by Craig Taylor
“What do you mean, ‘he died about a year ago’?” Patricia asked.
“Jason was run over when his father stopped the same boy who, later, tried to drown him, from running on the road. It’s complex, but we know the darkness influenced the boy knowing Jason would keep walking and get run over. Jason died. There was a funeral and his father became a drunk. He was offered the chance to change it back, and took it. All John Hansen had to do was ask. Subconsciously he knew it would be the death of him, but he did it anyway.”
“You know you had me for a moment,” Patricia said. “But Jason dying and coming back to life just pushed me back. This is a child abduction case, plain and simple.”
“So how do you explain everything we just told you?” Albert asked.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it.”
David spoke softly. “Patricia, everyone has a guardian angel. John Hansen was visited by Jason’s guardian angel and given the chance to help. Of course the light could have just done it, but it would have meant nothing. Jason’s strength and purpose has been amplified because John knew he would eventually die as a result of bringing Jason back, but he did it out of the love he had for his son. It was a totally selfless act.”
“Do you remember your dreams?” Albert asked her, taking her completely by surprise.
“What dreams?”
“Where you are trapped on a small piece of ground and flying above you are black caped demons, circling, just waiting for you to lose concentration and swarm down and slaughter you.”
“How do you know about my dreams?” she asked. Her face turned pale.
“Do you remember the cold, rank smell of the wind off their wings when they flew too close, and how you tried to scream, but your jaw locked and wouldn’t work?”
“Stop it!” she shouted. “How do you know about my dreams?”
“My father can see things that others can’t,” David told her.
Albert didn’t take his eyes off her. “Those dreams were real. You could see the darkness yourself, but you were too young to realize it and didn’t understand what was happening. As you got older, your potential weakened and they stopped visiting you. Those black-caped beasts you saw in your dreams were a manifestation of the darkness you could feel as they watched you.”
“That’s why they’re after her, too,” David suddenly said. “They wanted Jason Hansen, but their failures in killing him brought them back to her. He has exposed her to them.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Patricia asked.
“You are like Jason Hansen,” Albert told her. “There is something in you that gives you great potential to be detrimental to the darkness. In their quest to kill him they have found you again. I don’t know what they see for you in the future.”
“This is ridiculous!” Patricia snapped. “If you think...”
“For God’s sake!” David yelled. “How much more on-a-platter does this have to be for you? We’ve shown you things that are real. My father has spoken of your dreams, dreams only you know about. Yet you still sit there doubting!”
Patricia didn’t know what to say. She started to say something twice, but nothing came out. She felt sick. Her fear began to rise in her chest again.
“David,” Albert said quietly. “Go and get the green envelope from the office.”
“But why, Dad? She doesn’t believe us despite...”
“Please David,” he cut in. “I want to talk to Patricia alone for a moment.”
David walked out of the room and down a hallway to the left. Patricia heard a door open, then close. Albert looked her in the eye.
“It’s true what he says about me being able to see things others can’t,” he said. “I can tell you that you have a guardian angel right next to you now. All I can see is his energy.”
Patricia looked to her right where he was looking, making Albert laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not laughing at you, merely happy we are getting to the bottom of your involvement. He says that there was a time in your life when you heard his voice so clearly that, if I tell you about it, you’ll believe at least what I say about seeing him here.”
Patricia felt very nervous, but she couldn’t remember ever hearing any voices in her head.
Albert listened for a moment and then spoke. “You were due to fly out of the city for a speaking engagement. You arrived at the airport a little late. You had a bad feeling for most of the morning, but didn’t associate it with your strong insight and went anyway. When you got to the departure board, you saw your flight number and instantly felt an overpowering feeling of danger. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Am I right?”
Patricia nodded. “Yes,” she said so quietly she wasn’t sure he heard.
“That feeling of doom and your hairs standing up on the back of your neck was you hearing your guardian angel tell you not to go on that flight. You weren’t supposed to die that day.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “If they knew it was going to happen why didn’t they stop it?” she asked, wiping the tear away. “So many people died that day.”
“Things happen for a reason. Life is a complex web of fate and destiny. Your destiny was not to die on that plane. The other people were supposed to die, for whatever reason. Their deaths would have affected others, their family and friends and their children. It is mystery that we never understand.”
“I can also tell you that you and Jason Hansen share the same angel.”
Patricia’s eyes opened wide. “What’s his name?”
Albert smiled. “He says his name is Christopher, but Jason called him Christo. We already knew that.”
“How?” Patricia asked.
Just then David came in with a green envelope. He handed it to his father, who gave it straight to Patricia. “I believe this is yours.”
She looked inside and recognized her file straight away. It was Jason Hansen’s stolen patient file.
“What the hell?” she asked. “Why did you steal this?”
David said, “We needed to see if you had found anything out from him, see if he revealed anything that could help us protect him.”
Before she could respond, Albert spoke. “Remember Patricia, we only know what you have written in that folder, there is nothing in there that we could have gotten in regards to what we just spoke about. All of that was between you and your angel.”
She had no response to that; he’d spoken of things only she knew about. She had never written it down or confided in anyone.
“Angel?” David asked. “What did I miss?”
“Patricia is a seer; she has just never nurtured it before. She and Jason have the same guardian angel. He says something else, Patricia.”
“What?” she asked dully. She was drained and couldn’t take much more.
“He says you should have listened to Aunt Beatrice. Although crop circles are fake, she was right about developing your gift.”
Patricia burst into tears and got off her chair. She knelt down in front of Albert and reached out. He leaned down and hugged her tight. David watched, totally confused.
“I was only gone for a minute,” he said, making them both laugh.
Moments later, Patricia had gone to the bathroom to freshen up. David was in the kitchen making them a snack and more coffee. Albert went out onto the deck and stared into the dark night. He was worried. It was slightly clearer to him now, but there were still a lot of gaps. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t tell David and Patricia what he was starting to see: that he had known of Patricia for years. They would have to make their own decisions.
Chapter Fifteen
She sat in a comfortable chair, facing a huge entertainment system playing rock music loudly. The TV screen took up a quarter of the wall; the speakers
, placed strategically around the room, made it sound as though she were sitting onstage with the band, enjoying a private performance.
The galloping guitars provided hypnotic, distorted rhythm that powered through the speakers. The bass drum was so prominent, every time the drummer struck it, she felt a thump in her chest. The lead guitarist, soloing over the rest of the band, screwed up his face in mock bliss as his fingers danced over the neck, producing a screeching riff that magically weaved its way through the rest of the music.
She nodded slightly to the beat as she looked around the huge penthouse apartment. This place was a good score and she knew she would be staying as long as possible. The floors were Italian marble and the huge space—incorporating the living, dining and kitchen areas—was only broken up by marble pillars along one wall and one in the center of the room. The other wall was all glass, providing an unobstructed view of the city and surrounding area. The view of the city at night was pretty and reminded her of the stars lighting up a night sky.
Original artwork adorned the walls. The long, wooden dining table at the far end of the room with its eight chairs reminded her of banquets she had attended over the generations, usually on the arm of an eligible bachelor or very rich businessman–all of whom met an early demise.
The living and dining areas were separated by a long sofa, facing in to the middle of the room. Along the wall opposite the glass wall was the kitchen, centered with the dining area at one end and the living area at the other.
At one end of the room was a double sliding glass door that led to three large bedrooms, each with their own bath. An office and a master bedroom, not much smaller than the space where she was sitting, were at the end of the hall. That bedroom had a gas fireplace in both the bedroom and bath, which contained a huge spa tub and a rain shower that took up the entire end of the marbled room.
When the music stopped, she stood and walked to the glass wall to look out. Lying on the floor near her feet was Max–the previous tenant, as she now called him. His white business shirt was covered in a large patch of drying blood, where his life had drained away through the multiple stab wounds she had inflicted. His face was twisted in pain and regret, frozen in death as he realized this was how it was going to end for him. Stabbed by a woman he had picked up for a good time.
She turned away from the window and crouched by his corpse. She slapped his face gently twice and looked at her handiwork, smeared on the floor and coagulated on his shirt. Shaking her head she muttered, “Max, Max, Max, I should have fucked you before I killed you.”
She thought back to how easy he had been to pick up. Patrick had done a good job spotting him. He found out he had a fabulous penthouse apartment and was a young man who had made millions in the IT world. He was over-confident and loved sex and women. He had picked up so many women, and used them for as long as he wanted before discarding them, she knew he would see her as just another conquest. She walked into the bar, looked around and saw him talking to another woman, but when he saw her he practically ignored the other woman and walked straight to her.
Of course, she knew she would have no problem. She got every man and woman she set her sights on since she had begun this journey, and she loved it. For this occasion, she chose a very short miniskirt to show off her long golden legs and a blouse that showed off her pert breasts. To finish the ensemble, she chose a pair of black high heels. The whole getup made her look slutty, just how he liked, but all she wanted was a nice place to stay for a while, and he had it.
They talked for about half an hour before he invited her up to his penthouse, just across the road. He knew what he wanted and he took it, just like everything else in his life.
When they got into the apartment she loved it so much, she stabbed him in the chest before he could even offer her a drink. She stabbed him thirty two times and each thrust of her knife filled her with joy and sexual desire. Even when he fell to the floor, she continued to stab him with one hand and rub herself between her legs with the other. The last thing he saw in life was his killer masturbating through her panties.
She could sense the darkness in the room—and the power it gave her—when she killed him. It always watched her, whatever she did, but she didn’t mind because it gave her the magnificent appearance and everlasting life. She owed it everything.
Patrick let himself in the door, snapping her out of her thoughts. He looked down at the body and smiled. “Another one to get rid of?” he asked.
“Yes, take it, it’s stinking up my place.”
“You going to stay here?” he asked.
“I think I will stay here until we get this mess with the boy sorted out. You did well, Patrick,” she replied. “You fucked up last time and my master wasn’t happy. You won’t be treated so lightly next time.”
“Just tell me what I need to do,” he said, as he rolled the body up in a rug from the dining area. He had to bounce up and down a couple of times to make the corpse a bit more pliable.
”Did you get what I asked for?”
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a small plastic bag filled with blue pills. “These are supposed to give you a high like nothing before.”
She took the bag and sat down on the sofa. Once Patrick had left with the body, she held one of the pills in her palm and looked at it. She had started using drugs about sixty years ago. She needed constant adrenalin rushes; she knew she could only kill, her favorite rush, so many times in one spot before the authorities got wind of her. Not that she was worried about being caught. They could execute her if they wanted, she just didn’t want to upset her masters’ plans. It gave her freedom to do as she pleased, but was demanding when it came to important matters.
She poked her tongue out and placed the pill on the tip. She pulled it into her mouth and sucked, savoring the slightly bitter and salty taste. The pill dissolved quickly, so she lay back, closed her eyes and waited for the ride.
After about five minutes she felt her hands and feet begin to tingle, slowly at first then picking up speed. Gradually the tingling became throbbing and covered her body. The sensation of warm water flowing up and down inside her muscles took over and she writhed on the chair in ecstasy.
A rhythmic beat started inside her torso, slowly at first, then pounding harder and faster with each thump. Each beat sent wave upon wave of pleasure soaring through her muscles and bones, until it reached its crescendo. She felt like she was going to explode with pleasure.
She moaned loudly and thrust her hips back and forth as though having sex, the pleasure concentrating between her legs. The beats became harder, the pulsing faster and the sensation of water flowing through her turned to the feeling of being water herself. She was no longer solid, but a liquid form flowing back and forth.
At some point in the night she fell asleep, still in the chair. She had two clear thoughts before nodding off. First, she made a note to complement Patrick on his pharmaceutical choice. Second, she thought about the boy and his growing strength and power. She could feel him getting stronger. He would die soon and it would be painful; but she also had the others to deal with. That part of the plan was already in motion.
* * * *
Patrick whistled while he dug the grave in the sand with a shovel. The beach was remote; he had buried many others here and no one had yet discovered them. It was two hours’ drive from the city on paved roads and then about an hour over gravel; finally, through bush on foot for twenty minutes.
Dragging the body through the bush was hard work, but the soft sand among the dunes made it easier to dispose of the corpses. As he dug by the light of his camp lantern, the wind suddenly picked up, blowing sand in his face. He threw the shovel down and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He thought he heard something and opened his eyes to look, but it was pitch black outside the circle of lantern light. Slowly, he reached
down for his shovel and held it across his body defensively, ready to strike if necessary.
He didn’t hear anything else. He decided it was his mind playing tricks, or the wind, so he continued to dig. He liked to dig deep holes to lay the bodies in. He remembered the idiots he’d seen or heard of in the news, where they had buried their victims in shallow graves, in rubbish heaps or left them right where they died.
Patrick considered himself a professional and always thought his plans all the way through before he even started. No making it up as he went along. He knew exactly how and where he would dispose of a body before he killed someone. It wouldn’t be slapdash like other killers.
He read about thousands of killers over the years, and despised most of them. Those who cut their mothers’ heads off and rode around with them for days in the car, the defilers of corpses, the ones who stored body parts in the refrigerator for later or put them in vats of acid. The worst of all were the husbands who killed their wives in fits of rage and then tried to cover it up. They were all crude savages with no finesse. This was an art form which took skill and delicacy, and Patrick wanted to be remembered by history as being the best. He considered himself unsurpassed in the field of homicide.
The only time he wasn’t involved in in-depth planning was when Clara killed someone like this poor schmuck. She wanted his penthouse, so he had to go. The others, the chosen ones, involved planning and execution over months, sometimes even years.
He thought about John Hansen. He had to live in that tiny apartment down the hall for months before their plan finally came to fruition. Talking to him, socializing and joking with him like a friend–as if Patrick would ever befriend a fool like him. He just wanted to kill him, but Clara wanted to use him to expose the boy; traumatize him, make him weak and then strike.
The car crash was perfect though. Use a black soul like Alex, who Clara said was a reincarnation of some years-ago psychopath who had made a deal to be reborn and wreak havoc. Then the light intervened and changed it back. That took them all by surprise. Even the dark angels who caused the crash couldn’t stop it. They tried.