by Evie Rhodes
Raven ignored Brandi’s edginess. Her mind was filtering through outfits of what she would be wearing for dinner with Micah. Brandi’s reply was already trailing in the winds of the past.
Shaughn stood admiring himself in the mirror. He was buff, lean and smooth. He loved it. He turned away. When he turned back a different reflection peered back at him. His demeanor, posture, and stance had changed.
Vaughn was six years old. He was Shaughn’s alter personality. He struggled to push his way out to the forefront. There was a slight pop, like electricity, and Vaughn was out visiting.
Vaughn said to Shaughn, “You have a date with a lady.” He giggled. “Is she pretty?”
The body demeanor and posture changed again. Shaughn’s tone was supremely arrogant. “Yeah. She is. She belongs to Micah. And tonight, I’ll get to sample Raven. I’ll get to devour all that he cherishes.”
There was another quick popping sound. Vaughn struggled to make his way to the forefront once again. “I don’t want to sample Raven. I want my mommy. Can I see her, Shaughn? Please?”
Shaughn pushed Vaughn out of his place. When he was back his eyes flashed fire. “Stop being a baby. You’ll see her when I say you can. You’ll see her for sure when you return to hell because that’s where she’ll be. That’s where we’ll all be.” Shaughn’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Down in the bowels of the earth,” he laughed.
Vaughn started to cry. He and Shaughn struggled for first position in the body. Shaughn and then Vaughn. Vaughn and then Shaughn. Shaughn’s body took on the characteristics of a floppy rag doll. They twisted and winded, back and forth. They fought each other fiercely for the dominant position.
Shaughn was a great deal stronger than Vaughn most of the time. But when Vaughn really wanted something, he cried and he fought.
Vaughn pushed with all his might. He pushed with a vengeance. Shaughn toppled out of the dominant position. Once Vaughn regained control he pushed Shaughn down into the deep. The deep was the inner place where the personality resided who was not in the dominant position.
Satisfied Vaughn sat down on the floor cross-legged. He pouted his lips as tears streamed from his eyes. He told Shaughn, “Mommy. I want to go see my mommy.”
Shaughn was tired. He most definitely was not in the mood for Vaughn’s whining. Sometimes he’d stay in the deep and let Vaughn stay out and play, just to pacify him so he didn’t get in the way later on.
Unfortunately, Vaughn had now pissed him off. He wanted time to get ready for his date with Raven. So with one Herculean yank he snatched Vaughn down into the deep. Taking the body back, regaining full control of it. Vaughn gave a startled whimper as he plunged down into the dark place.
Shaughn stood up. He looked in the mirror. He walked over to the bust of Raven to kiss each eyelid again. He could taste this girl. He couldn’t wait. She was fine with a capital F. And she was Micah’s.
Vaughn was in the deep dark place now. Shaughn had an iron grip on him. He couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe. He retreated, letting Shaughn have the body for now. He hadn’t even gotten to color in his books while he was out, or ask for raspberry sherbet.
That night, Shaughn Braswell sat across the table from Raven. He was an exact replica of Micah Jordan-Wells. He possessed the clean-cut look, the voice, the tone, and the very mannerisms of Micah.
Raven glowed. Excitement flowed through her body. At last she was having a private dinner and some time with Micah. Her excitement was contagious.
Shaughn smiled at her excitement. He looked at her captivatingly across the dinner table.
He leaned over and smoothed back a lock of Raven’s hair, placing it gently behind her ear. It was the same gesture Micah always used with her.
He looked deeply in her eyes. He touched her on the cheek. It was a feathery stroke pent up with conveyed longing. The physical wave of it reached out to touch her, “Let’s get out of here.”
Raven looked at him tenderly. “I love you, Micah.”
Shaughn leaned across the table. He flipped his tongue in her mouth, sucking her into a sexual cyclone. Fever lit her throat. Fire ignited her body. Only Micah could do that. His longing tasted salty on her lips.
“I know you love me,” Shaughn told her.
Chapter 27
In her Victorian parlor, Evelyn sipped from a cup of coffee. She sat straight, her body rigid. Across from her, the persistent old reverend gazed in her direction.
Reverend Erwin Jackson had just come from The New Jersey Institute of Living—the orphanage where he spent a good deal of his time. He was running the entire ministry now. On the long drive to Evelyn’s he had suffered in the spirit at the thought of his pending confrontation with her.
Evelyn had listened to all her favorites this morning, Beethoven Symphony #9 and Liszt. The music had now stopped. Actually, if she were honest with herself, the music had really stopped long ago.
It was increasingly difficult for her to become lost in the soaring genius notes that poured out of the recordings. To let her mind fly as though it possessed wings of its own. She sighed deeply at the loss.
Evelyn took another sip before she began what she thought of as her monologue with the reverend. Something dark, and deep, floated from her eyes to peer across at him.
A sense of great sorrow seeped from her pores. “Why don’t you just let it go, Reverend? It’s bigger than both of us. There’s nothing I can do. I have no proof. She hesitated, “Even if I did . . .” Her voice trailed off into nothingness.
The reverend leaned forward in his seat. It was urgent that he get through to her. He knew Evelyn had built a wall around herself; one even he was having trouble penetrating. Nevertheless, there was too much at stake. He must get through to her, no matter what it took.
“You have two powerful weapons, Evelyn. You have the truth. And you have your faith. If you don’t use them, you’re going to lose the most precious thing in your life.”
The reverend rose from his chair. He knelt in front of Evelyn.
“If you do not come forward soon . . .” he searched the depths of those twin dark pools that were beholding him. “If you don’t, then I will be forced into a difficult position. This is a war of the spirit. It must be fought as such.”
The reverend stood up. He slid the seat a little closer to her so he could be in more direct eye contact. He took his seat again. “I am not as frightened as I once was. I will use what I know.” His tone left no doubt as to his conviction.
Evelyn sat forward in her chair, leaning toward him. Her empty coffee cup tumbled from her hands. She didn’t pick it up. Her eyes flashed a fire that hadn’t been present in her in a long time. “Don’t be a fool, Reverend. Quentin will destroy you. Let it be. You don’t know for sure.”
The reverend gazed around the parlor. It seemed even darker than usual. The room had a very somber feel to it.
He shook off the cloying feeling of the room’s spirit. He spoke to Evelyn in evenly clipped tones, “I know this. Micah Jordan-Wells will be destroyed unless you or I tell him the truth. He’s your son. For God’s sake, Evelyn.”
Evelyn shivered. The screeching reached her ears. She refused to grasp the implications. As the reverend watched, Evelyn retreated. She was no longer able to deal with this, so she simply blanked the reverend out.
The reverend watched her. Then he said, “Evelyn, you must save your son.” He realized his statement had fallen on deaf ears. He pushed back his chair. He squinted. He could have sworn he had seen a shadow. Something had flitted across the foyer. He looked closer. There was nothing. He shrugged.
The reverend came to a silent decision. He prayed for the strength he knew would be necessary to carry him across a sea of great evil.
He knew the principalities of darkness were descended right there in their lives. It was alive and in full effect. He prayed for faith. He prayed for the strength. He also prayed from the depths of his being for the life and soul of Micah Jordan-Wells.
He kne
w that the biggest problem with evil was that most people didn’t really believe it existed. It did. The reverend let himself out.
A short time after he left, Evelyn rose. She picked up her cup off the floor. In the kitchen, she poured a fresh cup of coffee.
Lethargically, she returned to the parlor. Upon entering the parlor, a scream of magnified proportions flew from her mouth. It soared through the room, gaining in momentum, gaining in pitch.
Every piece of furniture in the parlor had been moved. All of it had been rearranged. She could hear the music from the past. The melody of it assaulted her ears, spinning her back in time. There had been a gala party. Beautifully dressed people. Gay, happy, they were laughing. The parlor hadn’t looked like this since Evelyn was a very young child.
But there was more than that. A huge mural dominated the center wall. There was a vivid depiction of two people. It was alive, in motion. It was vibrant with movement, slithering, humping movement. The colors were stark.
The bodies of a man and a woman writhed in harmony. Their bodies bucked tightly together. The woman’s head was thrown back, in the throes of ecstasy. Her mouth was wide open; her eyes were glazed with the type of intimacy that would be considered a cardinal sin.
Behind them was an exact replica of the parlor as it had been then. It had happened in this room. Evelyn looked down. One of the man’s feet was hanging from the sofa. The screams stuck in her throat. Evelyn gagged. Then she fainted.
Weeping Willow leaned over in her ear. “Evelyn, the reverend is right. You must save your son.”
A splash of cold water hit Evelyn’s face. She woke up sputtering. She looked around. The parlor was exactly as she had left it. There was no depiction on the wall.
She must have been dreaming again. She couldn’t stand to dream.
Weeping Willow floated up the staircase to her room. Her face was drenched in tears. It was no use. Evelyn would be no help at all. She was held too firmly in his grip.
Another way would have to be found. That way would have to be Micah Jordan-Wells.
Chapter 28
Micah and Nugent sat with parts of Silky’s file spread out between them. Each of them lost in their own thoughts.
Nugent broke the silence. He looked at Micah, seeing the wear and tear the case was taking on him. “Micah, you should take a break from staying all night. You’re killing yourself, man.”
Micah just grunted in his direction. He looked at Nugent, not seeing him. His mind was in a faraway place. He fingered the papers from the file in his hand. Then he said, “The criminal psychology section is missing from this file. I’m going to pay Patrick Hayes a visit. I’d like to go over the evaluation on Silky.”
A soft knock sounded on the door, interrupting them. Nugent said, “Enter,” in a preoccupied tone.
Raven, a striking-looking figure in crimson red, swept into the office.
Both Nugent and Micah stared at the vision she presented. She floated into the room. Her vibrant warmth, the regal bearing she possessed, overshadowed the gloom that had settled in the room.
A smile lit up Micah’s face at the sight of her. It had been too long since he’d spent any real time with her. He missed her. The sight of her slammed home this fact. Warm liquid flowed through his body.
Raven tossed out a greeting to Nugent as she headed for Micah. “Nuggie,” she used the nickname that Micah had for him, “You’re still looking as good as ever.”
Nugent blushed. He lowered his eyes as he shook his head. “You’re a lethal weapon that Micah should keep under lock and key.”
Raven laughed. “Well, he did a pretty good job last night. But he lets me out to play during the day.” Her casual remark dropped like a rock in the midst of the room. The smile faded from Nugent’s face. Micah looked at Raven as though she’d lost her mind.
Raven felt the sudden shift in temperature in the room. She stopped in her tracks. She looked from Micah to Nugent. “What? What? Why are you staring at me? Did I grow two heads? What?”
Micah stalked over to stand in front of Raven. His eyes were two penetrating beams of light. “What do you mean about last night?”
Raven reached out a hand to touch Micah’s cheek. He caught her wrist in midair in a viselike grip.
Startled at his reaction, Raven said, “Micah, let go of me. You’re hurting me.”
Nugent quickly covered the distance to where Micah and Raven were standing. His brain shouted out a denial as the realization of what must have happened swept his consciousness.
Nugent looked at Micah. He silently pleaded with his eyes, as Micah held Raven’s wrist in his grip. Micah didn’t blink an eye. A cold frozen glance, dipped in black hatred, wrapped Nugent in its tentacles.
The air in the room took on the same frigid iciness that was reflected in Micah’s eyes. Micah’s stance had changed to that of a madman. The madness was on the verge of leaking out everywhere.
Nugent didn’t want to make the wrong move by touching Micah. He thought quickly. “Micah, she doesn’t know.”
Micah released Raven. She rubbed the area where he had gripped her. A red angry welt was popping out on her wrist. The print of his fingers was embedded in her skin.
Micah’s eyes flashed white-hot anger. Hatred spilled out from behind his pupils at Raven. It boiled up from the pit of his stomach, splashing all over her. She took a step back as though she’d been struck. Hysteria held her as her windpipe closed, stricken with the pain of unshed tears.
Raven managed to croak out the words from her constricted windpipe, “What? What is it I don’t know? What is going on?”
Micah took a last look at her. “Get out. Just get out.”
Incredulous disbelief flashed across Raven’s face. Through no will of her own, she screamed, “Micah!”
Nugent knew when enough was enough. This was definitely enough. He took Raven’s hand. He propelled her through the door of the office before she could protest.
Raven struggled against Nugent. “No! Wait! What’s wrong?” Finally she started to cry. She just couldn’t help it. This was too much. “Nugent, what’s wrong with him?”
Nugent closed the door to the office. “Come with me.” He headed to Wolfgang’s office with Raven in tow.
Micah stared out the window. The door to the office slammed. He heard the sound of Raven’s hysterics on the other side of the door. Her hysterics grew fainter and fainter. Nugent was leading her away from the office. A stream of light streamed from Micah’s eyes connecting with the desk.
Micah stared at a paper weight on the desk. It exploded into a ball of fire. He focused on different objects. At his glance the objects exploded.
He stepped back to look at the disaster he had created. The utter realization of what he’d done dawned on him. He put his hands to his head.
A severe headache seized him in a vise-like lock. He took another step back trying to distance himself from his own destruction. He tried to step back from his own malice.
He was tossed back into the courtroom. In front of him a vivid scene from the past was taking place. He saw Silky burst into flames.
Criss Cross’s voice exploded in his head. “Whoosh. Thanks to you, he’s gone. Poof.”
A moan escaped his parched lips, “No. No.”
Micah went to the men’s room. He walked over to the mirror. He looked at himself. A desperate look of denial stared back at him. His eyes were illuminated. His cheekbones were chiseled in granite. Hard. Smooth, like a person locked in death.
Micah couldn’t take his eyes away. The mirror melted under the sheer intensity of his gaze. A heat rose up from his eyes. His image melted away in the molten glass. Beyond the melted glass embedded in the wall his image remained, intact.
His reflection stared back at him. Micah grabbed his head. He moaned again, “No.”
He hit the wall with such force it rocked him backward. He fell on the floor. He rolled around like an animal in the throes of pain. Bile streamed up from the pit of his st
omach. It spilled out of his mouth.
On the cold, hard tile floor, on his knees, he looked up at the wall to find his image still imprinted into the wall. It continued to stare at him.
Raven dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes with a tissue. She looked from Wolfgang to Nugent as though they had totally lost it. Unable to hold back her feelings, even for Micah’s boss, she said, “You’re crazy. You’re all crazy. I don’t believe a word of this madness.”
Nugent squatted in front of her. “Raven, Micah didn’t leave his office all night last night.”
Raven blew her nose. She geared up for the confrontation with Nugent. She wiped her nose. Then she put it within an inch of Nugent’s face.
She enunciated every word, “What . . . are . . . you . . . talking . . . about? Micah was in my bed last night. He made love to me. I’ve been with Micah for five years. I know every inch of him. Damn! What are you? Some kind of lunatic?”
Nugent exchanged a quick glance with Wolfgang. Then he looked into Raven’s eyes. Finally, he bowed his head.
Wolfgang watched Raven. He saw what he believed might be the first ray of hope. He wasn’t totally sure. But his gut told him that this girl might have the answer he needed.
Wolfgang was descended from a long line of policemen. His great grandfather had been a cop. So had his grandfather, his father and an uncle. Instinct was built into his genes.
Wolfgang went over to Raven. His voice held absolute authority. His tone brooked no argument. “Raven, I have to place you in protective custody immediately. I’m sorry. I know you don’t understand. But this is the first break we’ve had. I believe the man you were in bed with last night is a serial killer. Somewhere, locked up in your consciousness is the information we need to catch him.”
Raven got up from her seat so fast her chair fell backward to the floor. Nugent, who had been squatting in front of her, tumbled backward, sprawling on the floor. He struck his head on the edge of Wolfgang’s desk. Exasperated, a gasp of pain flew from his mouth. He rubbed his head while climbing to his feet.