Mary warned, “You’d better be careful and take precautions next time, here and in that dream world. I can’t have you drifting too far from where you came in and have you disappear for good. I can’t lose you and Robbie. Don’t you dare do that to me. Please. That’s all I ask.”
Her husband gently placed four fingers on the back of her neck and pulled her in for a soft hug. He whispered in her ear, “Hey, hey, hey, you know that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Ever.”
Visiting hours were officially over and the nurses had to chase Mary out as usual. The Ford Taurus rumbled into the driveway and Mary emptied the mailbox before going inside. She spilled the handful of different sized envelopes onto the oval table and pulled the chain cord on the lamp.
George went to sleep and Mary sat down with a glass of whiskey on the rocks and started to open the correspondence. They were all sympathetic cards full of well wishes. The heartfelt messages helped to keep Mary’s eyes dry for a few minutes.
She picked up the last letter, read the return address and quickly set it back down. She had been dreading this letter from the hospital.
George had lost his job a little over a year ago, which included his health insurance that covered the family. Mary had attempted to secure government assistance for low-income families but didn’t have any luck. She had tried to get some help with children’s insurance before the accident and been rejected.
Unpaid bills had piled up, adding extra stress to the situation involving her son. She summoned the courage to rip open the long envelope. Her entire body shook as she slipped the papers out and unfolded them. Her hands felt alien against the familiar substance as she tried to hold the papers steady. She stared at a myriad of different numbers and medical mumbo jumbo until she zeroed in on the total.
$132,000
Her heart threatened to leap from her chest as she fell back in her chair. The pages of the bill dropped to the ground as she sat, paralyzed in fear. Even if Robbie recovered fully tomorrow, they would never be able to pay this back.
The soft hum of her husband’s snoring was equal to grating nails on a chalkboard to her. She couldn’t understand how her husband could sleep with all this going on. She mixed up her whiskey with her finger so she wouldn’t drink the melted ice. She held her nose, leaned back and guzzled the nasty nectar.
She set the half-empty hard plastic cup on the table. This wasn’t the life she had always dreamed about.
Mary Edgings had a few more full glasses of cheap whiskey and slid into her nightgown. She kneeled at the foot of her bed and prayed. She prayed mostly for her son and to find a way out from all the monetary stress.
Mary prayed for almost an hour. She prayed for healing, even offering her own life in exchange for her son. She pleaded and begged for her son to return to normal. She even entertained the idea of making a deal with the devil. Anything that would heal Robbie.
Mary suffered another sleepless night, but this episode of insomnia contained more hopeful thoughts about her son.
Two weeks later, Mary paced to and fro impatiently by the family car. Visiting hours at the hospital were about to start and she didn’t want to be a second late to see Robbie. George Edgings stood on the front lawn giving another interview, this time to a reporter from a newspaper.
Mary thought her husband was turning her son into a carnival side show. People had been flooding the hospital for a chance to glance at the Dream Kid. That was the moniker the public had settled on for her son.
Mary hated the extra attention and the hospital even placed two armed guards outside the room so strangers didn’t try to take a ride to the dreamland. George finished the questioning, eagerly accepted a wad of cash and the couple got into the car.
They barely got out of the driveway when Mary said, “I really wish you would stop doing those interviews and making a spectacle out of our son.”
He said, “What do you mean? It’s extra money and right now that’s something that we desperately need.”
Mary argued, “Is it? Is it really worth a hundred dollars here and there? Robbie’s care at the hospital just went over one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. How are we ever going to pay that off?”
George said, “I know it’s a tough road to hoe, but we’ll eventually get through it. We can’t worry about it or it’s going to kill us.”
Mary added, “I also didn’t like the way these interviewers are making our son sound like some sort of freak show.”
He objected, “Freak show? Come on, honey, people are looking at him as a hero. He’s been motionless for how long now and people are celebrating him for this. Embrace it. Embrace Dream Kid. You should go see him. We never know if he will actually snap out of this. This is your chance to see our son.”
Mary shook her head. “I know what will happen if I do.”
“What’s that?” he asked and slammed on the brakes. “Jackass just blew through a stop sign. What were you saying?”
Mary squeezed the car seat as her husband broke the speed limit. “I know I’ll be the one to get lost in that city and never return or someone will rip me away from my son in real life and kill me in the process. It’s too dangerous for an unlucky person like me. You keep saying that he told you he might snap out of this at any time. Should I stop hoping for that?”
George answered, “No. Not at all. But who’s to say what can ever happen. What if we go in together? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.”
This idea actually made sense to Mary. “I wish you would have suggested this already. I think I might feel safe enough with you there. So what, you just have to hold his forearm?”
George nodded. “That’s it. Then you’ll get a weird feeling like you are being pulled in all different directions. And suddenly, the dystopian dream world just appears right in front of you. Robbie usually shows up shortly after I get there and we just talk near the landing pad at the entrance point.”
Mary began to get excited about the prospect of seeing her son walking and talking again. They arrived at the hospital and got on an elevator. Some strange sounds started to arise as the elevator went up.
They got off on their son’s floor and the choppy sounds of a large propeller filled her ears. She turned the corner and the two guards weren’t stationed outside Robbie’s room. As the rotor sounds of a helicopter intensified, Mary ran down the hall and frantically pushed open the door.
The two guards were missing. Mary tiptoed around the scattered mess on the ground. A fierce breeze came from a huge hole in the wall leading outside and blew back Mary’s hair.
Her son and most the machines were gone. Robbie’s bed had been knocked onto its side. She carefully stood near the hole in the wall. It had been perfectly cut around the enormous window. Her mind flashed back to the men that had been working outside Robbie’s room for the past fortnight.
She grabbed the wall and poked her head out. Mary saw a huge helicopter with a wrecking ball hanging from it. The chopper kept rising and flying away from the hospital.
Mary went to leave the room and tripped over a man in a suit on the floor. The still man had the same ominous skin color as her husband’s when he had gone inside Robbie’s dreamland. She recognized the man as one of the reporters that had covered her son’s story.
She screamed for help as George touched her shoulder from behind and tried to console her. She tore herself away and faced her husband.
She seethed with anger and spoke with sharp words soaked in venom. “You. You did this. You turned our son into some sort of video game. It was only a matter of time before some sick, sadistic person took Robbie for their own entertainment. You had to do those interviews, didn’t you? You didn’t do them for Robbie. No. You can stop lying about that. You loved the attention and this is something I will never forgive you for.”
She stormed out of the room before her husband could reply.
Mary Edgings shut down emotionally for the next two years. She silently prayed every day for Robbie to
return. She and George drifted apart and she barely ate or even spoke to anyone. Her favorite activity was taking long walks in the woods with at least two bottles of whiskey for company. She preferred to stay away from everybody.
A mother can only handle so much.
1
Present Time
Whitney woke up and reached out for her man. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rolled over. Trent wasn’t in bed. The water in the bathroom wasn’t running and all his stuff still littered the room. Her pulse quickened and warm worry centered in her stomach as she got up and covered her naked body with a hotel robe.
She walked out on the balcony and there was no sign of her husband anywhere. Trent normally told her if he was going somewhere. She went back inside and inspected the room. A phone on the table that didn’t belong to her or Trent caught her attention.
She raced over to the phone and a note had been placed under it. The note said, “If you ever want to see your precious lover again, you will answer that phone when it rings and you will do exactly as I say. Failure to do so will result in the instant death of Trent Merrick. You hold his life in your hands now.”
Whitney staggered around the hotel room as rage filled her heart. She looked under the blankets on the bed and in the closets in a vain attempt to find her husband. She couldn’t believe that her honeymoon had been ripped apart like this.
Who would want to kidnap Trent? Could it be the politicians we just busted? This doesn’t make any sense.
She screamed out the open window, “How could you let this happen? Darominius? Richard? I thought you were protecting me from this. How could you let them take my husband?”
She languished, pacing around the room for another half-hour until the phone rang.
She answered the call. “Hello.”
“Aaww, what’s the matter? You sound sad, little girl. Whatever could make you sad?” a man’s voice asked and let out a hearty laugh.
“What do you want?”
He said, “What do I want? She asks a silly question. I want to see you squirm. I want you to see what it’s like from the criminal’s side. We constantly worry about getting arrested for our wrongdoings. Now you get to worry endlessly about something. Will you get him killed?”
“What do I have to do to get him back?” Whitney tried to sit down on the couch and popped right back up and went back to nervously walking around the room.
The man talked like an angst filled teen with a deep voice who had consumed too much caffeine. It seemed like he was trying to sound scary, but just came across as frantic and creepy. “You must be patient. Ha, that should be easy. Your husband would love to talk to you right now but he is hanging out with the Dream Kid at the moment. As for you. We’re going to find out if you’re afraid of ghosts.”
“Great. I’m not afraid of ghosts.” Whitney looked out the open window at the palm trees below.
He said, “We will see about that. Tonight, you will attend the Harvest Ceremony on Rua Crupa Canal. This will be your first test of fear. Should be an easy one. Best of luck, little girl.”
The man hung up and Whitney didn’t know how to react. This person could have been located right down the street or half way across the world. The helplessness was driving her crazy. She spent most of the day trying to stay still on the couch, only to get up and walk around the room.
She considered alerting the authorities, but the police in this country had a corrupt reputation. She didn’t know where to turn. Her friends at the Bureau wouldn’t be able to do anything. The dream vacation had quickly turned into a nightmare.
The sun started to set and Whitney went outside into the twilight to go to the Harvest Ceremony. She rode a packed bus with clucking chickens and an ornery hairy hog. It only took fifteen minutes to get to Rua Crupa Canal, which was fifteen minutes too long.
She got off and the phone started to ring. Whitney answered it.
“Yes.”
The man’s voice said, “What? No hello this time? How rude. Stand on the curb and face the Venconi Hotel across the street.”
Whitney followed his instructions and squared her shoulders to face the mustard yellow hotel with fluorescent red writing.
He continued, “You need to know that you are being watched and if you slip up, it won’t just be your precious lover who gets dealt with. Look down at your chest.”
A red beam over her heart moved down to her belly and back up to the left side of her chest.
The man said, “That isn’t a laser pointer aimed at you. We have you under watch. You are now here for our amusement. You are merely a puppet on a string. There is a white church on the end of this road. Turn right and walk for twenty minutes. You will know you are close when you fear for your life.”
The man laughed and hung up the phone. Whitney walked in the direction he had told her to. The buildings began to get smaller and more rundown as she continued. Homeless people slept on the sides of the dirt road. A few men were sharpening knives and a toothless woman drank out of a big bottle of liquor. She released a deep belch that would have rivaled Booger’s famous burp from Revenge of the Nerds.
Gunshots erupted from behind her and caused everyone to scatter. Whitney didn’t know where to run. She took off for the end of the street and ducked into the white church.
A group of islanders with their faces painted in black and white stared at the new visitor. She thought they might assault her until two men faces contorted to expose wide grins. The men came over with their palms up. Whitney reached out her hands and each man grabbed one. They led her over to a woman with paint.
The tall, topless woman wearing a brown grass skirt streaked the black ink under Whitney’s eyes and covered her nose with white. Whitney almost sneezed as the woman applied the white ink to the bottom of her nose.
Pounding drums caused the people to start chanting and dancing around the candlelit room. Whitney had never heard of this religion, but they seemed like an accepting bunch.
A small bull entered the room through a side door. A short stocky man followed the animal and struggled to carry several swords. Whitney didn’t speak the language so she was clueless about the ceremony. She danced around the room and followed the other parishioners’ actions.
The music stopped. A tall, shirtless man with a huge belly talked over everyone.
He said, “Mumbasse eriv deko tublo mal tel faso.”
The young women in the group walked up front to the man who appeared to be the priest or leader. An old, wrinkled woman carried around a smoking incense can on a rope, waving it from side to side. The strong scent of burning cloves and mint filled the air.
A firm palm hit Whitney in the middle of her back, pushing her toward the front. She stood next to several young women and wondered what was going on.
The crowd of about eighty people started to murmur and someone tapped her on the arm. A young man held out a copper cup which Whitney accepted. A frothy white top couldn’t hide a dark green liquid that looked like a disgusting alien cappuccino. The aroma of cilantro and garlic grew stronger as she swirled it around.
The priest spoke again, “Eter nattte comun taber sum nit wee. Retlei obo tone heek stane guud. Eter nobive ganna.”
All the girls drank the liquid and Whitney decided to follow suit. She gagged and almost spit out the disgusting drink before she could swallow it. The flavor of unseasoned beets mixed with dirt and gasoline covered her tongue and wouldn’t go away. Her mouth and jowl pulsed after drinking it and she had to concentrate not to throw up as a battle raged in her belly.
Her entire body began to overheat and vibrate. The urge to pass out attacked her head as sweat immediately glossed over her entire body. They led the younger women and a dizzy Whitney down a flight of steps and into a room that made a ripe porta-potty covered in hot trash smell like a garden of roses.
She held her stomach and concentrated. Whitney’s vision was distorted and she looked around the wooden room, which had dark stains on the walls
and floor.
The room started to spin. Fluorescent rainbows twisting and tying themselves together in pretty knots filled her vision. She reached out and tried to touch the colors, but her fingers only tingled in the clear air. Her memories became like slow stop motion. A series of fluttering photographs.
The awful sounds of an animal suffering rang out from above. A wave of warm liquid came rushing down on top of her head and covered her entire body. She kept rubbing it out of her eyes, but the salty liquid flowed back in. The room had run red but it simply blended in with all the colorful visions she had been seeing.
Whitney’s breathing became very erratic and she lay down on the moist floor. She closed her eyes and tried to get rid of the troubling images. She curled into a ball in the corner of the room.
A ringing phone woke Whitney up. She sat up and shook her head. She was on the side of the street near the church. A homeless man next to her pointed to her pocket. She reached in and grabbed the phone.
“Hello.”
The kidnapper’s voice said, “That’s more cordial. Much better. I hope you enjoyed your night.”
“I don’t even know what happened. I remember drinking some nasty liquid and it was pretty much lights out from there.”
He said, “That’s a shame, but that is what happens when you take peyote.”
“Peyote? You made me do drugs?”
The man replied, “I didn’t make you do anything. You can walk away any time you want. Best of luck that one of those red laser beams won’t catch up to you. And here I would have thought you would have been more upset about the shower of bull’s blood that you endured.”
“I didn’t take a shower in bull’s blood. I would see it on my body.”
The Whitney Powers Paranormal Adventure 3 Book Bundle Page 25
