Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Blank Page
Part One - The First Day: October 18th, 2000 Chapter One - Black Sheep Jasmine Powell, Teleporter
Clarissa Rivers, Teleporter
Veronica Trujillo, Deleter
Taylor Andrews, Atmokinetic
Liz Heinlein, Telekinetic
Quinlan Woods, Ghost
Part Two - The Second Day: October 19th, 2000 Chapter Two - Witch Hunt
Chapter Three - The Massacre
Part Three - The Third Day: October 20th, 2000 Chapter Four - Werewolves
Chapter Five - William
Chapter Six - The Nullifier
Chapter Seven - The Bomb
Chapter Eight - Crystal
Part Four - Epilogue Chapter Nine - Later
Part Five - Newsletter and More
THE FALL OF WITCHCRAFT
Claudia Silva
Copyright © 2019 Claudia Silva
All rights reserved.
To my family.
Part One
The First Day: October 18th, 2000
CHAPTER ONE
Black Sheep
JASMINE POWELL, TELEPORTER
OCTOBER 18TH, 2000
2:34 A.M.
Theresa Simpson graduated as a nurse two years ago. Before graduating, she had secured a job, and she now lived a block away from the hospital. She considered herself lucky at her early age, even when her first position didn’t turn up to be what she wanted. Theresa soon moved from the nocturnal shift in emergencies to the night shift in maternity. But, she hadn't lasted two years taking care of new mothers and their babes when she requested another transfer. This time to the I.C.U. department. After what had happened, the staff had understood her need for a change and had granted her request as soon as a position was available.
For the first few months in the I.C.U. Theresa loved her new job. For a moment, she was almost convinced she had found her calling. That feeling didn't last long. After treating coma patients week after week she soon realized it wasn't for her, either. She knew it was too early to apply for another transfer - besides, she didn't know what to do or where to go next - and she needed to spend a while longer taking care of coma patients before talking to her supervisor again. The I.C.U. wasn't that bad, and Theresa decided not to spend her days moping around; it wasn't like her. Ever an optimist, she completed her rounds just like she did everything else: with the best attitude, a smile on her face, and a song on her lips.
Being single, she didn’t much mind working the night shift. She knew it was inevitable, they all had to go through it, especially in the beginning. She could handle sleeping during the day with no problem; it was the quiet, creepy silence in the I.C.U. floor that bothered her. Room after room, she would come to a dark space, with a frozen patient sleeping in the middle of the room with only the machine’s beeping for company; sometimes, there would be a respirator joining the symphony, but that was as far as it went. No conversation, no human interaction, nothing.
She knew she should be grateful; it was an easy job, it was quiet, and just having a job was a blessing.
It would have been perfect, except she missed human contact too much. She missed making others happy with her cheerful attitude.
Not only that, she missed patients answering when she asked a question, getting to know them. She even missed their upset remarks whenever they felt they were being treated unfairly or were being neglected when they weren't. She missed hearing voices. Any voice, for any reason, was a good thing. A gift.
The ladies at the nurses’ station didn’t offer a lot of conversation either. Many times she'd tried to start a topic to talk about with them; she wanted to get to know them. Except they didn’t seem to have much to say. The nurses at the maternity ward had much more to say; perhaps being friendly was part of the job description when handling babies and their new moms. It was a happy moment, after all. There had been a lot of activity at the maternity wing. And the babies, moms, dads, grandparents, uncles, and new siblings were too cute to describe.
Maybe she should've stayed there. She missed some of that happiness.
No. She couldn’t go back, not after that tiny little human had died in her arms. It hadn’t been her fault, but she had been holding it - her. She didn't want to go through that again. Never again. Her heart couldn't bear it. She didn’t want to take another lifeless little person back to her mother to say goodbye. It was heartbreaking. It had been the worst thing she had ever had to do.
Theresa decided that night she had to get out of there. She wouldn't survive another experience like that. It wasn't fair. Babies shouldn’t need to die. Mothers shouldn't lose them after having carried them inside them for so long. She remembered going home that morning and crying for hours until she fell asleep. Not just that, the tears had come in intervals during the following days. She couldn’t imagine being that mom. She couldn’t imagine that happening to her or anyone else. It was horrific.
How could God allow those innocent little creatures, who had yet to experience the world, to die? Some things made little sense.
In the I.C.U., coma patients died, too. Everybody died, eventually. It was inevitable. A part of the circle of life. As a nurse, she knew that. In the I.C.U., she didn't get as attached to the patients as she did to the mothers and their newborns in the maternity unit. Also, most coma patients were grown men and women who had lived their lives to some degree. Most of them were over seventeen years old; any younger than that and they wouldn't go to Nashville General Hospital.
Sometimes she thought about how she could’ve done a lot of things. When she went to school, she knew she wanted to help the world be a better place. That was her calling. Although, watching children suffer hadn't been part of the plan. Perhaps if she'd known how much it would affect her, she wouldn’t have gone into nursing at all. Maybe she should have become a teacher, instead.
Walking the quiet halls, she continued her rounds.
A woman named Jasmine Powell had become the first patient she'd received after transferring to the I.C.U. Theresa was there the night they brought her in about two months before. A man and a woman who seemed to have no relation to each other - or the patient - had rushed her to the Emergency Room; she'd been unconscious. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her - except she wouldn’t wake up. She was thirty-one years old.
The doctors and nurses at the E.R. had taken all her vitals, they had made her go through all the tests they could think of, and it had baffled them to find absolutely nothing wrong with her. They couldn't figure out how to help her. After a few days, they had declared Ms. Powell to be in a coma, and she'd come to the I.C.U where Theresa had taken care of her since.
“How are you tonight, Jasmine?” Theresa asked her sleeping beauty when she stepped into her room.
Jasmine Powell was young and pretty. Her face looked pale and peaceful in the darkness, and her silver hair almost shone around her like a halo. Theresa stopped to watch her chest move up and down in the never-ending rhythmical motion before beginning her duties. It saddened her to see Jasmine alive even when she wasn’t living. She wished there was a way to help her wake up.
“I brought the brush today, Ms. Jasmine,” Nurse Simpson continued, patting her pocket. “I love brushing your hair, did you know? It's so beautiful. I'm sure you took your time brushing it every day, am I right?” She took the clipboard from the foot of the bed and read the afternoon nurse’s notes. No change. Jasmine Powell still slept as she had done for weeks. “Any complaints, Ms. Jasmine?” There wasn’t a reply.
Theresa began her routine on the enigmatic Jasmine Powell, and while she did she told he
r about her own life - of the book she was reading, and of her boyfriend who'd just been offered a job in Texas. By then, the unconscious Jasmine had heard all about Theresa's parents and her brother, who lived in New York, and how she wished she'd visit soon. Even if she repeated the news every night, she knew Jasmine was probably not listening; not that it stopped her from sharing. Theresa talked to her about many things, even asking questions to create a story for her patient. It amused her to imagine who this beautiful young girl was and what her life had been like before she fell asleep.
By the end of her monologue, she had changed her diaper, cleaned her basin, and massaged her arms, legs, and back. With a sponge she cleaned her body with care, making sure not to hurt her. Just like every night, Theresa wished her patient would surprise her by opening her eyes. She imagined what it would feel like to be present when any of her patients woke up from their slumber. But Jasmine was special, she cared about her most of all. If only she could hear her voice, she would do anything to find out what her first words would be if she ever woke up.
That moment hadn't come. Maybe it would never come.
It would never come because Theresa was about to experience a tragedy.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Jasmine,” Theresa said. Making her final notes on the clipboard she returned it to the foot of the bed. Then, she exited the room.
Just as she walked to her next patient, she thought she saw something move in Jasmine’s room through her window.
It couldn’t be possible. Was Ms. Jasmine waking up?
Her hope soon turned to fear as she saw a black figure towering over Jasmine’s bed. Running back, Theresa saw the door shut by itself. How was that possible? No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't open the door. It was stuck. Locked. How had this intruder gotten in the room without her noticing? She had just stepped out to an empty hallway!
“Help!” she cried. “I need help!”
Inside the room, the cloaked figure raised an arm. The hand was holding a long knife in a tight grip, the silhouette looked terrifying.
“Security!” Theresa kept forcing the door to open. A security guard ran to her almost immediately, answering her call. “There’s someone in that room! A knife! He has a knife!” She sounded panicked, and with good reason. Inside the room, the knife went down on Jasmine Powell’s chest one time, two times, three… “No! Stop!” Theresa shouted, her cries drowning in a sob.
“Step aside, ma’am,” the guard said, taking out his set of keys. Theresa did as he asked knowing it was already too late.
The keys rattled for a few seconds before the door opened. The security guard went in the room first, turning the light on when he did.
“Oh no,” Theresa gasped hearing the flatline sound in the background. In the room, Jasmine was alone again. The stranger was gone. On the bed, she lay dead, her white sheet growing a red stain. What in the world had happened?
Someone had appeared out of thin air and had murdered Jasmine Powell and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
CLARISSA RIVERS, TELEPORTER
OCTOBER 18TH, 2000
6:12 A.M.
The gym was almost empty, and that’s the way she liked it. Clarissa Rivers never missed a day in the gym, no matter what new missions the Coven sent to her each day. She was a busy witch, perhaps too busy. Being a teleporter was one of the busiest professions in any Coven. It was very convenient to have the power to move from one place to the next with just a thought. The Covens only had two teleporters on call; she wished there were more. If the Covens had extra it would free up some of her time, she would have time to work more on her own business. Unfortunately, teleporters were born, not made. They were hard to find. Regardless of her personal affairs, she wouldn’t change her work as a witch for anything.
Because of her work for the Florida Coven, Clarissa knew she couldn't keep a regular nine-to-five job and be available to teleport others around when needed, so she had invested in an online business since she was in college. She had always been a planner. It had to be something that didn’t require too much time on her part. Something just enough to pay the bills. The Coven gave her a paycheck, all witches were paid for their services, but it wasn’t much and Clarissa had always planned on earning an extra income in some other way. Most witches did this, it was common practice, but while ghosts or atmokinetics had more flexibility, teleporters were key and were always in high demand.
Clarissa sold beauty and health products online. It was the year 2000, the new millennium, and the internet was a growing industry she planned to take advantage of. Most of her clientele came from the gym she frequented. She had been a member of the club for over ten years and they knew her well enough to let her advertise and sell her products there. It was a good partnership. Between those sales and her online sales, business was good.
To Clarissa, there were only two things that filled her: her ability to teleport, and her daily workout. She believed the stronger her body was, the more energy she would have to teleport others without being drained of too much energy. A few weeks ago she'd heard of the witch Jasmine Powell, a teleporter from the Colorado Coven. She'd heard she had teleported four people - one over the standard recommended number - and had ended up in a coma. Every teleporter in the country knew you should never teleport over three bodies - two being preferred.
Although less than three people were the rule, Clarissa thought she was strong enough to handle more because of her strict workout regime. She knew she would've been fine if she'd been in Jasmine’s place. She was determined to look for opportunities to teleport more than the allotted amount of bodies whenever she had the chance to prove her worth. Perhaps the leader of the Twelve Covens, Victoria Palmer, would consider calling her in for her personal teleporting needs instead of the others. Clarissa loved a good challenge.
She entered the gym showing her membership card to Carl, the young man they'd hired for the morning shift a few years back and who she was rather fond of. Carl was nice and quiet, and very handsome. In the afternoons he took his college classes and yearned to become an architect, but for now, he was at the gym every morning to greet her with his perfect smile.
“Morning, Carl.” She didn’t stop to chat, she rarely did. Clarissa went straight to the locker area to leave her car key and wallet, thinking about the modifications to her routine she had thought of the night before. If only she could teleport to the gym at her leisure she wouldn’t need to bring her car or her wallet. Unfortunately, she couldn’t risk people asking questions about her unusual appearances. Sometimes, she'd even considered popping in close to the gym and pretend she'd parked far away and had walked from the invisible car.
No. She doubted she could ever get away with it. Not in the long run. Driving her car and walking to the gym like a regular person was the right thing to do. Some rules were there for a reason and Clarissa understood.
Simone, an old woman who also frequented the gym in the early hours, was getting ready to start on her routine when Clarissa entered the locker room. She didn't know how old Simone was, except she was the best looking old woman in town. By the wrinkles on her arms and legs, she figured she must be over eighty years old. That was a life goal right there, to look and feel like Simone did at eighty-something.
“How are you, Simone?” Clarissa began just as she reached her locker.
“Never better,” came Simone’s usual reply. “See you in a bit, darling.” Simone waved one hand at Clarissa as she exited the locker room to begin her workout.
Clarissa smiled at herself. She liked Simone. She liked to have someone to exchange a few words before her workout. Opening her locker to leave her car keys and wallet, she heard Simone coming back to the locker room behind her. “Forgot someth-?” She stopped when she turned around.
It wasn’t Simone.
The stranger wore a black cloak that covered part of her face. It was a woman under the hood, she was sure. Clarissa could see her pink lips forming a wicked smile.
/> “Do you need something?” she asked, sounding like she wasn’t afraid.
The cloaked stranger said nothing. Instead, she revealed a long knife from under her cloak. The knife was very distinctive with its carved white handle that looked to be made from marble or ivory. The stranger raised her arm as she got closer to the experienced field witch and teleporter.
“Oh no, not today,” Clarissa said. With a thought, she ordered her body to appear back in her apartment. She blinked once, expecting to see the familiar furniture around her. It wasn’t there. In front of her, the same old locker room remained, and the stranger kept getting closer.
With all her will she tried to teleport again… and failed.
Staring at her hands, Clarissa frowned, “What are you doing to me?”
The stranger’s wicked smile grew, the knife kept approaching. Perhaps Clarissa couldn’t teleport, but she could run. She could scream.
“Carl!” she yelled sprinting in his direction. Her words stopped in her throat, her feet felt heavy on the floor. This witch was doing things she should not be able to do. Choking and unable to move, Clarissa could do nothing but wait for the cloaked woman to reach her defenseless body. With one hand, the cloaked witch pulled Clarissa’s ponytail back to get better access to her neck; with the other, she cut her throat without any hesitation.
Carl came running to the women's locker room, Simone right at his heel. Promptly, they asked if Clarissa needed help, but then they saw her. Her dead body was on the floor with a growing pool of red blood pouring from her neck.
No sign of an attacker.
No sign of a murder weapon.
The Fall of Witchcraft Page 1
