pressing his fingers and thumb hard into my cheeks.
“Stop crying, dammit! You aren’t HER! You don’t have the right to cry! Stop it!”
I whimper and feel more tears begin to flow. I can’t stop. I’m so afraid.
He releases his grip, and I see the shadow seem to turn. Then it suddenly spins back to me, and I feel his palm slap me hard across my face.
My head is wrenched to the side, and the hot sting on my cheek spreads outward. I just cry harder.
“Now look what you’ve done,” he screams. “Now I have to fix your makeup!”
The shadow moves away but returns quickly. Something hard stabs into my side, and my teeth chatter as I stiffen and vibrate with the electric shock.
The last thing I hear is the voice screaming, “YOU AREN’T HER!”
I was swimming toward the surface again, laboring to break free of the current that had swept me so deeply into Heather Burke’s recent past. The darkness around me was thinning; changing in hue from black, to indigo, to blue, then charcoal grey. I felt myself break through, and the colors of the room bloomed around me.
I felt a wave of relief that was followed by a tsunami of confusion. I knew that I should be staring directly into the eyes of a petite blonde who was positioned across from me.
Instead, I was staring directly into the eyes of a long-haired man who was sporting a greying goatee and a blank expression. The problem was, I wasn’t looking into a mirror.
I wondered if Heather Burke was now occupying the body sitting across from me, looking at herself and wondering what was happening. Or were both our psyches crammed tightly into her body, and mine was now nothing more than an empty shell?
Neither of those options was particularly comforting at the moment.
“So what happens now?” Detective McLaughlin queried Ben in a low voice.
I could tell she was whispering, but to me, her words rang out clear and strong through the void. I called out to the two of them to help me, but my plea fell on deaf ears.
If I could hear them so clearly, why couldn’t they hear me?
I tried calling again, louder this time, but realized quickly that even I could not hear my own voice. I had no choice but to simply listen.
“Guess it all depends.” I could sense the shrug in my friend’s voice when he answered her.
“On what?”
“On what he sees.”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno. I’ve watched ‘im do this maybe half a dozen times. Either he sits there starin’ for a minute then just snaps out of it, or he starts floppin’ around and screamin’ like a banshee.”
“Why would he do that?”
“‘Cause of what he sees, I guess.”
“I don’t understand,” she sounded puzzled, “I thought he was going to hypnotize her.”
“He did,” Ben grunted. “Look at ‘er.”
“But shouldn’t they be talking or something?”
“That’s not ‘zactly how he does it.”
“How exactly does he do it then?”
“I dunno. Hocus-pocus Twilight Zone shit, ya’know. He’s the Witch, not me.”
“So what’s he see that would make him start screaming?”
“Fuck, I dunno. I don’t really wanna either. Do you?”
I didn’t hear Charlee’s answer, but I knew my own, and right now it was “No.”
I’m drifting in a semi-conscious haze.
I remember flashing lights.
Bright. Blinding.
Over and over.
Darkness.
Flash!
Darkness.
Flash!
And the sound of shuffling.
I remember being moved.
At least I think I do.
I’m no longer cold, but I’m terribly uncomfortable.
I feel as though I’m still seated, but my hip is aching, and I can feel my own knuckles pressing hard against my cheek. My arm tingles as if it has gone to sleep.
My back is starting to hurt.
My hair still feels incredibly bizarre.
I start to move but then I remember.
I’m afraid to open my eyes.
I know he is close… I can hear him.
I can smell him.
I gag on the stench
I open one eye and find that the blur is no longer as bad as it had been earlier. Still, I can feel something in my eyes and they are sore. Itching.
I’m in different clothing now.
It looks like it might be a party dress. All I know is that it is shiny and red and frilly, and there is a lot of it gathered around me. My right leg is draped over the arm of the chair. My left leg feels like it is being stretched and pulled out of its socket in the opposite direction. From the way that my feet feel, I guess that they are crammed into a pair of high heels that are about a half-size too small.
My side begins to cramp up and I whimper.
He doesn’t hear me.
He is making far too much noise.
I can hear him panting.
I feel him close.
A shadow moves in front of me, and in the dim light I can see that he is nude from the waist down.
His hand is pistoning back and forth at his crotch, and I can hear him mutter, “So close… Almost perfect…”
A lit cigarette smokes in his free hand as the other pumps faster between his legs. I concentrate on the glowing coal, not wanting to witness his self-stimulation. I watch him raise the cigarette to take a puff and notice that it is positioned between his middle fingers.
Curious.
I’ve never seen anyone hold a cigarette like that before.
I try to follow his hand, but my head feels heavy, and I cannot move.
He moves closer, standing between my legs.
I want to scream.
He starts grunting as something warm and wet splatters on me. I’m afraid I know what it is, and I feel sick.
The scream escapes as a gurgle.
My brain overloads on the fear and disgust.
I close my eyes and pray.
