Harm none argi-1

by M. R. Sellars

  My vision tunneled, and colors bled away, running like paint being poured from a can. I could hear the melodious humming of a female voice, pretty and distinct. I looked around to see where it originated, only to realize that it was coming from within me as I assumed Ariel’s role. A part of me struggled to remain earthbound, and I knew that the humming was occurring only inside my head. My conscious self would have to narrate what I was seeing for Ben.

  “I, Ariel, am humming,” I told him. “I’m happy and I’m getting ready to fix myself something for dinner.”

  “Whaddaya mean ‘you, Ariel’?” Ben was perplexed. “What are ya’ talkin’ about?”

  “Just listen,” I instructed him.

  What was that? A noise. Maybe there’s someone at the door. I’d better check.

  The scenario continued to project itself inside my mind, and I turned and walked to the door. I was vaguely aware of Ben quickly shuffling out of my path and following along behind me.

  “There might be someone at this door,” I continued talking aloud. “She heard a noise, and she’s checking on it. She’s opening the door.”

  That’s funny, no one there. I was sure I heard something. I guess I just imagined it. Oh well, I need to eat soon. I just took my insulin twenty minutes ago.

  “There’s no one there.” I went on, “She thinks she must have imagined the noise.” I turned and walked back to the counter. “She’s a diabetic, and she has to eat something because she just took her insulin.”

  “Yeah, we found it in the fridge,” Ben told me hesitantly, and I didn’t admonish him.

  What?! What’s going on? Who’s there? STOP! Let me go! Don’t do that! Get that away from my face! What’s that smell? I’m gagging. Stop it!

  I could feel her struggling as she was grabbed from behind, and I was forced to tense my own muscles to keep from lashing out in a mirrored response. A phantomlike, sickly sweet odor tickled my nostrils, urging me to drift off into sleep. I shook my head, fending off the woozy sensation. “Someone grabbed her from behind. She’s struggling, but he’s too strong. She smells something. He put something over her face. Chloroform or something…”

  Dizzy. Sleepy. I’m falling. Falling.

  “She’s blacking out,” I stated urgently.

  Ouch! What was that? Something bit me on my arm. Did a mosquito get in here? No. It felt like a needle. Oh, I feel strange. What’s happening to me? Why does my head feel like this. I’m dizzy. Why is the room getting so dark?

  “Pain,” I almost shouted. “Something on her arm. A bite? No, a needle. The bastard drugged her. Look at his face, Ariel! Dammit, look at his face!”

  The sequence ended in a black fog, and I stumbled against the counter. I sensed Ben reaching for me uncertainly then pulling back, apparently remembering I had told him not to touch me if I tranced.

  “I’m okay,” I told him, regaining my balance and pulling off my glasses in order to rub my eyes. “He drugged her. Did the medical examiner check for drugs?”

  “Should have. Tox screens are SOP,” Ben answered. “I still don’t have a report yet. You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I answered. “Let’s keep going. Maybe she saw his face at some point.”

  “Look, Row,” Ben started. “Uhhh… Are you tellin’ me that you’re actually seein’ what Ariel Tanner saw the night she was murdered?”

  “Believe it or not, Ben,” I looked at him squarely in the face. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “Jeezus,” he said, “I’ve seen some strange shit, but this…” his voice trailed off.

  Though I had explained to Ben some of the more minor aspects of WitchCraft, this was the first time he had ever seen any of the abilities I had cultivated in my studies. Considering his feelings on the subject, I realized I was asking him to take a rather large leap of faith, but of all my non-practicing friends, I felt certain he could be the most open-minded even if he hadn’t demonstrated it as yet. I flashed him an understanding smile to let him know that I understood what he must have been thinking at the moment and patted him lightly on the arm as I moved past into the wide hallway.

  At the end, I could see where the passage opened into a combination living room/dining room area. To my left, there was a closet and bathroom, to my right, the doorway to Ariel’s bedroom. I continued my measured breathing as I stepped lightly along the worn hardwood floor. Once again, my hairs began to pivot upward painfully and my skin to sear as I entered the actual scene of the murder.

  Blood on the walls and sheets had turned a rusty brown where it had continued to dry. A tracing of Ariel’s body was stretched out across the bed like a frozen caricature of the once vibrant young woman, the yellow lines clashing with the brownish red crust of dried blood. I moved slowly to the bed then grounded and centered. Once again, the color rapidly drained from the scene about me, and I felt myself being sucked into a dark tunnel.

  Oh my head hurts. Why can’t I see? It’s dark. No, there’s a light. I have to move toward it. My arms. Why can’t I move my arms? I’m cold.

  As before, the events of that night flooded into my brain caustically. I was experiencing her terror. Her pain.

  Why am I on my bed? I’m cold. Where are my clothes? My arms hurt. My back hurts. What’s that noise?!

  “I’m…she’s…” I started again, speaking from the trance I had fallen into. “…On the bed, my arms hurt and I can’t move them. They’re tied behind me…her. I’m…” I fought to maintain a separation between the experience and myself. “…She’s nude. The air conditioner is on and it’s blowing on her. She’s cold. She hears a noise.”

  Who’s there? Why can’t I speak? I’m trying so hard but nothing is coming out. I’m so cold. I’m frightened. What’s happening? That noise again. Someone is here. They’re moving around. Why can’t I remember anything? My head hurts.

  “He’s moving around, but she can’t see him,” I continued. “He must be out of her line of sight or maybe out of the room. I’m not sure.”

  A crash! Am I being robbed? Oh please, let whoever it is just take what they want and leave. Wait. Someone grabbed me when I was in the kitchen. Who was it? Oh why can’t I remember? I’m cold. I’m scared.

  “She heard a loud crash or something. From another room maybe,” I spoke. “She thinks it might be a burglar, but she still can’t see. She remembers being attacked in the kitchen. Whatever he drugged her with is still working on her. She’s foggy. She’s having trouble moving. Come on, Ariel,” I continued out loud. “Fight it. Concentrate.”

  Maybe if I try to move forward. Ouch, that hurts. Just a little more. I’m so cold. Why is this happening to me? There, now I can see the door. Ohhhh, I’m feeling sick…hanging upside down…I can’t. Oh my head hurts.

  “She managed to move herself a little. Her head is hanging over the side of the bed now, upside down. It’s making her nauseous.”

  Who is that? Why is this person in my house? Why is this person wearing a ceremonial robe? Pull the hood back. I can’t see who you are. It’s cold. No, don’t go to that side of the bed, I can’t see you. What are you doing? Am I going to be raped? Please, don’t let him rape me.

  “He came into the room,” I continued. “He’s wearing a ceremonial robe, and the hood is covering his face. He walked around to the other side of the bed. She can’t see him. NO, don’t do that. I can’t see you.” I slipped for a moment, and Ariel blended into the voice of my conscious self. “She’s afraid he’s going to rape her.”

  What are you doing? He’s touching me. What? What are you saying? You’re sorry? Sorry about what. It’s cold. My arms are killing me. Why are you doing this?

  “He’s speaking to her!” I exclaimed out loud. “He’s telling her he’s sorry. She doesn’t understand. Concentrate, Ariel,” I coached the vision. “Help me help you.”

  What are you talking about? Sorry? What are you sorry about? I don’t understand. Tell me what you mean. Your voice sounds familiar
, but I can’t remember who you are. Ouch! What are you doing? Get off of me. Oh, why can’t I scream? If I could just scream, someone would come to help me. It’s cold. Get off of me. What is that in your hand? What are you doing?!

  “He’s on the bed with her. On top of her.” I relayed the vision to Ben. “His voice seems familiar to her, but she can’t place it. He has something in his hand.”

  My athame! What are you doing with my athame? No! No, don’t do that! STOP!

  My head exploded. At least, that is how it felt as a desperate scream that only I could hear echoed forever inside my skull. My skin burst into a violent blaze, and starting at my throat, running the length of my chest then spreading rapidly outward, I felt as if every single nerve were raw and suddenly plunged into a vat of alcohol. I clawed at my own chest, fighting to push away the ethereal knife that was ripping my flesh.

  “Dear Mother Goddess!” I cried. “The son-of-a-bitch is skinning her alive with her own athame!”

  I fell to my knees and continued to claw at the air in front of me. I was faintly aware of Ben’s concerned voice screaming my name, but I couldn’t respond. I was trapped in the vision. I could see nothing but dull red and black as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, fighting to deny the searing pain. I could feel the blade of the athame, at once steely cold and white hot, as it slid beneath my skin, separating the layer of nerve impregnated flesh from the rest of my body. I was certain I could hear thick tearing as my hide was peeled away, exposing muscle, nerves, and hot viscid blood. I screamed my own guttural wail of agony as I struggled to break free of this vision I knew could easily kill me. It seemed to last an eternity. It seemed to last only a second. Time no longer meant anything.

  Why doesn’t somebody make him stop?

  “I can’t Ariel. I can’t,” I sobbed.

  Why? Why are you doing this? Where are you going? I hurt so bad! Why did you do this? I have to see you. Who are you? What are you doing with those candles? Why are you drawing a Pentacle on the wall? It’s such a bright red? Where did you get that red? What are you writing? I hurt so bad.

  “What the hell is he doing?” I whimpered aloud.

  What are you doing with that wine glass? No. Don’t come back over here. Go away. Go away. What are you doing?! NO!

  Again blinding pain.

  Again a scream, but unlike the other, cut short at its peak to become a faint gurgle followed by silence. He had cut her throat. Her slowly fading misery continued to play its sickening scenes inside my head. I saw, as she saw through dying eyes, her killer raising a wine goblet filled with blood. A goblet to be used for his own perverse distortion of an Expiation spell as he prepared to forgive himself for the unspeakable things he had just done.

  I was just beginning to lose sight of consciousness when I was unceremoniously lurched back into the physical realm.

  “Rowan! Talk ta’ me! What’s goin’ on?!” Ben screamed frantically. He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and shook me so violently that his knuckles pounded into my chest. “ROWAN!”

  “He was practicing,” I sobbed, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, driving back the tears and fighting to bring my breathing back to normal. “The bastard was just practicing.”

  “What the hell are ya’ talkin’ about?!” Ben practically screamed. “Practicin’ what?”

  “Practicing the art of flaying,” I spat, pulling my hands away from my eyes. “He didn’t even try to perform an invocation ritual. He was just teaching himself how to skin someone alive.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “To prepare,” I answered, climbing to my feet and steadying myself against the wall. “He’s trying to learn… Most likely so that he can actually perform the invocation sometime in the near future. Trust me, he’s not going to stop here. This is only the beginning.”

  “This is fucked up, man,” Ben stated wildly, turning in place, looking about the room as if some unseen creature was about to sneak up on him. “You saw all that?! You felt what she felt?!”

  “Yes.” I had begun to regain some composure. “That’s exactly what I did. The fact that she was a Witch made it easier to do and…” I paused, “much more intense than I was expecting.”

  “Okay, look,” Ben told me sternly. “I’m not entirely sure what I think about this, but I can damn sure tell you no one else at the department is gonna believe it, so this stays between you and me, got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it,” I answered. “Just let me help you get this S.O.B.”

  “If any of this stuff matches up with the coroner’s report,” he waved his notepad in front of me, “you better believe you’re gonna help.”

  “Good,” I told him. “Now let’s get out of here. I need to get away from this before it sucks me in again.”

  I walked past Ben to the door and reached into my shirt pocket for my glasses. I looked back to see that he was following me then turned back to the doorway.

  I turned back just in time to see a young man with long dark hair and the lamp he was swinging at me.

  CHAPTER 3

  I lifted my arm instinctively to guard my face, and the table lamp met it with violent force. The vase-like, imitation china base shattered and continued its arc, glancing against my forehead. The blow struck hard enough to stun, causing me to lose my balance and fall backward to the floor. A gash had been opened at my hairline, and blood immediately began to trickle down my face and into my right eye. I had deflected enough of the impact that I felt certain I wasn’t seriously injured, but my ears were ringing, and I knew I was going to have one hell of a headache.

  In the same moment I was falling to the floor, I saw Ben’s large form flash in front of me as he took two large strides and slammed my attacker forcefully against the wall.

  “You better get out of here,” the near breathless young man croaked. “I called the cops. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Ben held the young man against the wall, twisting one arm up behind his back while pressing him into the painted plaster. With his free hand, he ripped his badge from his belt and shoved the gold shield into the attacker’s face.

  “I AM the cops!” he shouted angrily. “Who the hell are you, and what’re ya’ doin’ here?!”

  “I’m sorry, man!” The young man now seemed a bit more frightened as the realization of what he had done set in. “I didn’t know who you guys were. I came by to water Ariel’s plants, and I heard voices. I thought you guys were burglars or something. Really, man, I’m sorry,” he spoke frantically.

  “You okay, Row?” Ben queried, looking back at me as I dragged myself from the floor and stood up shakily.

  “A bit rattled,” I answered. “I think I’m okay. There always have been four of you, right?”

  Ben cracked a smile and turned back to the young man who was still held firmly in place against the wall.

  “So we know why you’re here,” he continued. “But ya’ still didn’t tell us who ya’ are.”

  “R.J.,” he answered. “My name’s R.J. Does Ariel know you’re here? What’s going on?”

  I looked at Ben, then back at the gory sight of the bedroom. He immediately picked up on my cue and maintaining his grip on the young man, pulled him away from the wall and guided him out the door into the hallway. I followed along, stooping to pick up my glasses, which had been knocked from my hands, then exited the room, closing the door behind me. While Ben still held R.J. in the hall, I went into the bathroom and found a washcloth. After running it under cold water, I wiped the blood from my eye and forehead and then used it as a compress on the gash and the rapidly rising welt.

  “What’s going on man?” R.J. exclaimed as I came out of the washroom. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Ben had him spread eagle against the wall and had apparently searched him while I was tending to my wound. He was studying what I assumed to be R.J.’s identification. He nodded to me and released his grip on R.J.’s shoulder. For the second time this morning, I was confr
onted with being the bearer of bad news. After a brief moment of indecision, I elected to treat it like removing a bandage and take a “get it over with quickly” approach.

  “Ariel’s dead, R.J.,” I told him as he turned to face me, rubbing his shoulder where Ben’s viselike grip had been. “She was murdered.”

  “She was what?!” he exclaimed. “No way, man, I don’t believe you. She’s visiting a friend in Chicago for a week. She can’t be dead.”

  “I haven’t got any reason to lie to you about something like this,” I replied.

  “He’s serious, man,” Ben echoed as he returned the wallet to him.

  R.J. stared at Ben, then at me. I could see in his eyes that the reality was sinking in, but he was still desperately fighting to deny it. Ben had relaxed his guard, and I was tending to my wound, so when the young man bolted for the bedroom door, neither of us were prepared to stop him. He rushed past me and flung open the door, bursting into the room. He only managed to travel three steps into the horror before freezing in place. Ben and I were immediately behind him as he stared at the blood-soaked bed like a frightened child. The stunned silence was finally broken as his head dropped and his shoulders began to heave. I led him gently from the room as he buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

  In the small backyard of Ariel Tanner’s flat, we waited for R.J. to calm down. I had the impression that Ben wasn’t necessarily convinced that he wasn’t putting on a performance for our benefit. Of course, Ben was suspicious of everyone, and that was one of the things that made him such a good cop.