Fury From Hell

by Rochelle Campbell

  With effort, Jennifer pulled herself back from that time. She shut down that particular memory’s door. However, there was a hitch. The hinges of the door wouldn’t fully close. It remained open a crack allowing slivers of the memory to leech through.

  Jennifer forced her conscious mind back to the present but refused to meet Betty’s eyes. Continuing her analysis, she realized the energy of the two men was not the same at all. Her uncle was a country bumpkin with a high school education and a trade school certificate in auto mechanics. The blond man in her dreams had a refinement that only money and a foreign education could produce. Jennifer sighed.

  The Fury harrumphed.

  “No, the man in my dreams is not my uncle. They’re two totally different men.”

  Jennifer did an internal check. The door to that memory was still ajar but she was able to handle the snippets of memory as they slid out. It was going to take a lot of fortitude to fend off the random memory leaks. Jennifer’s insides quaked and her hands went clammy at the thought. She’d worked so hard to bury the memory. Now, it was back.

  Getting worried at the frantic look in Jennifer’s eyes, Betty went around and pulled Jennifer out of the car. Locking it with the remote, Betty kept a firm hold on her friend. She let them both inside the comfortable airy home with its sea green and white color scheme. Crystal wind chimes with seahorses that had gold eyes adorned the two bay windows in the living room. Small crystal and rose quartz pentagrams surrounded by smaller individual semi-precious gemstones in varying hues dotted the tops of the coffee table and bookshelves. Large and small pieces of obsidian were everywhere — flat pieces, round pieces, chips — they adorned walls, desktops and tabletops.

  Shimmery fabric with silver pentagrams embroidered on them peeked out from under thick books on a dark side table. To top it all off, a huge shiny gold gong sat on the floor in a corner of the living room looking as if it came straight from China the day before. Other than these odd objects, Betty’s home was just like any other middle-class home — Ikea and Home Goods inspired — with a few tasteful wool throw rugs scattered about the beautiful parquet floors.

  As Jennifer’s eyes took it all in without comment. A movement on the stairs drew her eyes. She came face-to-face with the largest blackest cat she had ever seen. It hissed at her raised its hackles and flew back up the stairs.

  “Bastille! What’s the matter with you? Can’t you be nice and greet our guest! Bastille!”

  The cat did not return. It only mewled once from upstairs and went silent.

  Flustered, Betty looked at Jennifer with a small shrug of her shoulders. “I’m sorry. He’s usually much friendlier. I’ve never actually seen Bastille do that before! Odd.”

  Jennifer stared at the spot on the stairs where the cat was a moment before. She was trying to recall exactly what she had felt. For a split-second, it seemed as if she could understand the cat and had communicated with it. But the message was not rational; it had said to go to a church and pray.

  Blinking, Jennifer looked at Betty anew and said the first thing that came to her mind. “What are you? Some kind of witch?”

  Her friend laughed nervously and left her side to set her bag down on the couch. She turned and fluffed the nearest pillow. Then she adjusted the perfectly straight tablecloth on the dining room table before answering.

  “Something like that. How about some lunch? You’ve got no color and I bet you haven’t eaten today. Come, let’s go in the kitchen.” Without waiting for a response Betty hurried off.

  Jennifer trailed behind her friend looking around with more scrutiny and saw for the first time that there were lots of Bibles in Betty’s home. There were at least seven that she could see out in the open. Curious, Jennifer entered her friend’s kitchen and wondered what surprises were in store for her in there.

  “Do you like turkey burgers? If not, I’ve got bison burgers and regular beef ones. Or, we could do deli sandwiches. I’ve got ham, pastrami and uh, chicken breast slices, I think. What do you feel for? Oh! Grilled cheese and tomato — I can do that, too! Whadaya want?”

  “I feel like you’re holding out on me. What’s up with all the Bibles? Most people make do with just one. You’ve got seven.”

  Betty’s back was turned so Jennifer couldn’t tell what her friend was thinking or feeling. Jennifer simply waited. After several long silent moments passed, Betty put down the knife and turned around.

  “I was going to take you to a diner near the station but you were in such bad shape I brought you here figuring you needed some solace…some privacy. I didn’t think you’d notice in the state you were in.”

  “Between the black cat and the multitude of Bibles you had to know I’d be clued into something. And what about the fifty million pentagrams? Kind of a dead giveaway don’t ’cha think? Couldn’t you get a white cat to shake it up a bit?”

  Jennifer sniggered but she stopped when she saw her attempt at humor fell short of the intended mark.

  “I’m not that kind of witch. I’m a white Wiccan. Cats are familiars; they’re like friends that help us — no matter their color. He came to me when he was a kitten. A friend offered him to me. He was black, but I didn’t care. I don’t invite anyone from the precinct here…usually.” She shrugged and continued. “Cats are closer to the other world than we can ever get so Bastille was clearly trying to tell me something…or maybe he was talking to you.”

  Jennifer flushed a deep pink. Things were definitely getting creepy. “Feinster — news flash. Cats can’t talk.” Jennifer refused to look her in the eyes after she said it.

  “Says who? Did you see the way he hissed? He was scared when he saw you. I’ve never seen that! Why’s my cat afraid of you Detective Jennifer Holden?”

  While speaking, Betty took measured steps towards her and was only a foot away from invading Jennifer’s personal space when she stopped. “What’s going on with you Detective?”

  Betty stared down into Jennifer’s eyes but all Betty could see was confusion mixed with fear.

  “I…I don’t know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about today...”

  “Well, the first thing I think we need to do is get some holy water and pray.”

  “Wha…what? That’s preposterous. Ridiculous!”

  The Fury peered out taking notice of the scene and knew to stay in the background. The possession was not fully complete so the witch’s machinations should result in only minor discomfort to Abatu if she were to try and cast a spell on the host. At this stage, the host would feel no pain…yet. However, after a few more weeks, the Fury would be able to impel the host to do its bidding with no simpering moralistic delays. Shortly afterwards, the host’s soul would be forfeit and sent to Hell, then the host’s body would belong to the Fury. With no human soul, the body would last for only a few weeks but the Fury relished that stage of the possession. It had complete autonomy to do as it pleased. The Fury receded to the background and bided its time.

  “Praying is ridiculous? Why Holy Holden? I’ve heard the rumors about you having no faith but we personally never talked about this before. Think we need to right about now. Do you believe in something — anything — greater than yourself? Because, in the job we’ve got, you need something to hold on to in the face of some of the shit we see. This Barnes case is a rough one. Ever thought that may be messing you up more than you think? Maybe you need some faith — not a therapist.”

  “Feinster…”

  “You like pushing people away when you need them the most. Don’t push me away! Let me in. Let help you. Everyone can use some help at times. Right now, I think you need my help.” Betty was standing nose to nose with Jennifer.

  Beginning to chortle, Jennifer felt the hysteria taking over. Too much had happened and this new side of her friend was too much for her to process. Her brain was shutting down. It was slipping off its moorings and spinning off into the land where little green men from Mars ruled the White House. Jennifer slid to the floor in a dead faint.
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  ***

  Sunday, November 11th, Early Afternoon

  Something cool brought her up from the depths of darkness and this time the darkness was quiet with no afterimages. No moving dead men followed her, either. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up into Betty’s concerned light brown eyes.

  “There you are! I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been out for twenty minutes! How’re you feeling?”

  Alarmed, Jennifer tried to sit up, noticing she was on the couch.

  “No. Lie down and stay calm. No sudden movements because I have no idea what’s going on with you. You better start talking. You need anything first? Some water? Something stronger?”

  Jennifer settled back against the pillows and shook her head. Neither food nor drink would make her feel better at the moment.

  “Okay, shoot.”

  Jennifer started with her childhood and the killing of her uncle. Then, she fast forwarded to the taking of the .38, recapped the midnight cleaning frenzy on Thursday night, got through traveling to Resorts and cashing her winnings then went into Friday night’s blackout, Saturday morning’s revelations including the receipt and the additional cash. She topped it all of with the dreams from the night before and the one while on the train this afternoon.

  “So, if you put it all together, it seems like something is really happening with me…to me…around me — I don’t know! But, something’s going on and I don’t like it. I know I’m not in control of my actions but — I’m so much more clear. I can focus my thoughts and the past isn’t crippling me anymore. My job is not just about carrying a gun to protect myself and trying to win the lotto so I can quit.” She looked up at Betty and flushed pink at the admission. “I guess I didn’t really hide that too well, did I?”

  “Ah, no. We’ve all been shocked at how you’ve stepped up to the plate and gone gangbusters with the Barnes murder. We’re proud of you. But you should have really sought help. I don’t know how you managed to pass all the tests and get out of police academy with all the baggage you’ve been carrying and now this brutal murder falls into your lap — of all people! You…carrying a gun? Given your past, any man that tries to…wait — if a dude even thinks of possibly raping you he’s going to get plugged.” Betty shook her head staring at her colleague with sorrow filled eyes.

  Jennifer sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, you’re right. I learned how to act really well to get past the teachers, principal, social workers, therapists, psychiatrists and the host of other do-gooders at the various social service agencies I had to live in. Hell, I first learned how to act from my Mom. She pretended everything was all right for years. So, me making a fuss? It wasn’t done. I had to go along and pretend. Pretending became the norm.”

  Looking stern the older woman asked, “Are you pretending now? I need you to be 100 percent straight and honest with me from here on out.”

  Jennifer looked up and shook her head. “I’m not pretending. I have no idea what all of this means. I especially have no idea what the receipt is about. I’m so neat. To have a crumpled receipt in my bag like that? No way! To wake up on my couch fully clothed? Then to have three rounds missing? Something is not right. I feel it in my bones. But I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong.”

  “Have you looked at the news lately?”

  Jennifer pursed her lips while thinking.

  Betty snorted, “If you have to think about it the answer’s no.” Betty grabbed the remote and clicked on her television flipping to the Brooklyn station, News 12.

  Jennifer stared at the screen her eyes getting wider and wider. There was a still shot of a blackened hotel room in the background and the reporter was talking but there was no sound.

  “Turn it up!” Jennifer ordered.

  “…found in the room alone. The body has been identified as that of Derrick Palmer.” As the man’s name was stated a picture of him replaced the burnt out room.

  Jennifer heard a sharp intake of breath and a keening sound. It was only when Betty’s hands clasped hers that she realized she herself had been making the sounds.

  “Jennifer, shh…I want to hear this.”

  Jennifer stopped her whimpering as she mentally took Palmer’s image and superimposed it on the dead man’s face from her dreams. She knew it was the same man.

  “The hotel records indicate Palmer checked-in with a woman but no other remains were found in the room. We’re told the hotel security cameras were not functioning that night. All that is known is that the woman is wanted for questioning. Authorities are asking the woman to come forward as she is a person of interest…”

  Jennifer snatched the remote and clicked off the TV. She didn’t want Betty to know anything more.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “I don’t want to hear any more.”

  “But I do! We need details, Jennifer. You need to know where this happened and check it out. Well, maybe I should check it out. What if someone recognizes you?”

  “You’re already assuming I did it, too, huh?” Jennifer surged off the couch and began pacing.

  “You recognize him.”

  When she received no answer from the pacing woman Betty continued. “I’m not assuming anything but all the pieces do seem to fit from what you’ve told me about your dreams. Burnt room, tall blond man — they didn’t mention anything about the stomach cavity…”

  “Yeah, and we know why.” Jennifer stopped pacing. Her eyes were riveted on Betty’s as she continued her thought. “If someone volunteers that information…”

  “Yeah, that’s their person of interest.” It was Betty’s turn to sigh. “Okay, Jenn, so how about you go into the kitchen and make yourself some lunch while I find out the details? Hmm?”

  Jennifer looked across at her and gave her a wan smile. “I’ll go into the kitchen and you can turn the TV back on low. I promise not to wig out or eat your brains. Is that good Mommy?”

  “It’s not my brains I’m worried about now is it?”

  Heading to the kitchen, Jennifer turned and stuck her tongue out at Betty but smiled when she turned back around. It felt good to have someone whom she could trust to have her back especially in a situation like this one.

  Half an hour later Betty came into the kitchen with some screenshots that she flipped through as she spoke. “So, it happened in Brooklyn but only just. It’s a spot called the Riviera on Atlantic Avenue. Driving you can get to this motel from the casino in less than fifteen minutes with no traffic. It was the guy who chose the spot, right?”

  Jennifer speared her with a sharp look before launching her retort. “I don’t frequent those kinds of places. I don’t even know where it is!”

  “All right, all right. I had to check.” Going back to the sheets she said, “He was a big guy; 6’ 2”. Educated at Yale. He was a lawyer. Left behind a wife and two little girls…” Betty looked up and saw Jennifer beginning to turn green. She flipped through and started reading something else.

  “Says here he had a history of stepping out on his wife. Shortly after this came to light — ah, earlier today — Damn! This bimbo said that she had an affair with him and she’s pregnant with his child. A call girl in some swanky Upper Eastside pad that she says he paid for…” Betty looked up at Jenn with wide eyes before glancing back down. “Can you believe this? To the tune of $7,500 a month!”

  Jennifer whistled. “That’s a lot of dough every month. I wonder how he hid that?”

  Betty shrugged and plopped herself into one of the kitchen seats. “So, he wasn’t the best of guys. You might have done the world a favor.”

  “That’s not funny!”

  “What I want to know is how you managed to hook up with someone like him. You went from being man-o-phobic to a man-magnet in a couple of days.” Betty gazed at her for several long moments but Jennifer refused to respond. “So, other than the blackouts and the dreams…anything else going on? Do you remember tripping, hitting your head…?”

  “I did not
bang my head and become schizophrenic if that’s where you’re headed. The only tripping and falling I remember is a few weeks ago while at the Barnes murder site. I tripped while gagging.”

  Betty’s eyes narrowed. “At the murder scene?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Weird place to trip. You hit your head?”

  “Good smack against some new glasphalt they poured earlier that day. It had a tarp on it and I wanted to make sure I didn’t contaminate the scene, so in my haste,” she shrugged sheepishly, “I guess I just tripped on the body, the tarp — I can’t remember. All I know is I fell and hit the side of my head. Had a scratch ‘cause there was a bit of blood on my head but it was nothing when I got home and checked.”

  Betty tilted Jennifer’s head to the side and leaned over to inspect her forehead. “Nothing.”

  “I just said that.”

  With an inquisitive look on her face, Betty got up and walked into the living room. Jennifer trailed after her.

  At the bookshelf, Betty was flipping through a thick old fashioned looking tome with gilt edges. Her finger whizzed across a page every now and then before slowing down. However, after several intense minutes of reading and skimming, Betty’s left index finger poked at the book, and with a grunt she muttered something. She then took her time to study the passage while mumbling to herself some more.

  Jennifer crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she waited. She knew better than to interrupt the pointed concentration. As Jennifer stood there, her mind wandered to Betty’s secret. How the hell had she kept this huge part of her life hidden from a bunch of cops? Jennifer wondered if her friend had any other secrets.

  Betty looked up at that moment. “That would explain Bastille’s reaction.”

  “If you would let me into the conversation I would deeply appreciate it.”

  “You ever hear of a Sprite or a Fury?”

  “Sure, the first one’s a soft drink and the second’s that thing I’m about to get into if you don’t tell me what the hell you’re talking about.” Her voice rose with the fear she was trying to keep at bay.