Satan's Breath

by Temple Madison

“Of course, I understand.” Preparing to start the session, the doctor opened the folder, pulled out a sheet, and laid it over the well-studied questionnaire Blaze had filled out several days before.

  In only seconds, she looked up at Blaze and spoke right up. “All right, Blaze, let’s get to know each other, shall we? I feel our counseling session was…well, limited. And your questionnaire, while necessary, is just a dry form. Words on a page. It didn’t tell me everything I wanted to know, so I did a little research.”

  “Oh?” Blaze’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t hire a private eye, or anything like that. I just floated around locally. Skimmed the surface, so to speak. One of the things I learned is that you have a very big following here in Savannah. You’re a very famous woman, all over the country, in fact.” She smiled at Blaze with a suggestive half smile. “I even listened to your program last night.”

  “I hope you enjoyed it.”

  “Yes, I did, but I had to turn it off.”

  “Oh?” Blaze frowned. “Why?”

  “Well, I was alone.” The doctor laughed. “A little more of that and I would have had to go down and drag some poor unsuspecting man in off the street.”

  They both laughed. Slowly, Blaze’s levity turned serious. “Isn’t it funny? I can do a show like that, yet I can’t even—”

  “And why can’t you, Blaze? Who says that you can’t?”

  “Well, I try, but I always end up seeing my uncle Ralph’s face leering down into mine, and before I know it, I’m fourteen again. Suddenly, I feel smothered, and I can’t breathe.”

  Dr. Stone leaned forward when she saw the discomfort the memory was causing her. “Let it go, Blaze. Come back.” When she saw sweat breaking out on Blaze’s forehead, she grabbed a box of tissues and pushed them into her hands.

  “God, it’s getting worse. I can’t even think or talk about it.” While she dabbed at the sweat and took deep breaths, slowly the visions began to disappear. “I’m sorry.”

  They both looked up when Wilma brought in the tea. Blaze’s eyes widened, surprised that it wasn’t something that came out of a machine. Instead, she saw the receptionist gently lower a beautiful silver tea service, placing it on the coffee table between them. The teapot was steaming, and there were separate silver containers of sugar, cream, lemon, and even sugar cookies.

  “Oh, wow!”

  “This silver tea service is one my mother left me when she died. Her mother gave it to her. It’s been in the family for generations.”

  “But it looks so new.”

  “It’s been very durable over the years. It was very expensive, so my mother told me, and definitely a good investment.”

  Suddenly, Blaze began crying softly.

  The doctor pushed the box of tissue closer to Blaze, and then spoke gently, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s just so stupid,” she sobbed. “Your mentioning the longevity of this tea service made me think of a set of dishes I have.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle, and looked at the doctor helplessly. “They’re beautiful dishes, and very durable, but instead of being thankful for their endurance, for some reason, I tried to destroy them. For a few crazy minutes, I actually thought they were mocking me. It was like they had a life of their own.” She looked up at the doctor while dabbing at her eyes and tried to laugh. “Nuts, huh?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that you were resentful of them?”

  Blaze frowned.

  “Blaze, I use this tea service with every patient I have. It’s been struck countless times, knocked over, thrown around, but still it goes on and on. There have been times I’ve even resented it because in the face of so many broken lives that sit on this couch day after day, it remains undamaged.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, me. Think about it, dear. Didn’t you feel resentful of their strength, their endurance, and their determination to stay whole in the face of all the hardship you placed on them? If you think about it, isn’t that what you want for your own life?”

  Blaze’s eyes widened with realization.

  “The next time you look at those dishes, let them be an inspiration instead of a mockery to you.” She looked down affectionately at the beautiful silver ornaments shining in the lamplight. “Now every time I use this tea service, I use it with pride.” She looked up at Blaze. “Right now, it’s serving me, Blaze, but someday its faithful service and endurance will come to an end just like everything else in this world. Your dishes…enjoy them while you can.”

  “You seem so, I don’t know…all together?”

  The doctor smiled at the compliment, and then patted Blaze’s hand. “Now, how about some tea?”

  “Doctor,” Blaze hesitated looking at her closely, “can you prescribe medicine?”

  “Yes,” the doctor replied, and then glanced up at her curiously while pouring the tea.

  “Do you think you could give me something to help me sleep without dreaming?”

  The doctor looked at her critically, handing her a full cup. “I probably could, but it would have to be my decision, based on my examination.” The doctor paused. “Are you taking anything now?”

  “No,” Blaze looked at her sadly while she took the cup from her hand, “but I’ve thought about it.”

  “Blaze, get that thought out of your head right now. One pill leads to two, then another, and another. Before you know it, you’re being driven to the hospital, the victim of an overdose, or worse. Believe me, it can only lead to serious trouble. Besides, it’s not healthy to sleep without dreaming. I want you to be able to have a good night’s sleep because you’re healthy mentally, not because some drug knocks you unconscious.”

  “But, Doctor Stone, some people don’t dream.”

  “My dear, everyone dreams. It’s just that some people don’t remember them, that’s all.”

  “Boy, I sure do.”

  “In your situation, your dreams are mixed up with memories. Although I know your experiences with your uncle were frightening, when memories haunt us, they’re always exaggerated. You say you were a wild child that grew up into an uninhibited, bitter adult. Did you ever ask yourself why?”

  “Why?” Blaze repeated, frowning. “But I told you. My uncle—”

  “Yes, of course your uncle. He’s a convenient excuse, isn’t he, Blaze?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your experiences with your uncle Ralph have been a big part of it, I’ll admit, but have you ever thought there might be an even deeper reason? You’re a bright girl, Blaze. You know as well as I do that sexual experiences are different with each man. Otherwise, why do we define one man as a good lover, and another as bad? Why do we fall in love with one over another? No, Blaze, something has caught you and is holding on, and is choking the life out of you.”

  “But what?”

  “It’s rebellion, Blaze, pure and simple. Your uncle Ralph sits on the throne, and he’s using your rebellion to serve him. You hold on to that rebellion as if it’s a lifeline, but all it does is remind you of what you’re running away from. And what you’re running away from is the thing that keeps you from doing the things you want to do even though you are a normal, healthy young woman. Rebellion, frustration, fear, they’ve all turned you into a clawing, growling hellcat with a distorted view of men.”

  The doctor took Blaze’s hands in hers and looked into her eyes. “When someone should have taken you aside and talked to you about sex, you were being victimized by your uncle Ralph. As a result, you got a distorted picture of what sex was. You thought it was bad, ugly, painful, and only pleasant for the male of the species. That view of sex comes right out of the Middle Ages.”

  Blaze sat listening to her as if mesmerized, the tip of the cup lightly touching her lips.

  “Remember back to that eventful night when you were forced out onto that dirt road all alone? Your problem was firmly in place by then, and grew over the years, like some wild kudzu plant, and now it’s stran
gling you. A normal, healthy sexual relationship with a man is a wonderful thing, Blaze. It’s not meant to harm you, but to make you happy. And verbal sex is not real sex, it’s only a form. It may excite the person listening, and it may even excite you to a certain degree, but unless followed by action, it provides very little satisfaction.

  “The person listening may benefit, which makes you the celebrity you are, but you, my dear, are still as empty and as unsatisfied as ever. You’ve hungered for love, craved it, but never knew if such an emotion existed. This made you feel different. You learned early in life that if there was such a thing as love, it was for others, not you, and knowing that made your rebellion grow. You felt cheated. So you fought back by shocking the so called establishment the only way you knew how.”

  Just then the doctor’s phone rang and she pressed a button. “Wilma, whoever it is, tell them I’m unavailable, and no calls for the rest of this session, please.”

  “Yes, Dr. Stone.”

  She turned back to Blaze. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Blaze? It’s purely high school. Teenagers go through a rebellious stage, and are always trying to shock people. Wild hair of different colors, the clothes they wear, and the strange way they talk and act. It’s nothing more than a show they’re putting on much the same way you put on a show for those you think you can draw a gasp from. The only difference between you and them is they grow up. You don’t.

  “Do you think it was simply chance that brought you to a straight-laced city like Savannah? Think about it. A city full of the kind of people you hate? I really don’t think so, Blaze. You’re still a fourteen-year-old girl inside, and your shocking show simply takes the place of purple spiked hair, and rings through your nose.”

  “So everything Erik said was true. I am immature and childish. I do need to grow up.”

  “You owe a lot to Mr. Grant. The reason you’re remembering now is because of him. You want him in the normal way and even though your body cries out Yes! the memories and everything that go with them say No! therefore a struggle.”

  The doctor lifted Blaze’s chin and looked her in the eyes. “You want to be rebellious, Blaze? Then forget about the establishment and turn your rebellion in the right direction. Don’t let those memories dominate your life. If you want Erik, and he wants you, then go and get him. When Erik is making love to you, respond to him and forget your uncle ever existed.

  “And Blaze,” she whispered. “Remember the strength and the stubbornness of those dishes. The plain truth is the memories are staging a riot, and two men are fighting over you. But remember. In the end, there’ll only be one winner, and it comes down to this. Who do you want to spend the rest of your life with, your uncle Ralph, or…Erik Grant?”

  Chapter 14

  A tall, impressive looking white-haired man barged into Chief Parnell’s office. “What in hell is this I hear about Barry Schorr not being dead?”

  The chief stood up frowning at the handsome, well-dressed gentleman before him. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m sorry,” the aggressive stranger said as he suddenly remembered his manners. Thrusting out his hand, he said, “My name is Scott Sanders. I’m Blaze Alexander’s agent.”

  “Mr. Sanders!” Chief Parnell slapped his hand into Scott’s. “It’s good to finally meet you, sir.”

  “Chief, what’s going on?” Scott asked as his hand was being pumped up and down. “I’ve been hearing some very disturbing things about the case of Barry Schorr, so I took the first flight out of L.A.”

  “Well, Mr. Sanders, although I’m sure you’re concerned, it really wasn’t necessary to come all this way. Everything is being handled as well as it can be at this point.”

  “Chief, that bastard killed my secretary, and now he’s after my best client, and friend. There’s no way I’m staying away.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand your concern.” The chief indicated to a chair. “And since you have come all this way, I’m sure you’d like to be brought up to date, right?”

  “I certainly would, thank you.”

  The chief leaned back in his own squeaky chair making himself comfortable. With a constant rapping of his pencil on the desk, he told the gray-haired agent everything.

  While listening to the chief, Scott’s face went through dozens of shocked expressions before he finally muttered, “That sick son of a bitch.”

  The chief gave a soft snicker. “Sick? In my opinion, sick doesn’t begin to cover it. We just found another body with the same MO.”

  “Did you find semen?”

  “Found it, had it tested, and it matches perfectly.”

  “Then what seems to be the problem? Why can’t you nab him?”

  “It isn’t as easy as all that. He’s either staying out of sight, or he’s altered his appearance. And since we don’t know what name he’s using now, we can’t trace any credit card transactions.”

  “What about missing persons? Have any been reported?”

  “We follow up on every one we get, but up to now, it’s been nothing. There is one thing that has me scratching my head, though.”

  “What is that?”

  “Well, after all the ruckus he made about slicing Ms. Alexander up like Sunday’s chicken, we all figured the minute he got out of jail, he’d go after her. We’ve kept her apartment staked out, kept a man on her trail, even tried to set traps for him. But he’s staying away. Later, we find his handiwork in a trail of blood a mile wide.”

  “He’s probably staying away on purpose,” Scott offered. “Barry Schorr may be sick, but he’s no dummy. He knows you expect him to go after Blaze.”

  “Yeah, but you’d think the creep would have at least written her a few cryptic notes for us to trace. There’s only been one telephone call that I know of, and that was to let her know he was out. Why hasn’t he at least put a few dead animals on her doorstep?” The chief turned his eyes downward, frowning. “It’s a damned puzzle.”

  Scott grinned at the dead animal remark, and then replied, “Chief, I don’t know if you were serious, or not, but dead animals on the doorstep is, for the most part, a southern practice. There’s a history behind it, but I won’t go into that now. You see, Barry’s not from the south, so he probably hasn’t even thought of that. First of all, the one call was just to unsettle her. You know, let her know he’s back. The murders are well publicized, and he’s hoping that her knowing he’s still out there and getting closer is causing her to bite her fingernails, so to speak.

  “In the midst of her fear, he wants her to see him everywhere she goes. He wants her on edge, imagine every noise she hears, you know, every rustle of a tree limb, or every bang of a shutter is him. He’s playing a mind game with her until he decides to close in for the kill. The more nervous and scared she is, the more fun it’ll be for him. Since Blaze is the one he really wants, he’s just biding his time with these other women.

  “The reason you see a dead woman on every corner is because Barry can’t have normal sex with a woman. So, when the urge hits him, killing them is the only way he can get satisfaction. He hasn’t forgotten about Blaze, by any means. Trying to frighten her is sort of a foreplay, if you will. I hate to think what will happen when he finally decides the foreplay is over and the real fun begins.”

  The chief scrutinized him closely. “You know, you’ve been very helpful through this whole thing, Mr. Sanders. Am I looking at an amateur sleuth here?”

  Scott smiled sheepishly. “It shows, huh?”

  “Like a big, throbbing sore thumb.” The chief laughed, a bit perplexed. “I hate to say it, but you make me sound absolutely inept, and I’m in the business.”

  “Oh, please, don’t feel like that. There’s a vast difference between detective work and police work. Police are surface thinkers, whereas a detective, well he investigates, digs down deep. I don’t know how you handle it down here, but in L.A., not only are detectives called in, but psychologists, as well. With all their learning, their case studies, and
what not, they can tell you why a man like Barry acts the way he does, and sometime even guess what his next move will be.”

  “Yeah, we have our different departments here, too. Everybody plays their part, you know.” He lifted an appraising eye and looked at Scott. “I am surprised that a civilian like yourself is so well informed, though. Sounds like you might have read a book or two.”

  Scott looked embarrassed. “My library at home is filled with books on the criminal mind. I have a complete crime reference library, and am fascinated with detective work of any kind. My favorite is Agatha Christie, not to mention the old standby, Sherlock Holmes. Actually, I’ve learned a lot just from reading dozens of detective and private eye novels. The authors do the research, and I reap the benefits.”

  The chief snickered. “With your interest in crime solving, how in hell did you ever wind up in show business?”

  Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. The money, I guess. I started my business way back when I didn’t know what I wanted to do. When I finally discovered I’d missed my calling, it was too late.” Scott looked up at the chief with a contented smile on his face. “It’s not too bad, though. When you get a client like Blaze that makes it big, you can cry all the way to the bank.”

  “She is big, all right,” the chief replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” The chief put a cigarette in his mouth, touched a flame to it then noisily expelled a cloud of smoke.

  “Chief, I hate to keep hitting you over the head with my amateur sleuthing, but have you considered that under this new identity, Barry might think he has the police bamboozled and it’s lulled him into a false sense of security?”

  “False, my aunt fanny. I hate to say it, Mr. Sanders, but it’s very real, and he does have the police bamboozled. We don’t know where the hell he is. He seems to have become an expert at evading us. I don’t know how many times we’ve followed up on false leads. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s the one that’s giving them to us just to keep us off balance.” The chief looked away thoughtfully, and then lifted his head and looked at Scott. “If there was just some way we could bring him out into the open. You know, make him come to us.”