by Ballan, Greg
She sat down under a large oak tree to recover some of her ebbing strength. She could imagine her boyfriend laughing at her as she told him her tale of woe when she finally made it out of the woods.
She became aware of a drastic change in the light. It was almost as if someone put a dimmer switch on the sun. Her flesh became cold; she looked down the path and saw someone approaching her from a distance.
“Hello?” she called out. “Can you help me? I think I've broken my ankle.”
The figure was silent, but kept approaching. Carol felt a wave of fear sweep through her body; she struggled to her feet and began hopping away from the figure. She had gone only thirty feet, when she stopped. She didn't want to look back, but her body instinctively turned her head in the direction of the dark figure. She expected to see the figure closing on her, but it was gone. She still had that creepy feeling, but at least her pursuer was gone.
Carol laughed to herself. “You wimp. You're jumping at shadows now.”
She turned to head back down the path, not realizing that this mistake would be the last she ever made. As she hobbled down the pathway, a dark form leapt out from behind a large pine tree, tackling her. She tried to struggle, but her attacker was too powerful. Although her attacker was on top of her and she was wrestling with him, she couldn't make out his features.
She watched in horror as a black claw reached down and grabbed her throat in a grip of iron. She grabbed the arm that had her throat and was astounded by the intense cold of her attacker's flesh. She felt the pressure building on her neck as her attacker closed his hand tighter around her throat.
Carol knew she was going to die the moment she hit the ground. She knew instinctively that her life was over. She felt the pressure on her throat increase, and she began to see black spots hovering around the corners of her vision. Then, she felt her throat crush. The rest of her body went mercifully numb. She tried to close her eyes, but couldn't.
Her last sight was to finally see the face of her attacker, to see the red pupiless eyes and that malicious evil grin as it squeezed the last remnants of her life. Carol's last thoughts were not of herself, but of all she was leaving behind: Her boyfriend, whom she knew intended to marry her; her family, friends. Would they find her out here? Would they anguish over never knowing, or would she turn up as a half-eaten corpse somewhere?
* * * *
Carol's attacker dragged her lifeless body deeper into the woods. It had fed deeply upon her fear. The fear of an adult was not nearly as satisfying as the fear of a child, but the creature still hungered and needed to feed.
* * * *
Erik had spent two hours carefully walking every inch of Hopedale Park. He checked out both bathroom facilities and the grounds surrounding them. Nothing—no overlooked item, no hidden shard of cloth, no mysterious footprint.
Erik had spoken with some of the children that were at the park; a few that he spoke with were actually there the day of the disappearance. As Stephen had claimed, they saw nothing, but spun the same elaborate fairytale he'd heard earlier.
He walked over to a park bench and sat down, pausing momentarily to adjust the holster carrying his 9mm Ruger. Erik didn't feel that he was in any danger—it was just from his training. His mentors had beat it into his head; the one time he didn't have his gun would be the one time he found himself in a situation where he needed it. He normally wore his twin Wilson Super 45s, but a shoulder harness and intimidating weapons were too much for this atmosphere. A concealed pants holster was much better for public gathering places. The last thing he needed was to cause more tight nerves.
He could sense that the parents there were hyper-cautious about watching their children. He imagined Brianna on a swing or near the monkey bars, and pictured himself being just as tense and nervous.
There had to be something, he just wasn't seeing it. He reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out the plastic bag containing the child's locket. Erik was reluctant, but he took the locket out of the bag and dropped in into his open hand. He instantly felt the sense of fear and dread. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to focus only on the locket in his hand.
Erik accessed a part of himself that he kept hidden from others—latent skills of telepathy and something more, a sense of nature and the supernatural. He opened himself up to all the sensations and phenomenon that were around him, and then took that reception and focused it on the object in his hand. He began to mumble in an alien language that he instinctively knew but never understood how he knew it, or where it came from. Shanda had told him that it was a Sorcerers’ Tongue, inherent in all people with their specific gifts.
“C'mon, talk to me,” he whispered.
He felt himself being drawn, pulled toward the road, away from the park. He continued walking, crossing the street an heading up the street. He still felt that he was moving in the right direction. He was almost a quarter mile away from the park and still walking. The further he got from the park, the faster his body propelled him. The essence of absolute terror still shrieked in his mind; the child was frightened beyond all rational ability. Her fear was so strong that he actually felt his own flesh crawl.
He continued to walk until he came to a protruding yellow gateway, the entry into the Hopedale Town Forest. As sudden as he was pulled to this area, the inkling that pulled on him stopped. Erik realized he was trembling, actually shaking. The girl's terror had been so powerful that it seemed to be emblazoned upon the piece of jewelry.
He again caught the scent of something foul, a scent that was unfamiliar. Erik held up his right hand in front of his face; it still trembled. He felt lightheaded and had to sit down on the side of the road. He leaned his back against a yellow railing. He placed his face in his hands and closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the emotions passed into him.
He slowly opened his eyes, staring into the sand and debris that had accumulated on the edge of the road leading into the parklands. If he hadn't been looking down he would have missed it completely. There, half buried in the sand, were three shiny objects. Erik picked up a nearby twig and stirred up the debris.
“Damn, I was hoping this wouldn't pan out,” he whispered to himself.
The objects were buttons. Clinging to one of the buttons were tatters of thread and a small piece of cloth. Erik guessed that the buttons were forcefully ripped from a garment. Erik, carefully making sure he didn't touch the objects, scooped the fabric shards, thread, and buttons into a small handkerchief that he carried in his back pocket.
Erik was playing a long shot, but he would need to actually touch the objects. If this was evidence, he would have to turn it into the police immediately and he didn't want his fingerprints and body secretions corrupting a potential piece of evidence. He would have to show this to Mrs. Reynolds tomorrow. Only she could shed more light on his find.
He stood up, feeling a little better, and headed back toward his truck. If the girl had been taken forcefully to this area, he had little hope for her being alive. He also didn't understand how someone could abduct a child in broad daylight, force her all the way here, and no one witness a thing. People jogged, fished, and rode their bikes in the parklands constantly. Yes, there were remote sections of woodland higher up in the mountain, but there was also a maze of paths leading up to that wilderness area, usually with people on them. Somebody had to have seen something.
The more he considered the odds, the less likely he believed that what he had found had any bearing on Lisa Reynolds. Erik knew he had to play out the odds, no matter how remote. To ignore even the slightest possibility would be irresponsible. Erik was sometimes shortsighted, even reckless on occasion, but never irresponsible when it came to somebody else. He would bag the objects and have Mrs. Reynolds examine them. At this point, it was all he had.
* * * *
Erik was seated at his favorite booth in the back of Madame's nursing a glass of water and a bowl of vegetable beef soup when Shanda walked into the restaurant. She spotted him, w
alked over to his booth, and seated herself.
“Hi,” she began. “I decided to stop by and pay a social call. Also, I'm hungry; and since you've always bragged about the food here, I figured I'd give you an opportunity to buy me dinner.”
“I'm touched,” Erik responded. He gestured to one of the waitresses and she immediately walked over.
“Alissa, my friend here will have a cup of vegetable beef soup, a grilled chicken breast sandwich, steamed vegetables in place of French fries, and a medium Coke, lots of ice.” Erik recited the order he gave every night for his own dinner.
“Hold the veggies, keep the fries,” she corrected. “Plus an extra pickle slice.”
“Excellent.” Alissa smiled as she headed toward the kitchen.
Shanda looked around the restaurant, admiring the unique décor of Erik's favorite haunt. “I can see why you like this place so much; it must be nice to have your office in such an interesting place.”
“It puts people at ease,” Erik answered.
Erik and Shanda exchanged polite, pleasant conversation for nearly half an hour, discussing a variety of topics. She was finishing off the last of her fries when Erik decided to cut through the pleasantries.
“Shanda, it's been great to see you again, and I've enjoyed the dinner conversation, but considering that I've been here for almost six years and this is the first time you've come here, I tend to think this isn't a social call,” Erik gently hinted.
Shanda blushed. “No, it's not. Curiosity got the best of me. I was wondering if you had any success with your case so far. I had this hunch earlier today that you found something.”
“Actually, I did,” he replied. “I won't know much until I meet with my client tomorrow.”
Erik reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out a small sealed plastic bag and tossed it on the table.
“I found these. I'm sort of hoping it's a bogus lead, because if it's not, things suddenly don't look very good for our missing person.” He took another sip from his second glass of water.
Shanda picked up the plastic bag and studied its contents. She looked up at Erik, who seemed to be very distant. “How did you manage to find these? More importantly, what makes you think they're related to this girl's disappearance?”
“I spent over two hours combing the park area; I couldn't find anything, not a single clue,” Erik began. “I was getting desperate, so I followed my instincts. I wound up at the Hopedale Town Forest, over a quarter mile down the road. I sat down by the entry gate to collect myself, and when I looked down, there they were.” He pointed at the sealed plastic bag. “Can you tell me if they're hers?”
Shanda looked at the bag and whispered to herself. She clutched the bag to her chest and held it tight. Shanda looked up at him after a minute, tears welling up in her eyes.
“It's hers; the energy is the same,” she muttered.
“I thought as much,” Erik replied.
Erik stood and led the shaken woman to his back office. He sat on the couch next to her and placed his arm on her shoulder. She turned to him, laid her head on his shoulder, and cried. Erik put his arms around her and held her in silence as she wept for several minutes. Shanda lifted her head off his shoulder and sat upright on his couch. She stared, embarrassed, at the large wet spot on the shoulder of his shirt.
“I'm sorry, it was just so overwhelming,” she explained.
“Don't apologize; I was bowled over myself to the point I was trembling earlier today,” Erik explained as he changed his shirt.
Suddenly, Shanda bolted upright. “You did it! You used your telepathy!”
“There was no other way.” Erik pulled a clean T-shirt over his torso.
“I thought you swore off your abilities for good?”
“I swore them off for personal gain or the material gain of others,” he explained. “Most practitioners use telepathy and the occult to get something for themselves. Then they want more and more. They delve deeper into things that are best left alone. That is what I swore I would never do.” He sighed. “To pursue that course eventually leads to an abrupt, unhappy end. I've never needed to use it on cases before; this happened to be the first time.”
He sat down on the couch beside her. “Besides, it's not just telepathy; it's more. I can read things, but not as well as you. I can also sense when bad events are going to happen. I feel alive when I'm in the wild, not just in an ordinary sense, but almost like I'm a living part of the forest. I know what animals are within at least a half mile of me, what people are feeling most of the time, and I can sense changes in air pressure and almost smell different kinds of weather.” He paused. “It's all very unusual, but I've learned not to ignore my instinct when it makes itself known,” Erik added in a serious tone.
“You have so many unusual gifts; you shouldn't be ashamed of them. I thought, perhaps, you didn't believe in utilizing them anymore, or maybe using them made you uncomfortable,” she whispered. “But there's more you're not telling me,” she added forcefully.
“Yes,” Erik acknowledged. “Promise you won't think I'm crazy.”
“This is me, Erik.” Shanda pointed to her purple hair and wild attire.
“Okay,” he replied, letting out a deep breath. “There are times, when I really focus, I can double, almost triple, my physical strength. It's like my body has some kind of built-in overdrive or something. I feel like I've been plugged into an adrenaline high. I've tested it before, at the gym when nobody was around.” He paused, reluctant to continue.
“And?” Shanda urged him on.
“I was able to bench-press over 750 pounds, and I weigh just over 185 pounds—nearly four times my own body weight. A few days ago during a martial arts workout, after an argument with my ex's husband, I got angry and pulverized six cement blocks with my bare hands. The head instructor said he only knew of a few men who could break four of them, and nobody who could break six. I think I could have done more, a lot more.”
“Erik, that's fantastic. Don't be ashamed of whatever abilities you have; they're gifts, not a curse.” She paused. “I always thought you no longer believed in this kind of thing, that maybe you were turned off by them,” she added, hinting at the still unknown reason for his termination of their relationship. Shanda secretly felt hurt that Erik had not confided in her earlier.
“I still believe. How can I not when I'm reminded of it every day practically?” he replied. “It's just that if I told anybody besides you they'd think I'm nuts. Sometimes, I just want to fit in and pretend that I'm just like everybody else,” Erik added with a sour note.
Shanda needed to hear him say that for some reason. It was good to know that she wasn't rejected for who she was.
Erik looked directly at her, his eyes burning with intensity. “Do you ever wonder why?” he asked in a whisper. “Have you ever been curious as to how we got these abilities in the first place, or what our lives would have been like without them?” He had a deep longing in his voice.
“Yeah, I guess, sometimes I think about it. But I've never wanted to lose the power, I accept that it's a part of who and what I am. I think it's more of a blessing than a curse,” Shanda replied. “What do you think, Erik? Are you blessed with these abilities, or are you cursed with them?”
“If they'll help me find Lisa Reynolds, I'll consider them a blessing. Otherwise, they haven't exactly helped me throughout my life,” he retorted with a half smile.
Erik started pacing, thinking about the case again. “There always has to be a motive, a reason. If Lisa Reynolds was abducted and kept alive, something isn't making sense. Why haven't the Reynolds been contacted? If she's been murdered, where is the body? If it's in the woods, it could take weeks to recover,” Erik mused as he paced back and forth. “No!” He smacked his fist into his open palm. “We don't have all the pieces yet. It's not making any sense. There's a hole in this thing big enough to drive a tank through.” He turned toward Shanda, knelt beside her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I'll be fine in a few moments. It's weird; I've touched objects before, but I've never felt such powerful feedback as I've gotten from those two objects. Strong emotion leaves residual energy that can be sensed, but usually its only one emotion. I felt fear from that necklace like I've never known. What I sensed from the other package was the same fear with a trace of something else. Something I still can't place, but I know that it's not good. If I had to describe it with one word, I would have to say malevolent or maybe even evil.”
Erik walked over to his phone. “I need to get a hold of somebody. If this is really Lisa Reynolds', I need to turn it over to the police once it's been properly identified.” Erik dialed a series of numbers and waited patiently.
“Hi, Steve, how are you? How was the movie?” Erik asked. “Look, I'm sorry to call you at home. I wouldn't do this normally, but you said you wanted to be informed if I found anything.” Erik paused as the officer responded.
“Yeah, it's physical evidence, bagged and tagged according to procedure. Listen, I'm meeting my client at noon tomorrow in my office for a positive I.D. on this. I'd like for one of you to be here to take this if the I.D. is positive.” Erik's face turned sour as he was listening to the voice on the other end. “Yeah, I'm starting to get that ‘otherwise’ feeling as well,” Erik commented dismally into the phone receiver.
“Steve,” Erik began in a serious tone. “I know it's asking a lot, but can you handle this one? It's probably going to get a little uncomfortable emotionally, and you seem to be one of the better officers in that kind of situation.”
Shanda could hear the voice on the other line but was unable to make out what was being said.
“Thanks, I'll see you at 11:30 sharp.” Erik looked relieved as he hung up the telephone.
