A 3rd Time to Die

by George A Bernstein

  “Oh, mon Dieu! Not again.”

  She thought she could hear it coming now, shaking the ground. She visualized the gruesome face leering at her, spinning some terrible weapon of destruction.

  Imagination! Fight it off. Just bad memories. But it felt so real this time.

  No use! She was losing to it now, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs. Her eyes grew big as half-dollars, her face twisting with fear. Could she ever liberate herself from this irrational panic?

  Craig struggled to free himself, but her adrenaline-fueled arms and legs locked him against her, frozen by the terror mushrooming inside her.

  The ground resonated to the unmistakable thud of a heavy tread, and a piercing shriek echoed across the glade.

  Oh, God! It wasn’t imagination this time. Was it happening again? How could it be happening again?

  Then she saw it.

  A thing… a fierce apparition… the horrible ugly head, the body shimmering in the broken sunlight, lumbering toward them across the meadow, bellowing fearsomely.

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  Reverberations beat upon the still air.

  She lay rigid with panic, a squirming Craig immobilized by the steel bands of her grip.

  “Oh, God, not again.” Her voice a broken whimper.

  “Please, not again.”

  The creature came on, whirling something on a long chain over its head.

  Something glittering in the light.

  Something deadly!

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  Ashley screamed and screamed, while Craig struggled futilely, trying to escape the chains of her panic-stricken grasp.

  It was almost upon them, still bellowing some sort of war chant, when it paused, cocking its head to one side.

  “Look at you,” the voice, muffled and unrecognizable echoing hollowly from the helmet, “helpless and insignificant. How easily you will die again.” A soft chuckle resonated inside the mask.

  The weapon had come to rest… a short steel handle, three feet of heavy chain, and a spike-studded iron ball.

  Very sharp spikes.

  Ashley numbly realized where she had seen this before. The weapon, the armor, the mask, all of it displayed in Dr. Feldman’s downtown office.

  “Dr. Feldman?” Her voice was a hysterical shriek. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because it needs doing.” The words muffled by the helmet. “You’re ruining too many lives, like always. Don’t you ever learn? It’s your time to die again.”

  The engine of death bobbed up and down on its chain, then chuckling softly, the thing hefted it overhead, whirling in the air, singing its deadly song.

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  Ashley wailed, burying her face in Craig’s neck

  “Ashley, for God’s sake, let me go.”

  “Too late. You’re mine now.” Two quick steps, the ancient mace spinning faster in the air.

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  She cringed into a fetal ball, moaning softly, Craig clutched against her, still unable to shake loose.

  Grunting with the effort, their attacker spun the weapon high into the air, preparing to strike, when a figure exploded from the woods, racing across the meadow. Howling, it drove head first into the creature, spilling them both onto the ground.

  Finally rolling free of the chains of Ashley’s arms, Craig fell beside her, gaping at the two bodies, thrashing on the grass, a mere ten feet away.

  Their attacker rose ponderously to one knee, the ancient armor shining dully, gruesome battle helmet slightly askew. A mailed fist backhanded its attacker, sending Bruce Feldman sprawling across the field, panting for breath. A jagged gash bloomed across his forehead and left side of his face, bleeding heavily.

  “You!” the thing shouted, the voice echoing hollowly inside the mask. “You turn against me again?”

  “You know?” Feldman was panting, fighting for breath.

  “Yes. I’ve had the dreams… gone back with the help of a real friend. What a wonderful surprise to find myself just where I’ve been, twice before.” The chain rattled, the sharply studded steel ball suspended, waiving back and forth.

  “You can’t get away with this,” Feldman said.

  “Why not? The third time won’t be any luckier for you.” It cackled with wicked delight, rising.

  “There’s a bear loose in these woods again.”

  Ashley cowered, numb and confused. If this monster weren’t Feldman, who was it? No matter. She was going to die. They were all going to die!

  The steel ball swung out on an arc, whirling in a deadly circle over its head as the creature started toward them.

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  It was the time for action… for heroics. If not bravery, then flight. Couldn’t they outrun their attacker, burdened by armor? But she was immobilized by fear and ancient memories of death. She saw Craig from the corner of her eye, gathering himself for a charge, but she knew it would be futile.

  “Run, Ashley, run!” Voice hoarse, thick with anger, he was about to sacrifice himself for her.

  But she could not move.

  Could not think.

  Could not leave without him.

  She flung her arms over her face and groaned.

  Please, not again.

  English. A numb realization that she was about to die, and her thoughts were in English.

  “Oh, Craig.” She huddled close to him, tearful eyes closed. He hovered over her, covering her body with his as best he could. His hand groped on the ground, searching for some weapon, anything that might give him a chance.

  A hollow chortle reverberated from the mask.

  “It’s time to die. Nothing can save you. All good things come in three’s.”

  Whump! Whump! Whump!

  The engine of death was whistling through the air, so close she felt the breeze it stirred, but Ashley was rooted to the ground, covered by her lover’s body. His hands, close to her face, balled into fists, one holding a small filet knife. He would wait for the thing to get even closer, trying to get under the sweep of the twirling mace, but it wouldn’t matter.

  Nothing would help them.

  They were all going to die again.

  Oh, God! Won’t this ever end?

  Rearing back to strike, the monster hesitated, stepping backward at a cracking sound, like a distant branch snapping. There was another, and a third.

  The arc of the mace faltered, losing speed. The armor-clad figure lurched forward two wobbling steps, dropping its fearsome weapon harmlessly to the ground. Three tiny red circles bloomed on its breast. The thing slumped to its knees with a moan, tottered for a moment, expelling a soft, final gasp before slumping backward, legs tucked under as it sagged to the ground.

  Then there was silence.

  They stared, frozen in place, at the motionless incarnation of death, its burnished armor glistening in the sunlight. A crashing in the undergrowth yanked them from a surreal nightmare, as a beefy, red-faced man burst into the clearing, brandishing a pistol.

  “Police. Don’t nobody move.” He paused, gasping for breath, his eyes fixed warily on the figure on the ground.

  Apparently satisfied, he started forward, galvanizing Ashley and Craig, who scrambled to cover their nakedness.

  “Jesus! I ain’t used to running through the damned woods. Looks like I got here just in time, though.

  “Bruce, is that you there, all covered with blood?”

  “Yeah, Marty. Thank God you made it.

  “Help me up, will you. I want to introduce these two lucky people to my little brother, the only Jewish detective on the North Shore.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED

  With their blanket tented around her, Ashley struggled into her pants and shirt, while a less modest Craig dressed in the open.

  Marty Feldman was examining his brother’s head wound, making clucking sounds under his breath.

  “A nasty flesh wound, but nothing serious once we stop this bloody geyse
r.”

  “Craig,” Ashley’s voice still choked, a hoarse whisper, “there’s a small First-Aid kit in the leather pouch on Injun. If you get it, I’ll see what I can do for the doctor.”

  She stared at her trembling hands, wondering if she could manage it. It was a struggle just to button her shirt.

  We’re alive!

  She shuddered, tears running in tiny rivulets across tanned cheeks.

  Thank God, we’re still alive.

  Craig hurried, barefooted, to the two horses tethered to trees near the edge of the clearing, while she finished dressing. Panties and bra remained discarded for the moment in her haste to cover herself.

  She scampered on wobbly legs to where the two other men knelt on the ground, as Craig arrived with a small plastic box emblazoned with a large red cross. A minute ago they were terrified for their lives, and here she was, tending to others.

  Flipping back the lid, she selected a small bottle of alcohol and a cotton pad. Numb fingers spilled some of the clear liquid on the cotton.

  “This may hurt, but we’ve got to clean that out.” Steeling her nerves, she began gently dabbing around the edge of the wound.

  “Umpff,” he grunted, gritting his teeth.

  Once the matted gore was cleaned away, the ragged nature of the wound revealed itself. Sharpened studs on the back of the armored fist had done most of the damage. There was a brief glitter of white behind the torn flesh. Cut clear to the bone. He would need stitches. Lots of them. Ashley shuddered and swallowed, fighting the bitter taste and the rising tide in her stomach.

  She glanced furtively at the weapon, the spiked metal ball partly buried in the soft earth, and shivered again. How easily and completely that would have destroyed them.

  Turning back to her patient, she squeezed his shoulder. “You’re going to need a bunch of stitches. Got the bleeding pretty well stopped now with a couple of butterfly bandage. Should hold together ‘til you get to the hospital. I’ll cover it with some gauze to keep it clean.”

  “You’re pretty good at this,” Feldman said, wincing as she applied the bandages.

  “Two rambunctious kids can make you an expert.”

  Drained of adrenaline, her words came slowly, partly slurred.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Feldman said. “Lucky for me you’re so well equipped.”

  “Not nearly so lucky as it was for us,” Craig said, “that you happened by, Bruce. What the Hell are you doing here, anyhow?”

  “Give me a minute to gather myself, and I’ll explain everything. Marty, help me to that stump so I can sit with some kind of back rest.”

  “Jeez, big brothers are always pushing us little guys around.” The smiling detective, who stood five inches taller and forty pounds heavier, guided his shaky sibling to a more comfortable perch.

  “Ahh, that’s better,” Bruce said.

  “Here.” Ashley’s still shaky hand held out a small bottle of water and three pain-killers. “You’re going to need these.”

  “Yes, I believe I will.” He tossed the pills down, wincing, and took a large swig from the bottle. Leaning back, he closed his eyes.

  “What’s this all about, Brucie?” his brother asked.

  “It’s the regressions, isn’t it, doctor?” she said. “The other lives.”

  “Yes.”

  “Other lives?” Marty said, eyes wide. “What other lives?”

  “Mine. Mine and Craig’s.”

  “And mine,” Bruce said.

  “Yours? Oh, I see. You were there, too. That why you looked so shaken?”

  The doctor nodded, grimaced, pressing fingers to his temples, then sighed.

  “That one, too.” Feldman tilted his head toward their fallen attacker.

  “All four of us?” Craig looked bewildered. “All of us, both times?”

  “Seems like it,” Feldman said, gently prodding at his bandage.

  “Would someone mind telling poor stupid me what the Hell this is all about?”

  The detective was kneeling next to the corpse, but still watching them, he pulled off a gauntlet and felt for a pulse. He shook his head, turning back to them, his face the picture of comical confusion.

  “I was hypnotically regressing Mrs. Easton, trying to get to the root of an unexplained fear she was struggling with, and suddenly she was a French countess in the 17th Century.”

  “A countess? In the 17th Century? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. Of course, I didn’t believe it at first, either. But, there she was, having a romantic tryst with an English Lord in a meadow much like this. They were stalked and brutally murdered by two people.”

  “This one?” Marty prodded the body on the ground with his foot.

  “Yes. And me!”

  “You!” The cop’s jaw dropped, eyes wide.

  “That’s why you were so upset,” Ashley said, clapping a hand over her mouth.

  “Yes, I was there. Somehow, Ashley’s memories sparked mine. I could see everything happening as she was describing it, but through my eyes, not hers. I was seething with anger at her for seducing my master’s husband.”

  “Reggie!” Craig grunted, shaking his head. “You were Clarice’s Head of Household?”

  “Right. And her occasional lover, when she wanted something special from me. I’ve been back many times to gather all the facts.”

  “You helped with our murders?” Craig’s brow wrinkled, the corners of his mouth dipping into a scowl.

  “I thought I had, at first. I was so filled with animosity. Lady Clarice hated being forced to marry Charles, so she was rarely a wife to him. That didn’t make her any less bitter at his many affairs, not caring that it was her frigidity pushing him into softer, warmer arms.

  “She knew of the flirting between these two and insisted that we follow them on the hunt.”

  “The hunt? Now I’m really confused.”

  “Riding to the hounds, Marty. A fox hunt.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “When we dismounted and she donned her ancestors armor and mask in the woods, I thought it was just to frighten and embarrass the lovers. I never saw the mace in the bag she was carrying. A fearsome weapon.”

  “You’re tellin’ me,” Marty said, nudging the studded ball with a toe. He began tugging at the helmet of the dead attacker, trying to work it loose.

  “Anyway, I learned the anger filling me then was at her, for what she’d done you. You saw yourself die, Ashley. I saw your bodies mutilated beyond recognition.”

  “Oh, God, how horrible.” Craig wrapped his arms around her, cradling her like a baby. She cried softly, her cheek against his chest.

  “When I regressed myself,” Feldman continued, “I learned that I told Clarice I intended to report her to the sheriff, so when we returned to the mansion-house, she accused me of slandering the Earl, and summarily had my tongue cut out.”

  “Jesus. You saw that?” Craig averted his eyes.

  “Yeah. Not very pleasant, despite how insulated you’re supposed to be during a regression.”

  “I bet.” Ashley’s words were choked, barely audible.

  “Anyhow, trying to make this long story shorter, things were pretty similar in 1845.”

  “Who was she then?” Ashley asked.

  “Maggie Germaine, your husband’s mistress. I suspect Keith was William in that life.”

  “So that’s why we were so drawn together… by fate.”

  “Possibly. You sensed a connection, not realizing it was an unhappy union.”

  “Yeah. It’s same story now as in 1845, isn’t it?”

  “Right. When Morgana filed for divorce, he was cut off from her wealth, which Robert,“ gesturing toward Craig, “had tied up in trusts. William Quincy’s family fortune was in serious decline. Maggie thought she’d finally hooked Mr. Big Bucks, and now he would be broke.”

  “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” She gave a wry laugh.

  “I guess. Anyway, I managed the club where she sang and had been her
lover, before Quincy. I went along that day, hoping to win her back. Didn’t know she’d gone completely over the hill. Didn’t know she’d somehow stolen the armor and an ancient mace from the Philadelphia Museum, muttering how she’d end it once and for all. Maybe in her lunacy, she had seen the past. I don’t really know. But she killed you both, again mutilating the bodies.”

  “Couldn’t you do anything.” Tears streamed down Ashley’s cheeks.

  “I was stunned. It was over so quickly. Before I gained the courage to say something, she seduced a seaman, cut his throat in her bed, and framed me as the jealous lover. No one believed me after that.

  “She visited me an hour before my hanging, babbling this was the second time she’d killed that bitch for trying to cheat her. Somehow, I knew I’d been there before.”

  “How horrible!” Ashley shivered in Craig’s arms. “And you saw yourself hung?

  “Yeah, everything right up until the drop broke my neck. Not something I’d recommend. I’m only sorry I didn’t discover everything in time to warn you. All of this might have been avoided.”

  “So, who is this?” Marty asked. He had finally removed the stubborn helmet.

  “Toni, I suppose, or maybe Brad,” Craig said, his eyes averted.

  “No,” Bruce said. “But, you won’t have to worry about Toni anymore.”

  “What d’ya mean?” Craig stared at the corpse.

  “I heard a news bulletin while driving here. The elder Rudolph found Toni in bed with her brother. He nearly killed the young man with a fireplace poker, and badly beat your wife. Both are in critical condition.”

  “Jesus!” Craig’s brow knit. “So, if this isn’t Toni…”

  “Actually, that’s Nicole Phillips.”

  “Who? But I thought...”

  “How the Hell does she fit into his?” Marty asked. “My head’s spinning with these twists and turns.”

  “Wow!” Ashley said, “Keith’s mistress?”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-ONE

  Ashley freed herself from Craig’s protective grasp and walked cautiously to the body. The exquisite chalky face lay in a pool of midnight black hair, crimson mouth trickling blood, frozen in a surprised pout, emerald-green eyes, dull now, open but vacant in death. A thin gold chain circled her neck, disappearing into her covered cleavage. Curious, Ashley tugged at it, but whatever hung there was trapped in her shirt and the armored collar.