Death Theory

by John Mimms

  Lightning pulsed with the regularity of a strobe light as the storm moved closer. It gave her surroundings the appearance of surreal and jittery daylight. Large raindrops began to pelt her windshield. Debbie was sure that the car would spot her, so she widened the distance a little.

  She had no sooner tapped her brakes to fall back, when the taillights disappeared around a bend in the road. Debbie hit the gas to try to catch sight of the lights again, when she suddenly felt the steering wheel jerk to the right. Her slight acceleration was just enough to catch her front tire on the rim of the shallow drainage ditch.

  The muddy slope clutched the front passenger tire like a bear trap, jerking the car to a rude halt. Debbie, in a panic, hit the gas again which did little more than swing the car sideways, embedding the rear tire in the muddy ditch. The nasty downpour had made an otherwise unassuming roadside rut into a veritable vice. She was stuck.

  Debbie’s heart hammered as she gunned the accelerator trying to gain leverage and escape. Nevertheless, each spin of the wheel sank the car deeper into the mud. She pounded the dashboard and steering wheel, cursing her stupidity. Debbie turned on her overhead light to try to get her bearings. As suspected, the road did make a sharp veer to the right about fifty yards ahead. A faded yellow and black bullet ridden sign marked the turn.

  At that moment, Mother Nature decided to add salt to the wound. Hail started pelting Debbie’s windshield in pebbles of ice. The lightning and thunder intensified as the wind began to howl. Debbie began to cry.

  She reached for her cell phone to call Jeff, and a block of ice dropped into her stomach – her cell phone was gone.

  “N-o-o-o-o!” she wailed.

  In desperation, Debbie turned her pockets inside out, emptied the glove box, and groped under the seat. She knew that she had probably left it in Jeff’s truck, but she would search all the same. She mentally beat herself up. “What the hell was wrong with me tonight ... first my recorder and then my phone?” she wailed. The search blinded her to something, making her naïve to potential danger.

  Debbie had turned on her overhead light. She didn’t notice when the windows vibrated as lightning struck less than a mile away. She finished searching beneath the passenger seat and bent over her front bucket seats to check the back. At that moment, headlights slowly approached around the corner by the bullet ridden sign.

  Debbie stretched and swiped her arm back and forth, trying to get maximum coverage under the backseat. The thump of the gargantuan raindrops coupled with a constant roll of thunder made hearing impossible. The screech of the approaching vehicle’s worn brakes went completely unnoticed.

  Debbie had just stretched her arm to the farthest depths of the rear passenger seat when her driver’s door flew open. Two strong arms reached inside. Grabbing her around the waist, they jerked her backwards with a violent tug. The skin on top of her searching arm ripped open when it caught on the springs underneath the seat. She screamed as she was pulled into the stormy night.

  Her attacker shoved her against the side of the car with her arms pinned behind her. Her wrists were quickly bound with duct tape. She shrieked to the heavens and was answered back with an almost taunting roll of thunder.

  “I’ll teach you to follow me, bitch!” a guttural male voice hissed in her ear, making shivers run down her spine.

  Something rapped her hard on the back of her head and she fell to her knees. She wasn’t unconscious, merely teetering on the edge. She weaved in and out of awareness like a person in a dream who knows they are dreaming, but can’t figure out how to wake up. She rocked back and forth, trying to focus, and then tottered forward, landing face first in a muddy puddle. The cold water in her face and nose had the effect of restoring a small modicum of reality before being jerked up by her ponytail.

  A sharp pain shot through her head and down her back as she was drug through the mud by her hair and the seat of her pants. She tried to scream, but it came out as a faint whimper. After a few excruciating moments, her head was dropped with casual disregard against a metal surface. Her body sank into a twisted seated position. Even in her shocked and horrified stupor, she realized this must be a car.

  The man kept mumbling to himself. The only words discernible were swear words, which covered the entire spectrum of profanity. The only other words Debbie could make out were ‘science’, ‘plans’, ‘him’ and ‘greatness’.

  Debbie heard the unmistakable sound of a key going into a lock right above her head. There was then a click, followed by a whack to the back of her head as the trunk door swung open. She was viciously grasped again by her ponytail and the seat of her pants, before being spun around to face an open car trunk.

  Before she was jerked off her feet and hurled into the darkness, something made her pause, something familiar. Before it had time to register, Debbie was hoisted up like a bag of feed, and then tossed into the trunk. She came down on something warm and soft and then the trunk slammed shut, muffling an explosive roll of thunder. A few moments later, she could feel the car bumping along as it accelerated away from the scene.

  As she lay in the trunk frozen with terror, she began to consider what she had seen on the rear of the car. Her thoughts were cut short when she heard a long and deep exhalation in the darkness.

  “Hello?” Debbie wheezed.

  No answer – another deep breath.

  “Hello ... please talk to me!” Debbie pleaded.

  The slow and steady breathing continued, intermixed with an occasional snort. Whoever or whatever this was must be asleep or unconscious. Debbie rolled over and faced away from the sleeping stranger. She began to focus on what she had seen on the back of the car. It didn’t take long going through her mental rolodex.

  On the bumper, under the lower left-hand side of the trunk, was a single sticker. A familiar slogan read: Smile: Your mom chose life’.

  “Pac,” Debbie gasped.

  Almost in answer to her statement, the trunk flew open and something soft, cool, and pungent closed over her mouth and nose. Her head throbbed feverishly, and then her thoughts went as black as the inside of the trunk.

  Chapter 32

  THE MUSTY ODOR OF OLD carpet filled Debbie’s nose. Her eyes flew open and she tried to move, but couldn’t. She was duct–taped to a chair in the corner of a dim, almost empty room. In the center of the space sat a rectangular, rickety folding table. Surrounding the table, four objects hung from copper hooks embedded in the ceiling. Two EMF meters, and two digital thermometers dangled like wind chimes. Lying on top of the table, and covered from knees to shoulders with a black sheet, lay a person. Their hands and feet were bound by copious amounts of duct-tape. A single strip covered his or her mouth.

  Debbie tried to focus on the person, but her vision was so blurry it was like seeing someone through running water. Waves of pain radiated from the back of her head and through her skull, ricocheting off the back of her eyeballs.

  Standing in a nearby doorway stood a man wearing nothing more than boxer shorts. Debbie’s blurry eyes couldn’t make out his face, but when he spoke, there was no question. It was Pac.

  “Damn, your ass looked hot all bent over in your car tonight,” he said, casually.

  Debbie screwed up her eyes, trying to focus.

  “Pac? What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m making history, you dumb bitch!” he proclaimed.

  “History?”

  Pac didn’t answer at first. Instead, he walked around behind Debbie and began stroking her shoulders. She fought the urge to scream when she felt his manhood press against the nape of her neck.

  “You know, you could have had me instead of that dickless, paranormal wannabe. Jeff doesn’t have the balls to accomplish what I have and will soon do.”

  She shuddered as he continued, pressing harder against her neck.

  “Won’t be much longer till people recognize the most important scientists in history – Isaac Newton, Marie Currie, Louis Pasteur, Albert Einstein ... Michael Pa
checo.”

  Terror coursed through Debbie’s heart. Pain pulsed through her head and arm, while disgust unsettled her stomach. She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but she did know one thing. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed and with her virtue intact, she needed to get along ... she needed to play along. Whatever his intention, he was in control.

  “That’s cool, Pac,” Debbie said in the best tone she could summon.

  Small snakes slithered around her spine when she felt him press harder against her. Thank God there was a thin layer of cloth between him and her neck, otherwise she may have gone insane.

  “Yeah,” Pac said in a distant voice. “Well ... let me see if my clothes are dry. You made me get wet ... stupid bitch.”

  He pinched her shoulder hard. Debbie bit her lip to avoid crying. He disappeared through the door and, a moment later, she heard the metallic clang of a dryer door.

  “You know how I knew you were following me?” Pac called from beyond the door.

  “No.”

  “Well it wasn’t the lightning, although I must admit, it helped me confirm it.”

  Debbie remained silent. She listened for his gloat confirming her stupidity and his great wisdom. A loud crash of thunder outside the window made Debbie jump. She winced when the duct-tape pulled at her wounded arm.

  Pac walked back in the room, still wearing his boxers, but at least he was wearing a black t-shirt with the word ‘Genius’ displayed between his early onset man boobs. He had a goofy, clownish grin on his face. He walked behind her and slid his hands down her jeans and began to caress her butt.

  “Your taillights glow when you hit your brakes ... and you hit ‘em a lot,” he whispered in her ear. She could smell his rotten breath as it drifted across her cheek.

  Her body stiffened as he continued his unwelcomed fondles.

  He felt her butt muscles tense under his hands. He smiled and whispered in the other ear.

  “Are you hitting your brakes for me? Do it again!”

  He began to knead her cheeks even harder. Debbie tried to tune him out, but fear and disgust made her tremble.

  “Are you cold?” Pac asked. He actually sounded sympathetic.

  Debbie was freezing. Her clothes were cold and wet, even more so, her insides were frigid. She didn’t dare admit it. Otherwise, she would likely be stripped down while the ‘Genius’ dried her clothes.

  “No,” she lied, “just sore muscles.”

  “I can fix it,” he said as he slowly worked his hands up her spine. He began an amateurish massage, moving his palms in circles on the small of her back.

  His touch was akin to venomous snakes slithering across her body, threatening to bite at any second. She had to do something to divert his focus. She wanted him away from her. Debbie blurted the first thing on her mind.

  “So, who’s on the table?” she croaked.

  Pac jerked his hands away. “How rude of me!” he said as if he committed a huge faux pas.

  He trotted over to the table, wringing his hands with what appeared to be honest to God embarrassment. The person had been stirring for the last few minutes, but his or her face was turned away. Pac reached down and, as delicately as if he were pulling a blanket over a sleeping baby, turned the person’s head to face her.

  Debbie’s heart sank. Staring her in the face was Mrs. Gage. Her terrified eyes pleaded with Debbie from over a strip of gray duct tape covering her mouth.

  “Why?” Debbie breathed, trying her best to give Mrs. Gage a supportive smile. All she could manage was a grimace.

  Pac regarded her with shocked incredulity. “Why ... what?”

  “Why is Mrs. Gage here?”

  “I thought it was obvious,” Pac said.

  The last thing Debbie wanted to do was make Pac nervous. She thought her chances for getting out of this alive were slim to none. He wouldn’t let her go - he couldn’t let her go. Her miniscule chance at survival would evaporate in an instant if she didn’t continue to play along.

  Debbie mentally kicked herself when she thought about all the times she was around Michael Pacheco. She never paid attention to the man who she considered just a run of the mill creep. She never saw the dark countenance lurking underneath the average face. In hindsight, maybe it had revealed itself from time to time – incidents she dismissed as ill temper, or short patience. She would have laughed if the situation were different. Perhaps the demonologist had been right ... at least to a point.

  Debbie took a deep breath.

  “I don’t believe I’m thinking clearly, my head still hurts and all. Would you please explain it to me?”

  Pac puffed his chest out with swelling importance.

  “It’s science! Mrs. Gage is an honorable contributor to our scientific discovery!”

  Debbie’s eyes flitted across the room, searching for evidence of a psychopathic accomplice.

  “Our?” she asked.

  Pac blinked. He almost seemed embarrassed. He then turned away and started fiddling with one of the EMF meters hanging from the ceiling.

  “The Death Theory experiment was my idea and should be to my credit.”

  He let the meter swing, as if starting a metronome. He quickly shuffled to the door and threw it open. Rain blew through in torrents, washing over the door jam and pelting the carpet with dull thuds. Pac cursed under his breath, slammed the door behind him as he stepped outside. A crash of thunder added to the dramatic effect, making the slamming door sound like the closing of a great castle keep.

  Debbie began to cry. Mrs. Gage was doing the same. They were in trouble, and it was doubtful that either woman would live to see the sunrise. Debbie didn’t think of such mundane things as sunrises, sunsets, or even dying. Her only thought was she would never see Jeff again. This thought alone would drive her to the end of this ordeal ... good or bad.

  It took a few minutes for the meaning of Pac’s words to sink in. Debbie had heard this term before, but couldn’t place where she had heard ‘Death Theory’. A macabre and tenuous light bulb came on in her head. She heard it at an SMS PAST meeting. Jeff and Elvis talked at length about it. It was the compilation law of energy or maybe the convection law of energy; she couldn’t remember the exact term. The name wasn’t important. What the scientific law said was important.

  “Matter or energy is neither created nor destroyed, it only changes form.” Debbie recited in her head.

  She also remembered why this law was important to paranormal research. The problem was, it was impossible to research, at least not in an ethical or moral sense.

  “You would have to monitor someone’s body energy at the moment of death. It’s the only way to determine what, if any, energy transference it undergoes,” Jeff and Elvis had told the group.

  The theory was merely presented as food for thought. Everyone had dismissed the practice as interesting, but immoral. It now seemed at least one of them was not so quick to condemn it. The instruments hanging around the table where Mrs. Gage lay was proof.

  “He did this to Mrs. Schwender, and now ... he is about to do it to Mrs. Gage, ... and then me,” Debbie whispered. She then had a childish thought, “Would death hurt?”

  She closed her eyes and saw Jeff smiling his quirky smile. Whether death hurt or not was immaterial. She would be dead either way. She would be dead and not ever see Jeff again. This was unacceptable.

  Debbie quickly discovered she was not secured as well as she thought. Either Pac had run out of duct-tape, or he intentionally left himself plenty of room to fondle her. Her hands were bound behind the folding metal chair. It felt as if no more than two tight loops bound her wrists. Her legs were fastened to the seat of the chair by a couple of sloppy loops sagging from side to side as she shook her butt back and forth.

  “This is doable, definitely doable; ... if I have the time,” she thought.

  She began to work her hands up and down with rapid thrusts along the back of the chair. If she could get them loose then she could peel the
tape from her legs, free Mrs. Gage, and then go ... where? She didn’t even know where she was.

  Debbie worked and worked to loosen her bonds. She soon realized it was pointless to rub the tape over the smooth metallic surface of the chair. It would take a week of rubbing to wear through. Debbie didn’t have a week. She wasn’t even sure if she had five minutes. She then began to use all her strength twisting and flexing her wrists. She bit her lip and stifled a shriek of pain as the tape pulled against her injured arm. She gnashed her teeth and continued to flex her arms as the strong adhesive tugged at her open flesh.

  She had stopped to relax her throbbing arms, when the door flew open. It was Pac, but he had changed. Instead of boxer shorts and campy t-shirt, he wore a long white lab coat. However, as he walked closer, she saw it was a white smock from Cornucopia Savers – Pac’s grocery store. She had seen similar coats worn by butchers in various supermarkets. This ironic comparison sent ice to the pit of her stomach.

  “Pac, what are you gonna do?” she asked, trying to hide her fear.

  He did not reply. Instead, he tapped each of the instruments dangling from the ceiling with his index finger. He then turned and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a moment later, holding a knife with a six-inch blade and serrated edge. Debbie swallowed hard.

  Pac approached her with a blank expression, an x-ray stare with no emotion. He walked behind her, placed his right hand on her right breast, and held the knife blade against her throat.

  “I don’t want you watching this, so I’m gonna move you,” he said flatly.

  He squeezed her breast to the point of pain, and bore the blade down a little harder on her neck. A small trickle of blood began to run down her throat. She believed this was the end, when he suddenly released her and withdrew the knife. Pac hissed in her ear.