eyelids before streaming down my cheeks. My heart shatters all over again, forcing me to double over and place my head against the ground as I give in to the potency of the memories and the fallout from their revelations.
As the cognizance takes hold, it demolishes any sense of tranquility or self-assuredness I had; replacing it with doubt, agony, envy, anger, and grief at all I’ve lost. At the betrayal of it all.
The recollection of my sister and her actions rips me apart. Long gone; Iphitheme’s body is now nothing more than a dusty memory of the legacy of the Temple of Apollo. I wish more than anything I could confront her and ask her to take it all back.
Her motivations become clear as the discovery unfolds in tandem with my gifts. She didn’t want Anastasios to soil the reputation of purity for the Oracle of Delphi. She feared for the sanctity of the priestesses—and all that she worked so hard for.
But in her actions, in her fear—she destroyed it all. Both the Oracle and the priestesshood’s venerableness, not to mention, the Temple of Apollo—everything. After what she did, it all crumbled and fell apart because the Pythia was no longer operable. Not when the Oracle up and vanished.
I up and vanished.
When the memories bring me back to my starting point, the energy begins to slow down, and the revelations cease. The pain and heaviness of the past bears no weight now—not when Anastasios soul is alive and well in Blake.
I have to find him—
Kneeling, I place my hands on my thighs and straighten my back. I’m no good to anyone—not Blake, not the girls—if I’m a big puddle of mess on the floor. I force the memories inside to go into deeper waters. To calm themselves by burying them in an undercurrent so I can bring the matters at hand to the surface.
Blinking back my tears, I wipe them away with the back of my hand and take a deep, cleansing breath.
“Diana, you would not have been given these gifts if you weren’t capable of bearing their weight,” I say aloud, shaking away the inundation of emotions and images. “It’s time you stop hiding and start doing what you’re put on this damn Earth to do.”
Without skipping another beat, my resolve hardens, and I place my hands on the cavern floor, knowing I will need grounding. The space rumbles, jostling pebbles and loose stones free—this time not from Mnemosyne, but from the power and magic residing within me as I unleash my gifts.
I will find Blake before time is up.
White hot energy shoots from my fingertips as I splay them wide. Suddenly, my vision blanks out entirely and I’m consumed in a field of perception of only the color white. Though I’m acutely aware of my surroundings, my vision sees and senses the white light as if it’s the only thing that really matters—as if all particles, atoms, subatomic particles—everything exists solely in the clarity of the light.
My thoughts drift to Blake and my vision abruptly and instantaneously shifts.
My awareness spreads out, concurrently searching for Blake and the girls at the same time. Memories weren’t the only thing unlocked by releasing Mnemosyne’s symbol—the power driven by Apollo unleashes itself and I see through the lens of Godlike eyes as his prophetic vision is left unhindered and coursing through me.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Blake is alive but bound by gunpoint further in the cave. Interestingly enough, he’s not far from where the girls are being held. Rocking back on my feet, the worries, reasoning, and thoughts of everyone in the vicinity meander into my mind as if beckoned by a lover’s hand.
“Told you it was him,” a man says.
Beside him, another man snickers—
My mouth drops open in surprise. The men who have the girls also have Blake.
I take another breath, digging deeper into the minds and memories of the two men.
One of them had been sent ahead to scout the area and radio back when tourists had left. But he had spotted Blake and acted. The grungy old man from the blue cabin back home had a surveillance system installed in his house and they had our faces. Each of them were on alert for being followed—just in case.
I dive deeper, allowing my senses to truly dig in and listen—
“There—all tied up and secure,” the first man says, wiping his hands across his green shirt. His lips curve into a sneer.
“That’s great. Really. What in the hell are we supposed to do with this asshole?” the second man says, kicking at Blake’s limp body as it rests on the ground.
Blake’s mind is blank—clearly not conscious enough to tap into yet. But his energy signature is alive and well.
“I dunno—but I couldn’t just leave him out there. As soon as I spotted him, I knew I had to act. You know what happened with the little girl back in the States. He and that bitch stole her right out from under us. Who knows what the hell he was planning to do.”
“What if he’s got backup, moron? Or maybe he’s been tagged with some sort of GPS locator. You coulda led the police right to us for all you know,” he spits. “We gotta distance ourselves from him and quick. Start rounding up the girls.”
I don’t actively go searching for personal details and yet they come to me freely. The man with the dirty green shirt and gung-ho attitude’s name is Peter Johnson; a completely ordinary name for someone so vile, and he didn’t want to be on this mission in the first place. At least, not after Blake and I got involved. But his boss wouldn’t let him out of the deal—someone by the name of Lester Lewis. The other man goes by Brady, but his real name is Ralph Anderson—and not even Peter or Lester’s aware of this sleight of hand.
The white light takes form and almost as if a virtual map loads in my mind, the fastest route appears to where they all are. Leaving the present behind, I cast my mind into the future, trying to see the possible outcomes and uncover my best way in.
I could go raging in there, but without Blake, my scope is limited. I don’t have a gun or anything to apprehend them—that was Blake’s play. It’s his area of expertise, not mine.
Stealth it is—
I’ll need to get to Blake without the men seeing me. Then, I need to get him back up and operational, so he can do his part of the job. Together, we can overtake them and get the girls. Easy peasy.
Easing myself to a stand, I sigh in relief. This will all be over soon.
Blake and I will have a lot to discuss. I can’t keep all of this from him—he’ll have to know.
Following my inner compass and the pathway of light in my mind, I walk the cavern pathways. It’s an odd sort of sensation—almost like sleepwalking—as I’m guided closer to where Blake and the girls are being held. In an ironic twist of fate—Ralph Anderson, or Brady, was right. Blake has been tagged, just not with a GPS locator the way they know it.
From where I am, the tunnels leading deeper aren’t entirely walkable. Some require strength and skill to climb up, over, or through narrow passage ways. I’ve never been one to overly love spelunking, because the thought of getting lost in the pitch black—or worse, trapped without a way out. Even my abilities, at least in the past, have had their weaknesses and that was enough to instill caution. Yet, now there’s never a moment where those thoughts arise and give me pause. I know exactly how to get to where I need to be and the most efficient way to do it.
I’m surprised by the way my awareness is vaster than it was before; encompassing movements, thoughts, and placements all in real time and without much effort at all. Before, I had to truly focus to get the information I really wanted, all while sifting out the details just causing noise—all of that is gone now.
I place my tiny flashlight between my teeth, climbing up and into a narrow passageway, as I begin the next leg of my journey. The space is tight, forcing me to crawl on my stomach for a good distance. This isn’t the only way to Blake’s location, but it’s by far the fastest and right now, I’d rather be faster and ensure Blake’s safety,
than take my time to protect my own.
A source of water must be nearby because I can sense its stagnation and feel its vibration. The dank air in the cavern begins to close in, flooding my lungs with the memories of long past. Not much in this space has changed over the millennia.
Nearing the end of the narrow tunnel, I scrape my knee against the side of the rocky wall as I push myself forward—rushing. The rough surface shreds through the fabric on my jeans and though I don’t even have to look at it, I already know it’s drawn blood.
“Dammit,” I curse, biting my lip to keep myself quiet.
Sound echoes in these enclosed spaces and alerting the men I’m coming is the last thing I want to do.
Finally, I reach the end of the crawlspace and I clamber through the opening; flopping out onto the dusty cavern floor. Beside me, a small pool of water glimmers in the low light as I release my flashlight and let it fall to the ground.
The way the light hits the liquid and bounces around the enclosed space instantly reminds me of some of Blake’s drawings and paintings and I know why. Pulling up short, I hunch back onto my heels and take a look around. This pocket between the crawlspace and the next tunnel can’t be any larger than four hundred and fifty square feet, and yet, I’d remember it anywhere.
It’s where I found Anastasios’ body.
19
DREAD AND DESPAIR overtake me, and I’m suddenly consumed in the memory of what was. As much as I try to push it under, the stone left to the side—it’s the one smattered in his blood, even if it now looks like it’s simply covered in rust. I flashback to the way I found his crumbled body as he took his last breath in my arms. I hear his final labored words when he told me who did this to him.
My shoulder and knee throb, my own blood trickling down my leg—but I don’t make a move.
Instead, my mind twists to my confrontation of Iphitheme.
She didn’t even try to deny it—as though murder was a completely acceptable action for a priestess of Apollo to take. I watched the way her eyes glinted like cold steel and I cried out to Apollo for refusing to let me see this fate before it took place. I cursed his name. I cursed everything about him—I cursed Iphitheme—I cursed this eternal existence.
A vision captures my attention, pulling me from the past and hurtling me into the near future—
“He’s nothin’ but trouble. We need to get rid of him before he fucks up this whole operation. I’m telling ya, this whole thing stinks,” Brady—also known as Ralph—says. He garnishes his handgun, pointing it at Blake’s head.
Blake sits up taller, his arms bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. His eyes widen slightly, but his mind is wielding through scenarios faster than I can keep up.
“What in the hell is he gonna do bound and gagged, Brady? We ain’t gotta be killers,” Peter says, throwing a look of disgust.
My stomach lurches—as if murder is the greater of the two evils when they consider child prostitution and kidnapping.
“Maybe you ain’t—”
The sound of the gun loading a bullet into the chamber snaps me from the vision and I’m on my feet running.
Apollo may not have warned me before—but he’s warning me now.
It’s a gift I will not take lightly, but accept gladly.
My feet hit the ground in soft thuds, but I don’t stop. There isn’t time for super stealth or elaborate plans now.
The place where everything is about to unfold is coming up fast and I pray to Apollo and Mnemosyne that they’ll all be safe—the girls and Blake—until I get there. I pray with every fiber of my being I’ve been given enough time to change the course of this.
The terrain is uneven and close, but I’m getting closer.
I round a bend and hear hushed voices speaking in frantic angry tones. The hairs on my neck rise—I’ve only got seconds to react.
“The guy’s coming to, I think. Want me to knock him out again?” Peter says.
“He’s nothin’ but trouble…”
The exact words from my vision—the one’s I’ve been dreading since I saw them have been spoken, and I race forward before the rest can continue to unfold.
“Hiya there, gentlemen,” I say, stepping out of the shadows.
Blake’s eyes widen, and his face turns ashen. He shakes his head frantically, nodding back toward where I came from. His eyes are nothing more than slits as he flares his nostrils wide.
I grin apologetically at him with a “sorry not sorry” kinda smile, as I edge further inward.
Beyond the two men, the small group of girls huddles together, but their faces are bright with curiosity and…hope.
“Hey—who in the hell are you?” Peter says, standing up quickly. His green eyes are wide with shock and his lopsided mouth gapes open. “Oh, damn—it’s the bitch from the cabin.”
Foresight flashes into my mind—the other guy, Brady, will try to over-power me by leaning on the element of surprise. As he lunges, I sidestep his power grab, and he falls flat on the floor as his momentum carries him down.
While I have the element of surprise to myself, I pull Blake to a stand. Without missing a beat, he drops his arms down, stepping through them so they’re in the front of his body. With a swift movement he throws his bound hands in the air and brings them down across his knee, breaking the duct tape. Casting it aside, he rips the tape from his mouth and lunges as Brady attempts to stand back up.
The girls scream and squeal as they scoot back, trying to avoid the scene unfolding in front of them.
Peter stands in the middle of the space, halfway between the girls and the three of us. His jaw still slacking open, I suddenly get the vision of him coming to his senses and grabbing the girls.
As Blake lands an elbow across Brady’s cheek, splitting it open, I sidestep the two of them and tackle Peter. Of the two of them, he’s the one I feel I could most overpower using my gifts. His height and weight almost match mine, but I have something he doesn’t—Apollo’s aid.
Wrapping my arms around Peter’s torso, we both free fall backward, landing hard against the cold ground.
He hits with a sickening, “Ooof” as his back thumps against the rocks.
The girls scream again, but this time, they all climb to their feet and edge further down the cavern tunnel. Their hands are bound in similar fashion to how Blake’s where—but they’re also bound to one another with some sort of coated wire.
Peter entwines his fingers in my hair, pulling hard. My chin tips upward and he plants a knee in the middle of my thigh. Sparks of pain explode in the muscle. Rolling off of him in surprise, he twists around, throwing me down, as he straddles across my body. A sick, creepy grin sliding across his lips and I immediately bring a fist into his groin before his has the opportunity to pin my arms down.
Screaming in agony, he slumps off of me, groping at himself.
I slide out from under his weight, kicking at him again to push myself further away.
“Blake, gun—” I scream, seconds after seeing Brady ditch their fight in lieu of the weapon.
Blake lunges forward, kicking the gun out of his reach just as Brady makes an attempt for it. The gun clatters against the walls as it hits the rock face.
“Thanks,” Blake says breathlessly, as he lands his fist against Brady’s cheek and the bridge of his nose.
Blood splatters the ground as a fissure separates across Brady’s face. He let’s out a howl, groping at the wound. Blood gushes between his fingers, and Blake brings his elbow down on the back of the man’s neck. He drops instantly and doesn’t move.
Without missing a beat, Blake yanks Brady’s arms behind his back and pulls rip ties outta thin air. At least he had those, despite the missing luggage case. He clicks them in place, then moves on to restraining Brady’s feet.
I’m mesmerized by the way Blake moves—such precision and power. There’s no doubt in the way he maneuvers as his training and muscle memory kicks in. It’s only the second time I’ve gotten to see
this side of him, yet this time immediately brings back memories of the way he was as an Apollo guard. He didn’t mess around then, either.
Images of Peter rising up and landing a blow to my face pull me from my admiration of Blake and I scramble to my feet. Instead of retaining his opportunity for a punch, things shift in real time as Peter lunges forward. Before I know what hit me, we’re on the ground as I struggle to breathe—the wind effectively knocked out of me.
Stars and burst of light invade my vision and I’m suddenly spinning in a sea of abstracts.
Blake’s voice is far away, saying something—but I can’t quite grab hold on the words. My body has an odd sensation, as if it’s being moved—but I’m not really in it.
Maybe if I rest for just a minute...
No sooner does the thought flash through my mind, I feel myself sinking. Sinking through the earth beneath me—sinking into a place of utter cessation. The beauty in the stillness of this space is something I never knew could exist—and yet, it feels vaguely familiar. Almost as if it’s the place from which we all spring from.
Whatever it is, it’s a restful, peaceful place I could totally get used to. Yet, somewhere in the back of my being, I know it’s all temporary. Rest and peace have never been in the cards for me.
A blast somewhere nearby extracts me from the tranquility and forces me back into my body. My eyes pop open at the sound of gurgling beside me. Breathing takes effort, as I struggle for each inhalation. Slowly, the pain eases and I twist around, taking in my surroundings.
“You shot me—” Peter screams in agony. “You fuckin’ shot me.”
Less than a foot from me, Peter clutches at his shoulder, blood streaming from beneath his palm.
A few meters away, Blake drops the gun to his side, then tucks it in the space between the small of his back and his jeans.
“Are you okay?” he says, rushing to my side. Blake drops to his knees, placing his left hand on my shoulder.
Oracle: A Diana Hawthorne Psychic Mystery Book Page 19