“I thought you said four. I don’t know. What do you want to eat?
Amy remained in the porch deep in thought, while Tom left to cook dinner in the kitchen. A flickering light in a cave claimed Amy’s attention once more. She observed it for a moment, and then Tom called her to let her know dinner was ready.
By the time she woke up from the nap Tom proposed afterwards, Amy was changed forever.
CHAPTER 9
The first thing Paul did after he landed in Ireland, after two unending days in Berlin, where he tried unsuccessfully to get in touch with Amy, was to drive up to Dingle’s cliff to go back to the Butterfly. But Amy was not home. She came in half an hour later, after taking a stroll with Tom by the beach.
“Amy!” greeted Paul, walking towards her with the intention of hugging her.
“I’m sorry... do we know each other?” asked Amy, taking a step back from Paul.
“Are you kidding?”
“No,” answered Amy drily, “Who are you?”
“Amy... it’s me, Paul,” he answered, confused.
“I’m sorry Tom, I don’t know you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of things to do. Let’s go, Tom.”
Amy and Tom got inside the house, slamming the door on Paul’s face as if he were a door to door salesman. Amy, thoughtful, doubted for a couple of seconds. That face... yes, it was familiar... but who was he? She shook her head making light of it, and held Tom, caressing his face and kissing him passionately.
Paul, still in the porch, was paralyzed. He could hear steps behind him. They were coming towards him slowly, but there was no one there. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a chill ran through his body. Something strange had happened. Everything was so confusing... his mind went numb, he couldn’t think straight. And Amy... no, it didn’t seem like she was kidding. She truly didn’t recognize him. What was she thinking?
Back in town, two police agents were waiting for Paul by the entrance of his house. The door had been forced open and the interior seemed disheveled.
“Paul, you’ll have to come with us to the station,” said Jacob Britt, one of Samuel’s colleagues.
“Why? What happened? Where is Samuel?” asked Paul, astonished.
“Samuel,” laughed Adam Blaire, the strongest and meanest policeman in Dingle. “That son of a bitch is waiting for you in the station.”
“Excuse me?” asked Paul, incredulous, struggling against the agents he had known since they were children.
“Paul, don’t make it difficult,” warned Jacob before the attentive glance of the few neighbors that still walked by Dingle’s streets and who, slightly astonished and scared, stared at Paul’s arrest.
“What are you doing? Leave me alone!”
Paul struggled. But he had nothing against Adam’s strength, that easily put him in handcuffs and paralyzed him, holding his head in place.
“Paul, we didn’t want it to come to this... we truly didn’t. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of justice. You have the right to talk to a lawyer. If you can’t afford one, we will assign you one. Is it clear?” said Jacob in a hurry, helping Adam to get Paul in the back of the police car.
“Fuck off,” answered Paul, frustrated tears on his eyes.
Agent Samuel Mhic could hear the screams of his friend Paul when he got to the police station all the way to the interrogation room he was in. Incredulous and handcuffed, Samuel had been accused of being an accomplice in the rape and murder of the four young women who had been found dead in Maine River. And, of course, as the sole responsible for the death of Kim Becker, the last victim, since Paul had been in Berlin during her murder.
“Samuel, you’ve got company,” informed him calmly inspector Damien Becher.
“We did nothing, Damien.”
Samuel had said this hundreds of times during the last six hours he had been sitting in the interrogation room. He had been severely questioned, putting his mental and physical resistance to the test. However, Samuel kept insisting that he was innocent, and that he had no idea who the murderer, who had also set them up, was. Only Samuel knew for certain that the murderer was still free and that he, for an unknown reason, had chosen Samuel to take the blame for his atrocious crimes.
“Didn’t you? Then why were the bloodied clothes of those girls found in your house? Why did we find Mary Larson’s rotten hand in Paul’s house?”
Samuel took his head in his hands in despair, unable to find a way to make them see that they weren’t responsible for those people deaths. Someone had set them up.
“Damien, can’t you see that we’ve been set up? We have known each other forever, how can you possibly believe that Paul and I would be capable of doing such a thing?”
“Stop whining Samuel, have a little pride,” said Damien harshly. “I’ll leave you alone, see what your friend has got to say about this mess.”
In the interrogation room next door, a desperate Paul kept wondering what on earth had happened for him to be treated that way. Lost and confused, tears kept streaming down his cheeks. He could only think of Amy. In her face when she saw him, and how cold and distant she had seemed, unable to recognize him. How could that be possible? What had happened to her? Questions kept rushing into his head, but he remained unable to give them an answer. He knew that behind the mirror a multitude of agents were staring at him. Suddenly, inspector Damien Becher walked in. He was overbearing, unsympathetic for the shed tears on his face.
“Feeling any regret yet?” he asked, sitting right in front of Paul.
“What do you mean, Damien?”
“Samuel and you are suspected of the rapes and murders of Ruby Anderson, the Italian tourist Alessia Marcuzzi, Mary Larson and Kim Becker.”
“Kim?” asked Paul, shocked. “Was Kim also found dead?”
“That is the only crime you’re not accused of. You were in Berlin.”
“What proof do you have against us?”
“We found the girls’ bloodied clothes inside a trunk in Samuel’s attic. Well, actually... his wife found them and called us terrified to realize she was living with a murderer. We went looking to your house immediately - call it intuition - and found Mary Larson’s amputated hand.
“Excuse me? Damien, no. It can’t be. Someone set us up.”
Damien hit the table with his fist, scaring Paul.
“You too?”
“Damien, I went to Berlin and it turned out I didn’t have any exhibition. Someone tricked me and impersonated my agent to get me away from here.”
“Maybe you set it all up. Let Samuel murder Kim so you did not look like a suspect. Then you’d probably exchange roles and have Samuel travel for you to do the job.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Paul, taking his head in his hands. It was the same desperate gesture Damien had seen on Samuel before.
“Trust me, I don’t want to believe it either. But the evidence is pretty solid, Paul. Samuel and you are fucking murderers who have mercilessly butchered four twenty-five years old girls who had their whole lives ahead of them. You’ve ended their dreams, their aspirations, and destroyed their families.”
“Damien! No!” screamed Paul, standing up.
Behind the mirror, Paul was being watched. No one could really believe Samuel and he were the murderers. But the evidence was overwhelming, and Samuel and Paul would have to spend at least that night detained. Long interrogation hours, hateful stares, reject and unbearable court visits. Samuel and Paul’s defense attorney, Derek Harrison, was the man that had visited Amy a couple of times to make sure she was okay. He was the only one who, despite being forced to keep his mouth shut, knew every single detail of the sinister crimes... and of course, the one responsible. A demon that had Derek’s life on a thread, and who managed to terrify him by just looking at him.
Amy was in paradise next to Tom. It was true that he had learned to control his visions and, even though Amy left to sleep in the guest’s room beca
use of his constant movement, there was nothing that troubled her mind. Often, Amy would still see Tom in her dreams. But he had stopped talking to her... he would just look at her in confusion, even terror. But Amy no longer worried about her dreams, now that she had Tom by her side. In the mornings, Amy wrote articles for the newspaper that Steve commissioned. At noon before lunch, she would make excellent progress on her novel and, in the afternoon, Tom and her walked by the beach, ignoring completely the flickering light that kept trying to get their attention from the dark and cold cave.
One afternoon, they were sitting in the cold sand, watching the sunset, Amy realized she still had a question to ask Tom.
“Tom, when I arrived to this house the computer was already on my desk. When I turned it on, I found a letter you wrote,” Tom stared at her with confusion, but he nodded right away.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well...” he hesitated for a moment. “It was a clue,” he winked, and Amy seemed to be satisfied with his answer.
“Would you like to go out tonight?” Amy proposed.
“I’d rather not...”
“Why? Dingle is very nice, and we have stayed in most nights. We could go to Murphy’s, the music there is amazing,” Amy said, excited.
“You know I don’t like to dance...”
“You didn’t like to sing, either, and I heard you humming the other night.”
“Well...” Tom was still hesitant.
“Come on!”
“And since when do you enjoy going out?”
“Ever since you came back! Tom, I’ve come back to life, I’m happy again! Let’s go out...”
Tom finally agreed. That night, they showed up in Murphy’s looking in love, and Amy surprised even Tom by ordering a beer. She stood in the middle of the dancefloor and danced with Tom, laughing. They danced until they were exhausted and, when they went to sit by the bar, Karl - Paul’s mechanic friend - appeared.
“You seem happy, Amy” he said as a greeting, with a serious expression.
“I’m sorry... I can’t remember your name,” Amy answered in the same tone, examining intently.
“Karl. I imagine you already know Paul is in prison.”
Amy looked at him thoughtfully, wondering who Paul was. But instead of asking, she looked at Tom’s perplexed expression and smiled.
“Hey Karl, this is Tom, my boyfriend.”
“Amy, you know you’re alone, don’t you?” asked Karl, looking at the beer the woman his friend had so deeply fallen in love with. He assumed she was drunk and left.
Tom looked down. Amy was no longer laughing. Why did Karl say that? Why had he refused to greet Tom? She thought of the people she had met when she had been with Tom and realized no one had spoken to him. Just her. She never noticed until that moment.
Right then, her head began spinning, and she fell to the floor with only one thought in mind: Tom was not real. Tom was a ghost.
It was cold. Her skin was wet. Her lips were bruised. Frozen. Her eyes and her head hurt. Every single joint in her body seemed to be stuck. Amy looked around. She could not feel her arms... they had been tied with a rope around a cold and humid rock. She could see nothing but darkness. Everything was black and terrifying. She began to cry... she could not scream; her voice would not come.
Suddenly, she heard steps. They were approaching her slowly... just like the ones she had heard so many times in the Butterfly. But this time, as they approached, they clapped. As if it were a play.
Finally, a light. Amy could see she was in a cave, and the flickering light she had seen so many times from far away was right in front of her. It was Tom. A Tom she did not know.
“Are you a ghost?” she asked, watery-eyed and defenseless.
“No. But no one can see me. Do you know why? I play with people’s mind. I manipulate them. I’ve also played with you, of course. And no, I’m not Tom.” Answered he mysteriously, enjoying every word. He licked his lips looking intently at Amy, pointing at her with his small flashlight.
“But...” whispered Amy. They were the same, she thought. It had to be Tom... it had to. But it was not. It was not Tom. Tom had never looked at her the way this man was doing so right now. As if he could devour her fiercely.
“Before you die and reunite with your real Tom, you’ll get every answer. I promise,” said the stranger with Tom’s face, lighting up a cigarette and turning around.
Amy was panicking. Paralyzed. Her mind was fully awake and, for the first time, Tom had vanished from her mind. She could remember again. And she could only think of Paul and what Karl had told her. He was in prison. Why? She cursed the day that man had appeared in her life. She cursed every single one of the days she had spent with him, a man identical to the love of her past. She decided to remain silent and hope for Tom to speak to her, come to life and, with a little faith, work out a miracle. The miracle of saving her from the devil himself.
“My name is James Levy, Roger and Clara’s son. Tom’s twin. It was me who threw you out of the apartment all those years ago, who you thought wanted to protect you. It was all a lie. I am quite the actor, don’t you think?” He laughed, and took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke on Amy’s injured eye. “Of course, Tom had been dead for three days. I killed him myself. I killed all those girls, and Paul and that stupid cop are in jail because of what I did,” he explained, laughing balefully, proud of his terrible accomplishments. “Hiding has been easy because my parents hid me in the first place... they were ashamed of me. They abandoned me and forgot all about Tom’s brother... I have lived for so long under his shadow, Amy...” a tiny speck of sadness seemed to overcome his gaze. Just for an instant. Time enough for Amy to think of the possibilities she had of survival.
Steps. One, two, three... James, confused, turned around. But the dim light of the flashlight he held showed him nothing. Amy knew there was someone else inside the cave. Someone none of them could see.
“Did you bring company?” asked James frowning, revealing a cold smile. Amy shrugged and refrained from answering.
“Answer me!” screamed James enraged.
“There’s no one here, James.” Answered Amy, as calmly as possible. But her shaking legs and a tic on her lip gave her away.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Before going in, make sure you know the way out,” heard Amy inside her head, and she immediately knew it wasn’t a product of her imagination, and that she was not losing her mind. Tom was there... with her. Or at least that was what she wanted to believe in those moments of despair.
“I swear it’s been terribly difficult to remain hidden all this years, waiting for the right time. This time, to be precise. But killing Tom was such a relief. The world can’t have two people with the same powerful gift. Let’s say that... Tom was the angel. I was the devil. When I was two years-old I tried to suffocate him. My parents saved him. They spanked me and that was it... but my brother was terrified, he wouldn’t even look at me. I imagine he saw his own death. And he realized, even back then, that it would be me who would bring it. Three months later I stabbed our dog. Killed him in cold blood, and enjoyed it. My parents got me into an asylum. I wasn’t even three and they just left me there, didn’t even visit. They abandoned me, Amy. Do you know what that does to a three years-old kid?”
“A three years-old murderer,” corrected Amy, enraged.
James walked up to Amy and hit her. Her lip and nose began to bleed. It was painful, but Amy managed to laugh in an attempt to confuse the monster that was in front of her.
“A three year years-old murderer. Whatever. I vanished from the map, Amy. I vanished. I committed a lot of crimes in the asylum. If anyone had ever heard of them, I would have been sentenced to life imprisonment. Or to the death penalty, who knows? I eventually realized I could toy with people’s minds. Make them forget, provoke confrontations, deaths, murders, suicides... anything I wanted. And no one could ever find out. I could be invisible. Every mortal
’s desire! If I wanted to, I could wave my arm and make this place crumble to the ground, and bury us both forever... together, Amy, for all eternity. If I wanted to, I could make myself invisible to your eyes.”
“Please do so,” said Amy with contempt.
“Don’t you fear me?”
“No,” she lied.
“I still remember the look of terror in the eyes of those girls I raped and murdered. I will never forget that look, and the slow pleasure of looking at death up close... stalking silently, provoking it.”
Again, steps. Different from the ones they had heard before, which confused James even more, since he still could not see anyone in the dark and humid cave.
“You’ve got help on the way, Amy, but a couple of ghosts can do nothing for you,” he whispered.
“A couple?”
James took a knife out of his pocket. Amy tried her best to keep the terror from her eyes. She held her breath and stared at the ground, but James’ filthy hand took her face in his hand and forced her to look into his eyes. The eyes of a cold-hearted murderer.
“That’s it. That’s better. I want you to look at me as you bleed out,” he stabbed Amy in the stomach. Slowly... Amy was in tremendous pain, and she closed her eyes tightly.
“You’re sick...” she managed to say a minute later, contemplating as her blood spilled over the cold stone floor of the cave.
“It was just too easy to fool you. And, of course, to threaten mister Tanner and Derek Harrison. Yeah, the man who came over to check on you a couple of times... I call that a bad conscience. Now he’s Paul’s and that cop’s lawyer and, of course, he’ll make sure they rot in prison,” he said with a smile. “I built that house for you. But I must confess, it wasn’t me who wrote that letter in the laptop...” he exhaled, pulling the knife out of Amy’s stomach just to plunge it right next to the first stab. Amy screamed. The pain was unbearable.
“Apparently, ghosts these days are very much into computers...” he kept going, while all the evil in the world reflected itself on his glassy eyes; just as Amy had seen him twelve years before in Tom’s dirty and unkempt apartment.
Where Oblivion Dwells Page 9
