Crone’s Moon argi-5

by M. R. Sellars

  “I can understand that.”

  “What about… What about you, Constance?” my wife inquired, breathing through a stab of pain mid-sentence.

  “I’m okay,” Mandalay replied. “Not a scratch.”

  “I’m sorry,” Felicity said.

  Mandalay cocked her head to the side and looked at her with a befuddled expression. “For what?”

  “That you had to shoot him,” she replied. “I know it’s hurting you. I can feel it.”

  Constance fell silent but continued to hold my wife’s gaze with her own. Her expression told me that she hadn’t expected anyone to see past her femme fatale facade.

  “You ready to roll back there?” Ben called over his shoulder as he started the van and gunned the engine.

  “Just drive,” my wife instructed.

  “Yeah, I’m workin’ on it,” he replied, then directed himself to Constance. “Door.”

  Mandalay continued to sit motionless, distant introspection in her eyes.

  “Yo, Mandalay,” Ben repeated as he poked her shoulder with his index finger. “Door.”

  “What?” Agent Mandalay broke from her rearward stare. “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

  He started the van rolling forward even as Mandalay was pulling the door shut and then hooked it into a tight turn. I was still kneeling next to Felicity, and I braced myself against her armrest as Ben whipped the vehicle around, heading us back out onto the main thoroughfare.

  “Row, get in your seat,” Felicity told me.

  “I’m fine right here.”

  “No you aren’t,” she returned. “Ben is driving.”

  “Jeez…” my friend muttered.

  “She knows you,” Constance quipped, her voice still somewhat distant.

  “Don’t you start too,” he replied, then over his shoulder he asked, “Two-seventy to Illinois, right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ya’know, you never did say why.”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Jeez… I gotta be nuts…” he muttered, then asked, “It’s a strong feeling, right?”

  “Very.”

  “Good, ‘cause my ass is hangin’ way out on this one.”

  “Like it hasn’t before?” I asked.

  “Not as bad as this,” he responded, and I knew he was serious. He paused, then asked, “Okay, so across the bridge and then where?”

  “I’ll let you know when I know.”

  “I thought this was a strong feelin’?”

  “It is,” Felicity replied. “And we’ll be counting on some more when we get closer.”

  “Yeah, great. So, what do I do if ya’ start goin’ la-la on us?”

  She answered without hesitation, “Drive faster.”

  CHAPTER 37:

  “P… p… pleee… pleasssse…” Felicity whimpered pitifully as tears streamed across her cheeks. “H… hel… hellpp meeee…”

  “Hold on,” I whispered, struggling to keep my voice from cracking with the bitter fear that was constricting my throat. There was dampness on my own face, and I knew that I was silently weeping for myself as well as her.

  I was doing my best to keep her grounded, but it was no longer doing any good. Her connection with Kimberly Forest was so deeply ingrained that they had all but become one person. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even sure which one of them I was talking to at any given moment.

  “I… I… I can’t…” she stuttered, her voice a thin whine as her body tensed.

  She groaned, sending out a low, unearthly sound that instantly set about rending my heart with unimaginable fury. Her back arched, and her body began to actually vibrate.

  I watched helplessly as she shook. She was twisting violently in the seat as her face contorted into a mask of pure torment. I had to steel myself against everything I was seeing and feeling, otherwise I knew I would spin into an emotional crash. I didn’t know if I was doing her any good right now, but I knew for a fact that I would be worse than useless if I lost control; I would be a liability.

  I was out of my seat and kneeling next to her once again. This time, however, she was in no condition to object. Her hand was clamped around mine, squeezing my fingers until they had gone almost completely numb. Even as she shuddered through the waves of pain, she never let go.

  Neither did I.

  As we both suspected would happen, her pain had gradually intensified the closer we came to the Chain of Rocks Bridge. Each mile that ticked away had brought with it a new level of torture that she would fight to endure. And, each time she would seem to bring it under some modicum of control, it would suddenly advance another notch up the scale, forcing her to begin the struggle once again.

  As I said, this is almost exactly what we had expected to happen, so it came as no shock. We were as prepared for it as we could be under the circumstances, or so we thought- because, it was what we had not even considered that now blindsided us with the force of a locomotive.

  Once we had crossed the river, those gradual increases immediately transformed into hastened attacks, unfolding themselves geometrically. Within minutes, the ethereal torture had vaulted to such a degree that the waves were overlapping one another. She could no longer cope, and she was reduced to a state of constant agony. The frightening speed at which this occurred caught us both unaware and completely without recourse.

  And, it only got worse.

  Within five minutes of crossing the Mississippi, Felicity had moved even beyond simple agony. And, by the time we started over the short expanse of the Canal Bridge, she was delirious.

  “We have to be close,” I said as I looked over my shoulder at Ben, the rampant anxiety beginning to consume me. “She can’t take much more.”

  “Can’t you do anything to help her?” Constance asked.

  “Don’t you think I’ve fucking tried!” I snapped, then immediately caught myself. “Gods… Constance, I’m sorry… It’s…”

  She cut me off. “I understand, Rowan. Don’t worry. What can we do to help?”

  “Find this prick and kill him,” I blurted.

  “We’ll be coming up on Route Three in just a minute,” Ben announced. “Should I keep going or turn?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered quickly and then twisted back to my wife. “Felicity… Honey… Talk to me…”

  Her chin was pressed against her chest, and her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She was literally squealing, as if a high-pitched scream was caught in her throat, escaping only in a thin stream of torturous noise. She snapped her head back suddenly and cried, “NO! PLEASE! Noooooo!”

  The sound following the words was an unintelligible, raw scream, and it set a new benchmark for horrifying.

  “Felicity!” I called her name, my voice raised sharply in both pitch and volume.

  There was enough feeling left in my fingers for me to know that her nails were now biting deeply into them. I watched her through watering eyes as she struggled to move her head against some unseen restraint. The way she was postured, it looked as if something- or someone- was pressing her head back into the seat and twisting it to the side.

  Suddenly, the sickly-sweet odor of singed flesh filled the cabin of the van, and as I looked on, a roughly circular, dime-sized burn appeared on her cheek.

  “You sonofabitch!” I cried out. “Stop it! STOP IT!”

  “What’s happening?” I heard Constance ask.

  “Turn or straight, Rowan?!” Ben called back to me again.

  “I don’t know, dammit!” I barked. “Just go straight… no, turn… Straight… Gods! I don’t know!”

  A second burn began to eat into my wife’s ivory skin, and out of reflex I reached for her cheek with my free hand. My anger was seething and I had become blind to everything. Control was no longer a conscious option for me. Overwhelmed with the intensity of my emotions, I was no longer concentrating on the ground I had been attempting to maintain.

  My fingers brushed Felicity’s cheek, and there was the thin sound of sizzling flesh once aga
in. I yelped in surprise as a blistering divot appeared on the back of my hand.

  Constance’s voice sounded again as she exclaimed, “Oh my God…”

  “What the fuck is goin’ on back there?!” Ben asked, confused urgency in his tone. “Mandalay, what’s happenin’?!”

  “Rowan!” Constance called out.

  Her voice hit my ears as a pounding echo. My body was beginning to tense in a mirror image of my wife’s as I inadvertently plugged myself in to her ethereal connection with Kimberly Forest. I forced myself to move against the constricting tendons, feeling them burn with the resistance.

  “Heee’sss looosssiinggg itttt, Sstoorrrmmmmmm!” Mandalay’s voice stretched through time, a languid stream of sound.

  Ben’s words rumbled through the van, following hers in a repeat performance of the elastic speech. “Sssstaaayy wiiittthhh usssss, Rooowwwwaaannn!”

  I struggled to keep my eyes focused on Felicity as I sought a new ground. I jerkily pulled my hand away from her cheek and saw a new burn forming. I reached for her again, but it didn’t matter. I was no longer simply brushing through the ethereal sphere; I was joining with it. Hot pain lanced my own cheek as I became yet another surrogate victim.

  “Roooowwwwaaaannnnn!” Mandalay’s voice flowed around me.

  I tried to turn toward her as agonizing pains began helping themselves to every inch of my body.

  A low thrum was starting in my ears, driving and rhythmic. As it grew louder, percussive beats fell in with the heavy tune, slamming mercilessly against my eardrums.

  When my eyes finally fell upon Mandalay’s face, I could see that it was painted with fear. She was moving in slow motion, her mouth making shapes I was unable to decipher. I knew she was trying to say something, but I could hear only the angry music.

  I started turning back toward Felicity and saw darkness beyond the windshield. In a flash, I caught a glimpse of dull green and reflective white, as the exit sign for Route 3 was struck full by the headlights. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it fell from sight.

  I continued to twist until I once again faced my wife and saw a grimace of pain still warping her features. The pounding, heavy metal thrum drove through its crescendo, reaching a deafening climax.

  Felicity’s head was tilted back and her mouth stretched open wide. I could tell by the cramping muscles in my face that mine was doing the same.

  I think we were both screaming, but I couldn’t be sure, because a moment later, my consciousness escaped, leaving me to a world of peaceful darkness.

  *****

  “Row! C’mon, white man, wake up!” A man’s thick voice filled my ears.

  I was drifting in a dreamlike stupor, somewhere between partially conscious and just plain dead. At least, that is what I assumed. All I knew is that I was no longer in pain.

  “She’s breathing.” I heard a woman’s no less frantic words nearby. “Strong pulse, but she’s unconscious.”

  The sound of an approaching car filled in behind her voice, growing louder with each second. This was odd to me, but I endeavored to ignore it. I was comfortable, and I wanted to stay that way.

  After a moment, the speeding vehicle seemed to be right behind me, and then just as suddenly, its sound began to fade in the opposite direction. A burst of cool wind whipped around my ankles, reaching cold tendrils up my pants legs.

  “Felicity?” the woman’s voice was calling behind me. “Felicity, can you hear me?”

  “C’mon, white man!” The male voice hit me again and was immediately followed by a palm slapping hard against the side of my face.

  As soft as I’m sure it actually was, the blow was magnified by my disconnected state. I jolted into a semi-awake funk, snapping at least partially back into the land of the conscious. When I opened my eyes, I saw Ben’s concerned face staring back at me. He was hunched over in the darkness, arms outstretched to steady me. I looked around and found that I was sitting on the floorboards in the open door of the van with my legs hanging out.

  “Rowan, talk to me,” my friend said.

  I was confused. I didn’t remember stopping nor could I understand why I was sitting here in the door. And, if Ben was standing in front of me, then who was driving? Things had made more sense when my eyes were closed, so I decided that’s what I should do.

  “No way,” Ben said as he shook me. “Wake up, Row. Talk to me.”

  I opened my eyes again and blinked, then tried to concentrate as my brain wandered through the murky fog that was overwhelming it. I started catching bits and pieces of mental impressions as they flashed to the forefront of my mind. Before long, they became fleeting images and feelings- darkness, fingernails biting into my hand, Constance trying to say something to me that I could not hear, a burn appearing on my wife’s pristine cheek…

  “Felicity!” I immediately yelped, looking frantically about.

  Lucidity struck like a mallet to the back of my head, and I tried to leap up from where I was sitting. My brain was starting to work, but my motor reflexes were still a few steps behind, so I stumbled as I tried to stand.

  “Whoa, Kemosabe!” Ben steadied me before I could fall onto the asphalt shoulder.

  I twisted away from him, turning toward the van. Seeing my wife still belted in her seat, I climbed in through the door. Hunching down on my knees, I scrambled across the floorboards, almost knocking Constance over in the process.

  “She’s not coming to,” Mandalay said to me as I pushed my way in next to her.

  I reached out to Felicity and brushed a tangle of auburn curls from the side of her face. My still somewhat jangled brain was hoping that everything it was remembering had been unreal. Nothing more than a frightening product of an unchecked imagination left alone to play with the contents of a tortured subconscious, namely mine.

  Unfortunately, it knew full well that the sadistic nightmare had been all too real. When my eyes fell on my wife’s uncovered face, I saw that the circular burns were still there, horrific blemishes standing out against her pale skin. I noticed my own cheek tingling and began to remember even more. I looked down to see a charred divot in the back of my hand and suddenly felt very ill. If these stigmata were appearing on Felicity and me, I didn’t even want to imagine what was actually happening to Kimberly Forest.

  My wife rolled her head to the side, whimpering quietly as if struggling with yet another nightmare inside. She murmured something unintelligible and then turned her face away from me.

  “Felicity?” I cooed softly, taking her hand in mine as I felt my eyes beginning to water and burn.

  There was a tiny spark of a connection, something tenuous but definitely there. I held her hand and focused on it, letting it reach for me as I reached for it.

  After a few moments, she turned back to me, still whimpering, and then slowly opened her eyes.

  “Felicity? Honey. Are you okay?”

  She stared back at me with pain and confusion wrinkling her features. Her eyes searched my face, and I got the definite feeling that she didn’t recognize me. As she looked at me, tears began welling and overflowing onto her cheeks. She locked her gaze with mine, and in a frightened, pleading voice said, “Come back… Please. Help me… Come back…”

  CHAPTER 38:

  “North or south?” Ben queried.

  “If you were going to torture someone, you’d want some seclusion, right?” Constance asked in return.

  She was hunched forward, using the dim light from the glove box to illuminate an Illinois highway map. Fortunately, this one was in somewhat better condition than its Missouri counterpart, though not by much.

  “Depends on who and why,” Ben returned flatly.

  “Seriously.”

  “I was.”

  My friend had already turned the van around at the first emergency vehicle median crossing he had come upon. We were now headed back the way we came and rapidly approaching the Route 3 exit. Since Felicity, or Kimberly through her, had begged us to ‘come back’, it stood to reaso
n that we had missed the mark. As there was nothing between there and crossing back into Missouri, the state route seemed to all of us the most logical place to go.

  “Well, Route Three south takes you straight into Granite City,” Mandalay continued, ignoring his snide reply. “North takes you up to Wood River and Alton. However, there’s a several mile stretch of farmland before you hit the first town, which is Hartford.”

  “Yeah,” Ben replied. “That would definitely give the asshole some breathin’ room.”

  “Do you really think a farmer would be doing this?” I asked.

  “Who says it’s a farmer?” he answered with his own question. “Could be an asshole who wanted to get away from the city. Besides, don’t you remember Ray and Faye Copeland?”

  “Sounds vaguely familiar,” I replied. I wasn’t in a mood to search my grey matter for obscure memories, and to be honest, I really didn’t care. But, he was intent on explaining anyway.

  “They were an old couple in Chillicothe, Missouri,” he replied. “Livestock farmers. Back in the early nineties they were convicted of murderin’ five transients and buryin’ ‘em on their property.”

  “They were a bizarre serial case,” Constance added, spouting off details that she had tucked away. “They kept a log of the transient workers they hired, and next to each of the murdered men’s names was an X. Also, Faye made a quilt out of the victims clothing. While they were only convicted of the five homicides, there’s a pervasive belief that they were responsible for more.”

  I simply replied, “Oh,” and left it at that.

  “How’d you remember all that?” Ben asked. “You had to be in like what, junior high?”

  “I was in my first year of college, Storm,” she answered with an annoyed tone. “Besides, I studied the case when I did a psych paper on Serials.”

  “Jeez, what don’t you remember?”

  “Usually, my car keys.”

  “Oh, so you are human.”

  “Uh-huh, but don’t tell my SAIC or you’ll kill my rep.”

  “So, white man, how’s Firehair doin’?” Ben switched subjects.