Fury From Hell
Page 11
For the first time since she was twelve, Jennifer prayed to get home without any further incident. Thankfully, that night, someone was listening and her prayer was answered.
***
Saturday, November 10th, 6:45 A.M.
Jennifer walked into her apartment and closed the door. She leaned against it and slid down covering her face with her hands. Shaking her head from side to side she stifled a scream.
I have just lived through a night on friggin’ Elm Street! The only part I missed was seeing Freddy
Pausing to take a deep breath she removed her hands and looked up at the ceiling. Did I really eat a man’s innards and eyeballs?
Long past the need to upchuck, Jennifer dry-heaved at the mere thought of what she thought she had done. Furious and frustrated with herself and the situation she began to pawing at the beige rug as a mewling sound emanated from the depths of her soul. She refused to cry. She did too much of that in her youth. Dragging herself fully into the living room, she pulled herself up onto the sofa. On automatic, Jennifer reached for the remote and clicked on the flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Hunched over with her legs crossed Indian-style, she put on NY1 and watched for any mention of the three homicides she was a party to in the past twelve hours. Barely able to process that she was now a serial killer tears began to fall as Jennifer rocked on the sofa.
The Fury began to stir. Waves of turmoil enveloped the demon from its host. Stretching and coming completely awake the Fury circled round and round the host’s mind gathering images of what transpired while it slept. Abatu gleaned from the Jennifer’s mind horrific images that would forever be imprinted upon the host’s now not-so-innocent spirit.
The Fury saw the images of the disemboweled Derrick then it saw the two unmoving assailants on the darkened street corner. Abatu realized in an instant what the host had done. She sniffed the memory. It reeked of self-defense. Abatu sighed. This host seemed to be as moral as the day was long. The host’s only true taint was the murder of her Uncle when she was a child. But that, too, was in self-defense. The taint stemmed from the hatred the host carried to this day for her Uncle. As an adult, she should have come to terms with all that had transpired. Shaking its head, Abatu peered at the memory again and still did not recognize the two dark-skinned men. From their unnaturally still splayed limbs it was clear they were dead if Jennifer’s mental image was accurate.
Refocusing on Jennifer, Abatu frowned. At this rate, the host’s deepening state of shock would paralyze both of them within minutes. With little choice, the demon raced to Jennifer’s hippocampus and went directly to the lower portion. It stroked the white and green pulsating recent memory. Abatu dislodged the memory and destroyed the host’s ability to access these most recent problematic memories. Going further, the demon isolated Jennifer’s recently accessed mental images of the dead men. Abatu buried these images as well, in different sections of the host’s brain.
Pulling back to assess its work, the demon was pleased. Even if Jennifer was put under duress she would not be able to retrieve the memories of Derrick and the two other dead men. Unless extreme measures were used, Jennifer would have no knowledge of these three deaths. The Fury allowed the now unconscious Jennifer to remain on the couch and it retreated to the background once again.
***
Saturday, November 10th, Afternoon
Jennifer surged up out of sleep wild-eyed and peered at everything in the room as if they were foreign objects of great value. Taking way too deep of a breath, she tried to calm her racing heart. She felt as if she had been chased by a pack of wild dogs and barely escaped with her life. Jennifer rarely had nightmares, and when she did they were all centered on one man. Propping herself up against one of her cushions, Jennifer tried to hold onto the wisps and strands of the nightmare but to no avail. She recalled nothing. The only thing she knew for sure was there was a deep sense of dread mixed with shame but that, too, was fading. Her body was clammy with sweat and she smelled something sour about her person. She couldn’t focus fully because there was an unrelenting sound that was interfering with remembering…
She jerked forward, blinked and realized the TV was blasting. Jennifer reached for the remote and saw that she was fully dressed in the gabardine pants and sparkly shirt she had worn to the casino the night before. Almost simultaneously, she felt the comfortable weight of her ankle holster. She reached down pulled up her pants and was reassured to see her holster but froze when she saw .38 strapped in it. She unhooked the holster and took out the compact Bodyguard 380 Smith and Wesson.
Jennifer sniffed it and wrinkled her brow. There was a faint discharge smell. Jennifer’s eyes widened.
Impossible. I’ve only fired my guns on the range…but this isn’t my gun.
Her heart sinking, she popped out the magazine. Inhaling sharply, she saw that three of the six rounds were missing. Her skin crawled. Jennifer re-inserted the magazine and put the gun back in the holster. She unbuckled the holster and set the whole thing on the coffee table. She stared at it daring it to move as if it were a rattler that could strike at any second; it was only her gaze that kept it from attacking.
After many tense moments, Jennifer’s vigilance relaxed and her eyes became vacant as she racked her mind for details that were not forthcoming from the night before.
She remembered getting dressed. She remembered the train ride to the casino. She remembered cashing in her winning scratch-off ticket.
Seeking validation of her recollections, Jennifer looked around for her clutch, spotted it on the floor by the front door and retrieved it. Coming back to the couch, she remembered stuffing the crisp one hundred dollar bills into the small bag. When Jennifer opened the bag, a rush of relief swelled in her chest as she spied the bills. But, there were so many bills, way more than the fifteen hundred she recalled winning. She counted it out and found an additional nine hundred and eighty-three dollars and some loose change. Stumped by her discovery, she stood up and paced to see if movement might jar her memory.
She knew she had met someone. She could smell a man’s cologne on her clothes; it smelled expensive, but she could recollect no image of the man. She had no memory of ever meeting him, or of anything else for that matter, after she cashed in the ticket! Her memory files seem to stop just as she went hunting for a video slot machine to play.
Looking down at the cash in her hands she surmised she must have won the additional amount of money.
Her pacing had taken her to the bedroom. With renewed purpose, Jennifer jogged back into the living room and up-ended her clutch onto the coffee table. Somewhere in there she had to find a clue. She found what she was looking for in the form of a crumpled slip of white paper. That did not bode well. Jennifer knew she did not do crumpled anything. Whoever had collected this piece of paper had been rushing and had not taken the time to fold the receipt so that the corners all met. Moreover, the little piece of paper was stuck between the hundred dollar bills not separated and placed in the zippered area of her clutch.
Carefully picking up the paper she tried to smooth it out using the edge of the coffee table. She turned it over and saw it was a receipt for $32.57. There were ten prices listed for small amounts. There was no business name, address or phone number. It looked as if it came from an adding machine as opposed to a cash register receipt…like in a small Mom and Pop bodega, or a cheap 99 cent store.
Where the hell did I get this? Did I go into a store and buy these things? What did I buy, and where’s the stuff?
Jennifer dropped the receipt on the coffee table and put some distance between herself and the clutch, along with its disturbing contents. She cocked her head at an angle and tried to get a different point of view of her bag’s contents. After several long minutes she still had exactly the same thing she had before — nothing.
Now would be an extremely convenient time to believe in that thing they call God. But hey, I still have my badge and I’ve got cash to add to the bankroll. Good enough!
***
Saturday, November 10th, Mid-Afternoon
After a full inspection of her clothes and body, Jennifer found no rips or tears on anything. The now ubiquitous smell of an expensive men’s cologne was still her only clue. While she uninjured, she did feel sore…down there. It had been over a decade since she’d last had sex. But she was pretty sure that the long-forgotten ache was from an exercise she had made off-limits in her life.
I had sex and I don’t even remember it! Jennifer shuddered. Her mother may have been right after all; she just may need counseling now. In High School though, Jennifer had poo-poohed the idea. Jennifer went on to finish high school with honors while ignoring the stares from classmates and the lewd come-ons from the bolder boys.
Immediately after graduation, Jennifer took the test for the police academy. While she didn’t ace it she made it in right above the cut-off and managed to keep her nose clean with her gun strapped at her side at all times.
Maybe I need to talk to someone now that I’m forgetting chunks of time and am bending the rules at work…
***
As the water cascaded over her, she let her mind wander back to the puzzle that kept gnawing at her. Jennifer’s foremost question was: How was she able to take the .38 from the scene of the crime and not know it? It was evidence in a murder case! Any rookie knew that the gun could have led to the murderer but somehow Jennifer just took the gun and told no one. Mad at herself she punched the tile wall.
“Damn it! I’m screwing up my own case and I don’t even remember doing it!”
The next round of questions tripping her up was perhaps the most important one.
Where are the three missing rounds? What did I shoot at — and why? Last, but not the least, who did I shoot at?
Rubbing her temples, she resisted going to the most mundane, but possibly the easiest mystery; the question regarding her purchases at the store that couldn’t afford a cash register. If she could get an itemization of what she purchased, then maybe she could piece the rest of it together.
Finally giving in, she turned her mind to the cheesy receipt. All of the stores in Prospect Heights had real cash registers so it wasn’t from her surrounding stores; Jennifer knew that without a doubt. She rarely frequented bodegas, New York’s version of the corner grocery store.
An idea popped into her mind. I wonder if there was an attempted robbery in this store and I had to defend myself?! Or! Could it have been an attempted rape? Either way, I would have pulled my gun without hesitation…
Both scenarios were plausible because Jennifer knew that if anyone even so much as thought about raping her, she would have flipped and gone ape shit on them. With a wry grin, she thought, I gotta give credit to all those damned shrinks. They, at least, made sure I knew myself well enough.
Shaking her head under the jet spray, Jennifer relaxed her rigid internal control and allowed herself to weep freely for her uncle and the unknown people she may, or may not, have hurt in the past twenty-four hours.
***
Little Jennifer wasn’t so little anymore. She was almost sixteen and had developed a modest cleavage. Uncle Tommy was still hanging around her mother’s house even after the family intervention for his alcoholism. Since then, he seemed only to bother her only when she was foolish enough to stick around the house when her parents weren’t home.
It was early one Saturday morning. The spring breeze rustled the leaves outside her window. She turned in her sleep and knocked against something firm. Her sleepy brain registered shock and a bolt of electricity flowed through her brain, waking it instantly. Her eyes popped open and saw his ugly mug in her face. His sour beer breath was fetid. It made her want to hurl yet she dared not move an inch. Jennifer’s muscles locked into knots.
“Wasn’t expecting me, were you?”
She refused to gratify him with an answer.
“Gone mute, huh?”
He brought his hand up and stroked the side of her face tenderly and she screamed. His eyes crinkled as he wheezed out a laugh.
“Go ahead, scream all you want. They’re not here. They went out.”
Her eyes clouded in confusion.
“Oh, yeah, they left. Remember? They were going to visit your grandmother tomorrow? Well last night, I encouraged them to go today. You hadn’t gotten in from the movies ye,t and they didn’t want to disturb you so early since I told them we spoke and that you had to work today.
Her eyes widened in horror.
“Yeah, so you see, we’ve got all day to spend quality time together. You’ve been avoiding me for far too long and I’m horny for you.
He moved like a cobra and latched onto her budding left breast and squeezed it until a whimper escaped her. In a frenzy of panic and movement, Jennifer blindly struck out at him and caught him with her nails on the side of his face. He growled and covered the side of his face. Jennifer took the opportunity and scrambled out of her narrow now overcrowded twin bed.
Falling, tangled amongst her sheets she slithered across the floor and got out the door kicking the sheets off before he realized she was out of the bed. She ran downstairs and into the kitchen. Her mind focused on the hefty meat cleaver. She grabbed it out of the butcher’s block and headed to the mudroom for shoes and a jacket. Young Jennifer heard him thundering down the stairs and instantly decided to just head out the door.
Running full out towards the neighbor’s fence in the back, she began preparing herself to scale the six foot fence strategizing how not to injure herself with the cleaver. She was caught off guard when her Uncle tackled her from behind. She prepared for the inevitable fall by dropping the cleaver flat. She fell on top of it without harm. She took a deep breath but he clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth. She bit down on the calloused flesh to no avail. The cleaver handle was grinding against her ribs. Escape route thoughts flew threw her mind as she flailed her one free arm. Jennifer elbowed him in the gut, balled herself up and rolled using her legs to gain leverage and power. She scooped up the cleaver when her other hand got free from his grip. With deadly force, she turned and lunged with the cleaver straight into his soft flabby gut.
When they both came to rest, she was astride him with the cleaver’s blade fully embedded within the folds of his flesh. Blood was oozing out around the silver blade.
The horror of realization began to dawn in his eyes.
Staring down at her hands, and seeing streaks of blood — Jennifer panicked. She stumbled to her feet.
“Wait! You — you can’t just leave me here! Call the cops…an ambulance — call somebody!”
She backed away from him slowly before turning to dash for the fence. She scaled it in moments. When she landed on the other side she kept running. Jennifer didn’t stop running until she ran into her mother’s friend, Phoebe, who grabbed the hysterical girl into a fierce hug three miles away from her home. Phoebe held Jennifer until the crying subsided over an hour later.
***
Fury Abatu watched the host from deep inside making sure to stay hidden from the host’s detection. Watching the brutal scene unfold in the host’s mind, the Fury knew it had made a huge blunder in falling asleep after feasting on Derrick. This could cost the Fury avenging Kyma Barnes’ death, and therefore Kyma’s soul, if the Jennifer host’s mind cracked and spun out of control. The Fury’s powers did not extend to managing maniacal hosts. Abatu left that to older more ferocious demons such as the yellow-eyed demons…
Sighing, Abatu realized, too late, yet another oversight, not ensuring that this host’s past was something it could live with. Abatu knew Jennifer had killed in self-defense but the demon was thrown off by Jennifer’s rigid self-control. In its haste for a host body, it failed to delve deeply enough. Clearly, the taint the Fury picked up was the young girl leaving her uncle to die. That was due to yout
h and inexperience; it did not stem from wishing the man evil.
Checking quickly, Abatu found out the true source of the taint — Jennifer thought she was evil. She felt that not trying to save the man who abused her made her just as bad as he was. This was the source of her guilt…the taint that Abatu thought was a sign that the Jennifer was the perfect host. Abatu became uneasy. This was not an ideal host. Mulling the situation over, Abatu knew it had to find a way for the Jennifer host to accept killing, or else Abatu would lose her first soul ever.
Clicking its nail-tipped talons, Abatu cackled. It would plant self-defense rationales and images into the host’s memory banks along with the buried memories just in case. This was the only possible justification this host would accept for killing anyone. Once this belief was in place, it would make it easier for the demon to do its kill-feeds with minimal clean up work afterwards inside the host’s mind.
Satisfied with this strategy Abatu wondered if there were other buried memories in this host’s mind that could cause trouble. A niggling worry wormed its way through the demon. It feared this host was too damaged for the work it needed the host to do.
With a low growl forming deep in the demon’s throat, it was angry at itself but knew that it did all it could do about the host’s memories but wondered how it could calm the host’s mind. Thinking frantically, the Fury remembered — joy! This host responded well to pleasure since it had had so little of it in her life thus far. The Fury threw up an image of Chad…
Jennifer’s tears eased as she recalled the handsome barman. Out of all of the mess, he was the one bright spot. He made her smile. Her smile faltered as another possible consequence slammed into her mind.
What if I didn’t wear protection? What if I’m pregnant? Oh, God…
Her mind tumbled into a downward cyclical abyss threatening to take her sanity with it.