Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "Dakota!" Elise yelled, and he was jolted awake.

  "I'm here," he said, in a soothing tone, stroking her hair. She stared up at him, terror in her expression.

  "What...what's wrong?" he asked, chilled to his core.

  She reached for his hand, and held on with surprising strength.

  "She's not going to give up."

  "Who?" Dakota said, but he already knew the answer.

  Elise's eyes brimmed with tears. "She doesn't care if I do a retraction story anymore, she wants me dead."

  Dakota shook his head, trying to dismiss her statement, but a shard of fear sliced through his chest, and his heart beat a panicked rhythm, because if Tansy wanted Elise dead, this was just the beginning of the havoc the witch would wreak. And with an enemy like her, what chance did Elise have of surviving.

  7. ELISE

  After the accident, I had more bruises than I could count, ten stitches in my forehead, and a few cracked ribs, but that seemed nothing compared to the elderly couple I had hit, and who had died on the scene. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get the images of their faces out of my mind, and I was beyond guilt-ridden, because none of it would have happened if the Skeptic had never existed. The firemen who had saved me, said that I had only suffered minor injuries because the passenger side had taken most of the impact, and had crushed in such a way that I was cocooned safely in the steel, otherwise there would have been three body bags instead of two.

  Dakota strode into the room, his face a mask of exhaustion, and seeing him made my heart flutter. Nobody fit a plain white t-shirt quite like he did. He tossed his black leather jacket on the back of the steel framed padded chair beside my hospital bed, and gave me a peck on the cheek, but before he could pull away, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and covered his mouth with mine. He tasted of coffee and spearmint gum, and I touched the tip of my tongue to his, and felt the electric tingle of connection between us. The smell of his cologne tickled my senses, and I wanted to tug him into the bed beside me, but had enough sense to realize that my broken body wouldn't thank me for it. He gave me his trademark crooked grinned, and winged an eyebrow up, before he sat down, holding my hand firmly in his grip.

  "So they say you're going to spring this joint today," he said.

  I nodded. "That's what they tell me, and to be honest I can't wait to get back into my own bed."

  "I can't wait to get back into your bed either," he said, with a playful smirk, and I laughed, clutching a pillow to my chest. Even though it hurt to laugh, the levity of the moment was welcome. Since my accident, I had hardly slept, worried that despite the fact that I had the obsidian mirror safely stowed beneath my pillow, Tansy would come for me again.

  Dakota's face turned unexpectedly somber.

  "Ah, any... issues?" he asked.

  I shook my head, confirming that yet another night had passed without any sign of Tansy. It would have been easy to pin all my hopes on the mirror, and that it would keep her away forever, but I was sure that even if it was somehow repelling her for the time being, it wasn't a permanent solution. Eventually she would find a way around it.

  "Maybe she's gone for good," Dakota said, but I could hear the doubt in his words, and that only confirmed that I needed help, real help, someone who knew how all this worked. I needed Nanny Flo.

  Being in the hospital had given me time to mull over the pros and cons of returning to my hometown. I knew that if anyone could help me, it was Nanny Flo, but I also knew that if I went to her for help, I would be returning to the place I had fought to escape. It had been so long since I had turned my back on her, that I wasn't even sure if I was welcome anymore, not to mention that in the most public of ways, I had spent the last few years dispelling every bit of the paranormal.

  I squeezed Dakota's hand. "I think I need to go back home, back to Nanny Flo, she's the only one who can help me now."

  Dakota stared at me for a long while, considering, then he nodded.

  "You're probably right," he said, and rubbed my hand lightly against his stubbly cheek. I caressed his skin with my thumb in return.

  "But I'm going with you."

  His tone said that it wasn't up for discussion, and I was secretly happy, because I had hoped he would come with me anyway.

  "Thanks," I said. I clasped his hand with both of mine and pulled it against my chest. The weight of his fingers on my cotton Johnny shirt, and against my breasts, made my heart skitter, and I was sure he could feel my pulse against his palm.

  Unlike me, Dakota seemed too deep in thought to notice my arousal, and I watched his eyes shift back and forth as he formulated a plan. Finally, he brought his gaze back to me, and shook his head, as if I had just asked him a question.

  "So when do you want to go?" he said.

  I shrugged. "Today?"

  His eyes grew wide, and he gave me an incredulous stare.

  "How can you expect to go trekking across the country when you haven't even begun to heal?" he said, disengaging his hand from mine, and crossing his arms over his chest.

  I drew in a deep inhalation and released it with a dramatic groan.

  "I don't think Tansy is going to wait until I heal, before she attacks me again, and I somehow think that the next time she gets her hooks into me, she'll finish the job."

  An expression of panic crossed his face, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. I leaned forward and covered his hand with mine.

  "I don't want to sound dramatic, I just want to be prepared..."

  My voice trailed off and I sighed. How had my life taken such a sudden and drastic turn, where I was now forced to run back to Nanny Flo with my tail between my legs?

  "Besides, I'm on sick leave now, and I know that Jim will have me back in the saddle as soon as I'm even remotely ready."

  Dakota trained his eyes on mine.

  "I'm not so sure about that, Jim was pretty worried about you too. I think he kind of considers you a surrogate daughter or something," Dakota said, with a wry smile.

  "Or something?" I snorted. "Jim, a father figure?"

  Jim was a lot of things, a slave driver, a stickler for details, and the best in his field, but a surrogate father to anyone, especially me, was not something that would have ever crossed my mind. Even the concept of Jim being all doting and fatherly, made me squeamish.

  Dakota raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

  "So we leave tonight," I said.

  "I have a few loose ends to tie up before we go," he said. "How about we leave tomorrow?"

  Spending another night in town was the last thing I wanted, but I nodded grudgingly. Dakota was doing me a favor and I didn't want to appear ungrateful. I swung my feet over the side of the bed, and pulled the back end of my hospital gown closed, as I moved to retrieve my overnight bag from inside the bedside table.

  Dakota sprang to his feet.

  "Here, let me help you," he said, and plucked the bag out before I had a chance to. He curled his arm gingerly around my waist, and guided me to the bathroom, and though I never would have admitted it, I needed his help.

  He eased me into a chair facing the door, then tugged out my beige bra and panties before I could stop him, and oddly it embarrassed me. It wasn't like Dakota hadn't seen me in my underwear or naked before, but it had been sexual, certainly nothing like now, when I felt vulnerable and helpless. I tried to act nonchalant, as if he helped me get dressed every day, but I could feel the heat building in my cheeks. I wanted Dakota to see me as sexy, not like the battered and bruised invalid that I felt like.

  "I think I have this," I said, taking my underwear from his hand.

  He gave me a probing stare, and I suddenly felt stupid in the shapeless hospital shirt, that I had worn since I had been admitted a few days before. He tilted his head to the side, and I could tell by his expression that he wasn't sure if he should leave me. I lifted my eyebrows in mock indignation.

  "Seriously, I'm fine."

  He nodded, but before he left, he removed my black
designer jeans, and scoop neck fuchsia t-shirt from the bag, and draped them over the stainless steel safety rail, attached to the wall. With a final glance back, he exited the bathroom, closing the door after him. I shook my head, and wondered what part of my closet he had managed to dig these clothes from. They weren't exactly the kind of thing I normally wore since I had become the Skeptic.

  I slipped my legs into my panties, and pulled them up over my hips, then removed my gown and let it drop to the floor. I stood up, and when I studied myself in the mirror, I cringed at what I saw. The lump on my forehead was still swollen, but not as much as it had initially been, and tinges of yellow were now interspersed with the black and blue of the bruise. I had a thick bandage on the other half of my forehead, and the dark circles under my eyes were all too evident against my washed out skin. At least Dakota hadn't seen me from the neck down, since I looked like someone had used me as a punching bag. Even parts of my breasts were bruised and sore looking, from where the airbag had hit me.

  I threaded my bra around my ribs, but when I tried to fasten the clasp, it pushed against my chest hard enough, that I let out a cry.

  "You okay in there?" Dakota said, from the other side of the door.

  "Fine," I said, then tossed the bra back in the bag, and tugged the t-shirt over my head, careful not to cry out in pain as I did.

  When I finished dressing, I cracked the door open, and watched Dakota for a few minutes. There was nothing better than observing someone who had no clue they were being watched. When people thought they were alone, they acted differently, became less inhibited, and it had always fascinated me. I learned from years of "spying" like Nanny Flo called it, that people did the most unexpected things when they thought they were alone.

  Dakota, for his part, was pacing back and forth, across the tiny hospital room. From the expression on his face, he wasn't as laid back as he would have liked me to believe, there was tension in his body that he'd had well hidden just moments before.

  "All done," I said, emerging from the bathroom.

  His grin was wide and approving, and the weight of his gaze made my heart speed up. He slipped on his jacket, took the bag from my hand, slid the obsidian mirror into it, and coiled an arm around my waist in a protective gesture. I had to admit that I did feel better with him beside me.

  By the time I had signed the appropriate papers, and checked out of the hospital, I was exhausted. I was far from over the accident, and realized it had taken more out of me both mentally and physically than I had thought. Dakota kept me close at hand, and I leaned into him, enjoying the feel of his constant touch. Even while driving, he kept a hand on my knee, as if I might vanish if he let me go.

  "You can stay at my place tonight," he said. I started to protest. But Dakota threw up a hand and said. "Elise, she's been to your place before, who's to stop her from coming back. I don't know if staying at my place will keep her away, but it's worth a try."

  I nodded my agreement, since he did have a point; it was easier to astral travel to a place you had already been before.

  "But we have to go by my apartment long enough for me to pack a suitcase."

  Dakota nodded, and we headed to my apartment building.

  He left his car in the guest parking lot, and we walked hand and hand to the elevator. As soon as we stepped off the elevator, a feeling of foreboding descended on me, and I was actually relieved that I didn't have to spend the night at my place.

  Though everything in my apartment looked as it had when I had left it to go to Violet's farm, something niggled at my senses. I decided not to waste time, and went straight to my bedroom, retrieved a suitcase from the closet and started packing. I was sore, and knew that Dakota wanted to help, but trying to explain where everything was, would have taken longer than doing it myself, so I stayed on course, while he watched my every move. When I had packed all the clothes I was bringing, I made my way to the bathroom.

  I noticed the green blouse that I had worn at the Maple Plantation was in the laundry hamper, and remembered that I needed to have it dry-cleaned, since it had Dakota's blood on it. I scooped it up, then grabbed my makeup and toiletries, and whatever else I thought I might need. When I was almost finished, an all too familiar icy chill ran through me, and I knew a ghost had entered my space. I ignored whoever was there, because the last thing I needed was to waste time conversing with a dead person when my skin was crawling just being inside my apartment.

  Arms loaded with essentials, I took a step toward the bathroom door, but before I reached it, it slammed shut with a deafening bang. Startled, I nearly dropped all my things. Once again, frosty air swept over me. Irritated, I spun to face the ghost who was being a little too forceful for my taste, and found there wasn't one ghost, but a whole group of them, and they were definitely not like the run of the mill spirits I was used to.

  Their rough spun black woolen hooded cloaks covered all but their pasty hands, and shielded their faces from view. When I exhaled, my breath froze in a miniature cloud in front of my face. The ghosts emitted more power and energy than I had ever felt before, and for the first time in my life, I was a little scared.

  Thinking that it was in my best interest to get out of there, I reached for the door knob, but before I connected with it, all of the spirits drew down their hoods and revealed their faces. The ghosts were a mix of adolescents, mid-aged women, and women leathery with age, but despite their differing ages, they all had two things in common, glowing red eyes and pure white hair.

  Now, desperate to put some distance between them and me, I dropped whatever was in my arms and reached for the door handle, twisting and tugging, but it wouldn't budge. Then they were all around me, and it felt like needles of ice pricking my exposed skin. They closed a circle around me that was so tight that every time I moved I came in contact with another apparition. Panic rose like bile in my throat, and I spun back toward the door, pounding on the wood with all I had in me.

  "Dakota, help me," I yelled.

  I heard him hollering back, but it was as if I was underwater and his words were dull and metallic sounding. I whirled back toward the ghosts, and I could have sworn their eyes were glowing even brighter than before.

  "Get away from me," I pleaded, and they sneered in a united response. My eyes flicked from one face to another, and I finally recognized who they were, and with my recognition came more confusion.

  "You're the Elder witches," I blurted out, and they nodded.

  Years before, Nanny Flo had mentioned the Elder witches. She had told me that they were the spirits of the original coven of witches, who, while alive, had served as regulators to practicing witches. Even after their deaths, the coven had continued their work, punishing any practitioners of magick who broke the cardinal rules of witchcraft, though I honestly had no idea what those rules were. But knowing who they were, didn't explain why they had come for me.

  "We are here to judge," they said, their voices low hisses, like the sound of air escaping from a tire.

  "But I'm not a witch," I said, feeling slightly relieved. As far as I could remember the Elder witches only had power over other witches.

  "You have been found guilty of crimes and injustices against the sacred coven of the universe," they said.

  Their voices rose in tempo, and their translucent forms became denser. I had seen powerful ghosts before, spirits who had been around for years, but nothing could have prepared me for this group. I shifted my gaze back to the door, and tried the knob again, but it was still stuck. I turned back to the witches, thirteen from my count, and realized that they all brandished thin bladed daggers called athames, or what was popularly known as witches knives. As one, they jabbed the points upward into the air, the atmosphere grew heavier, and sparks of electricity popped all around me. The stench of ozone flooded my senses, and there was a hint of something else, faint, yet still detectable, sulfur.

  "If Tansy sent you, she lied. I'm not a witch, I didn't do anything wrong," I said, and the fear th
at I had managed to quash, returned with a vengeance. As terror swept through me, I tried to work out how Tansy had somehow got control over this ancient coven of spirits.

  The blades of the daggers glittered with an otherworldly light, and I wasn't so sure that the ghosts couldn't hurt me after all. I scanned the bathroom for something I could use to protect myself, but there was nothing.

  "The mirror," I said.

  But just as quickly as I said it, I remembered that Dakota and I had only planned a quick trip in and out of the apartment, so I had left the mirror in the car.

  "Dakota, get the obsidian mirror," I hollered, hoping that even though I couldn't hear him, he might still be able to hear me.

  A second after I spoke, I felt the first dagger slash my forearm, and when I glanced down I noticed a two-inch scratch had appeared on my arm. Blood pooled, then dripped down my flesh. In a hail of blades, every witch nicked me with the tips of their daggers and my arms soon turned into oozing messes. I backed against the vanity, but I was trapped and helpless against their attacks. As one, they brought the points of their daggers to their mouths, and licked my blood with their grey tongues. The daggers vanished from their hands, yet my blood still stained their lips. The buzzing sound of a live current drowned out everything else.

  "It lies," they boomed, and my heart sank because I knew exactly why they had come. Once again being the Skeptic was coming back to haunt me, literally.

  "I'm going to fix that, I'll tell the truth," I stammered.

  "The sentence is death," they said, and I felt faint. Had I survived a car crash only to be murdered by a coven of ghost witches?

  "No, you can't, I'm not a witch," I reasoned.

  "Death, death, death," they chanted, and the sound of their voices rose to a crescendo.

  I threw my hands over my ears to block out the din. Fingers of what looked like lightning licked the air, and the stink of sulfur became overpowering. Still chanting, they pushed in, even closer, and then twenty-six hands, in every shape and size, reached for me, and I didn't know how I could possibly escape.