by Brian Brahm
“Good to see you,“ Scott said, as he smiled—eyes dilating.
Emma noticed his eyes were dilated, and then wondered if hers were too, or if he would notice, or knew what that suggested. Regardless, it made her happy to know he had more than a fleeting interest in her.
“You too, here are the books I promised, and a bag from a stranger.”
“A stranger?“ He chuckled.
“Yes, just a little while ago a tall man—sort of gaunt looking—came in and asked if I knew you. He was strange, and he requested that I give you this bag, but he asked that I don’t peek.” She had a troubled look about her face, and then she brightened up with a smile and whispered, “It’s supposed to be a surprise!”
Scott carefully accepted the bag, trying to grin and hide his concern. “What was this man’s name?”
“Not sure, he didn’t say.”
“What was he wearing?”
“A long black coat, sort of dusty, and a tall black hat—that was dusty too.”
Scott froze—set the bag down—and stared at it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did he have a pointy nose and chin, and pale skin? Kind of like death warmed over?”
“Actually, yes—you know him?”
“I know of him. I’ve seen him. I’ll have to explain, but please don’t think I’m strange; I have two friends that can back my story.”
Scott told Ella everything: the sightings, dreams, Cody’s experience, and Mustapha’s phone-call. He had total trust in her, complete comfort, as if he had known her his entire life.
Ella sat silent. She believed his story, as crazy as it was, but she didn’t know how to respond. “Scott—for starters—I believe you.”
Scott let out a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know what this all means. I can’t believe I came so close to him.” A paralyzing chill climbed her spine, as if a tarantula had been released in her blouse. “So you think he’s after me too? Because I tried to help you?”
“I think that’s why he paid you a visit today. He wants me to know that he’s watching all of us.”
She had no response.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess—I had no idea.”
“It’s OK, it’s OK.” She repeated out of nervousness. “I just need to process this—it’s a little weird.” Ella sat for a moment, staring at the salt and pepper shakers on the table, contemplating, and then something clicked. She looked up, met Scott’s eyes, and smiled. Her smile took his mind off of their trouble, and made the world right again; no more signs written in blood, dead cats, and demon possessed vagrants. “We’re all in this together, and together we will get through this.” She was completely unshakable—positive—downright cheery.
Scott, mesmerized by Ella’s outlook and brilliant smile, found himself without words.
“You with me?” She added.
“Yes—we will get through this. Where do we start?”
“With you—tell me everything about your past experiences, and maybe something will click. There has to be something about your experiences that will give us a clue as to who or what has been following you, and now me, Cody, and Mustapha.”
Scott opened up and told all. Ella listened. And for the next five hours they snacked on flavored coffee and an assortment of bite sized French pastries, while discussing his history of unusual events. She had never been so captivated by anyone. It no longer mattered that she and Scott seemed to be in mortal danger; she was going to be spending more time with him than expected, a lot more.
“Now, about that bag, let’s see what’s inside!”
“To be honest, I’m a little scared to open it. I thought I might wait till I get home.”
“If we’re going to do this together, why not start now? If it’s something bad, I’m here for support. What do you say?”
He paused. Her eyes sparkled as she smiled back. “OK, let’s do this,” he responded.
He unfolded the top of the bag and slowly pulled it apart. Nothing jumped out, made a noise, or exploded. He looked in while she sat, anxiously anticipating the contents. Reaching in, Scott felt something: a strap, leather maybe, about a quarter-inch wide and six to eight inches in length. Something metal, a tag was attached to it. He pulled it out, exposing an animal collar.
“That’s strange, do you own a pet?”
“Not at the moment.” He read the tag, “Whiskers?” It was the collar of his beloved cat. “The last time I saw this was when we buried Whiskers in it,” he said mournfully.
Ella was again speechless. They sat, staring at the collar, both wondering how the man in black was able to retrieve it—both shuttered in disgust at the thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Long and narrow, the decayed concrete of the downtown alley glistened an ominous glow beneath the streetlights— following the cold sleet that glazed over its past—stained from sinister crime and drug dealings.
Lying beside a dumpster, a lifeless pile of stench ridden, weathered clothing concealed yet another pile of skin and bone, which enshrined the barely beating heart of, Samantha; a rotted shell of a once beautiful twenty-six year old woman that, in the last ten months sought solace in the form of crack in a blown-glass pipe.
Life had dealt her a bad-hand, one she could not muster the strength to overcome, and therefore—fell victim to street vermin who accepted money for drugs when she had it, and her body when she had nothing more to give.
She had passed through the gates of Hell, breathed its fumes, and slept with demons.
Perfect rows of white teeth were now stained and rotted, her breath reeked that of something dying on the inside, her once angelic skin, now covered in dirt and open-sores that flies fed on while she slept.
Some people find the strength to bounce back, but not Samantha.
An abusive Uncle, an alcoholic mother, a father she never knew, and a habit of attracting friends that spent more time behind bars than in the free world—sent her over the edge and into a life of self-abuse.
The city’s music was an orchestrated symphony of tragedy: sirens screaming, cries of pain and torment, animals battling to the death over the last scrap of food, vagrants mumbling nonsensical words under diluted breath, and the rhythm of her own labored respiration lined the walls of her mind with a cacophony that would drive the most stable to insanity.
Money earned through begging was now gone, and Samantha had gone too long without a hit. Withdrawals were setting in, weakening her to the point where she hoped for death.
Footsteps approached on the dampened pavement, a looming shadow draped over her as she struggled to open her eyes.
One of my dealers—it must be, she hoped.
“Samantha,” an unfamiliar voice calmly spoke.
“I . . . I need some . . . I’m dying . . . I’ll pay you back—I promise.” She begged pathetically.
The man reached out his gloved hand; she reached for his palm, for salvation. His hand grabbed hers and clamped down, painfully tight. In her weakened state, she could not pull free from his grip, and accepted the crushing grasp of the stranger. And even though her hand—her entire body for that matter—was numb—she could hear and feel her boney fingers grinding together like walnuts on the verge of cracking open.
The numbness slowly dissipated as a jolt of energy shot through her entire body, causing it to stiffen.
Samantha now lay flat on her back, erect and unable to move.
Terror filled her heart while tears managed to build up in her eyes, further blurring her already failing vision.
She became cold, her vision went from blurry to black— she could no longer see.
Her fingertips that once detected the callous surface of the alley’s pavement, now felt nothing.
Certain she was dying; she struggled for a life that she was so willing to give up only moments ago. She felt as though her soul floated aimlessly in a body no longer belonging to her—then she realized: she’s not alone.
Power
less to do anything, terrified of what shared her body; she cowered deep inside while the unknown entity took control.
The tall man walked away. “Thank you, Samantha. I knew you would be easy,” he said as he faded into the murky shadows of the alley’s end.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Hey, Spookster, how did your meeting with Mrs. Abrahamson go?” Cody asked Scott, being sarcastic as usual.
“Good, although she’s now more involved than you might think.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that the man you and I both saw paid her a visit.”
“No!”
“Yes! And he gave her something to give me, a bag containing the collar Whiskers wore.”
“Your cat’s collar? That’s morbid. How did he get it?”
“I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to. We’re going to get together soon—I’ll let you know when I can arrange for Ella and Mustapha to meet. We need to start brainstorming—coming up with ways to defeat this before something bad happens.”
“Tell me about it, this is getting seriously creepy.”
“I’ll call you soon. Take care, buddy.”
“Take care.”
After hanging up, Cody sat in his worn beer-stained recliner, a chair that had seen him through many football games, and he adjusted the seat for maximum comfort while reaching for the remote.
With not much on during the early part of the day, he left it on a channel showing a replay of a heavy-weight boxing match. As he stared at the screen with little interest, Cody began to slip into temporary hibernation—partly due to the large meal he had just devoured, partly because of the three beers that accompanied the meal, and partly because he had been going on little sleep ever since his nightmare.
He slumbered; the television no longer could be seen or heard. Light and time ceased to exist.
People laughing could be heard in the background. Cody searched, but found nobody. He knew the home was the one he grew up in, but it looked different. He turned, and in the dining room, his family engaged in a fluid and pleasant conversation. His father, mother, sister, and two brothers, all happy and eating one of the family’s favorite traditional meals: beef stew.
At the end of the table, an empty chair, his chair. Cody sat; his family all looked and smiled. The stew smelled magnificent. A warm feeling came over him: the feeling of being home in a familiar atmosphere, with familiar people. In a sense, it was his Happy Place.
No bad guys would crash this party, not an evil soul in sight. The dream felt real, as many dreams did, and Cody had no interest in coming back to the real world where evil endures, even after losing many battles.
The sound of a car slamming on its breaks, tires squealing along the asphalt, and a thumping noise crudely woke Cody from his Happy Place.
He rose from his chair, still weary and unstable on his feet; he walked towards his front door and opened it to see what happened.
With still focusing eyes he saw a large four-door car sideways in the middle of the road, blocking both lanes. It looked like a 1970’s Lincoln, or something similar.
On the other side of the car he saw two feet on the ground sticking out from behind the front grill, and he could hear someone frantically speaking, “I don’t know! She’s not moving! Please send an ambulance, now!”
Cody received a shot of adrenaline that brought his senses back to full—he rushed out the door towards the front of the car.
He stood and observed a ragged but somehow pretty woman lying on the ground. She may have looked rough due to being hit by a car, so Cody couldn’t judge.
Her face had scratches and wounds, her eyes were closed, and if she was breathing it was hardly noticeable.
Her right hand was in bad shape—Cody continued to scan down her body—her left leg was bent unnaturally, in fact, her toes were pointed backwards, indicating her leg had been completely broken and twisted. She had other cuts and scrapes, but minor compared to these injuries.
The driver of the vehicle got off the phone, he was trembling at the thought that he may have just killed someone. “She came out of nowhere! I swear! I was driving, and then she just appeared in front of my vehicle! I don’t even know which direction she came from!“ The man continued his hysterics while Cody listened.
Cody looked down at the woman’s face; he felt sympathy towards her for some reason, even a faint attraction that he couldn’t understand.
It was clear that she had been beautiful, and could be again if she were cleaned up. She looked frail, which added to the number of strings being pulled on his heart.
Had she attempted suicide? Jumped in front of this poor man’s vehicle? Cody thought, as he continued to stare at the woman, feeling useless to help her and wishing the paramedics would hurry.
Sirens roared in the background, slowly closing in on their location. Cody looked down again, and realized he was holding the victim’s hand. Sadness overwhelmed him. He thought: if she lives, maybe she’ll clean herself up. Please give her one more chance, God. Please.
The ambulance and police arrived at the same time, and directly behind was a fire truck.
The paramedics quickly ran towards the victim with a stretcher; Cody stood and backed off to give them room. The driver was pulled aside for questioning by police officers. Paramedics performed CPR on the woman, a shot of adrenaline was administered, and life appeared once again in the pale, limp body.
The woman had no identification, and the medics were rushing her off to the ambulance where they would transport her to the nearest level-one trauma center.
Cody had to think fast, he had to know the outcome: if she would be OK, and who she was?
“Excuse me! I’m with her, can I ride along?”
“You know this girl? One of the medics asked.
Cody hated to lie, and knew he could get in trouble. He would simply leave the hospital once the girl came to, and there would be no harm. “Yes, I know her.”
“What’s her name?”
“She told me her name is, Lisa. We just met, so I don’t know her last name.” Cody figured he couldn’t get in trouble, because they could never verify if he was telling the truth with such limited information.
“Quick! Jump in!”
Cody rode in the back as paramedics continued working on stabilizing the woman.
They pulled up to the emergency room ambulance bay, unloaded the female, and rushed her into room number-six.
Cody lagged behind as to not get in the way. He was allowed to sit in the room with her, but was asked to leave when doctors entered and began working on her leg and checking her vitals.
Once stabilized, she would be transferred to surgery, and then to ICU for recovery and monitoring—if she made it. Cody was terrified at the thought that she wouldn’t be given a second chance.
Knowing they would eventually identify the girl, either through family or friends that reported her missing, or by fingerprints, Cody knew his time was limited.
He waited till she was in surgery, at least knowing she was alive and most likely going to make it, and then he left.
His heart sunk knowing he would never see her again—never know her name, or even where she was from. He couldn’t go back to the hospital because he wouldn’t be able to ask for her by name, and they would surely know her true identity soon.
Cody hailed a cab and went home. When he arrived in front of his home, he noticed the blood stained street and one of the woman’s shoes.
He picked up her shoe and brought it inside. Maybe it would be like Cinderella? Only this time the woman’s shoe was no glass slipper, but a once white-canvas shoe, now shades of brown and grey, tattered from years of abuse.
He entered his home and placed the shoe in the closest spot he could find: his fireplace mantel. He sat in his recliner, and resumed his nap, hoping to find his way back to the Happy Place.
The sound of laughter and good cheer echoed from the depths and elevated until he found himself at the dinner ta
ble eating his bowl of beef stew—in the presence of his family.
The dream went on for a while, and then sadly, it came to an end. In his dream, Cody said goodnight to his family and went to sleep. Now he was sleeping in both the dream world and the real world, giving him the deepest sleep anyone could possibly imagine.
After sleeping for several hours, Cody woke up to a dark home; the blanket of night had draped over the sky.
Clouds loomed low, rendering the evening moonless, and what little light the amber street lamps offered, did nothing to brighten his home.
He sat up slowly, shuffled along the floor, taking short steps while feeling his surroundings with his hands, and then located the light switch to the hall that led to the front entrance.
The light was enough to see the front door, so Cody checked to be sure it was locked for the night, and it was. He looked at the fireplace mantel—the shoe was gone. He searched the floor to see if it had fallen, but the shoe was nowhere to be found.
A metallic clanking sound came from the kitchen. He turned and plodded towards the lit hallway, which was the only area of the house with a light on.
He peered into the opening on the other side of the hallway where the kitchen and dining room were located. Across from the dining room was the living room, where he had just woken from his nap.
It was too dark to see anything, and the light switches were located on the walls in the separate rooms, so he would have to walk into total darkness to turn them on. What if there was an intruder? He wasn’t about to walk into a dangerous situation, so he went upstairs to his room where he had his cell phone, and locked the door behind him.
Not wanting to call in a false alarm, Cody listened closely for more unfamiliar noises.
For several minutes there was nothing, and then a faint noise came from downstairs.
He placed his ear against the door and closed his eyes, focusing all of his energy on what was making the noise.
A faint scraping could be heard. Metal on metal? No! Metal on wood! It became louder, indicating it was coming closer. Something metal being dragged along the stair railing—it had to be. It increased in volume and then stopped. Someone’s at the top of the stairs, Cody thought.