“Who is Janet?”
“The babysitter. She’s sixteen.”
“Do you like Janet?”
“Yeah, I guess so. She swears a lot and spends most of her time eating and watching TV. And she smokes. Sometimes her boyfriend comes over.”
“Is her boyfriend here on this morning?”
“Yes. I saw his car come up the driveway. It’s a red Camaro, a really cool car, and loud. When Janet’s boyfriend got out of the car he made a mean face at us kids before going inside. He was wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and sun glasses.”
“What’s happening now, Doug?”
“Me and Tommy Ricker are having a fake Kung Fu fight.”
“A fake Kung Fu fight?”
“That’s right, fake Kung Fu fights are one of our favorite things to do. We pretend to be guys like Chuck Norris and David Carradine. But our favorite is Bruce Lee. He’s the coolest one of all. I know he died a long time ago, but he’s still the best, and today I got to be him.”
“How did that happen?”
“Me and Tommy drew straws and I drew the longest one.”
“I see. How do these fake Kung Fu fights work, Doug?”
“We fight each other without actually hitting the other kid.”
“Oh? Can you explain?”
“It takes a lot of skill.”
“Yes, I’m sure it does. Please explain.”
“One of us swings around with a punch and comes real close to the other guy’s face. Then the other boy throws his head back, or to the side and pretends he’s been hit. The punch is usually accompanied by a noise the puncher makes with his mouth which sort of sounds like a fist hitting flesh. We twist and spin and kick out with our feet, coming as close as we dare to the other guy’s face. These fights can last as long as ten or fifteen minutes. Usually we end our stunt fight by wrestling each other to the ground and laughing.”
“All in good fun, then, huh?”
“It’s the most fun thing we do.”
“But on this day something goes wrong, doesn’t it, Doug?”
“Yeah, I get distracted by something just as Tommy comes around with this monster punch.”
“What distracted you, Doug? Do you remember?”
On the couch Doug’s eyes were closed and his head gave a quick shake. “No. Maybe I saw something out of the corner of my eye, or maybe Savannah said something. I don’t know. She usually stands on the sidelines refereeing. Or it could have been something else. I don’t really remember. What I do remember is how much it hurt when Tommy Ricker’s fist hit my nose. At the instant of contact it’s like this universe of stars explodes inside my head. The next thing I know I’m on my back in the driveway with Tommy and Savannah standing over me, their scared faces blurring in and out of focus.
“‘Hey, Doug,’ Tommy Ricker says, grabbing my arm and shaking me. ‘You okay?’
“When I try to sit up a huge lightning bolt flashes across my vision, accompanied by a slash of pain so brutal, I might have died in that instant. My body convulses then stiffens, and I cannot move as a picture begins forming in my mind.”
“What do you see, Doug?”
“The Ricker’s second floor apartment. I know the place, and there is no question about what I’m seeing. I’m standing in the doorway on the threshold between the living room and kitchen. I can see the kitchen’s sideboard with the sink faucet protruding above it. The faucet is dripping, each drop forming on the rim like a tiny diamond before breaking free and dropping into the sink. I can distinctly hear the drops as they fall slowly into the dishpan: drip . . . drip . . . drip. The sound seems amplified somehow, so loud that it makes my head hurt.
“On the couch in the living room I see the baby sitter with her boyfriend beside her. They’re making out. The television set is on and I can hear Bob Barker’s voice, and he’s saying, ‘Tell them about the prizes, Johnny.’
“But the baby sitter and her boyfriend are not the only ones in the apartment. There is someone or . . . something else there.”
Doug stiffened and tried to sit up.
“Just relax, Doug,” Dr. Pasternak said, placing his hand on Doug’s chest and gently easing him back down onto the couch. “Whatever it is can’t hurt you. Remember, you are under hypnosis and merely recalling those events. You’re not really there, even though it seems like you are. Okay? Are you ready to go on?”
Doug nodded his head as tears squeezed out between his closed eyelids and ran down the sides of his face.
“All right then, what do you think you see in the Ricker apartment besides Janet and her boyfriend?”
“Some sort of swelling. I don’t know. I don’t actually see it at first, but I can feel it.”
“A swelling, Doug? What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not sure. It’s like a bubble or something. That’s all I can think of, and it’s trying to suffocate me.”
“Suffocate you?”
“Yeah, it feels like that. Like it wants to suffocate me.”
“All right then, go on, Doug. Tell me what’s happening now.”
“Well, in the far corner of the living room, behind Janet and her boyfriend, I think I see it, and it’s not a bubble at all, but more like a person, and it’s dressed in some sort of dark robe or something. And it’s very tall. At first it doesn’t move and I think it’s a statue of some kind, or a mannequin, you know, like those things in the department stores they hang clothes on. But in the next instant it seems to move forward a few feet, but I don’t actually see it moving. It’s some sort of . . . faze-shift or . . . streak that looks like stretching metal. All silvery or something. I know it sounds stupid but that’s what it looks like to me. One minute it’s over here, and zip, just like that, it’s over there. It makes my head ache to see it. Like my mind can’t quite figure it all out. It’s like magic or something. I don’t know. I’m concentrating; trying to see it better, trying to bring it into focus. But it’s useless. Doing that only makes my head ache worse, and I feel like I’m gonna puke. I just can’t figure it out. I suppose I’m a little bit grateful for that. Something about its swelling presence terrifies me.”
“I see,” said Dr. Pasternak. “What’s happening now?”
“Janet’s boyfriend—his name is Lance—has his hand inside Janet’s blouse; he’s trying to get it off her. I can see that her resistance is only mildly serious. It’s sort of like they’re playing a game.
“‘Please, Lance, stop it,’ Janet says, taking his hand out of her blouse.
“Lance gets this wounded look on his face. ‘Aw, come on, Janet,’ he whines. ‘You know you want to.’ He puts his hand back on her breast and begins to knead it, you know, like it’s a ball of dough or something. He looks really stupid doing that.
“‘Get your hands off me!’ she says, firmly this time, throwing his hand away from her.
“But Lance is having none of that; he suddenly turns mean, draws his hand back and slaps Janet across the face. ‘You teasing little bitch!’ he says. His face is all twisted up with rage and he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her like a rag doll. ‘You want it and you know it.’
“‘No I don’t,’ Janet whines, struggling to break free of his grasp. ‘I don’t want nothin’ from you, you asshole.’
“‘Yeah, well you’re gonna get something’, Lance says. ‘I didn’t drive all the way over here to play tiddlywinks.’ He grabs a fistful of Janet’s blouse and pulls hard, tearing it, exposing one of her breasts.
“In my peripheral vision I see the shifting figure move closer to the pair, only this time it seems to be fluttering as well as streaking, like my eyes are opening and closing real fast. You know, like that REM sleep we learned about in school. I’m so scared I just want to shrink away in terror.
“Janet begins shrieking hysterically, slapping at Lance’s face with both hands. ‘You bastard,’ she screams. ‘Let . . . me . . . go!’
“But Lance doesn’t let go, and Janet’s blouse tears almost
completely off her as she bolts from the couch. She manages just one step before Lance catches her foot, tripping her. She goes sprawling and he is on top of her in an instant. She is struggling and shrieking wildly. He rolls her over and tries to unzip her jeans. She lashes out and digs her nails across his cheek.
“He lets out a bellow of rage, puts his hand to the wounds, pulls it back and gawks in amazement at the jagged lines of blood on it. Janet wriggles out from under him and kicks him in the balls before taking off for the stairs.
“‘You little bitch,’ he cries. He struggles to his feet, hanging onto his crotch and goes after her. And then . . . and then . . .”
Doug stopped; his mouth was working but no more words were coming out.
“And then what?” Dr. Pasternak said, leaning forward in anticipation.
“Something bad happens.”
“What happens, Doug? What’s happening at this very moment?”
Lieutenant Jennings also slid forward to the edge of his seat, and the look on his face was one of intense anticipation. Doug’s head was rolling back and forth on the pillow and small beads of sweat had broken out on his brow. His eyeballs were rolling beneath his closed lids.
“I can see it,” Doug said.
“What do you see?”
Doug licked his lips and took in a huge draught of air, letting it out with a trembling sigh. “Yes, I see . . . Janet has stopped at the top of the stairs, and she is turning around slowly as if she senses the presence in the room. Lance has stopped too and I can see his eyes darting back and forth looking for something they know is there but they can’t see. Then it seems like neither of them can move at all, like they’re frozen in place. Janet suddenly looks terrified. In the next instant the thing in the black robe is standing directly in front of her.”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Doug,” said Dr. Pasternak, eliciting a pained look from the police lieutenant, “but could you describe this thing in the black robe a little more thoroughly?”
“It’s in the form of a man but very tall. It’s wearing a robe that at first looks like leather, but when it moves it looks like shiny metal. The robe has a hood or a cowl or whatever the hell you call it; and it’s pulled up over the head hiding the face. But the robe is long and I can’t see any feet, and I can’t actually see a face . . . but . . . wait. Wait a minute!” Doug’s eyelids flutter as his eyes continue to swirl behind them. The doctor sees that he has become even more agitated.
“What do you see, Doug?”
“Oh, God,” Doug said. “From somewhere deep inside the hood I think I see an . . . eye.”
“An eye?”
“Yes.”
“Just one eye?”
“Just one, and it’s red. So red it’s almost making me sick. That’s why I can see it. It’s glowing like a tiny red spotlight and it’s trying to burn through my eyes and into my brain. My head! Oh, Jesus Christ, my head is going to split wide open.”
Doug was trembling and moaning as tears squeezed out between his closed lashes.
“It’s freaking me out so bad.”
“Why is it freaking you out, Doug?”
“Because . . . because, it’s looking at me, like it knows I’m here and that I’m watching. No one’s supposed to see it. But I do, and it knows. It’s whispering to me.”
“What’s it saying?”
“That I have been chosen.”
“Chosen for what, Doug?”
“I don’t know. It’s says I’ll know some day but not today.” Pasternak was now breathing in anxious gasps. “What’s happening, Doug?” he asked. “What’s happening at this very moment?”
“He’s moved around in front of Janet, and he’s looking directly into her face. He’s no longer looking at me, but he knows I’m there. I swear to God he does. He’s turned away from me and all I can see is the robe, only now it doesn’t really look like a robe at all, instead it looks like dark metal, like the scales on a fish. And now he’s whispering to Janet.”
“Can you hear what it’s saying, Doug?”
“It wants to know where the children are.”
“The children? I thought it could see you?”
“It sees me from inside my head. But it doesn’t see Tommy and Savannah. And that’s who it wants.”
“Why does it want Tommy and Savannah, Doug?”
“I don’t know. Dear God, I don’t know!”
“What’s happening now, Doug?”
“Janet’s screaming. She says that the children are outside. She’s twisting and writhing like she’s trying to get away, but it’s as if something invisible has her legs bound together and her arms tied to her sides. She can’t move, she can’t kick, she can only scream. Whatever that thing is, it’s now moving closer to her face. Oh, God! Oh shit! I think she can see what’s inside the darkness of the cowl, and it must be horrible, because she can’t stop screaming in terror, and she’s screaming so loud that her mouth is standing wide open like her jaws have become unhinged. And now I see a wet stain starting to form on the crotch of Janet’s jeans. The wetness is spreading out and running down the insides of her legs. Oh, Christ, she’s so scared she’s peeing in her pants.” Doug stopped talking suddenly but his mouth was still working.
Dr. Pasternak glanced over at Jennings and Jennings saw that the doctor’s face had gone pasty white. He was sweating profusely, rivulets of clear liquid running down his forehead and into his eyes.
And from his sleeping position on the couch, Doug was now writhing and twisting and sweating, his eyes rolling like greased ball bearings behind closed lids.
And although Rick Jennings knew the story, had heard it on countless occasions, he’d never heard it in this much graphic detail. He sat forward in anticipation sensing that this might be the closest he would ever come to knowing the full story of what Doug had seen on that infamous day.
“Now something is coming out of Janet’s mouth,” Doug said.
“What is it, Doug?” Pasternak asked. “What do you see?”
“I don’t know, but it looks like water, or steam or something. It’s sort of silvery colored and blurry and it’s shooting out fast, like a fire hose, and it’s spraying directly into the front of the cowl and disappearing, like something inside the hood is swallowing the stuff in Janet’s stomach. No! . . . I think it’s different than that. I think it’s ingesting Janet. I hear the noise as the stuff is coming out of her and spraying into the dark thing. Her mouth is hinged open and she is making a terrible gurgling noise that sounds like someone trying to scream underwater. Then suddenly it stops and Janet is no longer Janet.”
“What do you mean by that, Doug?”
“The thing . . . stole something from her.”
Jennings and Pasternak exchanged uneasy glances. “You mean the fluid that came out of her.”
“It’s not fluid,” Doug said.
“Then what is it?” asked the doctor.
“Her essence. The part that makes her human. I think it took her soul.”
Pasternak again glanced at Jennings, his face blanched, his wet eyes glazed and haunted. “How do you know this, Doug?”
“I just do. I think it wants me to know.” Suddenly Doug began to writhe on the couch as his respiration accelerated. “Oh, God, now I see . . .”
“What do you see, Doug?”
“Oh dear God, yes, Janet is just standing there like a statue. She’s all frozen and white like if you touched her she would crumble to dust. And she’s staring with wide open eyes that are now blank and featureless, and her mouth is stretched open like she’s still screaming.”
Doug stopped talking, but his jaw was still working, as if his thoughts were no longer being translated into words.
“Do you want me to wake you, Doug?”
“No!”
The outburst was so sudden and so loud that Pasternak recoiled. He looked over at Jennings in alarm. Jennings silently motioned for him to go on.
“Okay, Doug, what else do you see?”
/> “Oh, God, it’s not done yet,” Doug said, almost coming up off the couch. Both Jennings and Pasternak grabbed him to hold him down. Doug was writhing beneath them and wringing his sweaty hands together. “It’s moving toward Lance now, as if something is stretching it. Like the shimmering skin is stretching like quicksilver. God, if I had to touch it I think I might go mad. And Lance is frozen just like Janet was. Now the thing is standing in front of him. And the same thing is happening all over again.”
Pasternak gave Jennings another look of alarm but again Jennings nodded for him to continue.
“Lance is screaming now,” Doug continued in a breathless voice. “He’s trying to move, but he can’t. His mouth is twisting into a huge oval, just like Janet’s, and the dark thing is stealing from Lance what it stole from Janet. It’s all going into the darkness, toward that red eye and the terrible darkness. Down-down-down.” Each word Doug spoke was punctuated by a sharp almost violent roll of his head on the pillow. “Oh, God, it’s so horrible. I can’t stand it. I can’t breathe.” On the couch, Doug stopped speaking as his chest heaved up and down in great spasms.
“Is that all, Doug?” Pasternak asked. His face was as white as a bleached sheet.
Doug remained silent.
“Doug?”
“No!” Doug gave his head a quick, almost violent shake.
“No? What’s happening now?” asked the psychiatrist.
“Someone’s writing on the wall.”
“Someone? Who, Doug?”
“I don’t know. It’s confusing. All I see are streaks and flashes of silvery light, a dark cowl and the red eye, and . . . God my head’s going to explode.”
“Is the dark thing doing the writing?”
“No hands, no arms, just streaks. Jesus, I can’t tell!”
“What’s he writing, Doug?”
“Symbols not words.”
“What sort of symbols?”
“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”
“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”
“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”
“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”
Doug repeated the words like a mantra as Jennings stared down at him. “How do you know what the symbols mean, Doug?”
Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) Page 8