Dark Mind

by Jennifer Chase

  He loosened his grip from her throat for just a moment.

  The room spun around her like a merry-go-round.

  The oxygen slowly returned to Emily’s head and she could think clearer. She didn’t take another moment to think about what to do next, but grabbed the pipe firmly in her right hand and swung it directly at Leo’s head, landing on the side of skull with a sickening crack. He dropped to his right side as blood gushed from the huge gapping wound.

  Instead of stopping, he kept coming at her, blood spurted to the level of a high-powered hose. He kept coming… coming…coming for her…

  Emily woke with a jerk and sat up straight in bed.

  It was a nightmare she lived over again, usually brought on by the stress of a new investigation. The incident had been more than a year previously, but at times felt like only moments ago. She knew that he was locked away in prison, but his face lived in her memory. It remained burned like a bad scar and would never be the same again.

  But it was the same now, only different.

  The ceiling fan rotated with a slow speed appearing to slow down time, minutes, and even seconds.

  The slight breeze felt consoling, but didn’t completely shelter the high humidity of the day.

  Emily swung her legs to the floor and sat a moment to regain her waking state of mind. She listened for Rick in the living room, but it was quiet. No paper shuffle or clicking of the computer keys cut through the even humming of the fan.

  He must be out again, she thought. Walking. She knew that his stress and tension was at an all time high. There was something more bothering him, but Emily trusted his instincts. If or when he was ready to tell her, he would.

  Emily took a deep breath, stretched her sore back and walked to the living room. It was empty, just as she thought it would be. There was a vacant, heaviness when Rick was gone. Some of the previous cases had taken their toll on him and seemed to push him into a state of rage, more than usual.

  The tropical breeze dropped in temperature and the wind felt like a relief on Emily’s bare legs as new bruises began to form from the day’s activities. A long needed rest was in order and the island seemed to be agreeing with her frame of mind. She wanted to stay for a few weeks to try and wash away some of the remnants of child abductors and ruthless killers.

  Sitting on the kitchen counter rested a bottle of red wine that had been decanting, one glass waited. This simple gesture made Emily smile, Rick always knew how to make her feel wanted and loved. She poured herself a glass of wine and picked a spot on the couch to relax.

  She noticed Rick’s laptop and wondered what was going on in the world and what child was missing or what new serial killer had struck again. She contemplated whether or not to flip open the computer and let her curiosity and fingers take on the task. Her addiction, to find these monsters was her own compulsion; but the worse part, there didn’t seem to be a cure – only justice.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday 2250 Hours

  The sound of the wind swayed through the trees and shimmered each long palm tree leaf like tentacles of an ambitious serpent, which awoke Carolyn’s body with a jolt. She stirred, still groggy from the forced sleep and couldn’t quite open her eyes as they were heavy lead weights, and she fought against her wishes with her hands and feet restrained, numb and unresponsive.

  Probing her mind for any recollection of where she was or what had happened, it left her blank and uneasy.

  Feelings of uncertainty pushed to the surface.

  She strained to listen beyond the familiar tree movement. The ocean was close because she could smell the salty, seaworthy air, but she wasn’t near the beach. It felt different. The air pattern moved independently than in the more dense locations of the island. The awareness reminded her of the sensation that lingered after looking at a beautiful painting of the beach instead of actually standing on the sand and watching the waves hitting the shore, rolling in and out.

  It was like being a part of the world, but not actually in it.

  It frightened Carolyn. She wondered if she had a stroke and had fallen into a deep coma with her last memories and thoughts reminiscent of her experiences on Kauai.

  Maybe she was dead? Was this what death felt like? Why won’t anyone talk to her?

  Carolyn expected to hear a voice asking her if she was all right or at least some low hushed tones talking about her prognosis.

  Nothing. No voice. No concerned citizen or hospital worker interrupted her mental examination.

  It was just the faint, loud steps of someone who was near her putting objects together: wood, metal, and a rustling swish.

  Footsteps approached closer, soft, quick, hitting a solid outdoor surface. Barefoot feet with a weighty heel impression pronounced. The heavy, purposeful stride must be a man or a stocky boy walking up and down a path. Sure and confident, they had been to this place before. It seemed to be regular ritual or mundane work of some kind.

  Her mind cleared, but her body wouldn’t oblige her will. She could barely move her arms or legs, hands or feet. Her left hand quivered, fingertips moved against each other and she could feel the twine that secured her wrist. She remembered a man or someone who followed her on her hike.

  Carolyn moved her dry lips. Her mouth crusted with a dry, sticky film and had the distinct acrid taste of metal.

  Nothing bound her mouth.

  No matter how hard she tried, words wouldn’t form. Only a low whisper lost in the wind.

  * * * * *

  Keolo’ewa.

  Keo loved to create a masterful piece of art for his gods. The creative task consumed him, deep within his core, and inspired his obsessive behavior to give the ultimate gift. The feeling gave him joy and peace, more than any present, holiday or birthday party.

  Every move he made orchestrated by whom he served.

  The abandoned sugar plantation provided a perfect hiding place for his well thought out project. He moved around to less traveled and forgotten areas of the island as his supplies were neatly tucked away in hidden areas until needed. He remembered as a boy when the mill flourished, but now it wasn’t meant for the new world. Times changed.

  Keolo’ewa.

  The god of black magic and sorcery would help those who helped them. That was what Keo, the dutiful apprentice, planned to do.

  It became clear to him when he was fourteen, as a child born to the island from local hippies. He never blamed his parents for the lack of friends or not going to a traditional school, even though he helped to grow and harvest marijuana plants and spent time finding available, free food. Learning to fish and hunt was a good time in his life, until he realized that he wasn’t like other kids. His head, filled with the ramblings of earth and environmental opportunists, as well as pot smoking dreamers, worked against him.

  Something deep inside him told him that his day was coming.

  He was destined for greatness.

  One defining moment in Keo’s life, scouring the island for anything used for building, camping, or eating, found him that fateful day. Sometimes, he roamed for days. He climbed down a high hiking trail to preserve some rocks that would prove to support a structure. The view and isolation high above the crashing Na’Pali coast acted as a moment of peace for the young Keo.

  His coordinated hands and feet lowered his body down to the next ledge. Left hand, right foot, the synchronized effort never failed him.

  A few crumbling pebbles showered down. The gravel then turned to rocks, as Keo lost his footing and tumbled twenty feet smacking his head against the cliff several times.

  His body rested on a small ledge, right arm and leg dangled over the edge above the jagged rocks below.

  Quiet.

  Still.

  On that life-changing day, his yearnings became a reality. He had heard a voice, distinct and powerful, with all the authority of the next universe. The price was he had to feed the gods. From that day his name was Keo, but only known to the gods
and not to humans.

  Keolo’ewa.

  Keo, now almost thirty in this time’s dimension, remembered that day sixteen years ago with vivid reminiscence. He felt that his existence on the island was only temporary and whenever his gods thought it was time – only then, he would then move on.

  Nighttime invited the most promising events.

  Keo now looked to the sky and knew that millions of eyes watched him, challenged and followed his moves, to make sure that everything was set perfect. His early sacrifices were fish, animals, and occasional mammals that he would trap, but now his new beginning was on the cusp of exploration.

  It was almost complete.

  He looked from the sky to his handiwork and gazed on Carolyn’s primed body. She lay whimpering softly unable to open her eyes, moving her hands and fingers in odd twitches. Her lean, tan body proved a natural sacrifice – the first victim in his own image.

  The bamboo stakes, carefully tended and pounded securely into the clay dirt, served as the sacrifice platform. Her arms and legs spread in a forty-five degree spread, body absent of any clothing or jewelry, except her engagement ring. She was flawless like the diamond.

  Keo stood up straight and gave many quiet thanks as he took the plastic gloves off of his hands, then tucked them neatly into his short’s pocket.

  His creative handiwork pleased him.

  A block of wood approximately ten inches square represented the neck and childish wickerwork represented the head. Red feathers covered the outer areas glued in place and an old metal bowl sat on top as the helmet. Carefully placed pieces of Carolyn’s hair stuck out from under the makeshift headdress. The final touch was the distended shark’s teeth, completing the horrid looking statue to appease the wondrous god of black magic.

  Removing a large hunting knife from the leather sheath affixed to his belt, Keo took an extra moment to admire the craftsmanship of the blade and marveled at the extreme sharpness. The tip hooked slightly and only accentuated the beauty along with the bleached bone handle.

  It felt good in his hand as he turned to face Carolyn’s fate.

  It felt really good.

  Keolo’ewa.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Wednesday 0925 Hours

  “I’ve done something bad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s really bad. Unforgivable. A sin. The biggest sin.”

  “Why is it so bad?”

  “It just is. I get so angry with these thoughts.”

  “Why do you get angry?”

  Timmy Phan shifted in the overstuffed armchair, not looking directly at his inquisitor. “There are things that you know are… just bad.”

  “You know that you can trust me, right?” She gently pushed.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s start with why you think it’s so bad.” Dr. Alexandra King kept her favorite silver pen tapping slightly on the side of her jaw and listened to the tone of Timmy’s voice. She jotted down notes from her patient and his difficulties with reality and fantasy. “Is this something that’s happening to you or have you been reliving it in your bad dreams?”

  “It’s hard sometimes. Harder than anything I’ve ever had to do in my life, even when I trained harder and harder as a professional surfer.”

  “Go on.”

  “I feel myself changing and I’m not myself. I’m not that person I was, the one that everyone could see.”

  Alexandra shifted in her chair, pushed her bare feet underneath her body, and smoothed her full skirt before she pursued her questions. “Who are you?”

  A light breeze flowed through the living room from the open wall of glass that led to a lush garden. The air infused with moisture along with the aroma of sweet tropical blooms lingered throughout the room.

  Timmy pushed off his flip flops and sat Indian style on his chair. He looked like a young boy instead of a man in his thirties. His eyes brightened and hands rubbed together like a child waiting to hear the most incredible story. His smile then faded, perhaps remembering something that made him sad.

  Alexandra waited patiently.

  He began, “I saw her, she was so beautiful, but I hated her.”

  It seemed to come full circle from the jolt of the breakup of his ex-fiancé, thought Alexandra. She knew that she could help him let these stresses go if he would just step back and let them go. “Why do you hate her?”

  “It’s who she is and why she’s here. Her entire being is for everyone else’s benefit and she could never love me. Never.”

  “If she can’t love you, then why spend time hating her?”

  Timmy cocked his head to one side as if listening or unsure what he had heard. His shaggy hair and dark expression changed. “I… don’t know…”

  Alexandra smiled slightly and brushed her long, brown hair over her right shoulder. She had asked that question on numerous occasions and Timmy didn’t answer. Now, he didn’t know. That was progress. She made a quick note to cut the dosage of his medication.

  Timmy continued, “I want to have a life and move on. Another life beyond surfing and her…”

  “You are, don’t you see that?”

  “I do when I’m here with you, but when I go back to my apartment it’s hard.” He looked down at his hands.

  “It is hard Timmy, but you are strong and you will get through this.” She smiled. “Are you practicing the relaxation techniques I gave you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have to keep journaling your thoughts, no matter what they are, even the bad ones, okay?”

  “But they are really bad sometimes.”

  Alexandra leaned forward. “It’s okay, get these thoughts out on paper and then you can let them go. Your anger has subsided drastically over the past two months. You should be very proud of yourself.”

  Timmy sat up straight and forced his feet to the floor just to the side of his sandals. He appeared to be lost in thought, this time something positive came to mind as he smiled. “Thank you.”

  Alexandra stood up and dropped her notepad on the chair. “Come on, enjoy the rest of your day and I’ll see you next week. If anything changes, call me. Okay? Anytime.”

  Slipping back into his shoes, he said, “Okay.”

  The doctor went to her desk and picked up a small piece of paper with some scribbling on it. “Here you go, have this filled and only take what it says.”

  Taking the prescription, he averted his gaze from Alexandra. “You saved me.”

  “You’re doing all the work Timmy. Keep it up.”

  Timmy left through the garden and Alexandra heard the gate lock click as he headed on down the gravel driveway, flip flops slapping his heels as he went.

  The clock read 10:00am and she didn’t have another patient until 1:00pm. Her desk was piled with notes and folders that needed to be updated. She didn’t like to tape her sessions because she felt that it left her separated from her clients. It may be old school, but that was the way she handled her practice for the past ten years.

  The part of her paperwork she dreaded the most were the updates she had to give the courts and police departments about her patients in regard to parole and early release. No matter what she wrote in her carefully scripted reports, the criminal justice system seemed to make her words sound tainted and even devious.

  Alexandra grabbed a bottle of water, a stack of reports, and headed out to her backyard patio. She loved to feel a part of the surroundings; it made work not seem like a chore. She noticed the morning newspaper lying on her walk and picked it up. Quickly scanning for anything interesting, her interest immediately stopped on the headline: Child Sex Traders Caught by Tourists.

  Reading the article, she learned that her friend Lani Candena was the police officer in charge of apprehending two felons, skeletal remains from the basement waiting to be identified, and recovering two little girls from the mainland before the FBI took over the case. This case would rock the Kauaiian community to its core, she tho
ught. The island was so peaceful and hard-hitting news never made its way to this tropical paradise. Times were changing.

  Alexandra picked up her cordless phone and dialed.

  The familiar gruff, non-nonsense voice answered, “Candena.”

  “Lani, it’s Alex. Just read the paper.”

  “Alex, can’t talk now.”

  “What’s wrong?” She noted his voice was tense.

  He hesitated. “Got a homicide at the old plantation.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday 1015 Hours

  A deep inhale freed the body and mind, leaving an almost dreamlike state.

  Exhale.

  Bubbles expelled in tiny clusters with a familiar sound of a large aquarium. The schools of fish burst with an array of colors in generous displays, and moved as one solid block of species drifting back and forth.

  Focused on the reef as tiny eyes peered and slipped back into their crevices, Emily gently kicked onward as her air bubbles followed in swirling sea clouds and then gradually dissipated before the next surge.

  The wonders of the warm water along the beautiful Kauai reef provided nothing less than breathtaking and an enchanting adventure at a perfect eighty degrees. Curious triggerfish, filefish, fantails, and a red squirrelfish scurried, unsure of the three divers as they approached and swam onward.

  Emily had been an avid scuba diver on the Monterey Bay, but her life had taken other directions in her quest for killers. She didn’t have the time anymore to enjoy the activity, but convinced Rick that they needed some fun and a different kind of quest on the island.

  Turning her body slightly to see Rick’s intense eyes staring at her through his mask, a slight smile formed around his regulator mouthpiece. He appeared to be enjoying himself and everything around in the living sea garden. It had only been a few dives for him, but he was a natural at anything athletic or adventurous.