by J. L. Hickey
Lydia closed the laptop. She fought back a giant yawn, the coffee proving not enough to fend off her exhaustion. She dropped the passenger seat’s visor, where a small rectangle mirror exposed her smokey eyes. Lydia was tired; even the makeup couldn’t hide the dark bags under her sunken eyes. She hadn’t slept well since she received the frantic phone call from Haylee a few nights back. She remembered her voice, even after all the years, before she even said her name, ‘Haylee,’ she knew who she was speaking with. The girl she lost, the girl she wasn’t able to save.
Lydia had been on edge ever since she received the phone call. She and Jeanie worked late in their office, nearing midnight. The phone call wasn’t long, Lydia spoke briefly to the person on the other end. Lydia’s face had gone pale, ghastly white. Jeanie figured it out before Lydia had even expressed that this was something important, not the run-of-the-mill client.
Lydia was a bit shaken up. She insisted the two of them meet with the client as soon as possible, and to start making reservations for a small little town in northern Michigan called Emmett County. They were to leave the following morning, which they did.
Lydia wasn’t great company on a road trip, but Jeanie was used to that. It was her job to transport Lydia wherever she needed. A sort of twenty-four-hour assistant. She booked her hotels, flights, manage her schedule. She was compensated well, and found pleasure in her work, helping others like her. They had driven all over the United States, even traveled internationally. Lydia Cayce was world-renowned for her talents and was able to make a small fortune to fund her business.
“I’m exhausted Jeanie, ever since I spoke with her, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat.”
“You have been high strung,” Jeanie replied. “I have never seen you like this on a case? Especially one you’re doing pro-bono.”
“This one is special, one from my past. One that I failed; I owe it to her. I could hear her disparity over the phone. She has hanging on by a thread. I’m worried it may be too late by the time we get there. She may be too far gone.”
“Worse than me?” Jeanie never liked to compare her own case with others, but when Lydia walked into her life, she saved her from the voices. Thank God, because it was almost too late for her as well. She had already tried multiple times to silence them with an overdose of pills, mangled wrists from multiple attempts of bleeding them out. She knew what it was like to be haunted, followed, preyed on by the darkness. Lydia was the only one who empowered her to reclaim her life.
“I was able to spend time with you, ease you out of it. We had time to train you to control it,” Lydia smiled at her. “I was never given a chance to with her.”
“I see,” Jeanie drove down the long country road. She was overly cautious from the barrage of snow that had fallen over the week. Wind drifts could get nasty out in the open barren farmlands of Michigan, blowing the snow over the roads even when it wasn’t coming from the sky. Large ditches on each side of the neglected Michigan road made for a bumpy ride as it was, losing control, ending up in a six-foot ditch, was not on their agenda for the day.
“About ten minutes according to the GPS,” Jeanie added, both hands squeezing the wheel.
“Excellent,” Lydia nodded. She was focused, tapping a pen against her thigh. “We should be there just before noon.”
“Right on time,” Jeanie smiled. “I’m getting good at this.”
“When we get there, we will have a quick huddle session in the car. I will have a job for you to do,” said Lydia, she playfully raised her eyebrows “Solo. A bit of investigating on your own.”
“Yeah, Okay,” Jeanie smiled with excitement. Usually, she stood by Lydia taking notes of the home, of the client’s answers, facial expressions, features. She was basically a walking scribe for everything that happened. This was going to be her first time taking up a part of the investigation.
“We will be here a while, a week or two, depending on what we find. But I was doing research. I have been following Haylee since she popped back up in the news a few years back. Jeanie…” Lydia’s voice turned serious, “We may be dealing with a projectile meta-identity.”
“A what?” Jeanie asked
“Haven’t you been keeping up with your homework?” Lydia frowned. “You’re not just my travel partner. You’re my protégé. You have the gift, but you need to hone the skills and ingest all the knowledge you can. We’ve talked about this, I will pay you as an assistant, but you also have to be my understudy. You have a gift; you can help people.”
“I know, but…a Projectile Meta-Identity? I have been studying poltergeists, demonology, Babylonian mythology. I have never heard of this meta thing?”
“Then you are not studying hard enough,” Lydia added. “Simple as that. We’ll talk more when we get there. Until then, tell me what you know about the manifestation of demons.”
“Well,” Jeanie began racking her brain…
THIRTY-FOUR
Gary was failing his mother, and because of this she was going hungry. He, too, craved the taste of human flesh. The longer he went without fulfilling his pangs of hunger, the sharper the stomach pains tore at him. Like razor blades, shredding his innards. The fat one was supposed to be his feast for him and his mother. How reckless he had been, attacking him in the home, right next to her.
Gary was a far cry from the man he once was. He was something new, simpler. He didn’t need the things his old life thought was important. His new existence was free of complexities. He had his mother, his love. She was a part of him now, they shared a conscious, needs, wants, desires. Yet, he knew he needed to stay smart, cunning. If he wanted to succeed in keeping them well fed, he had to plan, strategize.
The first thing he needed was new clothes. He looked like a feral beast; he caught the reflection in the mirror of the car before he fled into the snowy woods. A Wildman man had replaced his once youthful looks. He spent the last few days roaming the forest, noting a few different houses not too far from his mother’s Den. His hunting grounds.
Tonight, after the failure of his last attack, he needed to regroup. There was a small home, and he had watched it a few times over the week. He sat in the darkness of the wood and stalked, observed. It was a few miles down the road from his first two victims. An older woman, weak, feeble, lived alone. Never any visitors.
An easy meal.
Gary had awoken the morning after his failure, the hunger overbearing. His stomach cramped, like his bowels knotting together. The pain was unbearable. Despite the physical trauma, he had made haste. The sun had just risen; he was already on foot, headed to the home. The whiteout had ceased, but traversing through the thick downfall was tiresome. When he had his full, feasting off the flesh of the Simmons, there was no pain. His muscles never burned; he never tired. But it had been almost a week since he tasted flesh and failing his mother’s needs, she was not eager to let him suckle at her teats either.
Gary, or what once was Gary, made his way to the forest’s edge after hours of hiking. The small home came into view once he broke the woods. It looked more like a cottage than a house, hunkered down on a small moor that looked over the forest. It was old and poor, just as Gary new the owner to be as well. It was still before noon, and the home was quiet. Gary studied its tidings, a single light shown through the kitchen window. She was awake as was her only companion.
A lone dog, medium-sized strolled about the backyard—a lab of some sort, old, matching the theme of the home and the elderly woman. The shades of white and grey had taken over its coat of black fur. The dog moved gingerly through the snow, bad hips, achy bones. Gary studied the home further, formulating his plan. It would be easy to invade; a thin backdoor faced the forest. He wagered one strong kick would fold the backdoor in half: nothing but an old mutt standing betwe
en him and his next victim.
The stomach pains were finally subsiding as his adrenaline kicked in, his mouth salivated with anticipation. He approached the home, stalking quietly. The old dog, trusting for whatever reason, barked only once and ran to him, tail wagging. It stopped a few feet in front of him, cautiously its ears lowered, as well as its head. It must have sensed something wrong. It stared at Gary, curled its lips, growled. Gary smiled at the bitch before he attacked. Gary went for the dog, but for an old mutt, it was still fast. It bit down hard onto his forearm, despite the gruesome attack, he no pain. The dog pulled and yanked at his arm, unwilling to release its grip.
Gary cursed beneath his breath. The dog growled with his forearm trapped between its jaws. Blood sprayed over the white snow, but it did not stop Gary. He was focused, numb to the pain.
Gary was able to lift the mutt with ease. Despite the dog’s attack, Gary went for the kill spot. His jaws opened wide and ripped into the dog’s throat. He tore into its neck. The dog yelped, releasing the bite, trying to attack Gary’s face. Blood dripped down Gary’s mouth as he chewed into the dog’s throat. Chunks of flesh in his mouth, the sweetness of its blood, the tenderness of its flesh. Once the dog stopped fighting back, Gary slammed it hard against his knee, trying to break its back. He dropped it into the snow.
The dog lay there, rapidly bleeding out. It desperately gasped for air, the life from its eyes quickly fading. Gary kneeled, he tore at the wound with his hands, he continued his feast. He was lucky to come across the dog. A small snack, regaining some of his strength. He had grown weak without fuel. Mother would not feast from the body of a wild animal. It only feasted on the flesh of humans. Even Gary could tell the difference. Despite the easy meal, he wasn’t there for the dog.
THIRTY-FIVE
“Here we are, Haylee Leveille’s current residence,” Jeanie came to a stop in front of modern style duplex. A cozy area, in a quiet Michigan neighborhood. It wasn’t remote like her former residence on the country road, but there was enough isolation from her neighbors that gave plenty of seclusion. The nearest duplex was across the street and down away, about a quarter-mile. The duplex itself sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, which was surrounded by a tiny patch of forest. Nothing like the State Forest, but decent enough.
“What’s that?” Jeanie pointed to Aaron’s side, where police tape covered his side of the porch. The snow was thick, and no one had bothered to shovel the approach. The massive blitz of snow remained untouched, except for footprints and tire tracks from their vehicles going in and out the last twenty-four hours. Jeanie shifted the car into park, kept it running.
“There was a break-in, she told me all about it last night,” Lydia explained.
“I see,” Jeanie studied the duplex, biting her lip. “You didn’t inform me of that. Is it safe here?”
“Yes, of course, it’s safe. And there wasn’t to inform. Her current neighbor, a friend of hers, named Aaron, was attacked by who the man who killed her former neighbors. His name is…” Lydia pulled out a manilla folder, digging through her notes. “Let’s see…Gary Thom.”
“That’s sort of a big deal,” Jeanie argued. “We’re investigating a crime scene?”
“No, we’re investigating Haylee and her residence. The crime scene is her friend’s residence.”
“OH,” Jeanie didn’t quite care for the explanation. Lydia was the boss, so she would go along with whatever she needed. Didn’t mean she had to like it, though.
“Thoughts on energy?” Lydia quizzed.
“Already?” Jeanie tilted her head, unexpecting the question. “We haven’t even entered the home.”
“Right, but we are within a presence. I sensed it immediately when we pulled up. Its strong, Jeanie, lingering. Remember what we studied? Be open. What we tap into, it’s not always anchored to a building, item, or even a person. It can be in the air, the earth.”
“We have never investigated something like that,” Jeanie frowned. She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing. She focused on the energy around her. “I don’t. I don’t feel anything.”
“We need to strengthen your bond, because, even out here, in the vehicle, the energy is out of control. Something evil, powerful, has been here recently,” Lydia took out a tape recorder from her bag. She slipped it in her coat pocket. She thumbed through the pack, checking out the contents, replacing her envelope. “I got everything I need.”
“Do you want me to hang back and record?” Jeanie was curious to find out what her role would be in the investigation.
“No,” Lydia unbuckled her seatbelt. “Here,” she handed her a note with an address on it. “I need you to go there. Scope the place out. It’s vacant. Practice what we have been working on, center yourself in each room. Find your breathing and open the gate. Meet me back here in three hours. We will compare notes. Be careful.”
“What?” Jeanie looked confused. “You don’t want me to be a part of the visit?”
“This is a part of the visit, there are two locations,” Lydia explained. “You are going to the original home where Haylee lived before the double murder. Where Robbie killed Camille, and Haylee killed him in self-defense. I need you to do a walkthrough while I do this one. I spoke with the current owner of the home already. They gave us the go-ahead to have a look. It’s been vacant since the murders; they have been trying to sell it, but nobody wants the place. He will meet you there with the keys to let you in.”
“You want me to do run that part of the investigation?” Jeanie’s excitement grew. She always ran as Lydia’s assistant. Finally, she was given a chance to go out alone into the field.
“You are ready,” Lydia nodded. “You have been my apprentice for over three years. You are more experienced in this field than almost anyone else in the world. It’s time to put you to the test. Are you ready?”
“I am?”
“Good,” Lydia opened her car door. She stepped out, buttoned up her winter jacket to cover her neck from the cold air. Her head popped back into view before closing the door. “—Hey?”
“Yeah?” Jeanie smiled widely.
“I know you are excited about this, but be careful. I am not sure what’s going on yet, but I’m already not liking the energy out here.”
“I know the drill,” Jeanie replied. “I will make sure to call you if anything demonic comes up.”
“No,” Lydia cut her off. “I want you to leave the premises immediately if any of those signs pop up. Then call me, understood. Leave, then call.”
“Yes,” Jeanie nodded.
“What are the signs?”
“Violent mental images, overwhelming dread, depression, suicidal thoughts, sulfur smell, disembodied animalistic noises.” Jeanie began jotting off the list.
“Good,” Lydia nodded. “Be careful, the owner of the building’s name is John Carey, he will show you around. He was nice enough to let us in. He was a fan of the show, so he was quite excited.”
“Okay, good,” Jeanie smiled.
“Good luck,” Lydia shut the door.
She made her way up the approach; the snow hit past her ankles, halfway up her shin. She wadded through it, cursing herself for not wearing boots. She made it through the approach, stood before the front door. She took off the glove from her right hand. She gently touched the metal door frame; the freezing air stung her exposed skin. A sudden overwhelming emotion of fear flooded over her, like a surge of unrealistic energy came crashing through her body—fear, sadness, an uncontrollable sense of grief, and punishing anxiety. Lydia let out a small whimper, pulled her hand back quickly. She took a deep breath.
That was bad, really bad.
She knocked on Haylee’s door.
THIRTY-SIX
Gary left the dog’s carcass mangled in the snow. Its body in pieces, a gutted corpse. The dog was nothing, a warm-up. Once a beloved pet, now reduced to nothing but a heap of bones and blood. Its carcass soiled the snow with the brutality of death. The dog, although sweet, delicious even, did nothing to curb the constant longing for human flesh. The deprivation of it gnawed at him, drove him mad. He salivated at the mere thought of his victim, falling prey to his hands. Mother would never feast on anything short of human, and a dog would not do. He could not return to her for a second time bearing no gifts, no food. He needed the old woman.
He stalked through the kitchen window of the elderly woman’s home. It was empty; the light above the sink was on. Dirty pans littered the top of the stove, a well-used skillet sill greasy from the morning bacon, a hearty breakfast, no doubt. Gary waited for a sign of life, yet the house remained silent. No movement.
It appeared empty.
Lifeless.
He studied patiently for ten more minutes before he decided to enter. Breaking in was simple. He found a window unlocked, crawled in. It led him into a small laundry room in the back of the house. He searched the space silently, barely even breathing. He found a small toolbox underneath a battered cabinet. Bingo! Just what he was hoping for, potential weapons. The contents were old, dusty, much like the house itself. He chose a hammer for his weapon of choice. He would be careful, too much damage to her head would spoil much of mother’s favorite feast. The delicacy of human grey matter. The human brain.
He snuck through the small room, made his way into the kitchen. He could smell the aroma of bacon lingering from breakfast. The dirty plate still in the sink, unwashed, the iron skillet atop the stove, grease cooling. Nothing had been touched. She wasn’t far. He moved swiftly into the living room; the sound of a toilet flushed. Gary took to the long curtain drape, hid behind it.