I Hear Voices

by Gail Koger

  “Police brutality,” she screamed at the top of her lungs and spat in his face.

  The officer calmly wiped off his face, yanked her out the door and stuffed her in the backseat of his patrol car.

  A night in jail would do her a world of good.

  Walking casually around the exhibits I made my way over to the medallion. Another ten minutes and it was mine.

  The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood up. I turned and my heart stuttered in shock.

  Derek Sloan walked in wearing a thousand dollar suit that showed off his muscular body to perfection. An anorexic blonde bimbo clung to his arm.

  I eyed her “fuck me” shoes and barely there dress and shook my head. She kinda looked like that hooker I saw strutting her wares on Van Buren.

  He couldn’t be that hard up, could he?

  “No comment,” Sloan growled at a reporter and towed the bimbo over to the first exhibit, a well endowed stone statue.

  The blonde twittered, “Is that a penis?”

  Sloan slanted an annoyed look at the statue.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I bet it’s not as big as yours, honey balls.”

  Honey balls? I grabbed a glass of champagne off a serving tray and took a healthy gulp. How in the hell had he made it back in time?

  The Tomb Raider’s steely eyes constantly scanned the crowd. Ha! He’d never recognize me.

  Or would he? His gaze swept over me briefly before moving on. Nope. I was safe.

  Sloan stiffened, his head snapped around and his eyes zeroed in on my breasts.

  Crap! My birthmark was showing through the makeup.

  Implacable resolve stamped on his face, Sloan glided towards me with the fluid grace of a predator who was about to make lunch out of his prey.

  The blonde bimbo grabbed his arm. “Hey!

  Where are you going?”

  Without replying, the Tomb Raider shook her off like a pesky fly.

  It was time to get the party going. Hiding behind a group of gossiping women, I pulled out the remote and hit the first two buttons.

  The lights dimmed dramatically and with a theatrical puff of smoke, the Aztec Emperor Montezuma hovered in the center of the gallery. He wore nothing but a gold breech cloth and a headdress with three foot blue feather plumes.

  Montezuma pointed his six foot bronze sword at the

  stunned crowd and roared, “Death comes on wings to he who dares to steal my treasure. Whoever enters the treasure tomb disturbs the rest of a God. The Guardians of the dead will protect my gold.”

  I hit another button.

  An eerie moaning like a chorus of lost souls wailing a dirge echoed around the room. With demented shrieks, a dozen skeletal warriors jumped out of the darkness with blood encrusted swords.

  Several women and a couple of men screamed.

  “It’s the Rock,” a woman cried and started clapping.

  Montezuma

  waved

  his

  sword

  around

  menacingly. “Who among you dares to take my treasure?”

  “Great special effects,” a man called, clapping, too.

  Soon everyone in the museum was clapping loudly.

  Huh. Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

  A hard hand clamped around my elbow. “The Rock? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “So I think Dwayne Johnson’s hot. Sue me.” I jabbed my stun gun in Sloan’s stomach and triggered it.

  Grunting in pain, he convulsed violently and crashed to the floor.

  I slid the remote into his breast pocket and patted his face. “Nice playing with you, numb nuts.”

  “Bitch,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his limbs still twitched spasmodically.

  “Sticks and stones.” Pulling on latex gloves, I slid the night vision goggles on and triggered my uncle’s electromagnetic pulse device. Inky blackness fell.

  The crowd milled around uneasily.

  Several people asked, “Is the show over?”

  I quickly walked over to the case, used a glass cutter and removed the medallion.

  A woman behind me asked, “Why haven’t the lights come back on?”

  “Dammit my cell phone won’t work,” a male voice complained.

  At the exit, I glanced back and groaned. The Tomb Raider was already on his feet. He had the constitution of a contrary jackass.

  I walked over to my car and slid inside with a grin. A big jackass who had been out maneuvered by little ole’ me and there was nothing he could do to stop me from taking the gold.

  Chapter Three

  The Superstition Mountains are a , foot high bastion of ghosts and legends. The tales of the Lost Dutchman’s mine and Peralta’s gold have lured many into the deep canyons and rocky spires.

  Those who dare enter the sacred grounds of the Apache Thunder God to hunt for the legendary gold usually found death instead.

  Hundreds of men have vanished in this desert wilderness only a short drive from Phoenix. They were later found with their bodies mutilated and their heads cut off. Was the Thunder God responsible? Do Apache warriors still guard the gold? Or did gold fever make crazy men out of ordinary folks. Only the dead know. To this day hikers still find skeletal remains of the unlucky treasure hunters who got lost and ran out of water.

  Me? I was heading into the heart of the sacred grounds. Was I worried about the Apache Thunder God? You betcha. The spirit world is real. I should know.

  Some say the Lost Dutchman’s mine lies within the shadows of the forbidding rock called Weaver’s Needle. Would I search for it? Hell, no. Poor Ted North was the last psychic treasure hunter who tried. He had been found a week later half-dead and mad as a hatter.

  The sun seeped over the mountains turning the morning sky from lavender to pink. It was a good five mile hike to Hieroglyphic Canyon and I wanted to get an early start before it hit a friggin’

  degrees. But, hey, it’s a dry heat.

  A hot wind rose with the sun. A newspaper tumbled across the parking lot and slapped against my legs. I picked it up. Emblazoned in bold print across the front page the headline exclaimed; Priceless Artifact Stolen. The Mexican government is outraged that the museum allowed a brazen thief to snatch the medallion in front of hundreds of witness.

  Outraged? They were a bunch of thieves themselves and besides, it’s not like I’m going to keep the medallion forever. As soon as I find the gold, I’ll return it.

  I searched the paper and snorted. The society bitch’s arrest merited two measly lines on the society page. The snooty reporter wanted to know if Margie Goldberg’s arrest for drunk and disorderly had aided the thief. Uh, yeah, it certainly had. I stuffed the paper into a trash can, shouldered my backpack and started down the path for fame and glory.

  The path to fame and glory sucked big time.

  Heat waves shimmered off the sweltering rocks and added to the feeling of being baked alive. My chocolate had melted an hour ago and the water in

  my canteen was actually hot. Even the poor cactus looked wilted.

  Using the edge of my camouflage t-shirt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes, I checked my map again and groaned. Hieroglyphic Canyon was another friggin’ mile down this rocky obstacle course called a path. Where were Granny Annabel and her arctic freeze when I needed them?

  My satellite phone chirped loudly and the hair on the back of my neck sprang to attention. How in the hell had the Tomb Raider gotten this number?

  The image of Sloan decked out like a commando, face paint and all, firing a rocket launcher at what had to be a convoy of terrorists’

  vehicles flashed across my mind.

  I yanked the phone out of my backpack and gasped, “You work for the CIA!?”

  There was a long silence. “You’ve been out in the sun too long, sweetheart.”

  “You’re the only man I know who makes sweetheart sound like a cuss word.”

  He dropped his voice an octave and purred, “How about I c
all you ‘Angel’ instead?”

  I shivered as a shocking heat clenched my lower muscles. Omigod, he was actually trying to seduce me.

  “First thing I want to do to you, Angel, is strip you bare. Then I’m gonna spread your hot, naked body across my bed like a banquet and eat you until you scream.”

  Hoo boy! He was definitely a pro at seduction.

  Shaking off the urge to yell, ‘take me I’m yours,’ I snorted rudely instead. “Nice try asshole.

  Does the Logar Province in Afghanistan ring a bell?”

  With a low, aggressive growl, he snapped, “Let’s get one thing straight, Zelda, that gold is mine.”

  “And how exactly do you plan on finding it, Derek? Got a CIA psychic on tap?” I swatted at a bee buzzing around my head.

  “No, you’re gonna find it for me.” His voice was lethally matter-of-fact.

  I laughed. “Not a chance. Hell will freeze over before I’d work with you.”

  A mini blizzard sprang up around me.

  “Oh for God’s sake give it a rest.”

  I could sense his puzzlement before he added, “You’ll do exactly what I say if you want your uncle out of jail.”

  “Ha! My uncle is no longer in the country. So, good luck with that.” I hung up.

  The blizzard got worse.

  I reveled in the cold breeze. “Thanks Granny.”

  The blizzard stopped and the unforgiving sun immediately seared my already sunburned skin.

  Granny Annabel’s disembodied voice echoed eerily off the steep walled canyon. “You have roused the hunter in Derek. He will not stop until you are his. Accept your fate.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? He doesn’t want me.

  He wants the gold.”

  “Only true love will bring you what you seek.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop already with the mystical crap.”

  “He is your destiny.”

  “Destiny, my ass.” The satellite phone chirped again. I stabbed the answer button and snarled, “Stay the hell away from me or I’ll do more than stun you.”

  “You try that little stunt again and I’ll put you over my knee.”

  “The big, scary CIA agent’s gonna spank me.

  Gosh, I’m trembling in my boots.”

  Derek laughed. It was a masculine, mocking taunt. “When I’m done with you, you will be screaming my name and begging for more.”

  I stared at the phone in disbelief. Did he really think I was that hard up? Okay I was, but a girl had to have some self respect. “Sorry, sugar, but you’re not my type.”

  “I’m exactly your type, Angel, and one night in my bed will prove it.”

  “You egotistical, conceited ass I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.”

  “Care to place a bet on that?”

  With a furious growl, I disconnected and swatted at another bee. That’s when the hum of thousands of bees caught my attention. I glanced up at the ledge I was using to block the sun and jumped back. Holy shit! That was one big, freakin’

  hive and the little buggers were a bit riled up.

  Putting out calming psychic vibes, I inched away.

  A movement at the mouth of the canyon drew my attention. A large form appeared in the shimmering heat mirages dancing across the brittle desert.

  Squinting against the glaring sun, I peered at the man walking out of the translucent waves. How in the hell was he tracking me?

  Sloan looked huge, invincible as he sauntered down the path after me with his Fedora set at a cocky angle.

  I eyed his neon green shirt decorated with bright red flowers. The rescue people wouldn’t have any problems spotting him from the air.

  He gave me a friendly wave.

  I gave him the one finger salute.

  Derek grinned and increased his pace.

  My temper flared to life. Grabbing a rock, I hurled it at the bee hive and scored a direct hit.

  It hit the ground with a loud splat and thousands of angry bees poured out.

  “Oh shit!” I ran for it and put every ounce of psychic power I had into calming the bees chasing me.

  Sloan’s bellow of fury was music to my ears. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder and watched him sprint in the opposite direction with a horde of pissed-off bees on his tail.

  Laughing with glee, I failed to notice a small boulder in my path, tripped over it and did a nice face plant on the ground. Ignoring the pain in my knees and jaw, I shot to my feet and raced down the path; while swatting madly at the bees stinging me.

  Super cold air blasted over me and the bees’

  frozen little bodies dropped to the ground.

  Gasping for air, I stumbled to a stop and wheezed, “Thanks Granny Annabel.”

  “You are an evil girl.”

  “I know. It was a stupid move but that man makes me nuts.”

  “He brings out your fire.”

  I eyed her Indiana Jones outfit complete with whip and nodded. “He sure does.”

  Sloan’s furious curses echoed down the canyon and guilt roiled through me. If he was stung too many times, he might not be able to hike back to his car. I didn’t want his death on my conscience. I took a deep breath and asked, “Can you help the jackass, too?”

  “Si, bella, he is la famiglia.” She vanished.

  Ten sweaty minutes later, I found the cacti in my vision. The spine pointed down a narrow path littered with boulder sized rocks. Standing in its meager shade, I gulped down an energy bar and several mouthfuls of hot water. My energy level was flagging big time. Now I knew why so many people never made it out.

  Granny Annabel popped in. “You should wait for your man. This place is full of angry spirits.”

  “Omigod! That rat bastard’s still following me?”

  “Of course, bella, he is not easily defeated,”

  she commented, floating after me.

  “Your little ice show didn’t freak him out?”

  “No, he is most eager to find you.”

  “Yeah, I just bet he is.” The Tomb Raider probably wanted to strangle the life out of me.

  Adjusting my backpack I headed down the path and a cold chill skittered down my spine. This place was definitely haunted.

  Ancient hieroglyphics covered the white canyon walls. My unease grew as I sloshed through small pools of brackish water.

  Granny Annabel suddenly commanded, “Stop!”

  I froze and watched a rattlesnake slither away.

  “Thanks.”

  Crumbling adobe walls caught my attention. I walked closer to get a better look and every nerve in my body went on red alert. Dozens of bloody backpacks littered the interior. I crossed myself and backed away.

  “The dead cannot rest until their souls are freed,” Granny announced.

  Seriously freaked out I cautiously surveyed the area. “Whoever murdered them has to be human.”

  “The evil one serves the Thunder God.”

  The satellite phone chirped and I instinctively answered it.

  Derek barked, “Are you out of your tiny little mind?”

  “Probably. Gotta go, something wicked this way comes.” I disconnected and studied the area.

  If I was a mass murderer, where would I hide?

  A weird silence fell as if everything had been stilled, silenced by an ungodly, destructive hand.

  Oh crap. Was it the Thunder God or something else?

  I opened my psychic eye and felt a dark brooding stained by time and ancient blood.

  Whatever it was, it was moving this way.

  The hieroglyphics began to shift and transform into strange shadows which cavorted around the canyon like ritual dancers. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Crap they were still there. My gaze settled on the inky darkness concealed behind a half dead tree. The blackened limbs reached out like sinister thorny fingers.

  The satellite phone chirped again, again and again. My fingers tightened around it. “It’s not real. It’s an illusion. It�
�s gotta be an illusion.”

  “What’s going on, Angel?” Sloan’s commanding tone steadied my nerves.

  My voice shook, “Not sure. I triggered something.”

  “You talkin’ woo-woo stuff?”

  A paralyzing fear suddenly engulfed me in the raw edges of a nightmare. A hideous creature shimmered into existence and moved towards me with sharp reptilian fangs. My breath came in rasping shudders. “This is bad. This is really bad.”

  “If you believe it to be real, it will become real,” Granny Annabel admonished as she floated beside me.

  Sloan snapped, “What kind of drugs are you taking Zelda?”

  For a moment, the impossible horror of the situation almost overwhelmed me. Then I got mad.

  Drugs? He thought I was taking drugs? “You’re such a dick head.” I disconnected and stuffed the phone in my backpack.

  Now I knew why Ted North went nuts. This place was enough to scare the bejeesus out of anyone.

  Granny huffed, “You should show your man more respect.”

  I totally lost it and yelled, “Can we do this later? Like when I’m not in immediate danger of losing my mind?!”

  “What you seek is in the cavern.”

  “Was that so hard?”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  A hysterical laugh broke from me. “With the Tomb Raider?”

  Out of nowhere, all the terror from those who had died here slammed into me and it took every shred of will power I had to control it. I could do this. If I could go toe-to-toe with Uncle Dante, I could bitch slap the Thunder God. Yanking a flashlight out of my backpack, I forced my reluctant feet to move.

  Dozens of rotting corpses rose up in front of me. Maggots oozed from the bloody flesh. “Aw c’mon. Is that the best you got?”

  Hundreds of maggots boiled from the decaying flesh and swarmed towards me.

  “Ewww. Now that’s just gross.”

  “Bella!”

  “What?” A faint, never ending moan seemed to whisper in my ear, run.

  A blast of arctic air hit me in the face. “If you fail, Sophie wins and she will force you back to Seattle.”

  The illusions vanished. That bitch would never win and the Thunder God was trying to delay me.

  The question was why? Taking a determined breath, I turned my flashlight on and stepped into the airless cavern.