The Vessels

by Anna Elias

  He twisted off the cap and slammed the bottle’s neck against the granite counter. Dark red wine splattered with shards of glass across the hardwood floor and filled the kitchen with a rich, cherry aroma.

  Eric yanked the dishtowel from Mary’s mouth and poured several pills down her throat. He made her swallow them with half the bottle of wine before securing the gag back into place with duct tape. More tape reinforced the bindings around her hands and feet.

  The combination of drugs and alcohol worked quickly on Mary’s empty stomach. The man’s movements elongated and turned colors as he taped Sophie’s mouth, hands, and feet. She forced her focus on his clothes, his blond hair, the thin, geometric-designed wedding band on his finger, the mole on his neck—anything that might describe him to police.

  Mary didn’t know she had drifted off until the sound of a car door startled her awake. Sophie was gone. She yanked against her bindings and scraped her face on the floor to remove the gag, but nothing budged. Each effort weakened what little sobriety she had left. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Eric returned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ll take Sophie’s car,” he said. “If the drugs aren’t enough to stop you, having no distributor cap will. It’s funny how one little thing like that can level the automotive playing field, from the cheapest junker to the most expensive SUV.” He leaned closer. “Kind of like death in that way.”

  Mary trembled as he plucked the smartphone from her purse. Its silver jewel case cut sparkly trails through the air. “I’ll take this, thank you. And I cut the phone line to the house. By the time you wake up, if you wake up, and somehow cut yourself free and crawl like a maggot to the house next door, poor little Sophie will be far, far away, locked in the prison of my design and offering any favor I might desire in a vain attempt to keep her life. Oh ‘Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary,’ it seems your garden no longer grows. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Sweet dreams.”

  Mary howled and threw herself at him, but the effort only rocked her closer to his feet. Eric stooped, and the flecks in his eyes glowed a devilish red. “We’re even now.” He spat the words and walked away. The front door closed and locked behind him.

  Mary’s eyelids drooped again. She forced them open, lifted her face from the wooden floor and rolled like a log toward one particular kitchen chair. A sharp metal point on its rung had cut her ankle a thousand times over the years, and she’d threatened to throw it out. Now that painful burr might save their lives.

  She rubbed one finger along the chair’s base until it pricked on the barb. She winced at the pain but turned her bound hands to saw them across the metal tip. It cut into the tape. The combined effect of the pills and alcohol made the room spin. She stopped a moment to rest her eyes.

  Mommy. Help me. Sophie’s voice echoed inside her addled brain.

  Mary awoke with a start, heart pounding, and rubbed the tape against the point. Sweat covered her face. The first layers pulled apart. I’m coming, baby. I’m coming. She fought harder to cut the tape, but the thick muddling fog rolled in again. Her eyelids shut, and a death-like sleep washed everything away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  AARON

  Aaron gripped the wheel and shrouded his thoughts, stuffing them into the recently discovered, secret recesses of his mind, and keeping them opaque and away from Eric’s controlling darkness. He noted the highways and backroads they drove, and what bridges and landmarks they passed so he could tell authorities. In case they survived.

  The car shifted as Sophie squirmed in the trunk, conscious again and struggling to get out. She must be scared as hell. Aaron was, too, and helpless against this monster. He, too, strained to find a way out.

  Eric laughed with cruel mirth. Don’t bother.

  Aaron inhaled and plunged his thoughts back into the hidden place. He had to go along with the plan, to give in, give up and go where Eric led. Or seem to. He took a breath and calmed his mind.

  That’s better, Eric said. Things will go much better if you just do them my way.

  An idea came to Aaron as he sped through a yellow traffic light seconds before it turned red, but he immediately cloaked it. The plan might work, but he had to tread lightly.

  I know what we can do, he said, disguising his excitement as submission. We’ll get farther away, faster, and no one will know where we went.

  Eric paused. Go on.

  I’m a pilot. We can take a plane and fake a flight plan. They’ll think we’re a charter and never know the difference.

  Eric probed Aaron’s mind for any hidden agenda. He evidently came up clean.

  It’s my lucky day.

  Aaron inhaled to suppress his relief.

  There’s a small airport on the bay, about twenty miles south. They’ll be closed by now, and I don’t think there’s a tower.

  Eric turned them down various streets until they arrived at a private, sleepy airport on the south side. The front gate was locked, and Aaron stepped out to open it. He turned the dial, stopping each time the tumbler clicked. Normally, Aaron would not have heard a thing, but with Eric in his head, the ticks banged like a gong. He opened the gate, drove through, and relocked it behind them.

  They passed the closed office, a single building shrouded in darkness, and continued to a cluster of single-engine prop planes parked under moonlight. The only other person on site was a mechanic working in a hangar on the far side of the field. Metal banged from that direction, but the man was too far away to see them. Even so, Aaron killed the headlights and parked behind the aircraft, pleasing Eric with his stealth.

  He opened the door and stepped out. Sophie flailed harder inside the trunk.

  Air gusted across the two open runways and skirted between planes as Aaron debated which one to steal.

  Well? Eric asked, monitoring the Vessel’s thoughts.

  Aaron decided on a Beechcraft Bonanza, similar to those he’d flown most often around Seattle. He tried to remove the tight-fitting custom cover but found it secured to the canopy with a lock. He traced the wheel gear for keys but came up empty. Running his hand along the cover, it didn’t take long for Aaron to discover a tiny bulge only fellow pilots would notice. His fingers dug underneath and pulled out a set of keys. He forced another smile.

  The evil laugh bubbled again. Aaron removed the canvas cover and unlocked the plane’s single door. He appraised the wings and body and peered at the familiar instruments. Perfect.

  Eric made him open the car’s trunk. Sophie’s hands and feet were bound, and tape sealed her mouth, but her eyes were wide and wild. Fear roiled in Aaron, too, but he didn’t let on. He couldn’t.

  Sophie’s terror excited Eric. With his immense strength, he made Aaron wrap her back up in the blanket he’d used to carry her from the house and hoist her out like a rolled carpet. Sophie flailed as Eric loaded her into the aircraft’s back seat and buckled her in.

  Aaron crawled into the pilot seat and checked the myriad of gauges. Everything appeared to be in order—save one. The fuel was near empty. Aaron threw that detail away and grinned. Looks good.

  Eric leered at the moaning, wriggling blanket.

  Aaron started the engine. The lone prop whirred to life and the plane started to shimmy. Sophie screamed, a muffled cry against the tape. Aaron tried the pedals and stick. The plane jolted.

  What’s that? Eric asked, his terse thoughts on edge.

  Aaron sensed a previous human fear of flying and repressed a grin. Chocks, he replied, using the distraction to pocket a small knife from the cockpit toolbox as he turned from the seat. The wheels are blocked.

  Aaron stepped from the plane, teeth clenched, not allowing any thoughts other than those inspired by the sheer joy of flying. He cleared the wheels and returned to the open door. He moved to get in, then yanked open the buckle, grabbed Sophie’s blanketed form and pulled her out onto the ground.

  Eric swelled with fury, but Aaron forced him down long enough to unfurl the fabric and whip out the pocketed knife. He hurried to cut the tap
e around Sophie’s hands, but Eric squeezed his gut and twisted until Aaron dropped to his knees and retched. The knife flew from his grip and landed about ten feet from Sophie.

  The plane turned toward them, propeller whirring.

  Aaron forced himself toward the knife. He was about to kick it closer to Sophie when Eric snarled and lunged at Sophie to put her back on the plane. Aaron roared in defiance, battling himself like a man possessed as the blades whirled closer.

  Sophie rolled toward the knife and grabbed it with one bound hand. She hurled herself the other away just as the propeller spun overhead.

  Aaron ducked the spinning blades in the nick of time, and fought his way back on board. Eric roared and punched and hammered him from within, but Aaron threw out Sophie’s cell phone and keys.

  “Your mom ... hurry,” he stammered before Eric’s poundings made him retch again.

  Aaron bolted the door and closed his eyes. He pushed aside the pain and focused his thoughts on Shellie and the baby, on his joy of loving them. Eric tore at his insides, but with slightly less force. Aaron’s focus on love had weakened him. Aaron quickly buckled in and lurched the plane toward the runway.

  Thank God flying was second nature, and Aaron didn’t have to think about anything as he readied for takeoff. That rote ability was crucial given what he was about to do.

  Eric rained blow after blow as Aaron punched the throttle, sped down the runway, and lifted off. He banked well out over the inky blackness of San Francisco Bay and smiled at the empty fuel gauge.

  Eric suddenly understood. Turn this plane around, he yelled, squeezing Aaron’s brain until blood oozed from his ears. TURN AROUND.

  Aaron gunned the engine toward the ocean and centered his mind on Shellie’s beauty and easy laugh. Thoughts of her uniform, casket, and flowers snuck in, as did the baby booties nestled in her arm and the life his family would never share. Anger flared and Eric paused his thrashing to fan that flame, but Aaron relaxed, breathed in and out, and shoved it aside to concentrate on happy times.

  Aaron pictured Shellie’s beautiful face at their wedding and used that to push past the Rogue’s beatings and dig the cell phone from his pocket.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  SAM

  Chief Black meditated near Prism Lake as drumbeats filled the air. Feathers of his headdress played in the chilly breeze while the Anaho danced and chanted around another roaring bonfire on shore.

  Seven days had passed since the ship’s arrival, and its return was due in less than an hour. Sam paced, sweating against the cold air. He checked his watch again. “Have you heard from them?”

  Blaze swiped his scanner. “Link and Tal are still in Ohio and Mississippi. But Avani changed.”

  Sam stopped. “How so?”

  “She moved around in Japan but ended up on some dude ranch in Northern California. Why would the Spirit take her there?”

  Sam resumed his pacing. Avani was the most accepting and committed Vessel, but she still needed to resolve things before disconnecting from her old life. She might have gone back to find the boy who had hurt her and say goodbye. Or to mend their rift. The Spirit would prevent a long stay, but seeing him again, and being at her old home, might create a renewed desire to go back. The thought of erasing her memories made him ill. Sam shoved that worry aside and forced a smile. “I’m sure she’ll explain when she gets back.”

  “What about Aaron?” Doc asked, brushing a dark wavy strand of hair from her face. “Has he called?”

  Blaze held up his phone. “He tried.”

  Sam halted mid-step. “Did you talk to him?”

  “He hung up each time before the call went through.”

  “The Rogue prevented it,” Chief Black told them, his moccasin-clad feet padding toward the group.

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “Will it hurt him?” Doc added.

  “That depends on his purpose here, what he needs to finish.” His mood darkened. “This Rogue is powerful and filled with darkness. If Aaron resists ...”

  A growl cut the night air, and the oversized bobcat emerged from the woods. Its eyes glowed a familiar golden green. Doc and Blaze jumped back, but Sam and Chief Black waited as the bobcat took a mighty lunge. Four paws leaped into the air, and two feet landed. Liam walked over to join them. “Woods are clear.”

  Doc’s jaw dropped.

  Blaze gaped. “Whoa. Totally sick.”

  “Thank you, Liam.” Chief Black nodded and resumed the conversation. “The Rogue took Aaron without the blessing, the ceremony, or the coin. He transported him without allowing contact. His purpose appears grim at best.”

  Blaze frowned. “But I thought spirits were here to do good.”

  “They are,” Liam replied. “But things can change, especially if something happens to their Vessels and they are forced into human bodies, where emotions and feelings are raw and uncontrolled.”

  Sam looked between Liam and Chief Black. “Can a spirit cause a Vessel’s death?”

  The two men exchanged a look. Chief Black nodded. “If the intentions grow dark enough. Or if the Vessel tries to stop it in some way.”

  Sorrow tore at Sam. He had lost his two biological children, but at least they were alive and well in the world. These Vessels had become like children, too, and Sam couldn’t bear to lose one in death, particularly at the hands of some crazed Rogue.

  “Four other Vessel Programs exist in the world,” Liam said. “This Spirit could have entered through any one of them.”

  “And been anywhere in the world when its Vessel died.” Sam’s pulse quickened. “How will we find that body? Or the human it used afterward?”

  “Humans,” Liam corrected. “And which ones are still alive.”

  Sam’s knees buckled. Doc stepped closer for support.

  “You’re worried this Rogue is evil,” she said. “What if it’s not? Maybe the Vessel died unexpectedly and this Spirit saved itself. Perhaps it tried to do what’s right by getting Aaron’s help.”

  “He would have brought Aaron to us,” Chief Black replied. “To receive permission and the blessing.”

  “And to make sure Aaron had the coin,” Liam added.

  Blaze’s fingers flew across his tablet. “I did a quick search for unusual deaths in young people around the world. Strange homicides, freak accidents, questionable suicides, that kind of thing. Got a ton of hits but there’s a real creep factor to this one.” He enlarged an on-screen newspaper article. “Young male hiker. Authorities found his body, or what was left of it, after he fell off a mountain cliff.”

  Liam’s golden eyes dimmed.

  “But hikers fall all the time,” Sam said. “Including those with experience. Maybe it was an accident.”

  Liam scanned the online article. “Authorities found no health problems or other possible causes of death. They also ruled out suicide or exposure. According to the one eyewitness, he appeared to be fighting with himself before he stepped off the ledge and dropped.”

  Chief Black pointed to one color photograph in the article, near a spot on the hiker’s foot. Blaze enlarged the picture until everyone else saw it, too—a tattoo peeking out above the boy’s left boot. The image was pixilated, and the tattoo’s color had faded, but the vines and tendrils confirmed their fears.

  “Dear God,” Doc whispered. “Where was he?”

  “Bolivia. In the mountains bordering Peru.”

  Sam staggered as the global scope of this Program sharpened into perspective. “Diego went to lead the South American Program. It’s in Peru.”

  Liam nodded. “Their lake is just over that mountain.”

  Doc studied the on-screen image. “You think this Vessel was trying to get there?”

  “Why didn’t he just beam there?” Blaze asked.

  “Vessels cannot initiate thought-based transport.” Liam looked up. The green rings darkened.

  “All right, then ... Why didn’t the Spirit simply whisk him off the mountain and land wherever he wanted to
go?” Doc asked. “Why kill him at all?”

  “Experienced Vessels can prevent that,” Liam said. “For a while, anyway. But it’s daunting, and it weakens them on every level.” He glanced back at the screen. “The authorities haven’t been able to identify the victim or locate any family members. They give a contact phone number and website for Bolivian Search and Rescue.”

  Chief Black left to join his chanting tribe at the fire.

  Sam paced again, rubbing his hands. “If the Rogue can do this to an experienced Vessel, what chance does Aaron have?”

  Liam’s energy blanketed them. He put a hand on Blaze’s shoulder. “Search for any other unusual deaths between there and here, Vessel or not, using any form of transportation.” He pointed to the digital photo. “Start with those rescue workers.”

  An owl’s cry cut the night and trees stirred in a sudden gust of wind. A brilliant flash of emerald light cut the air and Avani appeared about ten yards away. The wind stopped and the light vanished. She stood upright, eyes closed and arms by her side.

  Sam raced over. “Are you all right?”

  Doc checked the girl’s heart and held two fingers against her wrist to measure her pulse.

  Avani shuddered and goosebumps blanketed her skin. “I’m fine,” she said. “I think.”

  “How did you ... how was ... how did everything go?” Sam asked, anxious about her experience but more concerned about the ranch.

  “My journey was successful, very joyful,” Grandmother’s Spirit replied, her Japanese voice accenting Avani’s. “I see my granddaughter. I share my story. I find forgiveness.”

  The Spirit beamed green flecks of soul in Avani’s black eyes. Liam’s limbal rings flashed in reply.

  “And you, Avani?”

  Her face lit up. “I can’t wait to do it again.”

  Sam grinned and hugged her. He pulled back. “What about the ranch?”