by J. L. Hickey
The old lady was slow-moving as she exited the bathroom. Her body hunched over from years of bad posture. She tiredly made her way towards the kitchen with the aid of a walker. Gary came out from hiding. He tried to remain calm, but he failed. His excitement got the best of him, causing him to get careless, knocking over the nearby lamp. He froze.
“Jesus!” The old lady blurted. She turned her head to see the strange man wielding a hammer. Streaks of blood discolored his clothes, his face still wet with blood.
“My God!” her voice trembled.
Gary said nothing. Instead, he snarled, exposing his blood-stained teeth. He sprang into action. Like an animal, his hammer raised high above his head. He swung it downwards with all his might. The old woman had no time to defend herself. Helpless, old, fragile. She couldn’t even ger her arm raised in time to try and deflect the attack. Instead, the head of the hammer smashed into the women’s right eye. The blow caved in her brow., causing her to tumble silently to the floor. Her body made a sickening thud as she hit. She was dead weight by the time she fell to the hardwood. Her legs and arms twitched; she made no noise other than a light gurgling from her throat.
Gary stood before his victim. Not an ounce of humanity left in his body; there was no humility, no remorse. The woman was not a victim. This was survival. He would feast on her flesh, take her head back to his Mother, where the brain and eyes would be a delicacy. With that, he would be treated once again by his mother with her warmth, with the milk from her breasts. He thirsted for it, as much as he craved the human flesh. Yes, there before him, all the flesh he could eat.
Gary kneeled beside the woman. He opened his mouth full. He began, he started with her neck, tearing her throat open just to be sure she would not regain any sort of consciousness. He would move to her thighs, her breasts. He would take his time with the woman. Enjoy his full.
Mother would be proud.
THIRTY-SEVEN
A young woman opened the door. Her face was tired, beaten, bags lined her eyes. Her hair, jet black, fell to her shoulders. Lydia could tell the woman tried to hide the pain, the suffering. But it was still present. Her makeup was done, her hair styled, eyeliner, lip gloss. She looked like she had dressed and readied herself for a job interview. But behind the cosmetics was a layer of pain, nothing could soften.
Lydia recognized her immediately.
“Haylee?” Lydia’s heart gave way. Before her, with a faint smile, stood Haylee. The young woman she had known as an early teen. Naturally beautiful even back then, with or without the cosmetics. Her dark brown eyes remained the same, resilient. Her face hardened from the many emotional wars she no doubt endured. There, on the other side of the door, stood a warrior. Brave, stronger than she would ever give herself credit for.
“Lydia?” Haylee asked back.
Haylee flung her arms open with an embrace, hugging Lydia tightly. She wept into her shoulder like a couple of long-lost friends reunited. The tears wet Lydia’s jacket, probably mixed with snot as well. Haylee sobbed; it was ugly, hard. She cried a lot recently, and she hated it. It made Haylee weak, needy, out of control of her emotions.
“Lydia,” she caught her voice. “Thank you for coming. Thank you so-so-so much.” She failed to control the tears.
“Darling, I’m happy to have come,” Lydia pulled away softly. She looked into her eyes, studied them. “Dry those eyes. It’s a pleasure to reconnect with you after so many years.”
“I’m so sorry,” embarrassed, Haylee wiped away the tears.
“Don’t be,” Lydia replied. “We had a powerful connection when you were younger. I’m sorry we couldn’t continue with our visits. I got your letters, and I have them all. I brought them here with me. I saved them until they stopped coming,” she patted her large messenger bag.
“You got them?” Haylee frowned. “You never replied? I thought you never received them or hated me because we stopped our visits.”
“Oh, I did reply. I promise you I did. I figured you weren’t getting them when you grew desperate for me to reply. When I realized you were not receiving them, I tried calling even. I promise you I did.”
“I threw them out,” Gerald had snuck up behind them. He spoke bluntly, to the point. “Sorry, parked down the road. You said noon. I’m a few minutes late.”
“You threw them away?” Haylee’s face burned red. It was intense anger, pure. Her jaw clenched tightly, holding back a flurry of emotion.
“Yes,” Gerald replied. “Am I still invited to this gathering?” he looked at Lydia, his eyes unwavering. “I would like to be here.”
“Mr. Leveille,” Lydia offered a sincere smile. “We never met before. But I know much about you.”
“I’m sure you do,” Gerald did not offer his hand.
“I can’t believe you,” Haylee lost it. Anger overrode her entire body. Her mind warped with hatred. She slapped her father as hard as she could. The noise echoed through the house.
“Shit!” Aaron jumped. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on the reunion, stood back for his turn to meet Lydia.
Gerald didn’t raise his hand to block the slap; he stood there and took it. He let her have that, that moment of aggression, taking out years of frustration on him. He stared into his daughter’s eyes. His face now swelled with the shape of a handprint across his right cheek. He turned his head, spit out a small amount of blood into the snow.
“Nice hit,” he wasn’t joking. His daughter packed some power. A bit of him was proud of that.
Gerald was not angry; he showed no aggression. His eyes watered, not from the blunt force of her slap. It did hurt, but he had been in his share of brawls. Fights that broke jaws, cracked clavicles. No, this was a worse pain, the pain of a failing parent. Or was it even worse than that? Was it failure mixed with jealousy? Haylee was so happy to see this woman, this crook. This woman barely spent any time with her as a child. How could she be so excited to see her? He was there every day, through the death, the blood, the pain, the murders.
Gerald was crushed.
Betrayed.
Failure and jealousy, a potent mixture.
“Haylee,” Lydia grabbed her by the arm. She pulled her away from her dad. “Honey, it’s okay.”
“I deserved that,” Gerald nodded. “I’m sorry I did that.”
“What?” Haylee’s jaw dropped. Her father apologized? Never?
“Its cold out here, can we go in? Warm-up?” asked Lydia, trying to break the tension.
“Uh, yeah…of course,” Haylee stepped back into her home.
Lydia made her way passed into the living room as well.
“Hi!” Aaron waved with a broad smile, his hand extending for a handshake. “I’m Aaron, can I get your coat? Maybe an autograph? Both? I’m kidding, not really, though. That shit was intense, no? Sorry, I talk a lot when I get nervous.”
“—Aaron! Not now,” Haylee shot a stern look. She stepped in front of her father, blocking him from entering. “We’re not done with this conversation,” She whispered to him, calming herself. The slap helped. It felt empowering. It felt damn good. “If you walk through that door, you are to listen and not argue. Understood?”
“I do,” Gerald nodded.
“Okay…” Haylee nodded. She let him pass. She closed the door, locked it behind him. Haylee looked over to Aaron, disappointed. “Sorry, Lydia, Aaron has a crush on you. Big fan of your old show. I asked him to behave. He obviously can’t.”
“Sorry,” Aaron’s cheeks flushed. “She’s right, though,” he stammered. “I mean, about the behaving part.”
“Oh darling, that’s cute. I could be your mother,” Lydia chuckled.
“My mom do
esn’t have badass tattoo’s like you,” Aaron helped Lydia slip out of her winter coat, admiring the artwork on her arms.
Lydia was nearing fifty, and she embraced age gracefully. Her hair was naturally black with slivers of silver styled through it. It was natural but enhanced. Whether it was her age or the talents of her hairstylist, she wore it well. Sophisticated, confident, Lydia had an aurora about her. When she walked into a room, people took notice.
She let Aaron take her jacket. Her body was trim, thanks to her daily routine. Morning workouts, afternoon yoga, and a strict carb-free diet. She wore a black blouse that highlighted her tattoos. She had a canvas of them, full sleeves on both arms. A monument of ghostly images, various spirits on one arm wrapped within a colorful and vivid floral background.
Her other arm was tattooed with a sleeve of a blackened shaded forest. Thick woods stretched up through her forearms to her elbow, where the trees bloomed in full explosive shades of green—above that, nearing her shoulder, a beautiful colored night sky lined with stars and a bright yellow moon. The two pieces on her arms connected across her chest and through shoulders, creating one intricate body mural, spilling into one another. Forest meeting coral, spirits meeting stars.
It was evident the attention Aaron was showing Lydia. Perhaps a small part of Haylee felt a tinge of jealousy, which she quickly waved off. Ridiculous, jealousy was something she was not ready to handle.
“I love your ink,” Aaron admired the work. “I want to get a sleeve myself, thinking maybe of my favorite horror movies. Jason, Freddy, the creature from the black lagoon.”
“Oh,” Lydia sniggered. “I like that idea. Yes, my artist is amazing. I dated a tattooist for quite a while. She did all the work for free over a few years. She is amazing with a tattoo gun. If your ever in New York, I can give you her number.”
“Oh,” Aaron was caught off guard with the subtleness of her reply. “Yeah, that’s awesome. She’s good. Very good.” He corrected himself.
Gerald snickered. “Smooth, kid. That’s one way of telling him to keep it in his pants.”
“—So,” Lydia continued, turning towards Haylee. “Haylee, I just wanted to tell you how thrilled I was that you reached out to me after so many years. After we lost touch, I felt terrible. We never reconnected. My life got busy, the television show, the book deal I signed. Excuses, I know. I am sorry for that.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” Haylee waved off the apology. “If I would have received your letters,” she shot her dad a terrible look. “We would have never lost touch.”
“That is true,” she said. “It would have been nice.”
“I’m just glad I kept your card,” Haylee added. “I was afraid to call you because I thought when you never replied to my letters...I dunno, I just, I was afraid maybe you hated me.”
“I’m glad you still had it after all those years. I’m here now. We can catch back up. A lot has happened.”
“Yes, so how do we do this?” asked Haylee.
“Well, normally, I have my assistant run through the home. Take notes, get an understanding for the place. Just like we would do on the television show, then you and I, we would talk. Fill me in with everything that’s been going on. I know you said briefly on the phone things have escalated, you are at your wits end?’
“Yes,” Haylee replied.
“It’s been horrible lately,” Aaron added. “We’ve been sort of dealing with it together. Ever since the double murder in town shits been whacky as fuck.”
“I’m glad you had a friend,” Lydia replied. “This will be a bit different than how we ran the show, so bear with me. My assistant is working a secondary case so that I will do the walk through myself after our meeting.”
“Okay,” Haylee replied.
“As a former client, I know a little bit about your history. I will need to be brought up to speed over the last twenty-some years. When did things escalate? When did it go from bad to worse? Be sure to fill me in with any certain aspects of your life that may have triggered these issues. I know we have your father and your friend, Aaron, was it? But these questions could get very intimate, and I need one-hundred percent honesty if we are to do this right. Remember, no secrets, I can’t help with false information.”
“Yes, I know,” Haylee nodded. “They can stay. I want to be open with them about everything too. They need to hear this. All of it.”
“So, where do we start?” Lydia posed the question back at her. “Our last meeting, you were thirteen. There was an improvement in your life. I remember the visions were dimming; the voices were muting. The crystal I gave you to wear around your neck, the sage burnings when things got thick. They seemed to be helping you control it.”
Haylee took in a deep sigh. “Yes, then my dad found out and forbid our meetings. He and my mother got into a huge fight about it, which inadvertently caused her death. It was a car wreck. After all, that, the crystal and the sage burning at night before bed; it all stopped working. Things escalated quickly. Everything got worse, darker, violent.”
Lydia peered over to her Gerald, studying him. He sat, his head down towards the floor, staring between his legs, his mouth pursed into a frown. He said nothing; he was tense, labored breathing. She could sense the raw anger emitting from his core.
“I had to hide that stuff from my dad for as long as I could. It became hard to, and when the sage ran out, I had no real way of getting any more. Not till I was older, but by then, I had given up. It stopped working anyway. I was a wreck when my mom died. I think, with all the pain, emotional stress, it was like amplifying it somehow.”
“Yes,” Lydia nodded. She pulled out a recorder and hit play. “Do you mind? For my notes?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, great. Yes, the stress of any kind can weaken the wall we were trying to build. Something so prolific in your life at such a young age? It probably shattered any defense you had from the veil. You remember, of course, when we spoke back then when you were a child. The gift, the ability to see through the veil, your connection with the spirits, the unnatural beings that call the darkness home. When it goes unchecked, it can warp your mind, bleed into your life, causing a lot of bad things. It can very much weaken you mentally and physically. Break you down.”
“I remember, yes,” Haylee replied.
Gerald sighed heavily. His mind wandered memories of his wife, the argument, the destruction of his family. He’d hated his wife for bringing Lydia into their home. A hack, a fake, someone who took a financial gain over other people’s misery. He sat there, listening to them talk, wanting to interrupt so bad. To throw her out of the home, drag her by her hair and toss her down the porch steps.
It was hard. Very hard. But he kept himself in check, bit his tongue.
“Despite people who may not believe you, Haylee, or in us, what I do. We know the truth, and how very evil it can be. Go on, how did you cope? How did you manage it?”
“I didn’t,” said Haylee.
“I got her to some specialists,” Gerald broke into the conversation. “They gave her medicine, anti-psychotics. Things got better in her high school years. Yeah, they got worse at first, obviously after the accident. She was depressed, who wouldn’t be?” Gerald interjected. “But she got better. Thanks to me, to the doctors.”
“Let them talk,” Aaron stopped him.
“She got better, until the shit with Camille,” Gerald swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring Aaron. His voice broke, cracked. He choked on the name of his daughter.
“Dad,” Haylee shook her head. “The pills never helped. I just lied, hid it. I faked it to them, so they would leave me alone. To keep the doctors away. I told them what I thought they wanted to hear. I got
sick of people not listening.”
“That’s not true, I remember. After a while, you began to smile again. The fear was fading in your eyes. You had good years in high school.”
“Sort of,” Haylee explained. “Truth is, it did get better for a while when I started drinking a lot. You never saw that I hid it. Every night, every single night through high school. I drank heavy. Blacking out would keep the dreams away. When the dreams went away, the visions, the sightings during the day, faded as well. When drinking got hard to keep up, I started doing harder drugs. Mostly opioids, pills that would knock me out with no hangover. Drugs offered me the escape.”
“You did what?” Gerald’s mouth fell agape. He dropped his head into his hands. “You were a pill popper? My daughter, a junkie? Right under my nose?”
“I escaped, the only way I knew how because you stopped me from going to the one person who was helping me!” Haylee stormed off into the kitchen. She returned with a large plastic bag of pill bottles. She dropped them onto the coffee table. “See? This is my life. I take pills. Norco works best, but anything that alters my mind numbs me, lets me blackout. Every day dad, I take these. If I somehow miss, I don’t find a way to numb myself, that thing returns. In my dreams, visions of horrid shit will pop into my brain at any time. This is how I cope. Pills. Pills and liquor.”
“You’re an addict,” Gerald rummaged through the pills, he tossed numerous empty pill bottles to the floor in a childish fit.
“Gerald,” Lydia spoke up. “I will ask you to leave if you can’t keep your acquisitions to yourself.
“Accusations?” Gerald was the one now in a rage. He tried to remain calm, but he lost it. In a fit, he flipped over the coffee table, holding the pills. They spilled, scattered across the carpet. “You are a criminal. You poisoned her mind with all this witchcraft bullshit. You made money off her pain, her misery. Now she’s an addict. She needs therapy. She needs to get clean. She needs help from professionals! You are a god-damned piece of shit! You ruined my life. You killed my wife! It’s your fault!”