“You’re right, Kate. I should start walking the Nine Palace Circle again. But you know what? I know that you know I don’t have to walk it anymore. Don’t you?” I said kidding her but reawakening me to a tool I had, but wasn’t keeping in front of me. Sifu’s words repeated in my head again, “You become that which you do.”
We pulled up in front of the house.
Kate kissed me on the cheek, after asking me one last time if I wanted company going in. “I would love that Honey, but I made a promise to go in alone. Be right back, Lord willing.”
I got out of the car and looked at the house trying to see if there was anyone inside looking back at me. A chill ran up and down my spine. I took a deep breath and made my way, key in hand, toward the front door of this quaint cottage which looked like something out of a storybook. It was white with a red roof. The windows had shutters on them and the grounds around were neatly kept.
I waved at Kate and put the key into the lock. The door was heavier than it looked and as I stepped inside I was surprised to see the interior as colorless. It was stark in its ashen glow with the furniture covered in sheets and dust on the floor and shelves. I squinted, coming in from bright sunlight listening for a sound of indication of someone else being in there. In the corner of the living room, which was to my immediate right, I noticed a long dark shadow created by the time of day and the position of the sun.
Walking through the living room there was nothing that drew my attention but my sense of fear grew as I went deeper into the house. The kitchen was dark due to the drawn blinds on the small window but was all in order.
Breaking the silence, I asked, “Is there anyone here? Hello.” Pause… then “Hello” again. Nothing. I was relieved to say the least. I went through the first of the three bedrooms and saw a picture of Jimbo which was probably taken during his later years at Sacred Heart High. It immediately brought me back to those days and that school, the memories. My mind started running through the thoughts of how it was to be there as a teenager. Things were becoming intense as my thoughts began to race and it was starting to be overwhelming. Then just as quickly as it began, I suddenly gained control of the process by remembering Mee-hawl’s words and their comfortingly, encouraging tone.
The second bedroom was empty… totally empty with the exception of a book laying the exact center of the room. I walked cautiously into the room and looked down at the book. The cover was familiar and I stooped down to look at it more closely. I was almost knocked to my knees when I saw the title, “The History of Roman Campaigns.” This was a book from my past, the text of my Latin Studies class during my freshman year and one made memorable by the antics of Brother Scheible. I picked it up and scanned the first few pages before placing it under my arm as I left the room.
The third bedroom was ornate, with furniture and pictures which looked like they came out of the 1890’s. It was strange, to say the least. Suddenly I had the feeling that I was no longer alone in the house. “Is anyone here?” I said again, waiting for a response I prayed I wouldn’t get. Nothing… and a momentary relief crept over me.
I continued moving through the deserted house; it was exactly what I expected, after hearing Melanie’s words.
Then the silence was broken by the sound of a closing door. It came from the back of the house off the kitchen. Before I knew it, I was moving rapidly toward it. I came to a door, which led to the basement. After opening it, I called into the darkness, “Is anyone there?”
To say I wasn’t frightened would be a lie, but I could not resist the urge to find who had closed that door and against my better judgment I searched for a light switch. A dim light was located at the foot of the stairs. I called again and hearing nothing in response I decided to turn off the light and close the door. Turning around quickly I started for the front door where I paused for a moment waiting for something to happen… and as I turned the door handle I heard it.
“Jeremy Storyteller.” Those words were startling although not surprising for there, standing in the entrance to the kitchen like Jacob Marley’s ghost was my old friend, Jimbo Morris.
“I… I…” stammered while trying to gain my composure, with my back pressed up against the door.
“You came,” he whispered.
“Jimbo. Melanie gave me your message. How… how is it you’re here?” I asked after recovering my breath.
“I cannot answer that, Jeremy. But I had to reach you. And give you the message,” he said from the shadows.
“What message?”
“All are trying to protect you from yourself,” he said in a whisper.
It took me a few moments to ask, “What does that mean, Jimbo?”
He didn’t answer but turned around and moved toward the basement door. He went through it… right through it.
I instinctually followed him but I, of course, had to open the door before going through it. The low wattage bulb provided just enough light to create a multitude of shadows on every wall. Perched halfway between top and bottom, I stayed on the steps peering into the semi darkness.
“Jimbo! Where are you?” I called into the darkness.
“I’m here, Jeremy,” came the response — but it was not from my old high school chum, Jimbo Morris. What appeared out of the darkness was the woman in the veil from the cemetery. She was wearing a long brown coat, which complimented her tall, slender body. Her head was covered by a wide-brimmed hat with a face totally covered by a black veil. I was very frightened, but somehow I managed to retain my composure, knowing that it was of absolute importance that somehow, the way be found to the end of all this and if my death was the price, then so it had to be.
“You have a decision to make, Jeremy Storyteller. I have been given the task of telling you that you have a decision to make.” She spoke quietly with a sophisticated but strange voice that made a chill run up my spine, as she walked toward the stairs and then stopped, leaving me enough distance for a rapid retreat, yet still holding my place on the stairs. I stood, frozen, staring at her. Then she said, “We have Dennis.”
“Dennis?” I asked, backing up a step.
“Your Dennis.”
“My son?” I asked incredulously.
“He is with us. He made a deal with the Devil.” She chuckled as she repeated confidently, “He made a deal with the Devil. Your Dennis… he is with us. Jeremy Storyteller.” Her voice was penetrating my soul as she spoke. She was dressed the same way she was the times I saw her at the cemetery. The dark veil that masked her face allowed no indication of what was under it. I pictured the face of a Greta Garbo then that gave way to the picture of an old hag.
“What do you mean… my son being held captive? You have him somewhere? Prove it to me.”
“When was the last time you spoke with him?” she responded.
“Who are you? Why are you here? Where is Jimbo Morris? Is he with you, too?” The questions blurted out from nowhere, probably provoked by her terrifying statement regarding my son.
“You ask too many questions, Jeremy Storyteller.” Her words seemed to float from behind her ever-present veil as she continued, “there is only one way out of this for you. You know exactly what that way is. You are up against something that is beyond your imagination, and the imaginations of those foolish ones who support and advise you.”
My mind reeled as I stepped up another step. Suddenly my Chi Gung breathing kicked in and the energy path it produced helped me find my way back to that safe place within, known as the Center. I gained control again but lost her from my line of sight. I thought that she would walk toward me as I continued inching my way up the stairs. But she did not do that, and said nothing more.
I moved back up to the door and into the kitchen expecting with dread that I would run into something terrifying when I turned around. Seeing nothing I moved rapidly to the front door and out of it. On the front porch I took a deep breath and locked the door quickly with Jimbo’s key. Kate watched me as I high-tailed to our car and jumped in.
“Didn’t go well, Honey?” Kate said lightly then changed her tone when she saw me trying to catch my breath. “What happened in there?” She leaned across the front seat looking into my eyes with the question.
“Kate, call Dennis.” “Why?” She asked confused by the request. “Our son, Dennis?”
“Yes, yes. Dennis. Please just call him,” I urged her. She grabbed her phone and dialed.
Machine. “Hi, Dennis. This is Mom. Your father asked that I call you right away and so here I am calling you right away. Call us when you get this.” She ended the call and started to ask me a question but I interrupted her with, “I need to speak with our son immediately. Was that his landline or mobile?”
“Landline; what is this, Tell? You’re freaking out. What’s wrong with Dennis?”
“Call his mobile… please, Kate, call it now. I’ll tell you what’s going on as soon as you do that.” “Dennis? This is Mom… are you okay Honey?” She was relieved as was I, that she was hearing his voice and not his answering system. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She waited for his answer then handed the phone to me.
“Dennis, we are very concerned because we haven’t heard anything from you in quite a while and then today I had a conversation with someone and your name came up, and not in a good way. So we’re calling.” I spoke rapidly using my “this-is-your-dad-speaking-and-you’d-better listen” tone very apparent.
“I’m okay Dad; unusually so,” he said. But there was something in his response that seemed distant.
“Have you been hanging around any new people?” I asked, starting to feel like the pain in the ass that I was.
“I’m always doing that, especially here in Spain. Every day I meet new people. It’s a friendly culture and believe it or not, most of them like Americans.”
“Look, this is going to sound really strange and maybe unbelievable, but believe it anyway.” I paused before saying something which might cause my son to think I was really losing it. Trying to sound as rational as possible my words came slowly. “I am being… chased… by something very evil, something that has been around since my near death and has been making your mother’s and my life chaotic.” I was trying to get as much information to him in as short a time as possible, as the connection wasn’t very good.
“Why haven’t you said anything about this before?” came his concerned response — but before I could say anything more the call dropped.
I redialed the number but it went straight to voicemail. Looking at Kate, I didn’t relish having to tell her what happened in the house, but I did so nonetheless.
Afterwards she took the book from my hands and asked, what’s this?”
“I found it in the middle of an empty room,” I said, starting the car. “It’s a textbook from my freshman year at Sacred Heart.”
After starting the car and getting ready to be on our way back toward home, Kate asked me, “so, why would one of your high school textbooks be laying in the middle of an empty room in there?” She nodded her head toward the cottage while staring at the book.
“It must’ve belonged to Jimbo Morris. But why would he save a book from high school?” I said to Kate.
“Could that be the reason we came here? To get this book?” she asked as she scanned it. “You know, it sort of looks like that could be a part of it and maybe a big part. Probably the word in question is in this book,” I said as I took it from her.
She grabbed it back immediately, and with total purpose said, “Don’t you dare even open it. This is what Mee-hawl Conner was warning us about. ‘That you are to say nothing in Latin… under any circumstance,’ Tell. Don’t you remember him saying that?” She was extremely adamant.
I called Dennis’s phone again and again it went straight to voicemail. Handing the phone back to Kate, I said, “Let’s try reaching him when we’re a little further up the road.” We drove north.
She dialed it again and again as we drove home, but to no avail.
Kate went silent for several minutes. Then she suddenly blurted, “I’m terrified, Teller… absolutely terrified for our son. I feel like getting on a plane for Madrid.”
“We may have to do just that, and do it soon. Like maybe tomorrow. Oh shit, my passport.”
“What about your passport?” she asked.
“It’s expired — but I think that there is a way to expedite the issuance of a new one and that will take a few days.” I started planning the trip in my mind.
My phone rang, and Kate jumped at it. It was Kevin who said that Dennis had called again and left a message for us. “Dennis said that he couldn’t get through to you on your mobile so he wanted me to tell you that he was going into the mountains of Spain and would be back by the middle of next week. His phone won’t work there, but he’ll call soon as he gets back. He said not to take any chances with your safety and if he was needed he would come home for a while.”
We had the phone now on speaker while I said, “Thanks, Kevin. Did he sound okay to you?”
“Yeah, he sounded fine. Maybe a bit concerned about you. What’s going on?”
“Long story, Kevin.”
“It does seem like that’s the story of your life,” he commented wryly.
“We’ll talk,” I said.
“We’ll have plenty of time for that next week,” he said.
“How so?”
“The Project wants us back in Arizona for a press conference at Arizona State University. We lost our public information officer to another project and since we did the work in desert the powers-that-be feel we can handle it and add some color to it all.” Kevin sounded pleased with the prospect of returning to Arizona. I wasn’t so sure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Can I take Kate with us?” I asked Mike Paulsen the Project Supervisor, as I packed the visual equipment we would need for the press conference.
“Kate who?” he retorted jokingly.
“My wife. ‘Kate Who.’ Asshole.” I had a good enough rapport with him to address him that way. Least I hoped I did.
Kevin made an attempt at joining in on the conversation, but I put my hand up in a Halt signal, stifling any opportunity for him to express his usual sarcasm.
“If she can guarantee that you don’t fumble the conference and Kevin doesn’t insult the press… yeah, she can go.” He said seeming pleased with his retort, and then went on to say, “As a matter of fact, why don’t you have her as the spokesperson for that event?” Of course he was being facetious, or least, so I thought.
“He shook hands with both of us and we left the building waving at the rest of the staff who were sitting around in an impromptu meeting strategizing their parts in the remaining days of the project. I noticed that Melanie was not there.
“Let’s not go past the cemetery on the way back to Clifton Park,” I said to Kevin as he started out of the parking lot.
“We’ll have to add another ten minutes to the trip, but okay… I’m good with that if it pleases you, Sire.” For a change Kevin was not being sarcastic, which was a very welcome thing to me.
The late afternoon sun was warm and brought a certain clarity to that part of the world at that particular time. I was enjoying the ride, but a bit lost in thought when Kevin asked, “What was that all about… with your son and the dropped calls? Did you guys have an argument or something?”
“No, not at all… I was trying to tell him something which really concerned me,” I said, returning from my reverie.
“Must have been something disturbing, to get you so upset.”
“Kevin, you’ve never mentioned having kids. Do you have any kids?” I asked.
“None that I know of – haw, haw. Seriously, though? No. Why do you ask?” He shifted around in his seat.
“Because, my good man, if you did, then that would make my explanation a lot shorter, and, a whole lot more understandable.” I tried not to sound offensive.
“Sooo, you think because I don’t have kids that I wouldn’t unders
tand?” He seemed curious more than offended.
“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that, it is difficult for someone who is not a parent to get a feel for what goes on in the mind of a parent when dealing with a threat on their child or their children… no matter what age.”
“Try me,” he said dryly.
I explained to him as best I could what had transpired. By the time I finished with the telling I noticed that he was looking at me more than the road, for which I cautioned him.
Nodding his head he asked, “When is this stuff going to end, Teller? Who do you go to for this?” “God, I go to God,” I said without hesitation and with total conviction.
“And what happens then?” he asked skeptically.
“How can I answer that?”
“Answer it honestly.” He seemed very intent with his question.
“I know that whatever happens is His will. I only see part of the picture and that is all I can understand and all I can pray over.” I thought for a moment before continuing. “I can tell by the look on your face that you have a problem with what I say.”
“No… not a problem. Not necessarily. It’s just that I think that you’re being a bit silly thinking that, a God in heaven, or wherever He hangs around, is waiting to hear from you. He didn’t even listen to that eloquent prayer His Son said right before they hung him on tree. What makes you think He would listen to Jeremy Storyteller?” he said smugly.
“Do you even believe that there is a God?” I asked him.
“Sure I do. Someone had to put all this together, but let me tell you Buddy, he isn’t anything like you picture Him. No way… no how.”
“I don’t have a clue as to His true nature. All I know is that He is there and is omnipotent and is full of love and is incomprehensible,” I stated.
“Full of love??” he repeated with a measure of his sarcasm emerging in his voice. “Full of love.”
“Yes, full of love.”
The Ultimate Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Bestsellers) Page 114