Psychic

by F. P. Dorchak

  He checked his watch. No time had passed. He headed back toward the compound.

  And this guy — a guy he’d apparently met before — knew of the woman he and the others had dreamed of.

  As he made his way through the gently winding trail, he felt the familiarity of the man… yes, he had met him before, hadn’t he? Where?

  Building 4250.

  I don’t want her touched.

  This Man With No Name knew all about her… asked him to find and free her.

  Why didn’t he do it?

  Why’d they have to do it? They weren’t versed in any kind of covert rescue — there were organizations specially trained for that kind of operation. They were just a bunch of hide-in-the-shadows government spooks…

  Maybe it was because no one could be trusted. If Black was involved that was a sure bet. And of course, he was sure the Man With No Name was probably known too, if he knew where Lizzie was. Shit, just the same… how was he — they — supposed to rescue anyone? Just walk right on in and snatch her?

  That was probably exactly what he had in mind.

  3

  Kennedy arrived at the Hyannis, Barnstable Municipal Airport tarmac, runway 06/24, where his Learjet awaited. All he’d been able to think about had been his lifelong pursuit of peace, and what little time he had left. He’d been unable to think about anything else — and to the point of a tension headache, no less. It was like getting a catchy tune stuck in your head.

  So, why fight it?

  He decided to pay a visit to the organization that bore his name, as well as the executors of his estate. He had to see if there was something The Center could do to get things moving.

  His driver pulled up before the already whining engines of the jet, and before the ever-present Secret Service agent could get out to open his door, Kennedy was out. The pilot greeted him, and they all turned to enter the jet… but Kennedy lingered a moment longer outside. He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled the cool, humid, early morning coastal breezes. Looked to the scurrying ground fog that still hugged the terrain. This was beautiful country.

  He smiled.

  Entered the jet.

  Kennedy took his seat and strapped in. After checking his buckle, and situating himself, he looked up—

  The cabin was filled with children.

  Silent. All staring at him.

  “Morning, sir,” the Man With No Name greeted, seated behind him.

  Kennedy whipped around in his seat.

  “It’s time for a crash course for what you’re getting into.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  1

  Lizzie lay in bed, eyes closed, arms wrapped tightly around Joe. She could feel his heart beating.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” she whispered, tears wet on her face. “I never want to leave you again.”

  Joe smiled. “It doesn’t have to be this way,

  (bitch)

  “honey. You could come with me.”

  Lizzie squeezed Joe tighter.

  Why didn’t she reply? What was the matter? If she could go with him, why wouldn’t she?

  Joe shifted position. “What’s wrong? You seem distracted?”

  “I… I don’t know. Something feels… strange… about all this — I mean, not about you, or us

  (was she lying?)

  “or what we just did

  (liar!)

  “… just… something…”

  There was something strange about him and her…what they’d just done. There was something indefinably odd about everything… but something kept her from saying anything. Kept her from saying yes, yes!

  (oh, baby, yeah!)

  of course I’ll go with you — wherever you want, right this second — let’s not wait a breath longer. Let’s just get up and get the hell outta Dodge while we can! Before something… something

  (what? WHAT?)

  happens!

  “Let’s do it, again,” Joe whispered, squeezing her and kissing her forehead. Lizzie melted into the warmth and sweetness of his breath and embrace, the musky scent of his body. She wanted so desperately to feel him again inside her… but there was this growing uneasiness, this… psychic cold sweat. The first time they’d made love she’d felt that uneasiness — ignored it… denied it. She’d let him in, because she’d wanted him in.

  But even while making love, something felt unaccountably dirty,

  (Oh, baby, God, how I….)

  and it was impossible to pinpoint.

  Something around and about him felt… off…

  But she’d convinced herself to ignore it, because he’d been gone… gone for so long…

  And now he wanted it again — hell, who was she kidding, she wanted it again — him again. She wanted to make love with him for the rest of her life, and she didn’t know what was so

  (bitch!)

  wrong about that, but the instant she turned to him and he made his move—

  She pushed away and rolled out of bed.

  Lizzie stood naked beside the bed, confused, a hand to the wall to steady herself. Joe looked to her.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Something I did?”

  (BITCH!)

  Lizzie turned away, ashamed. Planted her forehead against a wall, and began to cry. Joe went to her, but as soon as he touched her, she twisted free. The grimace she knew graced her face surprised even her.

  “Doesn’t any of this feel wrong to you?” she asked, unable to look at him.

  Joe, also naked and hands to his side, looked at her.

  “No. Should it? I mean… I’m here with my wife — my wife — whom I haven’t seen in over a year—”

  “But doesn’t that bother you? Why haven’t we seen each other in a year — we’re married for Heaven’s sake! Where have you been?”

  “Oh, honey, you’re making a mountain out of a mole hill…”

  “Am I? Will you look at us? Me? Why should I be having such a hard time with any of this? Why do I feel like something’s dreadfully wrong?”

  Joe made another attempt at making another go at things, when Lizzie whirled around and again slipped from his embrace.

  “No! This isn’t right… something… something about all of this

  (oh, you fucking bitch!)

  “just isn’t right—”

  “But you did it the first time—”

  “But I still felt it! I’m not doing it again! Please… don’t force me—”

  Joe stared at her with a blank expression. Just looked at her. The entire experience suddenly felt flat, all of it. The guilt piled on like a one-ton

  (I-beam)

  weight.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out to

  Joe was gone.

  Nothing.

  The bed… gone.

  The room — well, not entirely gone — she was still in a room… but it was a much different one, and she was

  Strapped into a chair.

  Restrained. Head to toe.

  “I could give you more of that,” Black’s voice said from somewhere around her. It was like sandpaper rubbed across a burn.

  Lizzie searched the room with tearstained and gritty eyes. The glare was unbearable. She couldn’t see clearly. A shadow — a man — emerged from the glare before her, dark in contrast to all the blinding brilliance.

  “I could give you that all day, every day. Your Joe. All you have to do is work with me, Elizabeth. Give me what I want. It’s that simple.”

  His last sentence had a creepy, casual lilt to it.

  Black disappeared back into the glare.

  Lizzie closed her eyes, fresh tears running down her face.

  All she’d ever wanted was to live her life in peace and quiet with her husband. Now she had neither. Was at the mercy of a madman. A madman who thought she had some special powers. Even if she had, they were all gone, now, like everything else in her life. Even if she still had any, she wouldn’t use them. She’d die first.

  An
d would that be so horrible?

  Depending on how things actually panned out in the afterlife, she could at least see Joe one more time — be with him.

  But wouldn’t Black be smart enough to know that?

  He wouldn’t let her die… no… he’d keep her around as long as possible, torturing her like he was now… creating Joe’s images… them together… when all he was really doing was feeding upon the guilt that had already been smoldering deep within her. You didn’t have to be psychic to pick up on what he was doing. This would go on forever and a day, until she really did go crazy, and that would be punishment enough, in Black’s book, for her resistance and refusal. An insane asylum, or whatever they called them, now, for the rest of her physical existence.

  But at least she would no longer have to deal with her guilt.

  She’d be lost and unknown to herself… and others, like Black, would take of her until her body caught up with her mind.

  She just wanted to die.

  Get the remainder of this life out of the way. Start over. Was that so much to ask?

  But again… Black would have none of that, would he?

  And thanks to all his electrodes and technical wizardry, he was monitoring her brain, her mind, and her body.

  Had anyone ever been able to will themselves to death?

  Every time she’d try, Black would just adjust his equipment — her brainwave patterns — by whatever was coming out of those damned speakers against her ears. Like the hallucinations about Joe. She never realized they were hallucinations until well into them, so for a while she was always duped, trapped, except for those tiny inklings of

  (Bitch)

  evil she picked up in the background.

  Maybe it didn’t really matter if she knew or not… because, for a little while, anyway, a little while, she was happy… when she first met with him — real or not — she was happy that there was some form of hallucination called “Joe” that felt and sounded and acted like the Joe she knew, and it felt like they really were together. How Black managed all this, who knew, but she picked up on some things before he kept resetting her brain. Perhaps he was hypnotizing her, forcing her to recall memories…

  And if so, how could she go wrong?

  What would be so wrong with her going with him, as he’d asked her — or her hallucination of him had asked her? Black was never going to let her go — not after all this. Why not just succumb to the dream and never wake up? Have Black have his way with her—

  The weird tones again started up…

  2

  We have to talk, Travis mentally sent out, as he hurried back to his office. He tried to psychically encrypt his mental outreach between multiple images of various current events, work-related issues, and images of his plastic Invaders model and other boyhood memories. I hope you’re getting this.

  I am, Gina responded. I see where you are and am picking up on—

  This is urgent.

  Understood.

  The others?

  In taskings.

  I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this, but that Man With No Name said we had to get on it — ASAP. But, I haven’t a clue about how we’re supposed to do this.

  He offered no help?

  Just that we had to get her and waste no time in doing so. I’m headed there now. See it?

  Travis sent an image of their objective.

  Yes.

  I need backup… someone to keep an eye out, help out.

  I’m there. What about security?

  Don’t know. I’m… I don’t know… filled with this incredible sense of urgency and can’t seem to stop to think about any of this… it’s… forcing… me there, like she might be killed at any moment.

  Be careful, Trav, I’m on my way — just be careful. I’ll see what we can do.

  This shoves us out into the open. Nowhere to hide.

  Be careful.

  Travis hurried toward building 4250, at The Center’s compound.

  3

  Lizzie was back in the bedroom with Joe, back beneath the sheets. Eyes closed, she still felt his warmth and fullness, even after he’d withdrawn from her. Inhaled his musky scent. She loved his smell. She reached out to him. Opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

  “I love you,” he whispered, gently squeezing her hand. “And I love making love with you. Stay with me.”

  “Okay,” she said without hesitation. “I’ll stay.” She squeezed his hand back.

  Was that a floral scent she just picked up?

  No… it was gone…

  She smiled warmly, squashing that nagging little

  (bitch)

  voice. That niggling little voice that even now seemed to be, once more, clawing its way through her mind…

  Joe smiled.

  (smiles… his smile… something about a smile…)

  “Good… then there’s something else I want to show you,” he said.

  He hopped out of bed.

  Lizzie watched as his beautiful naked body strode across the room. She wanted more of him. Much more. Forever. Joe walked out into the hall.

  There it was again… that subtle floral scent…

  Lizzie rose to an elbow, taking in the room.

  Where were they?

  If she was going to stay with him, it’d be nice to know. Where they’d made love. She lay back down, recalling Joe’s powerful, rhythmic penetration of her body and soul. It all felt so right, being here, with him, now… like the old days…

  Again, that flowery smell — where and what was that?

  “Honey…,” Joe said, returning, a huge

  (pained?)

  smile plastered across his face.

  Out from behind the doorway stepped another woman.

  A naked woman.

  And along with her, an acrid, thick floral scent that filled the room. The smell burned Lizzie’s nose and stung the back of her throat.

  “Honey… I’d like you to meet Melissa. Remember Jeff Skopchek? This is his ex-wife.”

  Melissa smiled, lips slightly and seductively parted. “Hello, Lizzie,” she purred, “So nice to finally meet you.”

  Before Lizzie could respond, before Lizzie could mentally switch gears from just having made love with her husband and him having told her how much he loved her — loved making love with her — before she could wrap her head around any of that, Lizzie found her husband between Melissa’s legs… pounding into her up against a wall!

  Melissa held Lizzie’s gaze, her arms clutching at Lizzie’s husband’s muscular, working body. Melissa wrapped her legs around Joe’s hips — grunting, groaning, screeching. The grunting Joe made was like shards of glass being ground into Lizzie’s heart.

  So this was what he looked like making love? was her surprising first thought. This was what that magnificent body of his looked like while making love with her? Only this time the “her” wasn’t her, was it, but someone else? Another “her.” A “her” whose eyes began to dull and glaze over from the sex her husband was having with her; a her who was soon to be receiving the warm, explosive seed of her husband… as she watched…

  Lizzie couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t close her eyes. Couldn’t scream. All bodily control was suddenly frozen.

  Melissa closed her eyes. She clutched at Joe’s hair, his shoulders, his back… her grunts becoming more and more high-pitched cries, screeches, and yelps.

  Lizzie tried to yell, to leap out of bed and rip the two apart from each other — but was unable to move. She strained hard against the sheets, but was simply unable to move.

  Joe’s grunts and groans grew caustic, increasingly impassioned — mixed with Melissa’s higher-pitched efforts. Lizzie tried to block them out, close her ears… but could not move her arms. Melissa was now shouting, moaning…

  “Oh, baby, yeah… like that, oh, yeah…fuck me, fuck me, baby… harder, yeah, HARDER!”

  Melissa looked to Lizzie. Burned her heady gaze into her.

  Joe continued thrustin
g, a motion that at once excited and repulsed Lizzie. A motion she had just experienced not two minutes ago — between her legs.

  “Oh, baby,” Joe grunted, breathless, “God… how I…love you—”

  “Yeah, baby… harder, pound me, come on… yeah… yes… yes… YES!”

  Large, hot tears welled out from Lizzie’s eyes, as Melissa let out a series of ever increasing wails. She couldn’t turn away, couldn’t close her eyes; she felt a rift tearing open within her, a chasm so deep and dark… and black—

  Their screams reached a united crescendo, and Joe came powerfully into Melissa with deep, dark animal grunts, as he brutally slammed her, giggling and screaming in orgasm, against the wall. A picture crashed to the floor and another tilted lop-sided. Lizzie watched as Melissa’s nails dug into Joe’s back and drew blood. When they were done, each gasped for air like drowning victims.

  Laughed.

  She’d never drawn blood from her husband, but this bitch was doing it right now, before her eyes, and, apparently… apparently… he liked it…

  Her husband never looked to her, instead tenderly touched Melissa’s face and smoothed out her hair. Gazed deeply into Melissa’s eyes. Melissa ran her hands over Joe’s short-cropped hair.

  “More, baby… more… oh, God…,” Melissa begged, grabbing Joe’s head

  (his head!)

  in both hands and leaning her head into his.

  Joe and Melissa giggled and snorted — snorted! — and Lizzie knew — knew! — they were laughing at her.

  Why was he doing this? Why didn’t he stop… turn around and come back to her? What had she done to deserve this?

  Joe backed up with Melissa still looped around his waist, her head now dropped to his shoulders. Lizzie noticed how her long, sweaty and messed-up hair was partially flung over Joe’s shoulder, clinging against Joe’s sweaty, flexing back. Joe gently deposited Melissa at the foot of the bed. Still crying, Lizzie watched as Joe then came around to his side of the bed — to her, now — and crawled back under the sheets beside her. Lizzie inhaled Melissa’s sickly floral perfume all over him. Melissa turned to look to them, eyes droopy and heavy. She smiled a saccharine, closed-mouth smirk and repositioned herself on her elbows and stomach…