“Yeah, well, they’re a lot better than they should be. The scars I worry about, though, are not external. They’re up here.” She puts a finger to the side of her head, and then looks toward the stairs again. I follow but there is no one. She relaxes and continues. “Like you, I escaped, but it took me nearly three years. It was calculated and I’m not entirely proud of what I did.”
“Calculated?”
“Yes. I laid in that bed and figured out what I had to do. When I was able, I started giving Victor exactly what he wanted. In exchange he gradually dropped his distrust of me and then finally his guard as well. Having worked for him for so many years, I knew how he did things, how he kept his books. Henri was his financial manager for the company, but that was the part that the IRS saw. The rest of it Victor managed himself. When Henri left. . .
“Henri didn’t leave,” I interrupt. “Victor killed him and left him to burn.”
“Oh!”
“I think he was starting to have a conscience.”
“That certainly explains things.” She thought for a moment and then continued. “Anyway, the new CFO could have been Henri’s twin in the finance world, but with no conscience. Still, Victor kept a set of his own books, and eventually he trusted me with them. In a series of small moves I managed to secret away just over four million dollars of his money and then buy myself a new identity. Social Security card, Georgia drivers license, new birth certificate, the whole works. It’s amazing what you can do on the internet. Once I had that ready, I spent six months talking to him about how I wanted to return to the archeological digs in South America and India, plus a few new ones around the world I read about. I fussed because he wouldn’t let me go. I pushed it to a fight one night, and then the next day, I quietly left. I boarded a plane to Buenos Aires, dumped Aileen Bravelli, became Samantha Sikorski, took a vacation cruise around the cape to Lima, Peru, and then flew to Atlanta. From there I purchased this land and contracted this house to be built. By the winter of ’03 I was settled and out of sight.”
“Why here?”
She smiles. “Why not?” Then her face changes. “I made a big mistake getting this painting done. A lost child walks into my backyard, the sheriff shows up, sees the painting and the next thing I know I’m entertaining a bunch of save-the-sabre-tooth people, inviting strangers into my home, my fortress against the searching eyes of Vandermill’s people. Part of what did it is living here in isolation for so long. It drives one’s mind to do stupid things just for human interaction.”
I nod my head. “I can certainly understand that.”
“Yeah, well, it’s going to get me killed if I don’t get a handle on it right now.”
“Killed?”
“I know too much about Victor’s operation. He probably has orders to kill me on sight—a special incentive for the one who does.”
“Aren’t you being a little paranoid?”
“I don’t think so. I also think he’ll find me quietly so that I won’t see him coming. He’ll think that if I get wind of him, I’ll scream to the Feds.”
“Would you?”
“I have three different FBI office phone numbers committed to memory. I also have a letter filed with my attorney. The instructions are to open it only if I die by a mysterious means. It gives the government everything they need to find him. And if you recommend witness protection, forget it! That leaves both a paper and a digital trail that can be followed if you know enough people in the right places, which he does. The way I did it, there is no trail. As long as I don’t do something where I have to give fingerprints or allow my photograph to be taken, I should be okay. By the way, I want that photograph that Reba took destroyed.”
“She broke her camera.”
“It’s still on the card. It has to be erased.”
“I think you’re going to have to tell her that.”
“I will. I need to have a private conversation with Tanya as well. I’ll tell her exactly the same thing I just told you.”
“I certainly see the need to keep you and your history secret, so why reveal it to us?”
“Because people do things, say things, make decisions based on misinformation or simply a lack of all the information. If your wife walks out of here with nothing more than what she saw, and my old name, what’s to keep her from mentioning it to someone? Give her all the information and maybe she’ll do the right thing.”
I’m sure she’s right, and she probably wouldn’t have to say anything. Tanya’s not one to wave our dirty laundry about. She’d just let it boil inside, occasionally blowing her relief valve against my hide. “What about Becky? I’m not so sure she’ll be tight lipped.”
“How much does she know beyond our little fling?”
“She knows Samantha Sikorski used to be Aileen Bravelli.”
She bangs her head against the back of her chair. “Damn! I’ll have to talk to both of them at the same time.”
“I believe she has also mentioned it to Matt.”
She stares up at the ceiling for a minute, long enough that I wonder if the conversation is over. I start to get up. “Shit!” she screams. “I don’t want to go through this again—running and changing my name. And it’s all because that little brat bitch of yours decided to vacation herself in my backyard. Of all the places in the world she could have runaway to, why here?” Suddenly she is looking past me, up at the stairs again. The look on her face tells me that this time there’s someone there. I twist around to see the angry faces of my wife and daughter on the top landing. In the words of someone I read somewhere, “Things got bad, then they got worse. Just when I was sure it was near over, it got worser.” I have a gnawing, twisting hunk of acid bile in the pit of my stomach telling me that there’s yet another “worser” waiting in the wings. I don’t like it when my gut talks to me like that; what it tells me too often comes true.
Becky turns and walks out of sight. Tanya’s face turns deadpan. “We are leaving to find a motel. You can continue with your little social for as long as you wish. When you decide it’s time to return home, don’t bother. If I were you I’d find an apartment and a lawyer.” She looks at Aileen. “Sam or Aileen or whoever the hell you are, I’ll call in the morning for someone to come haul Reba’s car from your yard. I’d like to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I’d hurt you.” With that she turns and walks out.
“No, wait!” Aileen screams, and then jumps up. She is up the stairs two or three steps at a time. I follow but trip and fall on the steps. When I stumble onto the porch Tanya is striding toward her car, shaking Aileen’s hand off her arm.
“Don’t touch me you bitch.” This sets Aileen back just long enough for Tanya to get her door open and get in. I can see Becky in the passenger seat, her eyes on me, full of sympathy and anger. Dirt and gravel fly from under the car until the tires catch hold. It rockets backward and then twists around and skids to a stop. Aileen is running after her, yelling, “Wait! We have to talk first! Wait! Wait!”
The tires spin again but this time Aileen jumps in front. Tanya slams on the brakes and slides to within inches of Aileen’s legs. Aileen puts her palms onto the car hood and yells, “We’ve got to talk.”
It is just dark enough and far enough from the yard light that I cannot see Tanya’s reaction but from the way Aileen drops her head in defeat, I can tell it is an adamant, “No,” The car backs up in another cloud of dust and then surges around her. This time Aileen doesn’t jump in the way. Instead she goes stiff, quickly turns 360 degrees, and then lets out a high pitched, ear-splitting wail.”
Chapter 36
Reba
I cannot believe how my life is going to shit. My beautiful car is now a piece of junkyard trash, Dad is having this sexual thing with Sam or Aileen or whoever the hell she is, Mom is heading for the crazy farm, they’re getting divorced—which I can certainly understand from both their points of view—and I’ve become a freak.
I’m a ready-to-go-to-work-for-the-circus freak. Drop down your five
bucks and I’ll read your mind. Another five and maybe I can tell you how you’ll die.
Shit to hell!
It’s all my fault. This whole thing is because of me. Mom and Dad wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my wanting to get away. Why did they have to come after me? Why couldn’t they just believe me that I could take care of myself? I was doing just fine until Dad showed up. Now I find out that Sam thinks I’m a brat bitch. All this time she was faking it, pretending like she liked me and was pleased that I had come. She didn’t really want me here. I was just a brat bitch interrupting her life. I may be a brat bitch, but she’s a whore bitch.
I give her the finger and don’t give a shit if my mom is sitting next to me. I want to yell out the window that she’s a whore bitch, but I can’t quite bring myself to go that far.
“Fuck you, Bitch!” Mom growls. I’m shocked because I’ve never heard that kind of language come out of her mouth before. She backs the car from where Sam is leaning on the hood and screaming that we have to talk. She turns to go around and I expect Sam to jump in front again, but she doesn’t. As we go past, almost close enough that I could reach out and touch her, everything in my sight disappears, except for her and an incredible raging storm of crimson and magenta light around her.
“Stop! Stop!” I yell at Mom and fumble for the door handle. Something’s about to happen. I don’t know what it is but I’ve got to get out . . . “Stop!” I have to get out! The car stops as I finally catch the handle and the door flies open.
Then the scream begins.
It’s nothing like I’ve ever heard before, except maybe at a rock concert when Snake Skin tried to hit a frequency and db level combination he claimed could be heard on Mimas, the Death Star moon of Saturn. The sound coming from Sam reminds me of that. Just as I put my hands to my ears it stops, or the pitch is so high that it slipped past the edge of the human range. And then I’m seeing inside her head. I want to stop it. I had decided that I would not look into anyone’s mind ever again, that I’d turn it off as soon as I saw it happening. But I can’t turn this off. It’s as though someone has started a movie and then locked my head in place and my eyes open so that I have no choice but to watch.
Somewhere in the distance Mom is screaming at me to get back into the car, but it’s like she’s on the other side of a thick wall of cotton, her voice overpowered by visions in my head, visions of cats rising out of dark places with huge orange eyes and enormous flashing white teeth with gigantic overbites, the same that I saw while pressed and shaking against Matt’s back; only for some reason this is more fearsome. It’s not as though they’re about to attack and bite my head off. They’re in her mind—her thoughts. No reason to be scared of that.
But the sabre-toothed cats are there, many of them, and they are coming. I also understand that some are actually here already, watching us, and that they will not harm us as long as we do what Samantha demands. They are here at her bidding, summoned by her, the sabre-toothed goddess.
Mom’s hands are on me; pulling me. I push her off over and over again; her screaming words are flat and filtered. I turn my face to her. “Mom! Back off!”
My words do not pass by my vocal cords. I only think them but all of a sudden she is leaving me alone, and she has shut up. The high pitch from Sam has also stopped. She is turned to face me, her arms angled slightly away from her body, fists clenched, eyes glaring with the same angry intensity as her aura. I can feel her, or I feel the essence of her, or the spirit of her. Every nerve ending around every pore begins to tingle until it feels as though my skin is about to turn inside out, until it’s as though we are one.
Chapter 37
Zach
When the screaming stops I’m off the porch and on the run to where the three women are engaged. Tanya is battling Becky who is knocking her advances away as though she is nothing more than a bothersome house fly. Becky gives her “the look” and suddenly Tanya steps back. I skid to a stop next to the car, Brian and Matt right along side of me. Aileen’s aura is raging and images are flowing off of her at a rate that I cannot keep up with. My mind is being flooded with sabre-toothed cats appearing out of dark forests. A single vignette takes focus on a single pregnant female. She watches her kind walk away and then turns and disappears.
“Nobody’s leaving!”
The words are what I expect from Aileen, from what I’m seeing anyway, and am surprised that the voice is not a cross between human and sabre-toothed cat. Having been bit by one and survived, is she now part cat, the equivalent of a sabre-toothed vampire? I have to shake off my crazy imagination as I suddenly realize that the voice is not coming from Aileen at all. It is instead coming from my daughter. She turns around and addresses us.
“Nobody leaves until Samantha says they can leave, until there has been an understanding, an agreement.”
“Becky,” Tanya says softly, her anger momentarily set aside. Her voice turns to a whine. “Get in the car, please!”
“You don’t understand, Mother. You’re not leaving.”
“The hell with this shit!” Brian says and turns to head for his truck.
“Do not try it, Mr. Shwartzberg. They will not let you out.”
“Who won’t let me out?”
Becky points up the drive. “Them.”
“Dad!” Matt grabs Brian’s arm. “Sam’s called the sabre-toothed cats.”
Up the dirt road, not quite at the top, just visible in the last bit of light are three huge animals, the largest lying, looking down at us, the other two pacing behind him, altogether probably a ton of roadblock muscle between them with six sabre teeth. Becky Points again. We turn around. Another is standing next to the barn. She points a third time to another at the entrance to the trail.
“No one leaves. Go back to the house and wait.” Becky steps forward and takes her mother’s arm. Tanya doesn’t move, her hand frozen to the open car door. “It’s okay, Mom. They’re not going to hurt us as long as we go back to the house. You’ll be safe there.”
I take Tanya’s other arm and together we pry her from the car. Once clear I let loose of her long enough to turn off the engine and then we walk as a family to the house. I look back. Aileen is still standing where we left her. She is relaxed now, slumped forward, her arms limp, her eyes cast to the ground.
Matt and Brian are already on the porch; Matt is holding the door. “This is it, ain’t it?” Brian demands. “Just like I said. She’s a spirit.” Matt has the same curious but white-faced questioning look.
“Let’s get inside. I’m sure she’ll be in shortly.” What should I tell them, or should I leave it for her to tell? I don’t know the whole of it, though. Is her fear of Victor only paranoia. Does he in fact have a death warrant out for her; an army of ears all over the country listening for news of her. It’s been too many years. He would have given up by now, wouldn’t he have? No one is that tenacious. Sure he would hold a grudge but would he keep a paid force out there looking?
He’s worth a billion. Why not?
The women go in, Tanya on Becky’s lead—I’m suddenly very proud of my daughter. They’re followed by Matt, and then Brian after he gives me a long, questioning look. I catch the door and look back at where we left Aileen. It has suddenly turned very dark, more from my eyes constricting against the interior light, I’m sure, than from the looming night. The yard light reflects off of Tanya’s rental car. Beyond the car I see nothing. I remember my last look at her with her head hanging down in sorrow . . . or maybe defeat. “She’s a spirit,” was Brian’s comment. How did she do it? What kind of power does she have that she can control these huge cats? In the rocks she simply pointed at them and they seemed to run away. Samantha Sikorski. The Sabre-toothed Vampire. The Spirit of Smilodon.
At the far reaches of the yard light, just inside the trees, a pair of lights, too much like a pair of big cat eyes, blink off and then back on. I shiver and go inside.
Chapter 38
Becky is sitting next to her mother on an
overstuffed leather sofa. She’s holding her hand and talking quietly to her. Brian’s voice comes from somewhere I can’t see. I find him and Matt on the other side of the fireplace. There’s a phone pressed to the side of Brian’s face. I expect he’s talking to Sharon, letting her know he’ll be home late. Maybe he’s telling her more, a lot more, or maybe he’s telling someone else. There’s a nagging twist in my stomach. I step in and give the football timeout signal with my arms. He creases his brow. “Let me know what else you find. Yeah, no shit.” He hangs up. “What?”
“Who’re you talking to?” I ask.
“I want to say it’s none of your business. But it is your business, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” I’m trying to get a read off the two of them but they’re clammed up tighter than a Swiss bank.
He grins. “You and your girlfriend.”
“What!”
“Sitting out there with a headache didn’t turn my eyes and ears off. I’m too long a trained cop to stop putting little clues together. All day there’ve been little things that seemed odd, but there was nothing that could turn the old light bulb on until Matt told me what he learned from your daughter. Then I really started paying attention. We have a very interesting situation.”
“What do you mean, my daughter?” I turn toward Matt. “What the hell did she tell you?”
Matt backs away a step and Brian puts his hand on my chest, a big law enforcement hand. “What he learned is that Sam is not really Sam. She’s Aileen . . . Aileen Bravelli, and it seems you and she had a little thing going at one time. . . maybe you still do.”
“No! That’s all in the past,” I stammer. “That’s not the issue today. And Aileen Bravelli is dead. Who the hell did you just talk to?”
He drops his hand and says, “Bravelli!” as if hearing it from my lips makes it different. I can almost see his memory banks kicking into high power. “That’s the woman you said was carried off by a sabre-toothed cat, isn’t it? She was listed as dead.” His eyes slip out of focus for a second as his thoughts continue reforming. “Humph.” He steps back.
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