Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation (36 page)

I can smell the lingering exhaust and
petroleum fumes from the vehicle. I cough as another gust of wind
pushes the foul gases up into my face. I can feel the heat of the
noisily cooling exhaust system as it seeps down toward the hand
that is groping for the keys.

Where the hell are they?

I scoot around, balancing on the balls of my
feet and stretching my arm beneath the vehicle at an awkward angle.
It’s too dark for me to see under the car, and I wonder if I have a
flashlight in the glove box. Then I remember that I do, but the
batteries are dead.

The wind dies for a moment, and I hear
something that sounds like footsteps. My heart thuds in my chest as
I jump, startled, and I lose my balance. My knee brushes against
the rough asphalt, and I literally feel the tear happen.

I look around and see nothing. I must have
imagined the noise. Great! So now I’m hearing things. I take a
moment to inspect my knee. Dammit! This was my last good pair of
hose. Well, at least I’m not bleeding, but there’s no saving the
stockings. They’re shot, and I’m not going back out to the store
tonight. That settles it for sure. Slacks tomorrow.

I send my hand in search of the keys once
more. I can get a better angle now because I don’t have to worry
about ruining my pantyhose anymore. My fingers touch something and
I hear a jingle. I stretch my arm a bit farther and slowly move my
hand from side to side.

My fingers touch something cold, and I hook
them around the keys, then I pull them out. Standing up I lock the
car door and close it. God, it’s been a long day. I just want to
get inside, kick off my shoes, look at the television for a while,
and then go to bed. I look at my watch—6:45. Traffic was horrible.
But then, it always is around the holidays.

My heels make rapid, purposeful clicks
against the surface of the parking lot. I hurry through the shadows
and glance quickly around in the few small swaths of light. I’m
still a bit jumpy. I don’t know why because the noise was all in my
imagination. Wasn’t it? I glance about once again, and I twist the
keyring in my hand, allowing the points of the keys to protrude
between my fingers as I clench my fist.

It is way too dark out here. And with the
parking lot on the backside of the building it is too isolated. I
don’t like it. Damn superintendent still hasn’t done anything about
the lights. Over half of them have been burned out for six months
now. During the summer it wasn’t that bad, but it gets dark earlier
now. I’d better call and complain again tomorrow.

Hmmph, like it will do any good. It hasn’t
yet.

Oh well, just another hundred feet and I’ll
be inside. Out of the dark and into the warmth. This next part is
the worst. All of the lights are burned out here. And then there’s
the overgrown evergreen bushes and the angry shadows they make. I
aim myself at the distant door and hasten my steps.

Dammit, Heather! Get a grip girl. You’ll be
inside soon. You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing. This
is a safe neighborhood. Chill out.

Seventy-five feet left to go. Why is my heart
racing? I’m not usually this skittish. The clicking sound below me
is coming faster now.

What was that?!

This time I KNOW there was a noise!

I stop dead in my tracks. The footsteps
behind me make a soft thud, halting just enough out of time with my
own to strike fear into the pit of my stomach. Stupid! Stupid,
Heather! What the hell did you stop for?! If someone is coming
after you what are you going to do? Just stand here and wait for
him?

The footsteps behind me begin again, and I
glance over my shoulder only to see a shadowy figure moving toward
me.

Oh my God! This can’t really be
happening!

I begin to sprint without any thought. I
instantly understand how those women in the horror flicks manage to
run in high heels. They’re just too scared to know better, that’s
all.

My shoes are click-clacking rapidly against
the pavement now; my heart is firmly entrenched in my throat,
blocking all attempts to scream. Panic has stolen my breath. I’ve
never been this frightened before.

Fifty feet, I’m almost there. I can hear him
back there, running, getting closer. He’s not even trying to
conceal himself any longer.

I can feel hot breath against my neck.

I can smell stale cigarette smoke and bad
breath.

The sour reek of B.O.

Something hits me hard in the side, and I
stumble into the tendril-like branches of the evergreen. What
little wind I have left is forced from my lungs, and I struggle to
disentangle myself.

He grabs me and I flail wildly. I fall into
him and we both crash to the ground with me on top. He is clawing
at me, trying to maintain his hold. I kick and twist away, slipping
out of my blazer, and crawl quickly as I try to stand. Scrabbling
across the sidewalk I fight to regain my footing.

I open my mouth to scream, but nothing more
than a choked whimper comes out.

A hand wraps around my ankle, and I kick hard
with my other foot. I twist onto my back and kick again, aiming my
heel for the ski mask staring back at me. I miss and my shoe goes
flying.

I roll frantically and manage to pull away
again then drag myself upward. I start to run but trip over my
remaining shoe. The time it takes me to kick it off and begin to
run again is all the time he needs.

My blouse has become untucked in the
struggle, and it is riding up as I try to regain my balance.
Something cold presses hard against the bare skin at my
waistline.

I hear a quick electric snap, like a light
bulb blowing out.

My teeth clench hard and I freeze in place,
every nerve scrambled into a tangled rat’s nest of jittery
disorientation. I shudder for a moment and fall to the ground.
There’s a metallic tang in my mouth that is slowly replaced by the
salty taste of my own blood from where I’ve bitten my tongue. Or at
least I hope that is all it is.

Fear still grips me through the
disorientation, but my voice is nowhere to be found. All I seem to
be able to do is twitch.

I hear him moving nearby.

I see the shadow over me.

Once again I can smell the B.O. and stale
cigarettes as he looms closer.

I hear panting breaths and a hoarse, almost
awestruck whisper intermixed, “Perfect…She’s almost perfect.”

I can feel the keys in my hand, their metal
points still poking between my fingers, as my fist remains
clenched. The shadow moves in closer, and I summon everything I
have to flail at it with the only weapon I have left. But my arm
doesn’t move.

I’m still twitching uncontrollably. He forces
my mouth open and pours something onto my tongue. It’s bitter and I
gag.

As I sputter, the message I had earlier sent
to my arm finds its way down a detour of nerves, and the handful of
keys slings upward in a flaccid arc, glancing harmlessly against my
attacker.

Still, he yelps with surprise and rocks back
away from me.

Hard points press against my flesh once
again, and I hear the crackling hum. The last thing I feel is my
back arch as electricity courses through me, and the lights dim
quickly to black.

* * * * *

I really should have tried a different tactic
to break the connection the moment Debbie Schaeffer pushed me. But
in all honesty, I was far too shocked to even think, much less
act.

Throughout the investigations I’d been
involved in over the past two years, I had channeled some terribly
horrific things. In doing so, I had been guided—sometimes even led
around by the nose to an extent—by the spirits of those I was
trying to help. I had pretty much come to expect this kind of
treatment from the other side.

However, this was the first time I could
recall ever having been outright pushed around, for lack of a
better description, by a vengeful ghost. It was a wholly new
experience for me and something I wasn’t enjoying in the least. But
then, I knew better than to do this without someone to back me up,
so I had no one to blame but myself. And trust me, I was already
pointing all four fingers and a thumb right where they
belonged.

As I had told Heather Burke before this all
began, I wasn’t entirely certain that I wanted to see what she had
to show me. But that no longer mattered because I wasn’t seeing it;
I was living it. What was worse, I knew that the piece of her life
I’d shared thus far was only a prologue to the real horror
show.

The only saving grace was the fact that on
the physical plane, Heather was sitting right in front of me.
Alive, uninjured, and for the most part, well—very well, in fact,
for someone who had been through what she had. This meant that at
least I wasn’t running the risk of following her into death.

Of course, until now, she couldn’t actually
remember any of the events that had transpired in any detail. So
the question was: Just how well was she going to be after this was
all over?

Or perhaps the
real
question should be: Just how well
were
we
going to be after
this was all over?

* * * * *

I awake.

I don’t know where I am.

My head hurts and so does my side.

I’m too afraid to move.

I try to move.

I can’t.

It’s like I’m just too tired to do
anything.

I feel as though I am sitting.

But where?

My hair feels funny.

Like I’m wearing a stocking cap or
something.

My scalp is hot and it itches, but I’m too
tired to scratch it. I try to ignore it.

Where am I?

I try to remember.

Someone was chasing me, yeah.

Did he catch me? Did I get away?

I’m supposed to be afraid now, right? I think
I am. I’m just so tired that I don’t care.

I take the plunge and slowly open my
eyes.

I think I’m staring at my lap.

The light is subdued, dimmed, and almost
ethereal.

It’s just a bit on the cold side.

I blink slowly, and my eyes begin to adjust,
then my lap comes into focus.

Hmmmph, interesting. I don’t remember owning
a red garter belt and red stockings.

The fog in my brain parts a bit more.

Well no wonder I’m cold, I’m half naked!

A rough hand comes out of nowhere and cups my
chin. I would scream but I’m just too tired. Still, terror rips
through me as my head is tilted back.

Tired or not, now I am definitely afraid.

I manage to whimper.

I smell B.O. and cigarettes.

Smoke rolls cloudlike in front of my face and
I gag on it.

I hear a familiar voice; rough but filled
with a bizarre reverence, “Almost perfect…”

My head is tilted even farther back. My hair
feels so very odd. My scalp feels tight and constricted, but the
hair against my shoulders feels fluffy and teased.

Bizarre.

I must be tripping on something…It’s almost
like when I did acid in college…but…not exactly the same.

At least I enjoyed myself then.

That’s it, he must have drugged me.

I stare upward, afraid.

All I can make out is a shadow.

The voice comes again, “Almost her…”

I see a hand come toward my face. I try to
shut my eyes, afraid that I am about to be struck. I feel his
fingers on my eyelid, and he pries my left eye open and holds it
wide. I still cannot see him. I watch in horror as his other hand
comes directly at my eyeball.

I whimper and try to struggle, but he holds
tight.

My eye waters against the foreign object that
has been inserted, and now he does the same to my right eye. My
vision is so completely blurred now that I cannot even make out
complete shapes. Only shadow and light.

I whimper again and feel a hot tear roll down
my cheek.

“Stop crying!” the voice demands, the former
reverent tone disappearing. “Why do all of you have to cry?!”

All of you?

I wonder about that.

I must not be the only one here.

Are they just as afraid as me?

The hand grabs my face once again, and it
feels as though it is crushing my jaw. He shakes my head, pressing
his fingers and thumb hard into my cheeks.

“Stop crying, dammit! You aren’t HER! You
don’t have the right to cry! Stop it!”

I whimper and feel more tears begin to flow.
I can’t stop. I’m so afraid.

He releases his grip, and I see the shadow
seem to turn. Then it suddenly spins back to me, and I feel his
palm slap me hard across my face.

My head is wrenched to the side, and the hot
sting on my cheek spreads outward. I just cry harder.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he screams. “Now
I have to fix your makeup!”

The shadow moves away but returns quickly.
Something hard stabs into my side, and my teeth chatter as I
stiffen and vibrate with the electric shock.

The last thing I hear is the voice screaming,
“YOU AREN’T HER!”

* * * * *

I was swimming toward the surface again,
laboring to break free of the current that had swept me so deeply
into Heather Burke’s recent past. The darkness around me was
thinning; changing in hue from black, to indigo, to blue, then
charcoal grey. I felt myself break through, and the colors of the
room bloomed around me.

I felt a wave of relief that was followed by
a tsunami of confusion. I knew that I should be staring directly
into the eyes of a petite blonde who was positioned across from
me.

Instead, I was staring directly into the eyes
of a long-haired man who was sporting a greying goatee and a blank
expression. The problem was, I wasn’t looking into a mirror.