by Matt Juhl
That’s when he wrapped a plastic bag around her head, hysterically snickering. Moments later, he pulled the trigger and fired the shot into the back of her head.
After that, he raced across the room with his deadly axe and used it to sever off her hands.
His wicked banter filled the silence as he doused Faye’s mangled body in gasoline and left a trail out the back door.
Then the sadistic killer struck a match and tossed it down. In no time at all, the intense flames devoured the house—and the arsonist slipped away.
He raced into the woods and disposed of the old gas can, waiting for the coast to clear.
Meanwhile, all of Faye’s neighbors charged to the scene, shrieking in horror over the devastation.
As the crowd grew, the murderer slipped in amongst them, watching in disguise. His spirit was truly malevolent. He’d killed before, and he’d kill again…
Brielle frantically scanned the image in her mind, desperately trying to make out the faces, but her head began to swell. The image was so strong that the smell of fire infused her nostrils, making her physically ill from the thick smoke. The image quickly faded and Brielle fell back to the ground.
The experience was surreal. She ran her fingers over her arms, relieved they were as cold as death. During the vision, it felt like she was being incinerated, as if her own flesh had been scolded by the rampant heat.
After resting a while longer, Brielle returned to Old Man Winston’s house.
As she walked up his sidewalk, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck slowly began to rise. There was dark energy looming nearby. His property was far more sinister than Faye’s. She didn’t like the feeling. It was clear that her presence was unwelcome.
The premonitions grew stronger the closer she got. A wave of sickness washed over her, almost like she’d been stricken with the flu again—but she persevered.
“Brielle,” Tonya called as she entered the door. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m a little warm. May I sit down a moment?” she asked.
“Of course, please.” Tonya took her by the arm and gently helped her into Bill Winston’s plush recliner. She pulled the beaded scarf away from Brielle’s neck and fanned her with it.
Gage quickly raced into the room and handed her a tall glass of water.
“So attentive,” she noted. Brielle grasped the tall cylinder with her shaking hands and desperately tried to force back a couple hard swallows. She finished the glass and let out an orderly breath. In that moment of uncertainty, she kept reminding herself that she was in control of the situation, not the visions…and certainly, not the darkness.
“Are you all right?” Tonya asked.
“Yes, thank you, darling. Forgive me if I frightened anyone. And thank you for the water, Mr.—”
“Black,” he smiled and offered his hand. “Just call me Gage. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Brielle slipped her tiny, frozen fingers into Gage’s large, rough hand.
From the moment she touched his flesh, another vision instantly shot into her head…
Gage’s strong hands abrasively grasped the wooden handle of an axe and swiftly swung it down.
Brielle was so surprised that her entire body flinched.
Gage cautiously turned his head. “Are you okay? Here, drink some more.”
“Yes, sorry.” She ran her hand across her mouth. “You’re quite skilled with your hands, right?”
“Of course. I’m a farmhand,” Gage reminded her.
Leland piped in, “Wow, she’s good.” He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Your powers amaze me. Quick, gimme the winning lottery numbers. I wanna retire.”
“That’s enough, Brown,” Tonya snipped.
“You chop wood?” Brielle asked.
Gage’s baby blue eyes looked directly into Brielle’s haunting glare. “Yes, I do everything around here. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I suppose I’m still a little jittery, forgive me.” Brielle threw back the rest of her water and looked down. More visions were coming forward, flooding her senses.
“Look, no sweat.” Gage sensed her uneasiness.
The imagery wouldn’t stop.
Again, chop, chop, chop…the slamming of the axe nearly shattered her eardrums.
“You sure nothing’s wrong?” he asked, trying to see beyond her troubled eyes.
“You do a lot of labor in Old Man Winston’s workshop out back…”
Gage ran his hand over his unshaven face and exchanged uneasy glances with Brielle. “Yeah, lately I have. It’s almost November. It’s too cold to do much in the yard right now.” He looked to Tonya and back to Brielle, disturbed by the way she stared at him in eerie silence. “Look, I’m gonna finished getting dressed. My buddies are waitin’ on me at the tavern. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Gage,” Tonya shouted as he returned to his bedroom.
Brielle watched the attractive man leave, but nothing could pull her attention from him. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes again.
Then the images grew stronger, finally revealing Gage’s face…
He had been walking through the living room with a trash can, quickly emptying several items into it, including Bill Winston’s inhaler.
Suddenly, Brielle put her hands to her throat as if she were choking. “I need air,” she whispered. “I can’t breathe!”
“Ms. Holloway!” Tonya grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“Get this damn thing off my head,” she ordered, screaming at the top of her lungs in a low, manly voice. “Shit, I can’t see anything!”
“There’s nothing on you,” Tonya assured her. Suddenly, she realized the psychic was experiencing something.
“Holy cripe, what the hell are you trying to do to me?” she shouted. Brielle violently flailed her arms in the air, rocking the chair back and forth so hard it nearly tipped over. “Where’s my inhaler? Get my inhaler…cripe I can’t breathe!”
Leland raced to Brielle’s side and steadied the chair from falling.
Then Brielle’s breathing calmed. She slowly opened her eyes and snapped back into reality.
“Ms. Holloway, answer me. Are you all right?”
Brielle pushed the hair out of her face and tried to shake the violent imagery.
“Did you see something?” Tonya asked.
Focusing on her premonition, she raced from the front living room into the dated kitchen. Then she pulled back the heavy sliding glass door and stepped down onto the long covered back porch.
Leland and Tonya quickly followed behind.
Brielle’s eyes scanned the vast property. The pumpkin patch was as barren as the long garden. Beyond that, she watched the dried up leaves of crimson and gold slowly wilt from the tiny forest trees, lining the entry into Bill’s large, dried-up cornfields.
To the right of the yard, just feet from the house, was a second garage, and beyond that, the tiny workshop that Bill had built himself.
“Follow me,” she whispered.
As the sun began to set across the backyard, the three of them walked through the damp grass towards the workshop.
Brielle grasped the handle and suddenly felt a jolt in her body. The ominous feeling startled her, but she cautiously opened the door.
“Please go first, Detective,” Brielle requested.
Once inside, Tonya swatted the low hanging cobwebs out of her coarse, black hair.
Leland wandered through the dark until he was able to locate the switch. The fluorescent light over the workbench flickered a few times before it powered on, emitting a low, buzzing noise. It was slightly unsettling.
The sound resonated with Brielle. She wandered to the work bench and placed her soiled hands across its dusty tabletop. Through the haze, the story came to life…
“I need air, I can’t breathe!” the man pleaded desperately.
He had been sitting in the middle of the workshop, alone and frightened in the dark.
“Holy cripe, get this bag off my head! I can’t breathe. I need my inhaler!” Old Man Winston insisted.
Suddenly, a dark stranger sauntered out of the corner of darkness. His shoes clicked against the cement, sending a menacing chill across the room. It was as if the sound was to provoke more fear, or at the very least, taunt the restrained man.
He’d been there for hours, tirelessly begging for his life.
Old Man Winston desperately tried to free himself. His hands had been bound and his feet were duct taped down. He’d never been more frightened.
Brielle moved to the center of the empty workshop and knelt down beside the chair Bill sat in. She ran her fingers across the damaged legs, where the tape marks had been viciously torn away. Then she sat down and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’ll give you a choice,” the stranger whispered in an altered tone. “You want me to cut your hands off now, or after I kill you?”
Sitting in the same spot, she felt Old Man Winston’s distress coursing through her veins.
“It ain’t gotta be like this…please, don’t kill me.”
The abrasive man shoved the barrel against his skull. “That’s all you’ve got? You’ve gotta do better than that.”
“Please, I don’t know you. I didn’t see nothing. Cripe, if you let me go, I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. I swear to God.”
“God ain’t gonna save you.”
“Maybe not,” Bill agreed. “But hopefully someday he’ll save you.”
Brielle winced through the vision, especially the thunderous gun blast. After that, everything ran cold. She felt the heaviness of the old man’s lifeless body collapse to the ground.
Suddenly the echo of footsteps returned.
Bill was dragged through the workshop. Although he was dead, Brielle could feel the cold roughness of the concrete and being improperly handled.
The sound of rain clicked against the plastic bag like nails against sheet metal.
“Did you find the key?” the stranger asked. His voice was slightly different as he spoke to his partner.
“Yeah it’s open. Hurry the hell up.”
“Well he ain’t the skinniest guy in the world. Get your ass over here and help.”
The shadowy figures pulled his body into a dark hole while snickering amongst themselves.
In the image, Brielle’s mind raced to see beyond the three individuals, to see where he was taken.
The rain was falling so heavily and the moonlight was so dim that it was difficult to pinpoint the location.
The vision horrified Brielle. A moment later, it became painfully clear. “The storm cellar,” she whispered.
“Excuse me?” Tonya asked.
Brielle’s vacant glare left the officers reeling.
“Talk to me, Ms. Holloway,” Tonya begged. “What are you seeing?”
The psychic walked as if she were under hypnosis.
Leland and Tonya carefully followed her as she led them to the side of the workshop.
Beneath badly weathered boards and old car parts were red doors, leading to the storm shelter.
“Help me,” she requested.
Brielle and Leland feverishly began pulling the wreckage away.
It was just as she’d expected, the latch was sealed tight and bolted shut.
“I’ll get something,” Leland offered.
He returned a moment later with a pair of pliers he’d fetched from the workshop. His hands struggled to maintain a steady grip. He grunted, twisting his hands back and forth.
Tonya ran into the workshop and returned with a crowbar. She pushed Leland aside and began striking the lock with all her might. It took four swings before she finally broke the latch.
“Damn, look at you, Hunter.” Leland was impressed.
Tonya ignored him. “Brielle, what’s in there? Tell me what’s going on.”
Brielle pulled her sweater over her mouth and tugged the door open. “Give me your flashlight and follow me.”
The storm cellar was damp and cold, and everyone was instantly overwhelmed by the pungent odor of rotting flesh.
Brielle stopped mere inches from the cadaver and pointed with the light.
“Oh my God.” Tonya lifted her coat over her face.
Leland followed suit. “Damn, I’m gonna be sick.”
The trio noted the familiar markings of the killer: bag covering the head, body lying face down, and hands that were severed and missing.
“Who is it?” Tonya asked Brielle.
“Bill Winston. He was restrained and tortured for hours before he was murdered. After that, they brought him here.”
Tonya looked back at Leland. “Get the coroner and call for back-up.”
They quickly reconvened at the top of the storm cellar.
As Leland reached out to dispatch, Tonya spoke in a hushed tone with Brielle, “Tell me about the killer.”
Brielle held her breath, imagining his frame in her mind. “He was covered in black, wearing a dark ski mask. His voice sounded as if it’d been altered by some sort of mechanism.” She closed her eyes, anxiously thinking back. “I can’t see his face.”
“What about the eyes?” she encouraged her. “Could you make out the eyes?”
Brielle squinted, trying to see more. Nothing was coming through. “I’m sorry, I can’t. He taunted Bill Winston in the dark, but he said he didn’t know the assailant. However, he may not have been able to recognize him speaking through the device.”
“C’mon give me something else to go on. Tell me more. Was he tall?”
“He does appear to be tall and strong.” She thought back to her vision in the workshop.
“Keep trying. Who is it?”
“Detective Harris, you’re not looking for just one killer.”
Her heart skipped a beat. The criminal profile they built didn’t suggest an accomplice.
“Both of them were here the night Bill Winston was killed. I couldn’t make out the voice through the sound of the thunder and rain. All I could see was the shadowy figure, helping the killer drag Bill into the storm cellar.” Brielle closed her eyes and touched the doors, hoping for a sign—nothing came. “I wish I could be more helpful. Everything’s getting blurry.”
Suddenly, she stumbled over.
Tonya quickly caught her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m starting to get sick again. I’d like to get out of here.”
“We’ll send you off with the first unit that gets here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Tonya motioned at the house. “I may have another suspect in mind.”
“Gage?”
She nodded.
“I thought he didn’t have a motive?”
“Maybe not, but the partner he’s working with may be our answer. Gage insisted that Bill Winston’s been gone all this time. He’s been extremely cooperative, but I think we’ve been confusing his cockiness for cooperation. Do you see him?”
“Honestly I can’t, like I said it’s hard to make out a face.” Brielle thought back to sitting in the front room. “Wait.” Her eyes grew wide. “When he shook my hand he made me feel very uneasy, and he was in a vision.”
“What was it?”
“He was throwing away items,” Brielle muttered. She remembered the physical pain of suffocating and remembered Bill’s words. “Old Man Winston couldn’t breathe without his inhaler, but I saw Gage put one in the trash bag, like he was trying to get rid of it.”
“What else?” she begged.
“The axe, I saw him slamming the axe…the same one he used to sever the hands.” Brielle’s mouth dropped open. “I see him in his room, placing the black mask over his face, preparing for the assault—my God. It’s him—he’s the killer!”
As the three of them made their way to the front of the house, it was apparent they were too late. Gage’s beaten down pickup truck, that had been previously parked beside the squad car, was gone.
Leland h
owled, “Coincidence, or an admission of guilt?”
“Dispatch more units to the Silver Tavern. I’m not letting him get away so easily.”
“What about Bill?” he asked.
Suddenly two squad cars pulled in behind Tonya’s vehicle.
“Coroner’s on his way,” Officer Thorne shouted from his open window.
“Thorne, will you please escort Ms. Holloway back to her house?”
“Certainly.”
Tonya extended her hand. “Thank you for your assistance.”
“Certainly. I apologize for this little spell. This isn’t like me. I just can’t shake this feeling. Hopefully it’ll go away after I get some rest.”
“No need for apologizes.”
“If I can be of any more help, please let me know.”
“We appreciate it. Please, get some rest and feel better.”
The psychic nodded and placed her hand in Officer Thorne’s as he helped her into the car.
Tonya and Leland stood back and watched them disappear down the road.
“It pisses me off, thinking about his smug face running around like we’d never catch him.” Leland folded her arms. “Did you see his body language as soon as Brielle walked into the house?”
“He was squirming—the guy knew we were getting close. Too bad we let him get away.”
“Don’t worry, we’re gonna find his ass.”
Officer Thorne pulled into Brielle’s driveway and let her out.
“Thank you for your generosity.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Do you need me to help you inside?”
“No, darling, I’m tired, not helpless.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Good night, Officer.”
He lowered his hat. “Night.”
Brielle made her way up the rickety steps, messing with her oversized key ring. A chill fell over her as she stood on the long porch. The icy draft made her feel worse. All she wanted was to crawl through her sheer canopy into her warm, soft bed.
Once inside the house, she boiled a pot of water and began fumbling through her oak cabinets in search of teabags.
Brielle leaned against the countertop and put her hand to her head, certain she had a migraine. The shooting pain caused the left side of her face to grow numb.