CHAPTER 6:
The new arrival in question was a petite redhead, and it was visibly obvious from what I saw happening in front of me that she was this poor man’s worst nightmare. Unfortunately, he was not alone in that, as she was mine too.
I had a sense, within the vision at least, that a good deal of time had passed between what I had been witnessing moments ago and what I was seeing now. It appeared that the man was still alive, but judging from the visible wounds, blood, and burn marks on his face, I could only surmise that Miranda was well into his torture at this point.
As I watched, conflict stormed through my brain in the form of internal voices locked in a heated debate. One of them was demanding in no uncertain terms that I close my eyes or look away immediately. It was telling me I should do whatever it takes to break this connection. I knew in my gut this was the voice I should be listening to, but it was only one of the three bickering inside my skull; and, the other two were ganging up on it.
The second voice was countering that if I didn’t watch what was being offered, everything I had risked would be for naught. It was telling me I might miss a vital clue that would allow me to stop her. While that had once been a valid point, I wasn’t so sure if I believed it anymore.
The real problem was the second voice’s partner in all this. It was the one that worried me most. It came to me as little more than a murmur of support for the heretofore failing argument; however, I wasn’t completely fooled. I could sense that it had its own agenda with a horribly dark intent. But, even more frightening than its intent was the power it seemed to carry with it. I only wished that I had recognized that fact a bit sooner because it wasn’t until it had all but assumed control that I realized the source-it had joined forces with the sickeningly pleasant tickle that had been set loose in my body, and together they were drowning out all good sense and reason. As I had feared, Miranda was trying me on for size.
Even as I fought to maintain control, my tenuous grip on my perceived reality faltered, and the vision stepped in to take its place.
Though I can see her only in profile, I swear that my wife is in front of me at this very moment, sitting astride the bound man. She is positioned such that she is pitched backward; her arms are outstretched behind her, straining and rigid. Her hands are clamped firmly to his thighs as she supports herself. Her back is arched, and her chest is rising and falling at a quickened pace. I can hear her panting just as I can hear the man’s muffled squeals of agony.
She has one stocking-clad leg extended in front of her, bent slightly at the knee, and I see the muscles of her calf flexing as they keep a tight rhythm with her panting breaths. Her foot is pressed against the man’s upper arm, pinning it against the headboard. Her calf is flexing because she is slowly twisting her stiletto heel into the flesh of his bicep. The end of the spike disappears into the deep depression it has created, and blood is oozing from the wound.
Colors bloomed as realities once again shifted, and I found myself back in the motel room alone. The roller coaster ride of channeled visions was tossing me haphazardly about and depositing me wherever its whim desired. Not particularly unusual as such ethereal events go, but I didn’t think I would ever get used to it.
I blinked.
I remembered Ben telling me before I ever boarded the plane to come here that he was looking at a picture of Annalise and that she was a dead ringer for Felicity. I suppose, however, that simply hearing someone say something like that makes it easy to discount their opinion. Even though I hadn’t seen the picture myself, I was positive that I, of all people, would have no trouble telling the two women apart. After all, I had been married to one of them for almost fifteen years, so surely I would know my own wife.
However, at this moment my personal perception was no longer crystal clear on that point.
Without thinking, I muttered aloud, “Felicity?”
Her name tumbled into the room wrapped in a question. I knew the woman I had just seen in front of me couldn’t possibly be my wife, but the image was truly beyond uncanny.
As if triggered by my question, the light overhead bloomed, and I once again found myself with at least one foot in a different plane of existence.
I can hear my own voice echoing in the room as I utter my wife’s name.
Though her breathing never alters from its frantic pace, the woman suddenly jerks as if startled. Pushing herself forward, she sits up, still straddling the man. She stops twisting her heel then drops her foot down to the bed, and her victim is given a momentary reprieve from his agony. Cocking her head to one side, she appears to be listening intently, as if she hears my voice as well.
Slowly she turns toward me.
I study her face as she looks through me, creasing her brow. I can begin to see the differences in her features, but not at first glance, or even the second for that matter. I takes a long moment before I am certain that I am not looking at my wife.
I remember hearing it said that everyone has a doppelganger somewhere on the planet. Whether or not that is a scientific fact I cannot begin to say, but given the vision now staring me in the face, I am inclined to believe it. This woman can almost pass as Felicity Caitlin O’Brien’s twin.
She turns, and showing little concern for her victim, she drags her now bloody heel across him as she climbs from the bed. She slowly saunters toward the window at the front of the room and stands there, still listening for a repeat of the sound.
Though not fully nude as is her victim, she is scantily dressed. What little of her wardrobe there is consists of black lace and patent leather. Her red hair cascades in a loose spiraling fall down her back. It feels hot in the room, and I can see that her exposed ivory skin is damp with sweat. It glistens in dim light as she remains still except for the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes. On her left shoulder, I can see what appears to be a tattoo of a stylized triskele.
I have seen it before. It is the mystery veve from the previous crime scenes.
After several minutes she reaches out and slips a finger between the slats of the blinds. Slowly, she presses down, opening a small gap through which she carefully peers.
I watch her as she tilts her head from side to side until finally she is satisfied that no one is there. Turning, she saunters back to the bed and looks down at the bound victim.
“Don’t worry, little man. It was nothing,” she says to him in a sweet drawl. She takes a moment to flip an errant shock of hair back over her shoulder then adds with a feigned pout, “Of course, that nothing interrupted me, so I guess we’ll just have to start over.”
Sliding one knee onto the bed, she dips forward and scoops something into her hand before bringing the other leg up. Kneeling next to him, she smiles sweetly and holds up a stun gun.
“Ready?” she asks.
He begins to buck against the bonds, a scream caught behind the duct tape gag and diverting to exit in the form of a short, nasally whine through his nose before being unceremoniously cut off as he chokes.
“Good,” she giggles. “So am I. Just remember, I love you.”
With a wicked grin, she leans forward and presses the business end of the device against his bare genitals and squeezes the trigger.
I buckle and begin falling backward as I feel his pain.
But what’s worse is that I also feel her pleasure.
In that moment everything shifted, and the three-dimensional quality of the vision flattened then faded in a bloom of light. I could instantly sense that I had stepped back into my own world, but both the sensation of pain and arousal remained.
Though I had felt myself falling, I found that in reality I hadn’t moved at all. I was still squatting next to the bed, staring directly ahead, just as I had been at the beginning. I did notice, however, that I was holding my breath. I let it out with a heavy sigh. My eyes were itching and dry, so I closed them, but the moment I did so I feared I would regret the action. It seemed that blinking was getting me into a lot of trouble right now. Still, I knew that sitting here forever with my eyes closed wasn’t going to get me anywhere, so I steeled myself in preparation for the
