Unhinged

by Shelley R. Pickens

  For now, David is content watching the chaos he had so meticulously planned wreak havoc upon all that Aimee holds dear. David relishes in his success and gives himself this one moment to pat himself on the back for a job well done. Sadly though, the job is far from complete, the goal still unattainable. Aimee’s torture, far from over. She must suffer horribly, that is the only way to ensure that her mind is at its weakest. Her psyche must be in a traumatic state in order for him to absorb her power. Only then will he be able to beat her. And beat her he will.

  David must not linger any longer. It’s time for him to slink away unseen, and make his way back to the small apartment in the city. It's time to finalize the last few pieces of his plan for the ascension he so rightly deserves. He has a date with destiny, and he must be ready for it.

  * * * *

  As David carefully makes his way out of the bushes, he doesn’t notice the shadow of a man leaning leisurely against the trunk of a tree behind him. This man is invisible, seen only by those whom he chooses. He is infinitely stronger than David and twice as deadly. And worse yet, he is angry, very angry. It took all of his self-control not to kill David as he hid, not to slash his throat and watch the blood splatter within the confines of his cowardly position inside the bushes.

  For now, he will let things play out, let the chaos David has created reign as he gains more information about the final piece of David’s plan. Although David thinks he will ascend, he knows that David isn’t ready; is even more certain that letting David ascend would ensure the destruction of the entire world order. With so much at stake, he must be patient, must get every piece of information he can to stop the ascension before it is too late. For if David is allowed to ascend, the expression ‘hell on earth’ will be given new meaning. And he isn’t about to let that happen. If anyone is going to create hell on earth, it damn well will be him.

  Chapter Eleven

  ~ Aftermath ~

  I open my eyes and the first thing I see is the white speckle of Dejana’s bedroom ceiling. I blink a few times, trying to acclimate myself as the cloudiness recedes from my eyes. With each passing second, the world comes more and more into focus. At some point, I must have fallen to the floor, because I can feel the soft plush carpet on my back. As I lie there recovering, a face pops into my line of vision, and the most beautiful hazel eyes filled with concern stare back at me.

  “Are you okay?” Logan asks, careful not to touch or move me.

  Now that is a loaded question. Physically I'm fine, but emotionally I am nowhere near okay. My mind is reeling from the images I just saw. The pile of women, their pale skin fraught with bruises and dried blood, haunts me. I can’t push the image away. How can a person be so evil?

  I lift myself up off the floor yet again, a recurring theme that seems to dominate my cursed life, and I look over at Dejana, still lying unconscious on the floor beside me. The memory of her happy on the beach comforts me. I sincerely hope she manages to stay away from the storm. I shudder just thinking of what might happen to her if she entered the black vortex that holds those vile memories. I just wish I had some clue as to how those memories got in there. If I solve that mystery, maybe then I can determine a way to get them out. Desperation threatens to overtake me. I feel like I’m losing a race against time. Logan’s voice snaps me out of it, thank goodness, because I was damn near having a bad panic attack.

  “What did you see? What did this to her?” he asks hopefully.

  I take in a deep breath, deciding which part I want to tell him first, when a voice yelling from downstairs interrupts me.

  “Dejana!” yells a male voice. “I have your food. Where are you? And what the hell happened to your door?”

  Beside me, Logan jumps up and runs to the hall to look over the banister that faces the foyer so he can see who it is. I can tell from his smile that it’s thankfully not a stranger.

  “Brett, it’s you! Hey man. What in the world are you doing here?” he asks.

  “Logan? That you, dude? I’m dropping off food for Dejana. She texted an hour ago saying she felt bad and wanted me to get her food. But when I texted her back to ask her where she wanted me to get it from, she didn’t respond. Hey, what the heck are you doing here? And better yet, what were you doing in Dejana’s bedroom?” he asks, his voice a bit edgy.

  “I’m up here with Aimee, you douche,” he explains. “And something has happened to Dejana so drop the food and get up here.”

  Immediately, Brett drops the food on the small, dark table in the foyer and takes the stairs two at a time. The look on his face is one of agitation. He practically flies into Dejana’s bedroom before skidding to a stop the minute he sees me sitting on the floor beside her legs. His face is covered with concern as he moves beside Dejana’s body and gets down on his knees. He moves to touch her, but he must think the better of it because he just places his hands on his knees.

  “What in the world? What happened to her?”

  Why is everyone asking me that today? Even though I do actually now know what happened to her, it isn’t something I care to tell Brett. I don’t trust him, even if Logan and Dejana both consider him a good friend. Hell, let’s be real. After all the secrets I’ve absorbed, I have every reason not to trust anybody.

  “I have no idea,” I say as I look pointedly at Logan, hoping he gets the hint that I don’t want my horrific expedition into Dejana’s mind known. “When did she text you?”

  “About an hour ago. She just said she was sick and asked if I could bring her some food since her parents are working. No biggie, I’ve done it plenty of times before. When she didn’t text me back I just got her favorite burger and came on over. Is she going to be okay?” asks Brett, clearly concerned.

  The sadness on his face makes me instantly regret keeping things from him. I debate how much I should tell to him, when I see Logan move around Dejana to come and sit next to me. He takes my hand and pointedly squeezes it. I got the message.

  “We don’t know.” I say. “The only thing we do know is that she needs to go to the hospital. They’ll probably take her to the same mental hospital that my mom is at right now. The doctor there can help her.”

  “If you say so, Aimee,” replies Brett skeptically. “Um, should we call an ambulance or just take her there ourselves? We should call her parents too, probably,” adds Brett, trying his best to wade through the shock to figure out what is best to do for Dejana.

  “Her parents will ask too many questions we can’t answer,” I interject. “Let’s just call the ambulance and tell them we found her this way.”

  “Okay,” says Brett slowly. “I guess you’re right. I’ll call them since I was the one she texted. I can just say that you guys showed up after me. No reason to drag you into this.”

  Huh, maybe Brett isn’t such a douchebag after all. “That would be great, thanks,” I say, and I genuinely mean it.

  “No problem. Let me step outside for a second and call. You guys stay with her, just in case.”

  I watch as Brett leaves the room and softly closes the bedroom door behind him as he makes the call to the police. I don’t dare speak until I know he is for sure out of hearing range. Regardless of his recent willingness to help us, I still don’t trust him. What can I say? I’m cursed with memories of complete assholes. Trusting isn’t exactly ingrained within my psyche.

  Logan nudges me lightly, bringing me back to our present dilemma. I realize he wants to know what happened in Dejana’s mind, but a small part of me wonders if he can withstand the horror that comes with knowing the evil that resides within her. I battle with what to hold back and what to share as I look into his sad eyes filled with such innocence, such hope that I can’t bear to hold anything back from him. He risks so much just being with me and he deserves the truth.

  “She’s in a coma. Somehow, the memories of a totally psychotic serial killer made their way into her mind. Her brain shut down to protect itself. As far as I can tell, she’s okay, as long as she stays in the pa
rts of her mind that hold some of her best long-term memories. The evil that’s sprouted deep within her subconscious is still separate from the rest of Dejana’s mind. As long as it stays that way, she’ll be okay, but I have no idea of knowing how long she’ll be able to hold out. The tornado that represents all of those memories is huge and seems to be growing. It’s only a matter of time before they take over her mind. And if that happens, it’ll be too late. We won’t be able to save her. Those memories are just like a real tornado that devours everything in its path—it won’t stop until there’s nothing left. And from what I can tell, it doesn’t have any plans to stop.”

  To Logan’s credit, he doesn’t react to the news as badly as I thought he would. The only indication that he even understood the severity of the matter at hand is a deep sigh of frustration. That boy is so much stronger than I ever give him credit for.

  “Did you see any of the killer’s memories?” Logan asks, both out of curiosity and concern. He knows how my curse works, understands the price I pay for it, but at the same time, I can see he wants to protect me from it; shield me from the horrors that lie within the recesses of an evil mind.

  “Yes,” I whisper, hoping that’s enough. “I did.”

  Logan bows his head in defeat, knowing somehow that would be the answer, but hoping it wasn’t true. “How are you holding up?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice and those beautiful eyes that stare back at me with such intensity it frightens me.

  “Fine,” I answer simply, hoping he doesn’t see the lie behind my words. Whether he desires it or not, I will do my best to protect him from the evil things I see. Because to me, he is the antithesis of evil, the one bright light that can make all the evil things in this world flee.

  The desire to touch him is too much for me to resist. In a completely uncharacteristic move, I turn towards him and pull him into me, his lips just centimeters from mine. The need to kiss him, to feel the heat of his lips against mine and absorb something good for once, overwhelms me. I can feel his breath on my face as it comes faster in anticipation of our lips meeting. His breath smells sweet and clean. His face sports stubble from a five o’clock shadow. I lean in even closer, so close that I can practically hear his heart beating a thousand times a minute within his chest.

  With complete abandon, I finally touch my lips against his and am immediately intoxicated with the feel of warmth and electricity that flows through me. I revel in the pure pleasure that is his kiss. Logan moves to deepen the kiss, moving his tongue against mine. My heart races faster as heat radiates throughout my body. I pull him even closer with my bare hands, desperate to have him as near as possible. Logan responds in kind. He groans as his hands move to wrap completely around me. There is no space between us, no desire for any space for that matter, as we embrace as if we may never kiss again. Surprisingly, I don’t absorb any new memories; my mind lets me simply feel. Electricity courses through my veins and throughout every pore as we kiss, making my body practically sing from the sensation. I never want this to end. Yet, as with most good things in my life, it does. And way too soon.

  Abruptly, Logan breaks the kiss and pulls away. I’m left sitting there alone and cold, the electricity fizzled out and the feelings of euphoria gone. “Whoa,” says Logan, one hand on his head, the other on the banister for support.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, feelings of déjà vu piercing my brain. I remember Dejana suffering from vertigo at my house before I went to go see Mary. Panic threatens to drown me. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. All I can do is wish the bad away. Not Logan, please not Logan, I chant silently over and over again until I can force myself to believe it. “Please, Logan, you have to fight it. It can’t happen to you too. I don’t know what I would do without you. Please, I don’t know what to do!” I scream as panic overtakes me with every second that ticks by.

  “I’m okay,” Logan whispers. “It’s alright. Don’t worry,” he adds needlessly. “I can hold on, but I need your help.”

  “What can I do?” I ask him desperately.

  “I have to know what’s happening to me, what’s invaded my mind. I need you to enter my memories like you did for Dejana and try to fix it if you can. But not here, we have to leave Aimee; we have to go to my house where we can be safe.”

  Before I can come to terms with what’s happening to Logan, we hear the roaring of sirens in the distance and know that the ambulance Brett called will be arriving shortly. I wonder fleetingly why he didn’t re-enter the bedroom, but with all that’s happening to Logan, it just didn’t occur to me to care. For someone that supposedly cares so much for Dejana, he sure is taking a long time to come back. But honestly, I just can’t think about that right now. Whatever Brett is doing is his business. What I care about is Logan, and it is obvious he’s in trouble. Hell, I’d be deluding myself if I didn’t admit that we all are in some seriously deep shit. And worse yet, I don’t own a shovel.

  Chapter Twelve

  ~ Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough ~

  Shortly after the ambulance takes Dejana to the hospital, we set out for Logan’s house. I drive, uncertain of his state of mind, or how well he’s holding it together. I have no idea what is in his brain and even less of a desire to see what type of horrible memory is festering within his psyche. I know Logan is strong and has withstood more pain than anyone should possibly have to in a lifetime, but even if I did enter his mind like I did with Dejana, what good could I do? I could identify the problem, but that doesn’t mean I can do anything about it. Desperation engulfs me, I have no idea what to do and I am in way over my head.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask Logan carefully. He’s sitting next to me in the passenger seat, pale as ever and sweating. He’s fighting whatever his mind is trying to force upon him and the hopelessness of the situation hits me full force. The people I love the most are crumbling around me and I’m helpless to stop it. Sometime in the past week, the world has turned cruel and unforgiving. Actually no, I was just a fool to believe it could actually be something other than that for once.

  We finally arrive at Logan’s house. It’s very late, and I don’t see any lights on inside the house so his parents and younger brother are probably asleep. As I pull into the driveway, I turn off the headlights so I don’t wake up the family. I hop out of the car and race to the other side, hoping to help Logan, but he’s already out of his seat and walking towards his house. He tries to maintain his usual confidence, but I can tell he’s weak.

  “We need to sneak in through the back. The key is hidden underneath the fern—the one on the left side of the back door.”

  I look beneath the left fern and sure enough, there is a random key hiding there in the center of a dirt ring. I take it out and place it into the keyhole. I turn it as quietly as possible until I hear a soft click, indicating the lock has given way.

  “Come on,” I say to Logan as I push my way through the kitchen door and move aside so he can follow me. Once we are both inside his rather large kitchen, I shut the door and lock it behind us. The less evidence that I was ever here, the better. I turn to face Logan and the breath catches in my throat. The boy I know and love is fighting a battle and losing. His face is ashen and he is sweating enormously. His blue t-shirt is soaked and his eyes are glazed over in either confusion or pain, I can’t decipher which one. I can tell the dizziness is all consuming, yet he stays on his feet and pushes through the discomfort.

  “My bedroom,” says Logan in short breaths. “We’ll have privacy.”

  I try to help Logan as we make our way to the back stairs, but he declines my offer as gentlemanly as possible in his current state. We make it up two steps before Logan falls to his knees and starts to bang his head against the wall. I watch in horror, totally helpless and frustrated beyond belief at my ineptitude.

  “Stop it now, Logan! You’re going to wake your parents,” I whisper in as much of a shout as I dare. “Please, just hold on a bit longer. Your room is right at the top of the stairs. You
can make it. Now get up dammit, and walk.”

  My words seem to get through to Logan because he stops pounding his head against the drywall and begins to crawl up the stairs; each step a herculean effort to ascend. Finally, his room comes into sight. That seems to spur his strength as he darts for the door and falls inside. I lightly run after him and help him onto the bed, making sure he is settled before I run back and shut his bedroom door. From behind me, I hear Logan softly say my name. I run back over and sit beside him on the bed. I take his cold clammy hand into my gloved one and hold on for dear life.

  “I’m here, Logan,” I tell him, unsure if he can still hear me since his eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow.

  “Now,” he says in a very soft voice. “Must do it now. I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “It’s okay, I got this. I won’t let you down,” I say as I take off my gloves for the second time today. My hands are shaking, fear of the unknown making me weak. I look at Logan’s pale white face; note his closed eyes, as he lies there deathly still. Fear of losing him fills me with renewed strength. Before I do this, there is something I have to tell him, something he has to know in case I lose him to the delusions forever. Something I never got to tell Mary or Dejana, and it’s the only thing that ever really mattered. I don’t know if he can hear me, so I can only hope that he can feel me. I place my hand upon his heart beneath his shirt and say the words that up until now have paralyzed me with fear.

  “I love you, Logan,” I declare as the vertigo begins and the darkness consumes me.

  * * * *

  A brightly shining light temporarily blinds me, so I shield them with my hand to try to see where I am. I look around and realize that I am in the old cafeteria of our school, the one before it was destroyed by the bomb. The blinding light is the sun coming through the large windows on the left-hand side wall that faces the courtyard, or at least the ones that used to be on the left-hand side facing the courtyard.