Engorged with rage at his mind’s weaknesses, and Aimee’s part in that, David picks up a plate and hurls it at the already chipped and discolored wall. He pictures Aimee’s face before him. He envisions her dark hair billowing out behind her, those wretched gloves she always wears, and the black clothing from which she refuses to stray. He picks up the last plate and throws it with all his strength at her face. He watches as the pieces shatter against the hard concrete and imagines it’s her face that is shattering into a hundred pieces.
He knows what must be done now. He can’t wait for her anymore. It’s time he sent her a message she can’t miss. A message only she would understand. Oh yes, he has the perfect clue in mind. He rubs his hands together, as if bathing them in blood. Whether Aimee’s ready or not, it’s high time for her story to end.
Chapter Nineteen
~ The Monster Beneath Your Bed ~
Mary’s room is cold and stark, just like all the other hospital rooms in the nut house. The fake flowers sitting on the small round table by her bed only make the atmosphere more pathetic.
Mary sits in a chair, staring out the barred window. Night has fallen, so I’m sure she can’t see anything, but for some reason it calms her. Dr. Evans and Brett are standing behind me, patiently waiting for me to begin. It’s been like this since we arrived a half hour ago.
I had woken up and found Brett sleeping on the floor next to my bed. I was feeling refreshed and happy, until I looked at the time and saw that I had slept almost a full twelve hours. The orange glow in my room signaled it was close to dusk and we had already lost so much time. I showered, dressed quickly, and grabbed some food from the fridge. Before I had even half a waffle down, Brett walked into the kitchen with a wet head and fresh clothes. How does he do that? He seems prepared for anything. Shortly thereafter, Brett drove us over to the hospital at lightning speed so I could start with Mary the minute we arrived. Brett must have called Dr. Evans because he was waiting for me in the front lobby, folder ready and lab coat shining.
Now that I’m here and ready to help Mary, fear renders me immobile. I’m so terrified of what she will see with me in her mind that the fear leaves me doubting myself and my ability to do what must be done. And worse, what if in helping her, I hurt her? In order for me to erase the memory, we have to experience it. I have no idea what I’ll find in there, but I’m sure it isn’t good. Chocolate and bunnies don’t make you go crazy. I hope her mind can handle it better than mine.
I breathe, hoping it will give me courage, but all it does is fill me with hot air. Typical. I wish I could tell the guys about the messages I received from David, but something holds me back. David has hurt so many people already and I refuse to let either of them become his next victim. It’s clear he wants me to know that he’s coming for me and that my fate is intertwined with a house made of light. But that doesn’t really give me a lot to go on. More than anything, I wish Dejana were here to help talk me through it. My mind is spinning in so many different directions, I can’t catch a thought.
Thinking about David doesn’t make me feel better. It just prolongs the inevitable. I have to go into Mary’s mind. It’s the only way to save her. I had no problem going into Logan’s or Dejana’s mind, so I wonder why I’m so scared now. Why does Dr. Evans insist I start with her?
I look at Mary as she sits by the window. Her brown eyes are vacant, and her hair is a mess. Her usual pristine dress, perfect makeup, and impeccable hair have been replaced with a woman embraced by madness. As I sit here staring at the Mary who doesn’t look like Mary anymore, I finally understand why I’m so afraid.
“She’s never been part of my world. Never had to see the horrible things I’ve absorbed. Through all the darkness that surrounds me, she’s the one who’s always been my light. She sees the girl, not the curse. The moment I touch her, that’s all going to change. She’ll be forced to see me for what I see and she’ll find out what I really am—a freak.”
Evans and Brett stand behind me silently, neither willing to confirm nor deny what I just shared. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nothing they could say would make me feel better. If I’m going to save her, I’m going to have to show her who I truly am. I’m going to have to expose her to evil. It just isn’t fair. But then again, no one ever said it would be.
I hear a shuffling of feet as Brett walks over to me and places his hand on my shoulder. I’m so overtaken with emotion it’s all I can do not to touch him back. But somehow, this simple gesture calms me. I can see what needs to be done and the negative thoughts simply fall from my mind. All that remains is a picture of Mary: healthy, happy, and normal. I’m standing beside her, the sun shining off my hair, and the smile on my face wide and true. It’s the picture of what I want our life to be. It gives me hope that once this is over, Mary won’t reject me. She’ll see me as I want her to, not as the cursed person I really am.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I say as I pull away from Brett and pull up my chair alongside Mary’s. I remove one of my gloves and almost lose it when I see my hand shake. I swallow hard, hoping the fear is swallowed down with it. I look into Mary’s blank eyes through my hazy ones filled with tears. “Forgive me,” I whisper as I place my small hand on top of her clammy one and fall deep down into the depths of gloom, where light can’t pierce, and hope for a normal life dies within the depths of shadows.
* * * *
A younger Mary sits on a park bench. Her legs are tucked under her like a proper lady and her long flowery skirt flows behind her in the breeze. The wind billows around her, causing the occasional strand of hair to fly in her face, yet her hands remain folded on her lap. She doesn’t move to straighten her hair at all. It’s like she doesn’t have a care in the world. She tilts her head to the side every so often as she observes something off in the distance.
I tentatively walk up to the washed out green bench, wanting to talk to her, but I have no idea where to start. She sits there so patiently, just enjoying the park. This must be a memory where she’s waiting to meet someone. I approach her carefully, so I don’t startle her.
“Hey, Mary. Um, can I sit down with you for a bit?”
She looks over at me, her brown eyes warm and gentle as they take me in. “Yes, sweetie, of course you can,” she says as she scoots over a bit and pats the bench next to her.
I sit awkwardly, unsure of myself, and every move I make while in her memories. I don’t know where to begin, but as it turns out, I don’t have to. As usual, Mary’s telling me what to do.
“I’m afraid you won’t be sitting for long, sweetheart,” she states cryptically, as she continues to stare off into the distance. Her hair swirls all around her now as the wind picks up.
“Why is that?” I ask, even though I’m absolutely sure I don’t want to know the answer.
“Because you have work to do and sitting here with me just prolongs the inevitable. He’s coming for you and you have to be ready.”
I sigh, afraid that I will hear that same damn phrase again. I’m to the point where I wish the bastard would just come and get me already. “Are you talking about David, or the Seer?”
For the first time since I entered her memory, Mary turns to look at me, startled. “Why yes, I am. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess I suppose. Do you know when he might be coming for me? It’s fine if you don’t, but it would be helpful.”
“No, sweetie, sorry, I have no idea. But that’s not what you need to worry about. The darkness will be here soon. You have to leave now.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone to face it, Mary. I won’t do that.”
Mary’s eyes bore into mine. “I will not let them hurt you, Aimee. They can do what they want to me, but they will not hurt my daughter.”
Emotions overwhelm me. So many I can’t even begin to process them. I had it so wrong. Mary knew all along of my darkness; she just didn’t care. I am her light, just as much as she is mine. She’d never turn her back on me, and I’m not about to turn my back
on her. Protectiveness wells up inside me as tears start to pour down my face. But they aren’t tears of sadness, they’re tears of gratitude.
“I love you too, Mary, but this is my fight, not yours. The darkness inside of you was put here because of me. I don’t know why yet, but I can promise you I’m going to find out. But first, I need to take this evil from you.”
“No, sweetie. I can’t let you do that. You’ve been through enough, and I won’t have you sacrificing yourself just to save me,” Mary says forcefully with uncharacteristic anger.
“Darkness lives inside of me whether I want it to or not. I’m sorry, but you can’t protect me from that. What you can do is keep being my mother. That’s what will save me. You’re the light that can pierce any darkness for me. No matter what’s out there waiting for me, I can take it. As long as you are there with me when I wake up.”
Mary’s eyes well up with unshed tears as the battle between protecting who she loves and ridding herself of foreign evil, rages within her. Torment of indecision is evident in her face as her hair whips around her. I look to my right and see the familiar tornado barreling down upon us. Time is running out.
“Please, let me take this evil from you. I promise I can handle it. It’s not just about saving you. Without you in my life, I’d drown in the darkness, running from things I could never face alone. But with you, I can do anything. Take my hand. We can save each other.”
The roar of the tornado fills my ears, but I don’t look away from Mary for fear that she will flee before I can touch her. She looks at the tornado, and then at me, trying to decide what to do. I can feel the wind, but it doesn’t sting my face. I see the fear in Mary’s eyes. I know that she’s afraid of whatever is in the tornado. Her agitation is evident by the way her hands grip each other out of fear. I reach out my hand, palm side up, stopping just short of touching her stark white fingers. I need to help her get rid of the fear that accompanies sending your daughter into pure evil. Mary takes one last look at the tornado and reaches out her hand, preparing to touch my already outstretched one.
“You come back with me, Aimee Richardson, or I swear on all that is holy, I will ground you for life.”
I smile at her, despite the danger swirling around us. “Don’t worry, I got this,” I assure her as I place my hand atop hers and enter her consciousness. Seconds later, the tornado engulfs us both, forcing us up into an oblivion that harbors an evil I never would have expected.
Chapter Twenty
~ I Will Never Eat Corn Again ~
Rain pelts my face as I stand in the middle of a cornfield next to a rather peculiar-looking scarecrow whose fake eyes seem to follow my every movement. The yellow of the straw that fills his rather oddly shaped body blends in with the corn stalks that surround us. The rain doesn’t impede my vision as I stare off into the distance. While some of the memory I experience as real, it’s still just a memory. Though I feel the rain fall upon my face, I don’t get wet.
I look around, trying to figure out what’s going on in this memory when a roar in the distance warns me that something draws near. I can’t tell what it is, but from the fear I saw on Mary’s face in the park, I’m sure it isn’t good. I strain my eyes trying to see what’s coming, but all I can make out is a green blob with what looks like eight fingers. The engine roar is deafening as it nears me. I stand up on the tips of my toes to get a better look, but all I see are corn stalks falling as the green blob stomps forward. I climb up the wooden cross that holds the scarecrow. It’s hard, but after a minute, I’m finally up as high as the scarecrow and clinging onto its frame to remain there. I wrap my arms around his head and get my first glimpse at what’s coming.
Up ahead, and closing in fast, is a corn reaper. The reaper is dark green, has eight prongs that look like fingers jutting out from the front of it and huge blades that churn constantly underneath, making it look hungry. I definitely don’t have experience with corn or reapers, but that has to be the deluxe model. I watch as it lifts up dozens of ears of corn and cuts the stem from the husk before it feeds them through some part that forces the kernels loose before finally spitting the husks out the back.
As I stand there wrapped around the scarecrow, I wonder what it is about this whole memory that makes Mary so nervous. As far as I know, she’s never been scared of large machinery. I look to the right and see nothing but more rows of corn. I look to the left and finally see what they corn reaper is heading for. And it takes all my strength not to vomit.
In the middle of the cornfield sits a small clearing cut into a perfect square. If I wasn’t so high up, I never would have seen it. Within the square stand four thick wooden poles that have been pounded deep into the ground and reach as high as the corn stalks that surround it. Attached to each wooden pole are the thickest ropes I’ve ever seen. And at the end of each rope, sits a girl.
Or at least I think they’re girls. They’re each blindfolded and wearing brown burlap sacks. Their faces are swollen, bruised, and bloody from what I can only imagine were multiple beatings. Each girl sits erect in the same manner with her wrists bound behind her. Their ankles are also bound by a rope, but only to each other. What surprises me most is that they’re complacent as they sit bound. No one is trying to fight the bindings or scream for help. They have to know what’s coming; the roar of the machine is so loud I can barely think. Yet they sit stoically, seemingly resigned to their fate, like it’s a welcome relief from the hell they’ve experienced. I look around and see only corn for miles and miles. If a person wanted to hold women captive for some nefarious purpose, this would be the perfect place.
The roar of the harvester grows even louder as it approaches the girls, yet still they don’t move. From my perch just a stone’s throw away from the clearing, I see that the reaper is on a direct course for the clearing—and the girls. Despite all of the memories I’ve absorbed in my almost seventeen years of life, I never would have predicted evil like this existed. I barely have time to register that the reaper is going to reap more than corn before it breaks through the clearing and in one foul swoop, scoops up all the girls at once, and feeds them into the sharp blades that cut the stem from the stalk.
I close my eyes immediately, unwilling and unable to see what happens next. I know this scene has already occurred and I’m keenly aware that there is nothing I can do to save their lives. I’m no superhero and I never pretended to be one. But the overwhelming need to help these girls—even if they’re already dead—consumes me. Their screams finally snap me out of my shock and spur me into action. I listen as their terror pierces the night and I realize that as bad as this is, I can’t let it deter me from the real reason I’m here. I jump down from the scarecrow and land with a thud on the ground. I pick myself up and start running as fast as I can towards the reaper. Even though I know I can’t be harmed in a memory, my heart beats fast within my chest. I’m not sure I want to face the person who did this to those poor girls. My confidence falters a bit as I run. I try to focus on what I’m doing, but the closer I get to the reaper, the more frightened I become.
I’m almost in full panic mode when I suddenly hear Mary’s voice in my head. ‘I believe in you Aimee.’ Her voice is soft, determined, and just as it was before this memory was so maliciously inserted into her mind. It’s exactly what I needed to hear.
I bear down and run faster. Corn hits every possible inch of my body as I run through the thick field. Luckily, if it cuts me, I don’t feel it. After devouring the four girls in the clearing, the corn reaper has turned around and began its trek back to the stable. I do my best to run towards the noise in the hope that I can intercept it before it reaches its destination. I have no idea where I’m going, only faith that I’ll get there before the killer, or this memory, disappears. The loud screeching of metal crushing body fragments haunts me, but it also lets me know I’m close. As I fly by the clearing where the girls were just fed to the reaper, the smell of iron is overwhelming. I see bits and chunks of raw, chopped flesh on
the ears of corn as I race by them, and it’s all I can do not to throw up what little I ate for breakfast.
I finally see the machine up ahead and am grateful to be coming at it from behind. The last thing I want to see is the front prongs bathed in blood. I run along the left side of the reaper where the door is located. The window is up high, but I can see the head of a man with short red hair. I pound on the door, hoping the person inside can hear me. The sound of blades working to rid themselves of extra blood and material is so loud that my knock is lost in oblivion. Corn ear after corn ear smacks me as I run with the reaper, desperate to keep up with it.
I knock again, but it’s no use. The man inside can’t hear me. I look up and see a handle just beside the doorknob. If I time it just right, I can jump onto the small foot platform at the bottom of the door and grab the handle. It’s tricky though, and I’m tired. If I miss, I’ll fall and then any hope of catching up to him will be lost. Instinctively, I know that if he makes it to the stables, the memory will be over, which will cost me any chance I have to absorb it from Mary.
Up ahead, the red stable comes into view. Time is running out. Winded from running, I do my best to fill my lungs before I push up with my right leg as hard as I can and swing my left leg up. Thankfully, my left foot finds the step. The second my foot reaches the step I push hard and reach up with my right hand, fingers extended, and try to grab the handle.
For a brief second, my life proceeds in slow motion. The handle is only centimeters away, but I’m not sure I can make it. I extend my arm as far as it can go and am rewarded by the feel of cold steel beneath my fingers. I grab the handle and hold on for dear life. I quickly reposition myself with both feet on the small platform and my right hand firmly grasping the handle. I use my left hand to open the reaper’s door. The door flies open in the wind and hits the other side with a loud bang. I peek inside and am now face to face with the palest guy I’ve ever seen. His eyes are green and his hair is ginger. The look of surprise on his face almost makes the whole episode of getting to him worth it. Almost.
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