"Impressive, what you did back there," he said, displaying a creepy grin.
He knew? Was he a con artist looking to profit from what he saw? If so, he was in for a sad awakening. "Look. I don't know what you think you saw," she said, shoving a finger at him, "but I have friends, and they’re watching."
He deflected her threat with another even more indifferent smile. "When did you become so good with people?"
The implication of the question ran a chill through her. She’d played the security guard flawlessly. How could he know about her lack of socialization?
"I don't know what your game is, but I'm not interested," she said, starting for the doors again. If he followed her into the restaurant and continued to bother her, she could have him removed as a stalker.
A hand caught her wrist and she pulled free with a jerk. The man came around. "It's not going to do me any good to talk to your back now, is it?"
A whisper exploded from her lips. "Who are you?"
He tapped the name tag on his chest. It said, Jackson.
Her throat constricted.
Was he here? Had Jakson found her? She scanned the room to see if anyone was looking their way, but her eyes were drawn back to the tag. Why was the name misspelled? "Where is he?" she whispered. "Is he watching us now?"
Again the man ignored her words and pressed with his own question. "Why did you run, Jillian? Have we not treated you well?"
"Treated me... You tried to kill me, and my mother!"
He looked genuinely shocked. "Why, Jillian. Why would you think such a thing?"
She looked at his neck to see if he had a wire coming down from his ear. "Is Jakson listening to us?"
"To every word," he said smugly.
Her eyes scanned the room as she spoke to the air, to Jakson. "I saw you and your goons get out of the black car. I saw you coming for us." She looked back at the man’s face.
"Yes. We were coming for you, but not to hurt you."
"Don't give me that. I read your lips from across the street!"
"What did I say that made you think I would cause you harm after so many years of protecting you?"
"‘Make it clean, make it quick.’ I'm not stupid. I knew what you were coming to do."
"From that you assumed I had come to kill you?"
"With the way things were going," she said, through gritted teeth, "I didn't know what to think. You seemed to have lost your moral compass."
"Jillian, as you are well aware, we have a job to do. And sometimes that job requires us to make tough choices, choices that aren't always pleasant."
"Whose choice was it to burn my house to the ground?" she hissed. "Who had to make that unpleasant choice?!"
"It was necessary. But had you not jumped to conclusions, I would have explained it to you."
Once again she looked at the man's ear. There didn't appear to be any communications device. And even if there was, how was he communicating Jakson's answers so quickly? In a creepy way, his lips even moved like Jakson's. It wasn't the first time she’d noticed those signature lip curls on other men. On at least two other occasions she remembered being approached by messengers from Jakson and seen that same tight press and elongated stretch on the letter e. She might have thought it was her imagination if she were anyone else, but her mind easily replayed each incident as clearly as if they were happening at the same time, right next to each other.
"I want to talk to Jakson. Where is he?"
"I'm with your mother," he said, curling his mouth into a wry smile.
The room expanded behind him as his words burrowed into her heart. He was upstairs? In their suite?
"N- oh no..." She started moving backward. Would he hurt her? So much had happened, there was no telling what he would do. There was one thing she knew for certain, Jakson was a radical zealot. If he believed she was his enemy now, he wouldn't hesitate to kill her mother.
She turned and broke into a run for the elevator.
Chapter 3
Self preservation, more than anything else, led Jon Blake to follow the voices down three streets, across two parking lots, and up to the side of a tall hotel. How could he not follow them? Whether their intentions were good or evil, it didn't matter. He had finally decided to go by the old adage: Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.
The hotel windows glowed with varying shades of amber as the rising moon cast a shade of blue down the outside wall and into the murky green hedges that encircled the base, making the massive structure look almost foreboding. A street lamp started a low hum as the light slowly came to life. It would be dark soon.
"This will do nicely," said one of the voices.
Jon looked up. For what? he thought.
"You'll see."
Jon stuffed the tips of his fingers in his jeans and attempted to look less suspicious than he felt. There were a few people here and there throughout the darkening parking lot, but no one paid any attention to him.
"See the red car with the black bumper sticker by the side door?"
Jon nodded.
"Go stand behind it."
He did as they commanded.
After several conspicuous minutes of loitering, the voices issued another command. "Walk to the door and hold it for this couple as they come out. And Jon..." they said with a slight pause.
Yes?
"Try to not look so sullen."
He walked over just in time for the man to open the door, caught the door handle for him, and moved to allow them to pass. They both smiled thankfully, and he returned their smiles with a hesitant one of his own.
"Good. Now step inside."
He slipped in and let the door close behind him. Why did you bring me to a hotel?
"You will see."
His heart pounded as he walked down the empty hallway past a workout room and a door marked POOL. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't like he had done anything wrong—except sneak in. The worst they could do was ask him to leave.
"Take the elevator to the 4th floor," said a slow voice with a southern drawl.
He did as instructed.
What am I looking for? he thought.
"Four twenty-six," said a voice.
He followed the hall nearly to the end and stopped in front of a door marked 426. His eyes darted up and down the hallway.
"Stop it," said a male voice.
What?
"Stop looking around like a criminal."
His eyes shot to the ground.
"Be confident, like you belong here. We’ll do the rest."
The rest of what?
"Knock."
Why? Who is in there?
"This will go smoother if you obey."
But I want to know what I'm getting myself into.
"Just knock."
He felt the urge to look up and down the hallway again, but resisted. Okay, he thought, we'll do it your way. For now. He reached out and knocked.
A moment passed. Then the latch clicked and the door pulled in. In the doorway stood the most beautiful Italian woman Jon had ever seen. She was a few years older than him, shorter, and dressed in a sequined evening gown that shimmered when she moved. "Yes?" she said, tilting her head, letting her dark hair swoop behind her neck.
"Repeat what we say," said the voices.
He nodded internally.
"Bjorn sent me," said a voice.
He repeated it.
"You're early, hun," said the woman.
"Will that be a problem?" said another voice.
He parroted the phrase.
She opened the door and gave him access to the room. "You're the client."
Jon sensed a change with the voices. His nervousness, and desperate attention to their instructions, had given them strength. They were no longer coming to him as voices, but as pure thoughts. The thoughts urged him to walk in and stand near the bed. Not wanting to make a mistake he gave in to the compulsion.
"Do you have my clothes?" said his own voice, naturally, as if
it was his decision to pose the question. Their control didn't feel imposing but rather an extension of himself. The union was so close he could feel the personality of the speaker, as though he were him. Was this what possession felt like? It wasn't at all creepy, like in the movies.
"Yes," said the dark-skinned beauty. She took a suit bag from the clothes hanger by the door and laid it out on the bed. "You want me to watch?"
The boldness of her statement took him by surprise. "No," he said, abruptly, but the ghostly presence was quick to add the words, "Freshen up," along with a short wry smile.
The woman's full lips puckered slightly, and her eyes smoldered. "Let me know when you're done," she said, turning and strolling into the bathroom.
What am I doing here? thought Jon, with more panic than he intended to reveal.
"What does man desire? Sex, money, power? We are giving you your desires."
I don't want this!
"Do you not find her attractive?"
Is she an escort?
"She will be anything you want her to be."
I don't want her to be anything!
"Does the fact that she is an escort alter her appeal?"
Yes! he thought, amazed that he needed to explain that fact.
"Then we shall find someone more suitable. But for now, she is for your arm."
What?
"Where we are sending you, you cannot go alone. She will give you the edge you'll need. Now get dressed."
He looked down at the suit bag draped on the bed. Where are you sending me?
"To make a little money—and have some fun."
I can live with that, he thought, unzipping the bag. He took a black suit out. It wasn't quite a tux, but it was close.
Why is she holding a suit for the man she is supposed to be meeting? he thought. Wouldn't he come in a suit of his own?
"His wife would ask too many questions. Like you’re doing right now," said a snide male voice. "Time is short. Get dressed."
He stripped down, sheepishly aware that there was a good chance they were watching. But if that was the case, hadn't they already seen everything? The thought made his skin crawl. How long had they been watching him? How far back did their influence go?
He slid the suit on then transferred the contents of his pockets from his old pants to the new ones, a small wad of hundred dollar bills and a debit card. He paused momentarily and looked at the card. It seemed unfathomable that he’d only managed to retain thirty thousand of the more than two million that was in the briefcase he had plundered. And he wouldn't even have been able to save that if he hadn't stuffed three stacks into his clothes in case things went south, which they did. If only he had known, he could have salvaged more.
All things considered, if he was honest, his situation was better now than it had been before the voices intervened. Though he’d been made to go through some horrible things, it wasn't all bad. He did get to drive a Porsche, walk away with thirty grand, and meet the girl of his dreams. His mind rested on an image of the beautiful deaf girl who had captured his heart. The mysterious and talented Canary. What had become of her? She had promised to contact him on his iPad, but he hadn't heard a word.
Is she alive? he said, into the hollow expanse of his mind.
"Who?" said an older-sounding voice.
Odd. He’d assumed the voices could read his mind. How was it they didn’t know he was thinking about her?
Canary, he thought, bluntly.
There was a pause. Then, "Yes. She is alive."
So you lied.
"Yes. For the good of your world."
What?
"There is no time to explain."
Where is she? I want to see her.
"You will. But not yet."
When?
"Not long. Hurry."
The answers would have to wait. He finished dressing, tucked his jeans and t-shirt into the suit bag and, with a short hesitation, stuffed the bag in a drawer. If circumstances made it impossible for him to come back for them, like they had with the briefcase full of money, it would be no great loss. He had more clothes now than he had ever had in his life. What was one pair of jeans and a shirt?
He buttoned the top button on the black dress shirt, tightened the black tie, and adjusted the black suit coat in the mirror. The suit was looser than he would have liked but it wasn’t bad, considering it had been made for another man. Black had always complimented Jon’s tanned Mediterranean skin and thick eyebrows. He had never seen himself in a full black suit before. With this suit and his new haircut, which made him look older than his seventeen years, he looked like something straight out of a men’s fashion magazine. This was a look he could get used to.
"It is time," echoed a female voice. "Take the woman and go."
He rapped gently on the bathroom door, and it swung open. The Italian woman ran her eyes down to survey the new look. "You clean up good," she said, with a glimmer in her eye. "I think we have a winner, tonight."
She slipped by, taking advantage of the tight space to brush in close. Her breath smelled of peppermint, and her light copper skin gave off an aroma of sweet flowers. For a moment her dark eyes locked on his, then disengaged playfully as she went to her purse, the low cut of her dress giving him a full view of the tanned skin of her back.
He had to remind himself that her only interest was in the money she had been paid to accompany him. But it wouldn't be entirely unpleasant to have her fawn over him all night, even though it was just an act, and even though there was no chance he would allow it to turn physical. She was beautiful and had plenty of sex appeal, but in the end, even if he could get past the fact that she was a call girl, she was not Canary.
She turned and faced him. "Are you ready to take the house?"
Take the...? Was that the plan? Were the spirits going to help him win money gambling?
She stepped in to adjust his lapel and wipe away some stray lint. "Do you have the money?" she said casually, still looking his suit over.
"Yes," he heard himself say.
She gave her nose a playful scrunch. "Then follow me. This is going to be fun."
Grab your copy of LIES at Amazon to read more.
~Authors Note~
Voices is a work of fiction. If you are hearing voices at night, it is probably due to a mental phenomena called hypnagogia, which occurs during threshold consciousness, when the sleeping mind attempts to exert its influence on the waking mind. If you are hearing voices while you are fully awake and walking around, well, that might be another thing altogether.
If you want to read some non-fiction accounts of how God interacts with us, try Miracles: 32 True Stories. My wife and editor, Joanie Hileman, has compiled these accounts of God’s miraculous intervention.
VOICES: Book 2 in the David Chance series (Suspense, Mystery, Thriller) Page 24