Rowan Gant - Perfect Trust Part 34

I begin to sprint without any thought. Instantly I know how those women in the horror flicks manage to run in high heels. They're just too scared to know better, that's all.

My shoes are click clacking rapidly against the pavement now; my heart isfirmly entrenched in my throat, blocking all attempts to scream. Panic has stolen my breath.

I've never been this frightened before.

Fifty feet, I'm almost there. I can hear him back there, running, getting closer.

He's not even trying to conceal himself any longer.

I can feel hot breath against my neck.

I can smell stale cigarette smoke and bad breath.

The sour reek of B.O.

Something hits me hard in the side and I stumble into the tendril-like branches of the evergreen. What little wind I have left is forced from my lungs and I struggle to disentangle myself.

He grabs me and I flail wildly. I fall into him and we both crash to the ground with me on top. He is clawing at me, trying to maintain his hold. I kick and twist away, slipping out of my blazer and crawl quickly as I try to stand. Scrabbling across the sidewalk I fight to regain my footing.

I open my mouth to scream but nothing more than a choked whimper comes out.

A hand wraps around my ankle and I kick hard with my other foot. I twist onto my back and kick again, aiming my heel for the ski mask staring back at me. I miss and my shoe goes flying.

I roll frantically and manage to pull away again, then drag myself upward. I start to run, but trip over my remaining shoe. The time it takes me to kick it off and begin to run again is all the time he needs.

My blouse has become untucked in the struggle and it is riding up as I try to regain my balance. Something cold presses hard against the bare skin at my waistline.

I hear a quick electric snap, like a light bulb blowing out.

My teeth clench hard and I freeze in place, every nerve scrambled into a tangled rats nest of jittery 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 hoa.r.s.e, 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 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-and even led around by the nose to some 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 by, for lack of a better description, 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 the finger.

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 now, I was no longer 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 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 hadtranspired in any detail. So, the real question was: Just how well was she going to be after this was all over?

Or, should I say: 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, "Almostperfect..."

My head is tilted even further 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.

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 crus.h.i.+ng my jaw. He shakes my head, 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, 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 disbelief. I knew that I should be staring directly into the eyes of a pet.i.te blonde who was positioned across from me.

Instead, I was staring directly into the eyes of a longhaired man who was sporting a greying goatee, and a blank expression. The problem was, I wasn't looking into a mirror.

"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?"