I find myself guilt ridden with the situation. I should have stopped it.
I sat back in the chair with tears streaming down my face; taking some solace in the fact that mom hadn’t died alone. Mort had been with her, and he did everything he could to free her.
My poor father, I imagined his last thoughts. I’d watched as he tried to put himself back together, literally. Hopefully his suffering had been short.
I read over the note several more times, and part of it stood out to me. He said he’d watched as Mallen left my father’s body. I thought I had seen my father’s soul leaving his body, but it’d been Mallen.
My skin burned with rage over the death of my parents. Losing them was bad enough, but learning that they were murdered tore the wound open and rubbed salt into it. The anger dried my tears as I seethed over the letter.
I went upstairs and again studied the blotch in my carpet. Mort had told me there was only one way to kill Mallen, and the process would reduce them both to a stain in the carpet. Mort was clearly there, but why didn’t I see Mallen? I’d seen his outline when he escaped through the ceiling, but this time there was no trace of him in the aftermath.
I had to know if Mallen was gone for good. I owed it to my parents and to Mort to make sure. I went downstairs, gathered my keys, and headed out the door. I had to do something, and I had a plan.
-Chapter 20-
Barnes stood from his desk and met me in the middle of the lobby.
“Can I help you, Michael?”
“I need to get into my vault again.”
“Sure, follow me.”
He led me down the hallway and let me into the private elevator. I made my way to the vault and grabbed the remaining pictures. The metal box sat in the middle of the floor, and I pulled at the latch, but it remained locked. I had no key, so my attention went back to the photos. I put the box under my arm and made my way back through the maze and into the lobby.
“Thanks.” I waved my right hand, pushed my way through the doors, and sped home.
An extreme sense of purpose engulfed me as I grabbed my mother’s trace from my pocket and sat on the floor. I held the letter that Mort had written in my lap. I wouldn’t hide anymore, and I wanted answers as to why my parents had died. I didn’t know if I would get all of the answers, but I knew where to start.
Closing my eyes and allowing my mind to relax, my thoughts remained clear and focused. My mind’s eye recalled the close-up versions of the Somnibus; the metallic stench and the yawning sockets of Mallen when he’d attacked me the first time. I thought of the suffering he’d put my parents through when he’d murdered them. My thoughts intensified as I waited for the energy to blast me to that awful place. An eternity seemed to drag by and I nearly gave up when the green flash assaulted my eyes.
My chest burned as I flew through the darkness. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath when the pain subsided. The green periphery told me I had bridged, but this time was different. I had no control of my situation, as though being led through the dingy memories of someone else’s mind.
The desolate, gray landscape filled the dark place, but it wasn’t the location of the Somnibus. Sadness sunk into me like I’d never experienced before; more of a depression. My eyes squinted while trying to make sense of my surroundings.
I stood on a dirt road facing what appeared to be a rundown barn and made my way toward the splintered structure—a passenger in someone else’s mind and body. I’d bridged somewhere, but not to Mallen or any other Somnibus, having become a person with real feelings. Studying my hands, examining each side I noticed a mark in the center of one palm, different from mine.
The barn got closer as I wandered down the dusty road. I searched for clues as to whose body I’d possessed. I focused on taking control of the body, but my mind screamed with a stabbing pain deep in the base of my skull. The pain overwhelmed me, so I relaxed my thoughts and waited for the scene to evolve.
Approaching the open door to the barn, I stepped inside. The smell of manure and hay hung heavy in the air even though there weren’t any animals. Shadows filled the scarcely lit building. A dirty light hung in a room at the far end of the barn. I passed empty stalls while being drawn toward the faint light. Trying once again to seize control, the searing pain forced me to stop. I stepped into the room and into the face of a stranger.
The image peering back from the mirror was that of a tall, lanky young man, dressed in torn clothing. Powerless to make any moves, I remained a passenger trapped in his mind and body, whoever he was. I struggled to find the energy to eject myself from his body, but my efforts were useless.
The longer I stood in front of the mirror, the clearer the reflection became. The man behind the mirror was a young Mort. His face had no emotion while he held his right palm to the mirror, revealing not only the mark at the center of the hand, but other marks too.
Several vertical slits in his wrist ran from the base of his palm to his mid forearm. His left wrist rose to reveal the same. A horrific pain pulsed as I tried to escape from the horrid place. Depression strangled my desire to fight, and I left the bathroom.
I walked away from the barn toward what appeared to be a rundown house. The vise squeezed the base of my skull as I stepped through the aged front door.
The air smelled of age and buttery light from the full moon filled the room as I walked through the front room and down a narrow corridor to the back of the house. I stopped in front of a slightly open wooden door. With a nudge, the door creaked open and gave way to a small room, empty except for pictures lining the crackled walls.
The floor moaned under my feet as I stepped inside. My eyes fought through the stale air and green haze, adjusting and widening when I stopped in front of one of the pictures.
Two young boys, maybe eight, stood in front of a small house. My mind shook as I stared at the boys’ faces. They were the same: two identical Morts.
I panicked at the thought. From the reflection in the mirror I assumed I’d bridged to Mort, but now that I knew he had a twin, I didn't know which Mort I’d bridged in to. Fighting through the pain, I gained control of the body and forced my hand to take the frame off the wall. The pain continued to stab in the exact spot where my spine meets my brain, but I had to endure it. I slammed the frame into the wall, shattering the glass and causing the picture to fall to the floor. Slivers of glass found my flesh as I shuffled through it to grab the picture. I flipped it over, hoping for some type of information on the other side; I wasn’t disappointed.
Mort and Mallen at the farmhouse, Summer 1953.
Pain forced me out of control, I again lost control over the body, and I walked out of the room. The vise clamped down further on my skull while my skin burned and my head filled with rage. I wasn’t sure if I’d bridged Mort or Mallen, but whoever it was, he was pissed.
I rushed toward a small room at the end of the hallway and entered a bathroom. My skin tingled, and depression gripped me when I stepped into the bathtub. Trying to gain control again my mind ran from the pain, forcing me to remain a passenger.
I laid my head back and closed my eyes. A flash of white light hit me and I hoped the energy would return, sending me to my living room. It never came, and my eyes opened to the still-green haze.
The bathroom was light and clean, and birds sang from outside the window. The warm water relaxed me as I enjoyed the pleasant memory when a voice made me flinch.
“Ahem….”
My hands jerked out of the water and Mort stood in the doorway.
“Get out, asshole! I’ll be done in a minute.”
Mort locked the door and made his way over to me.
“I said get out!” I leaned from side to side. “Whatcha got behind your back, Mort?"
Mort jumped at me and tried to grab my arm. I slipped my arm away and punched him in the side of the head.
I yelled, “What the fuck are you doing!”
He grabbed me by the arm and I pulled him into the tub. I notice
d the syringe in his hand and fought against him as he climbed on top of me. The water made him slippery, and he stabbed at my arm but caught the fleshy part of my shoulder. I winced when the needle disappeared into muscle. The medicine took effect quickly, and I lost control of my muscles. Mort divided first into two, then four, and finally the images just swirled away.
My eyes opened and Mort knelt beside me, his hand in the tub, holding my wrist with the palm facing toward the surface. He had my wrist bent backward and his lips moved, but I couldn’t hear him. The silver blade of a knife flashed before he pushed it under the surface of the water. I tried to pull my hand away, but the medication severed the connection between my mind and body.
Mort pressed the blade to my wrists, leaving long vertical incisions in its wake. I felt no pain as the skin splayed open and blood spurted into the water.
Mort stood over me while light faded from the room. My eyes again grew heavy as my shoulders slid down and my head submerged below the water that had become an opaque crimson.
The pulse of energy surprised me, and sent me hurling through darkness. My chest burned when my eyes opened, and I found myself back in my living room. I tried to sit up, but my body was slow to react. My head wanted to fall backward and I fought to keep it upright. Slumped in my seat, the palm of my right hand glowed with a familiar brilliant green. I sat motionless, watching as it faded into the flesh of my palm. The pain in my chest receded, and the heaviness in my limbs lifted as the glow dwindled away. My head finally fell backward, and my eyes slowly shut.
-Chapter 21-
I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, or unconscious, whichever it was, but I awoke to darkness. Hoping to find some clarity to the cluttered memories of my last bridge, I went to take a shower. I now understood why Mallen wanted to make Mort miserable, but what did my mother have to do with anything, and why had Mort killed his own brother? The water poured over my head while the unsorted pieces continued to drift around my mind. My thoughts were scrambled, and I obviously didn’t have my full mental capacity about me. I toweled off with no more answers than when I had stepped into the shower, but my mind felt clearer.
In the living room, I shuffled through more pictures when my phone chirped from the counter. I picked up the phone and wondered why Honeycutt would be calling me at nine at night?
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s David Honeycutt. I haven’t caught you at a bad time, have I?”
“No, it’s fine.” There was a bit of a pause on the other end.
“I’m working late tonight and wondered if you could stop by my house. I seem to have missed a couple of signatures I needed from you on Mort’s paperwork. I’m not far from your house.”
The kitchen was a mess and pictures were scattered around the living room. They would still be here when I got back. “Um, sure. Text the address and I’ll come by in a little while.”
“Ok, thanks.”
A few seconds later, the text came. He only lived a couple of miles away so I grabbed the pictures from the kitchen table and shoved them into a kitchen drawer before heading out the door.
Honeycutt had presented himself in a disorganized way when I first met him, so I didn’t expect such a well kept, beautiful home. Two large columns stood on either side of the oversized front door. The place appeared empty, but the address on the mailbox at the entrance gate was correct. Parking in the circular drive and walking to the door, I took one last look around before pushing the doorbell.
After a minute or so, he opened the door.
“Come in.”
Honeycutt stepped aside and gestured me through the door. I stepped into the foyer and he scanned the area outside before closing and locking the front door.
“Come into the kitchen,” he said, leading me down a long hallway and wobbling like he was drunk. “Have a seat. I won’t keep you long.”
We sat at the table, and he fumbled through his briefcase. I didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t quite himself. He stumbled into the kitchen, and as he shuffled through the papers, he seemed confused.
“Are you okay?” Without acknowledging my question, he continued to shuffle through the papers.
His head finally rose. My heart leapt to my throat and I tensed, sliding my chair away from the table. His pupils had pushed the white from his eyes, the orbs solid black without a hint of life. He sat tall in the chair, and I jumped from my seat. I turned to run out of the kitchen when he yelled to me.
“Michael! I know what you saw last night, what Mallen meant for you to see.”
“Mort?” I stopped and turned to face the voice. Honeycutt sat there, but Mort was behind the words. He remained seated and I made my way back to my chair, sitting in it a distance from the table. His lifeless eyes held mine, his voice without inflection as he continued to speak.
“You’re innocent in this. You have become a pawn in a game to get to me. Mallen played on your sympathies. He wants you to question my motives.” Beads of sweat rolled off his forehead, racing down his fat cheeks and onto the papers that sat on the table. “I’m not dead, but I will be if you don’t find Mallen’s trace and destroy it. I will be lost forever, and you will never be safe.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“I don’t have much time, so listen. He made a mistake; he showed you where it was. He hid it at our farmhouse. He never told me where he kept it, but he spent most of his time in that barn. I would bet it’s still there.”
“But I watched you kill him. You drugged him and killed him.”
“I can’t explain now, but you have to trust that I had good reason to do it. Mallen is a dangerous person, he always has been. Your mother trusted me and now you must. I have to go. This body can’t take much more of this. Go to the farmhouse. The address is in the paperwork from Honeycutt.”
“But Mort, why….”
He stood from the chair and wobbled as he tried to find steady legs. He said one last thing. “Your life depends on you destroying that stone. I will guide you as best I can, but my time is limited. When I come to you, just shut up and listen or let me steer you. I will show you what to do when it’s time.”
He disappeared down the hallway. I jumped up from the table and ran to my car. My mind spun on the drive home. I had no choice but to go with what Mort had told me.
Pulling into my driveway, I sat for a minute before I took a deep breath, and headed inside to find the papers from Honeycutt.
-Chapter 22-
State road 40 was about as desolate at it got, even more so at eleven at night. A portion ran through the Ocala National Forest that had no cell phone reception and few houses. The ranger stations were spaced far apart, and without cell coverage, there wasn’t much chance of getting help if you needed it.
The address was on Deer Fly Road off Fort Brooks Road, in the middle of the forest. As I got closer to the Juniper Springs Recreation area, I kept my high beams on, searching for any indication of the turnoff. No doubt it would be poorly marked, if at all.
A reflective sign in the distance, on the right side of the road, caught my eye. I slowed as I approached the sign and squinted. The sign read “eer Fly Rd.,” but I figured the D had just faded with time.
A wooden arm crossed the street and I stopped and got out with my lights shining on the gate. I passed a mailbox before reaching the gate. The vinyl letters were aged and curled at the edges, but still legible: Mallen Bell.
The full gravity of the situation prickled the back of my neck.
Pushing the gate open, its rusted hinges squealed before tearing from the timber, causing the gate to collapse on the ground. I walked back to the Jeep with a nervous grin and continued to follow the dirt road. Wood splintered under the tires as I drove over the fallen gate, and the headlights shone down the overgrown dirt track. The road seemed familiar and my skin tingled when the silhouette of a barn materialized in the distance.
The beams splashed light onto the dilapidated structure as I pulled up. The
barn had two main doors; the left one secured and closed, the other only half clinging to its hinges. A wooden beam split the large opening above the main doors, like eyes watching over the crooked wooden smile of the barn.
I shut off the engine, but kept the lights on. Stepping out of the Jeep in front of the barn, my senses were in overdrive. The slight breeze felt like gusts, and my heartbeat echoed in my ears. My feet shuffled toward the barn as if in protest to what I asked of them. I entered through the crooked doors and noticed an unclean light burning at the far end of the barn. The stalls were empty, but the smell of manure hung heavy in a silence that seemed unusually loud. Mort said he would guide me but I knew I was on my own.
Light escaped through a small crack where a door hung slightly open; it was the door from my excursion to the farmhouse when I bridged Mallen. My mouth dried as my hand reached out to the knob, heart galloping and skin crawling as the door moaned open. The dingy light hanging in the small room made it difficult to find my way. I leaned my head in while my feet remained outside, as if that would keep me from any trouble that may have been waiting.
The small room held a sink, only half-attached to the wall, a dried-up toilet, and a makeshift shower stall that consisted of a window with a hose hanging through it. I peeked behind the door, nothing. The boogieman I expected to snatch me never did.
I turned to leave and I came face to face with a familiar reflection. I flashed a half grin to myself before walking out of the bathroom.
A warm breeze strolled through the barn and caught the attention of the small hairs on the back of my neck. My brow wrinkled and I stopped for a moment, footsteps continued beyond mine. I spun around to find a figure looming in the space between the bathroom and me. The dirty light flickered, giving only brief hints as to who stood there.
“Hello, Michael. We knew we could count on you to follow instructions.”
My forehead creased as I tried to place a face to the familiar voice.
The Somnibus: Book I - Finding the Mark (A Paranormal Thriller) Page 7