disorientation. I shudder for a moment and fall to the ground. There’s a metallic tang in my mouth that is slowly replaced by the salty taste of my own blood from where I’ve bitten my tongue. Or at least I hope that is all it is.
Fear still grips me through the disorientation, but my voice is nowhere to be found. All I seem to be able to do is twitch.
I hear him moving nearby.
I see the shadow over me.
Once again I can smell the B.O. and stale cigarettes as he looms closer.
I hear panting breaths and a hoarse, almost awestruck whisper intermixed, “Perfect…She’s almost perfect.”
I can feel the keys in my hand, their metal points still poking between my fingers, as my fist remains clenched. The shadow moves in closer, and I summon everything I have to flail at it with the only weapon I have left. But my arm doesn’t move.
I’m still twitching uncontrollably. He forces my mouth open and pours something onto my tongue. It’s bitter and I gag.
As I sputter, the message I had earlier sent to my arm finds its way down a detour of nerves, and the handful of keys slings upward in a flaccid arc, glancing harmlessly against my attacker.
Still, he yelps with surprise and rocks back away from me.
Hard points press against my flesh once again, and I hear the crackling hum. The last thing I feel is my back arch as electricity courses through me, and the lights dim quickly to black.
I really should have tried a different tactic to break the connection the moment Debbie Schaeffer pushed me. But in all honesty, I was far too shocked to even think, much less act.
Throughout the investigations I’d been involved in over the past two years, I had channeled some terribly horrific things. In doing so, I had been guided-sometimes even led around by the nose to an extent-by the spirits of those I was trying to help. I had pretty much come to expect this kind of treatment from the other side.
However, this was the first time I could recall ever having been outright pushed around, for lack of a better description, by a vengeful ghost. It was a wholly new experience for me and something I wasn’t enjoying in the least. But then, I knew better than to do this without someone to back me up, so I had no one to blame but myself. And trust me, I was already pointing all four fingers and a thumb right where they belonged.
As I had told Heather Burke before this all began, I wasn’t entirely certain that I wanted to see what she had to show me. But that no longer mattered because I wasn’t seeing it; I was living it. What was worse, I knew that the piece of her life I’d shared thus far was only a prologue to the real horror show.
The only saving grace was the fact that on the physical plane, Heather was sitting right in front of me. Alive, uninjured, and for the most part, well-very well, in fact, for someone who had been through what she had. This meant that at least I wasn’t running the risk of following her into death.
Of course, until now, she couldn’t actually remember any of the events that had transpired in any detail. So the question was: Just how well was she going to be after this was all over?
Or perhaps the real question should be: Just how well were we going to be after this was all over?
I awake.
I don’t know where I am.
My head hurts and so does my side.
I’m too afraid to move.
I try to move.
I can’t.
It’s like I’m just too tired to do anything.
I feel as though I am sitting.
But where?
My hair feels funny.
Like I’m wearing a stocking cap or something.
My scalp is hot and it itches, but I’m too tired to scratch it. I try to ignore it.
Where am I?
I try to remember.
Someone was chasing me, yeah.
Did he catch me? Did I get away?
I’m supposed to be afraid now, right? I think I am. I’m just so tired that I don’t care.
I take the plunge and slowly open my eyes.
I think I’m staring at my lap.
The light is subdued, dimmed, and almost ethereal.
It’s just a bit on the cold side.
I blink slowly, and my eyes begin to adjust, then my lap comes into focus.
Hmmmph, interesting. I don’t remember owning a red garter belt and red stockings.
The fog in my brain parts a bit more.
Well no wonder I’m cold, I’m half naked!
A rough hand comes out of nowhere and cups my chin. I would scream but I’m just too tired. Still, terror rips through me as my head is tilted back.
Tired or not, now I am definitely afraid.
I manage to whimper.
I smell B.O. and cigarettes.
Smoke rolls cloudlike in front of my face and I gag on it.
I hear a familiar voice; rough but filled with a bizarre reverence, “Almost perfect…”
My head is tilted even farther back. My hair feels so very odd. My scalp feels tight and constricted, but the hair against my shoulders feels fluffy and teased.
Bizarre.
I must be tripping on something…It’s almost like when I did acid in college…but…not exactly the same.
At least I enjoyed myself then.
That’s it, he must have drugged me.
I stare upward, afraid.
All I can make out is a shadow.
The voice comes again, “Almost her…”
I see a hand come toward my face. I try to shut my eyes, afraid that I am about to be struck. I feel his fingers on my eyelid, and he pries my left eye open and holds it wide. I still cannot see him. I watch in horror as his other hand comes directly at my eyeball.
I whimper and try to struggle, but he holds tight.
My eye waters against the foreign object that has been inserted, and now he does the same to my right eye. My vision is so completely blurred now that I cannot even make out complete shapes. Only shadow and light.
I whimper again and feel a hot tear roll down my cheek.
“Stop crying!” the voice demands, the former reverent tone disappearing. “Why do all of you have to cry?!”
All of you?
I wonder about that.
I must not be the only one here.
Are they just as afraid as me?
The hand grabs my face once again, and it feels as though it is crushing my jaw. He shakes my head,
