by R. J. GREEN
Inside he placed him on a blanket spread out on the ground. Later into the night Father Johnson and another priest arrived. Detective Mullson kneeled over Father Andrew. The four priests including Father Johnson prayed.
Father Andrew sparkled back to life, after his soul exited the wormhole, yet nobody other than Detective Mullson showed interest.
“She is in great danger,” his faint voice warned Mullson.
“Father Andrew,” an excited Mullson said, “you're alive.” Three of the priests, excluding Father Johnson, glanced at Detective Mullson. Now they thought he needed some serious psychological attention.
“Great danger,” he said to Mullson, his voice sluggish. “You must go now.”
Nothing was unusual about the crowd merging towards the Sheraton Hotel, Seventh Avenue, New York, except for a few undercover agents from the FBI and the military blending in with civilians, all units with their own agendas, and independent of the others.
Agent McKoy was the only occupant in the room at number six hundred and sixty-seven, at least that’s what she thought. She stared at her handbag resting on the bed with the contents spilling, next to a handgun. The sheets crumpled and tossed aside, the television on with the volume lowered to almost a whisper, a clock radio on a nightstand showed the digital time: 5:00.
She’d one hand in a cast below the elbow secured by a sling; the other hand she used to help slide her tight shorts over her naked thighs, down her two long and luscious legs. McKoy shuffled toward the bathroom, each step with excruciating pain, as she gripped a fist and bit down on her teeth. Before entering the bathroom she glanced over her shoulders and could have sworn someone had being stalking her. Well, she thought her imagination — a little uncanny, blaming it on the lack of sleep ever since the accident.
Agent Hill had being creeping between life and death, literally. While his body laid in the coma his spirit was elsewhere. Two nurses who’d been observing him seemed confused as the heartbeat monitor became strangely unstable. “Get the doctor,” one of the women said, banging against the monitor. The other nurse rushed out of the room —
Agent McKoy was surprised at how jumpy she was when she thought she’d seen Agent Hill lingering around the room when she dreamed, during her private moments after exiting the shower. She wiped away most of the water running down her curvy figure, except for her back which was painful to reach. Over her body she sprayed her favorite perfume smelling the sweet and sexy scent — a little overwhelming in the humid air. McKoy gazed back at her reflection in the mirror, using the fingers of her freed hand she poked around the bags drooping below her eyes.
By the toilet she stooped and retrieved a small diskette she’d earlier hidden behind the tank. From a small bottle she poured out a liquid substance that fizzed when it touched her cast; Agent McKoy carved her way into the eaten away section of her cast and secured the diskette inside. Afterwards, she smoothed and blended the surface.
Meanwhile in room six hundred and sixty-eight, a black fellow lowered his shoulder to fit his tall frame in the bathroom mirror. He had on a black tuxedo along with a pair of white gloves. The man kept nodding his head in disapproval as he observed his face, keenly. He began to scratch his face, faster and faster, but the itchy sensation wouldn’t go away. The man slapped both sides of his jaw, extremely hard. He peeled away a layer of skin; rotten flesh filled with pus seeped down his charred face exposing his true identity. From a bottle containing rubbing alcohol he poured a handful and daubed his face till the worms itching away under his skin slithered to the surface, curled up and fell into the sink.
Wrath advanced towards the bedroom and began to search through a variety of facial masks stuffed in a suitcase lying on top of the bed. A clock radio resting on top of a nightstand showed the time: 5:01. He picked up a mask and hurried back to the bathroom, in the meantime slipping the mask over his face; his hairpiece shifted to one side of his head during the process. He stared in the mirror for quite awhile, secured his wig, knotted his tie. His eyes widened with satisfaction as he curled his toes in his spit-polished alligator boots. A slow smile spread across his face.
“What a handsome man,” he squeaked.
He had a close resemblance of Detective Mullson — his old self indeed, but he was not the same person. His blood pressure spiked. Daniel was dead and he knew it. His thirst went unquenched in his quest to redeem his mortal spirit; a man of adventurous intent had been succumbed by exhaustion from battling his demons, now beyond his control.
CHAPTER 15
In Montego Bay, Jamaica a cool breeze rushed across the land ruffling tree branches and had the grass swaying to and fro, carrying the odor of ripe mangoes along. The sun that had been dipping beyond the horizon painted the clouds orange, red, blue and white, like a splash tie dye.
Anna, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, wandered across the luscious countryside and spotted a small river ahead. Her imagination was enthralled as she trailed the waterway, looking at exotic birds, animals and vegetation, all arrayed by nature for her viewing pleasure. As she approached a section of the river three boys spotted her and dodged behind a patch of bushes, peeping at her.
At the riverbank Anna stooped and began to swoosh her fingers through the crystal clear water. She recalled her mother warning, “Don’t go venturing off alone,” but how can a person resist such allure. After all, in Long Island she’d none of these things to cherish. Reflecting on the book ‘Barefoot, Prickles, and Thorns’ gave her goosebumps, the vivid scenery as she’d pictured Jamaica — in no way shy of the beautiful paradise the book described.
Anna lost her balance and as she was about to fall into the water, she used the strength from one hand and swung her body, landing on her butt instead of her face. The boys giggled aloud when they spotted her. Anna immediately scanned the area she thought she heard laughers erupting, but the reverberation in the backdrop had her tricked. In the shallow she sat laughing as she finally glimpsed three little heads peeping at her from behind some shrubs.
The boys, about six years old at most, came out into the open. With their hands covering their private parts the naked three ran and tumbled in the river, splashing water all over Anna, messing up her recent hair do, but that didn’t dampen her spirit as she enjoyed the playful moment. It was kind of weird for her as she experienced children hanging out at a river without adult supervision and no swim trunks. This is what you call a free country, amazing.
The day had been drifting and Anna barely noticed darkness descending, or how worried her mother must have being. The boys were no longer in any mood to play. They seemed hollowed, as if she was looking through glass.
“You must go now,” the first boy warned Anna.
“What's wrong?” said Anna.
“You’re in danger,” said the second boy in a faint voice.
“Go now,” the third boy bellowed, “now!” his voice sounded more croaky than that of a grown man.
A terrified Anna jumped to her feet and stared at the three boys who’d begun to vanish. Realizing the boys were ghosts she hustled towards the center of the river. Thunder rumbled, louder this time. The rain had started, soft at first. She felt the cool breeze picking up speed.
An old lady with a rod appeared on the bank of the river — the side Anna needed to get to on her way home. The woman was covered from head to toes in a black raggedy gown; her eyes glowed in the unusual darkness. The wind gusts were strong now, and the bushes swayed back and forth, dancing strangely in the moonlight. She stared at Anna.
Anna stared back. Her skin cold, prickly goose bumps raced up her arms, splashing across her neck. As the moon exited a dark cloud, its light gleamed across the woman’s face. She looked familiar, Anna remembered quite well. The old lady was a spitting resemblance of the transformed image of Annie Palmer, the one she spotted on the picture during her brief encounter at Rose Hall.
Anna twisted and turned, over and over, but she could not move her legs. The only thing that came to her nat
urally was to scream at the top of her lungs. She did, but nobody came to help. She looked down at the water as it changed to blood red. Grabbing her throat she gasped for air, a bitter taste filled her mouth and she began to spit froth. Again she tried to scream, but managed only a few crackles. She twisted and turned, still she could not move.
A tunnel formed in the clouds looming above.
Anna spotted it. The old lady dipped her rod into the river and shook out of control as if being electrocuted. The water changed back from red to neutral, the sky brightened to reveal sundown, and the wind became calm.
“Get out of the water,” her squeaky voice echoed. “Run for your life!”
Anna tugged her legs once more and moved hurriedly towards the bank. The old lady’s eyeballs suddenly popped out off her head; with all of her energy used up she hit the ground with a thud. Anna got even more scared, but didn’t want to leave the poor lady by herself. She went and stooped over her, but ran away screaming as she spotted the mummified remains of the old lady that had two giant centipedes crawling out of the eye sockets.
On top of a hill a small house stood alone. Nearby, an outline of trees and shrubs danced in the evening wind. At the backyard, two mongrels chased some chickens that had missed landing on their roosts on a nearby cotton tree. The chickens finally got to their destination. The mongrels scampered to the front of the yard and stood howling at Mrs. Mullson.
On a chair against the wall she sat on the porch staring into the distance, watching the birds hovering above, and colorful streaks painted the sky as the sun had begun to dip beyond the horizon. A sudden rush of wind caught her off guard, but the gust deadened upon arrival.
“Mother!” she said.
“What you want Mrs. Mullson?” asked a lady with a heavy Jamaican accent, from inside of the house. She came and stood on the porch next to Mrs. Mullson; she was early sixties with grayish-black hair drooping to her shoulder.
“Where is my baby?” Mrs. Mullson asked her mother, referring to Anna.
From the midst of the house the telephone rang twice. Magarette rushed inside and whisked the phone to her ears. “Hello,” she said, before bursting into tears. “I don't know where she is.”
“Get in contact with the police,” said Trevor Mullson. “If I have to pay, just do it.”
Magarette had a burning sensation piercing her stomach — maybe the jerked chicken, she thought, or those spicy patties she ate earlier, damn. “Hold up,” she said-
“Grab everybody and go to the church… you will be safe there… tell Pastor James I sent you… don't move until I get there,” Detective Mullson said all these in a hurry.
“Here we go again, telling me how to spend my vacation,” said Magarette. “If it was not for your selfishness this wouldn't be happening in the first place.”
Somewhere along Seventh Avenue Mullson stood by a pay phone conversing.
“Hold on, hold on…” he said. “Please don't hang…” He listened as the phone slammed from the other side and the dial tone echoed. In his quest to get to the other side of the street, he darted towards the yellow line, dodged and jumped to avoid oncoming traffic, till he reached his destination. He was hurrying to get to his partner Jack who’d being waiting in Central Park.
The guilt of putting his family in danger had begun to take a toll on him, what could have possibly went wrong for he hadn’t seen it coming. He thought about all the names of dangerous people he stuck behind bars, but none rang a bell. Some psychopath was stalking him, and he wished he knew who. If he could put his hands around the sumbitch’s neck, damn he wanted to squeezed the heck of him. Get a grip of yourself Mullson, come-on. He took a deep breath and exhaled.
At Central Park Jack sat on a bench skimming through a newspaper, every once in a while he stared into the night, but there was nothing much to see, other than joggers, snooty ladies walking their dogs, a few fellows that gave him the creeps, a blonde with long solid legs — finally. He tossed the paper aside, rubbing his palms together he watched as the lady glided in his direction, so perfect in her short pink dress and a pair of high heels.
As the lady, looking absolutely gorgeous in every manner, went by Jack waved.
“What's up babe?” he said, with a grin across his face. He undressed the lady with his eyes, observing her from head to toe. He reminded himself he is an officer and should live by a higher standard, thus allowing his stuff to shrivel back to the dormant position.
The blonde passed and glanced back to check out the cute fellow who’d just waved — the accent as he pronounced “babe” stirred up something under her dress. Her nipples hardened, she used a hand to grab the oversized clit poking through her favorite rainbow colored thong, as she pretended to be straightening the front of her dress. She’d been so excited, so thrilled; she couldn’t resist the sexy Italian stud…
“Hello miss thing,” she said, with a hoarse male voice.
Jack almost jumped out of his pants. “Holly shit!” he said to himself. “No more pretty girl for Jack.”
Before the Sheraton Hotel a black Expedition came and stopped; Mullson and Father Johnson hopped out and scurried toward the entrance. The lobby was crammed with people entering and leaving, door men and greeters kept smiling, bellboys dragged luggage behind guests who accepted their help. At one corner Jack and Captain Austin sat waiting, when they spotted Mullson and Father Johnson rushing toward the front desk, they got up and joined them.
“Where can I find Miss McKoy?” Detective Mullson interrupted a clerk who cracked a smiled as he get ready to greet them.
“What is your name sir?” said the clerk, rushing over a guest list. Mullson flashed his badge; the clerk looked at him. “You already checked in earlier-” he said.
“Which room?” Mullson yelled.
“Six-six-seven,” said the clerk, his hands trembling out of control.
On the sixth floor Mullson and Jack exited the elevator and entered the long stretch of hallway, hurrying along till they reached room 667 where they stopped and found the door ajar. Mullson tapped on the door. Inside the room the television was on with the volume set to low, the wall opposite the door was totally covered with mirrors. Mullson glanced into the mirrors and noticed the place had being torn apart, as if a storm had passed through. The mattress tossed to the floor, all drawers ripped from their units and their contents scattered.
They drew their weapons and entered, walking slowly as they scanned their surroundings. Jack spotted a gun partially hidden by the mattress.
“Agent McKoy!” he said, as he used a finger to knock the mattress aside like a toothpick, not remembering his partner was present. “Agent McKoy!”
Mullson could have sworn the mattress sailed across the room; he rubbed his eyes. “I’m losing it,” he whispered to himself, after staring at the mattress now back in its original spot, within a blink.
A clock radio resting on top of the nightstand indicated the time was now 8:00.
Jack picked up the gun and observed it. “Nice cologne,” he said, after sniffing the air.
“Deep secrets,” said Mullson.
Both men rushed toward the bathroom and shoved the half open door; they crept into the bathroom where they found Agent McKoy sprawled out on the floor with her throat busted open, inside painted red with blood.
Mullson dropped to his knees and began to check Agent McKoy’s nose, neck, and wrists. He dialed his phone and yelled, “Hurry!”
Jack had never cried all his life and when tears trickled down his face the heaven smiled, as ruthless as he’d been there was hope. In the bedroom he came and crumpled in a corner. “I promise I will find the person who did this,” he told himself.
On Agent McKoy’s cast Detective Mullson spotted the initial ‘AH’ scribbled in blood. “A.H.,” he said, picking his brain, “Air Hostess, Agent Hill- what am I thinking?”
He went and joined Jack; they exited into the hallway, further ahead made a sharp right. Before they reach the elevator Mullson
spun around and ran back in the direction he came, toward room 667. Jack stared at Mullson and wondered what he was up to. Mullson dashed through the front door, and into the bathroom where he checked the cast on Agent McKoy’s hand. He peeled away a portion of the cast next to the bloody initials and removed a small diskette, as if by instinct. On his way out he stopped short of the exit door that had now been closed; as he grasped the handle of the door to open it hundreds of tiny pins emerged from the mirrors and rocketed toward him. Like a well trained monk he dodged and glanced at the pins as they went by him and stuck in the back of the door.
A ninja in a suit made of mirrors emerged from the wall mirrors and attacked Detective Mullson who possesses some acrobatic skills. He fended off the ninja who refused to give up. Mullson, flying through the air, broke his falls on the mattress lying on the ground. The ninja used trickery to gain the final advantage by frequently disappearing back and forth in and out of the wall mirror. Mullson scanned the room; this time the ninja had disappeared longer than usual.
In the hallway Jack sniffed his way to room 667 and found the door closed, as he raised his hand to knock his sixth sense tickled. He worked his way to room 668 where he placed an ear against the door and listened to the ticking of a timepiece, and the flushing of a toilet in the backdrop.
Inside room 668, Wrath’s suitcase stuffed with masks lay on the bed, a pocket watch and a wallet rested on a nightstand, next to a clock radio. The sounds of the toilet being flushed echoed. Wrath, in his new identity, exited the bathroom and came towards the room. He examined the place after smelling the present of someone. Not just anyone. The person or thing he sensed made him nervous; he figured it wasn’t Engulf, nonetheless he felt just as scared.
Jack continued to press his ear against door and sensed the presence of something unusual, a person for sure, yet no heartbeat. This can’t be real, he reminded himself. Whatever was lurking behind the door he needed to know. His anxious mind couldn’t wait any longer; he lowered his hand and grabbed the handle, bracing his body against the door. But the door didn’t budge. He raised a foot with the intent to kick the door off its hinges.
