Dreamscape (11 page)

Her smile disappeared. “My grandmother always said it came with responsibilities. You have to respect the gift. Given the gift, we are meant to serve the better good.”

“I’m not sure if I know what you’re talking about. You’ve lost me.”

“I keep fighting this inside of me. To be honest, I’m not quite sure what the right thing to do is anymore.” Ramona fumbled with the napkin in front of her. She looked up at Thorpe. “It’s supposed to be unquestioned. We’re meant to have faith that everything is how it should be. I don’t have that anymore.”

Thorpe studied the woman before him, hurt evident in her eyes. “You have more for us on this killer?”

She bit her bottom lip again. Thought before she spoke. “You will not find a known profile. He won’t fit into a set category. He’s playing a game. It’s power he craves. This game he’s playing gives him the ultimate power. He’s killed more than you know. I’ve seen inside, and there’s nothing but a black hole. He has no conscience. Pure evil. He won’t stop until someone stops him.”

Ramona paused. Her hand shook as she spoke. “I have only one request. Don’t tell anyone other than Agent Dunn where you got this information. I don’t want to have any connections to this in any way. Promise?”

“Of course,” Thorpe answered.

There was something in her tone. Thorpe studied her. She looked back over her shoulder. She’d been reluctant, but obviously felt she had no other choice. Thorpe had seen it before in witnesses. Ramona was scared.

Ramona stood and gathered her coat and gloves. She hesitated and regarded him. Obviously nervous, she took a deep breath. “Chief Thorpe, I’m not certain…I’m not certain about a lot of things lately, but with everything that’s been happening I’m becoming suspicious that you’re involved in my circle.”

“Your circle?”

“That you are the one. My pathfinder.”

* * * *

A man sat a couple of tables over. He regarded the encounter with interest. Couldn’t hide his anger. His dark gaze fell from them, and he pulled his knitted cap down further over his ears as Chief Thorpe exited. He snapped his mouth closed and focused his attention on the woman. Until this moment, his focus had been totally on Thorpe. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

He would be considered a meticulous sort and planned everything down to the last detail. His master demanded perfection. His master didn’t like surprises. Being thwarted in his last attempt had cost him dearly. He couldn’t disappoint again. His whole body shivered as the memory of the excruciating pain that shot through his being would not be forgotten soon. But he’d make those responsible pay. Until this instant, the whole of his concentration had been revenge upon Chief Douglas Thorpe.

Thorpe thought he trailed a killer, but in reality he had become the hunted. Unless…this woman, something about this woman. He had to find out who she was. His master would want to know.

* * * *

Thorpe yawned, tired. The kids had been sent to bed. The concert rang true to form like most school programs, but this night Thorpe enjoyed the spirit of the children, looking at the world through their eyes. The sparkle in their eyes, the excitement of anticipation of the season, a remembrance of being that child brought on a sense of optimism—at least for the night.

He’d finished his drink and focused on rotating the now empty glass between his fingers. Tonight he didn’t want to think. He wanted sleep. He stretched himself out on the couch. He didn’t even attempt to go to his own bed. Cindy would sleep easy tonight.

The case would wait until tomorrow. He’d already received three texts from Jackson about meeting with him in the morning. Thorpe would need his rest to maintain his patience with Jackson. He closed his eyes.

He was walking home. Work had held him up. He should have been home an hour ago. Liam had a basketball game. He was late for his son’s game. He must have confused the time with all the work he’d been doing. How could he have forgotten Liam? Liam would be so disappointed. He needed his dad at his game. He kept walking. Where was he?

He looked cautiously around the darkened street. A haze engulfed him. Visibility was limited. He walked down a street he wasn’t familiar with in Lewiston. Stone bricks lined the sidewalk. He made out the form of a building. He reached out and touched the side of the wall, a warm textured brick. Steps led up. He took them to the grand wooden door and looked back as sounds of music began.

Forms appeared out of the haze, lining the street he’d just walked. Uniforms, hundreds of uniformed law enforcement, stared at him. Flags flapped in a breeze, and a Gaelic Brigade played a dirge. Oh, no. Oh, no. His heart beat faster. A hearse parked in front. From behind him, the doors soundlessly swung open into the awaiting church.

He stared at the doors. A pull led him onward. He walked in. The doors shut behind him, and he jumped. Caught his breath. He continued down the aisle of a church he was familiar with in his youth, the darkness illuminated only by candles. Sitting in the middle of the backdrop of the altar podium rested a coffin draped with an American flag. Flowers abounded, surrounding the coffin, inviting everyone to see them. Blue delphinium, red carnations, white gladioli laid within circular wreaths. He smelled the aroma of roses. He walked closer to the open coffin.

His legs buckled. His cousin lay in the coffin. Rick in uniform dress, his hands holding a rosary, one he remembered his aunt placing lovingly in her beloved son’s hands.

“Get up Rick. Get up,” he cried. “It was a mistake. Rick, get up.”

“It was no mistake, Doug,” a voice said behind him.

Cautious, he turned to face a man he’d seen buried years before. He could find no words. The man stood as Doug had so clearly remembered, dressed as well in his dress uniform: double breasted coat, brass buttons, dark navy fabric. He took off his hat revealing his pate of thinning brown hair.

“Don’t look so shocked, Doug. Have I not always looked after you? Took care of you? I’m here now to do the same.”

“Uncle Joe?” he uttered in a whisper. “How?”

“There are times when one needs guidance. Have I not been the one you have always turned to? You’re at a turning point, my boy. You need to take some advice. You’re in a tailspin, out of control. Your wife is going to leave you, take the kids. Your job, you’re not going to have one on the path you’re taking. All this talk of the supernatural, psychic bullshit. Doug, you have more sense than that.”

“What would you have me do?” Thorpe asked. He walked around the coffin and reached out to touch his uncle. The years he had prayed to just be able to talk one more time to the man who had raised him. His uncle withdrew backwards, shaking his head.

“You have to get your life together. The force, you don’t owe anything to the force. Leave it. It’s taken so much from you, your family. Do you want your children to grow up without a father? And to what end? Have we not sacrificed enough? If you’re looking for a sign, I’m it, son. You need to follow me. Come with me now. I’ll help you.”

A blast rang out taking both by surprise, knocking the elder against the back wall. Squirming without success, Thorpe’s uncle struggled against the strength of the force that held him high up against the wall, moving higher and higher. The force of the blast had knocked Thorpe down. He crawled to his feet. Within the shadows, a shape emerged. A light elucidated and revealed the shape of a woman walking toward them both. Her hand extended out, holding Joe in place. The woman dressed in a flowing white gown, her dark hair loose, hanging down around her waist. Barefoot, she continued until Thorpe made out her face. Ramona. Her eyes sparked. The intention upon her appearance was quickly made clear.

“Equez, not tonight,” she said, calm, firm. Her gaze fixed on the deceitful demon she held in her grasp—a demon who had stolen Joe’s appearance. “Quickly, who sent you?”

“Doug, my nephew,” the imposter cried in desperation. “Help me. She is the one that killed your cousin.”

The being didn’t utter another word. A blast rang out.

Slowly, Ramona walked over to the form now lying on the floor, writhing in pain. She raised her hand again. “One more time. One more chance before I send you back to where you belong to answer for your failure.”

Thorpe watched in disbelief. The form twisted, pulled his legs into his stomach. Cries of pain rang out. The form transformed, not human, but skeleton-like. The creature’s head turned. His eyes rolled back in his head and back again. He snarled, stretched his claws outward, desperately trying to scratch Thorpe. Ramona pushed Thorpe back with her right hand; her left hand extended one more time. Another cry rang out.

“Once more, Equez. I have no more patience.”

“I’m only having fun, Dream Walker. It is what I do.” He laughed— an eerie, horrifying laugh. “There is nothing you can do.”

“Then you don’t know me, Morph Avunapia. You have only moments if you do not give me the information I need, you pathetic demon. Don’t test me.”

A roar echoed out of a hole that appeared in the wall behind Thorpe. A fire ball exploded upon the creature. Blood curling screams. Ramona lunged at Thorpe as another fireball hurled toward them. With one flick of her hand, she repelled the fireball.

She clutched Thorpe’s hand. Whispered in his ear, “Hold on.”

Instinctually, he grasped her waist and pulled her close. His head spun. A wind blew through him.

Thorpe awoke. Frantic, he looked around and caught his breath, realizing he sat within the confines of his living room. The grandfather clock chimed. Three o’clock. He patted his body, slapped his legs. Still in one piece. A dream? No, it had been more. He felt it. He had to think. What the hell had just happened?

Chapter Eight

Special Agent Jackson Dunn placed the receiver down. His mother, disappointed that he couldn’t make it in early for Christmas as he’d promised, wasn’t surprised. She knew him well enough. His father didn’t think he’d make it at all, not in the middle of an investigation. He well understood. He’d served the FBI himself until he’d been injured in his last case over twenty-five years ago.

Jackson was three years old.

Now, he remembered bits and pieces of times past. A memory of standing outside in the woods in the darkness. At times, screams he heard still echoed in his head. Then came the strong arms plucking him to safety, the kind face talking to him, calming him.

He’d always known his parents adopted him. No question about that fact, having grown up in a home with a Caucasian mother and father and being African-American, or at least part African-American. His story had taken time for him to understand, but he’d always understood they loved him. He had three idolizing younger sisters. They’d be disappointed if he didn’t come home for Christmas.

He had scant information on his biological mother. She’d been recruited as an FBI informant. Killed during a raid, leaving him orphaned. He didn’t know who his real father was, and for all intents and purposes, he never would. He knew his mother’s first name, though. Lisa. His dad promised they’d done everything possible to find his real family, but to no avail. The most important information he had on his mother was she died protecting him. In a way that information served as a point of comfort.

Lawrence Dunn had married Alice Reed shortly before the raid that ended his FBI career. After his retirement, Larry turned his law degree to good use and went into practice. His old partner, Samuel Caldwell, helped Jackson in the academy, taking him under his wing, taking him into his special unit. Jackson would be seeing him soon.

He read through the file one more time.

Adrenaline flowed through him. He had to admit he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the chase. And now he had a lead, a lead that would help bring down this serial killer. He sat back and once more read through Ramona’s vision.

A man arrived during my dreams. A small man, shorter than I am. He is as I am. He stands before me and leads me though his dream. From the river bank, I see him swimming in a river situated down a dirt road from a little house. He lives with two stray dogs. From the look of his house he may have drowned his dreams, for there are empty bottles all around. While he swims his dogs bark, loud. A large alligator comes into view and without warning attacks the man. The alligator has his head in his mouth. The tiny man has courage in him and fights back. He hits the alligator in the eye. The animal doesn’t like resistance and lets go. The dogs bark on the bank, circling around their owner as he struggles back to shore and down the road.

The dogs alert the man’s neighbor. The tiny man deep in the heart of the woods is flown to Tampa General Hospital with extensive facial and neck injuries. The alligator cut up a large portion of his right side from his skull to his shoulder. His ear is reattached; his right eye lost sight. He lives for two days then pulls all his lines out of his arms, his feeding tube, IVs, even his catheter. He’s angry with his nurses for restraining him. He says continually that they are all hardened criminals.

He wants me to tell you this so you’ll believe. You’ll know that he did right. He promised he would bring you to me. He told you he would too. He dies from an infection after he talks with you. He couldn’t tell you everything you needed to know because he couldn’t see all, but he believes it’s within me.

And the answer lies in front of you. A nurse that helps the man, one who has lost her daughter, the nurse has a name tag, Mary Jane. She’s older, curly brunette hair and a ready, warm smile. I feel the hurt within her, a void within her. From behind her, I see a young woman within a bright light. She beckons me.

As I walk toward her, a haze appears and the vision begins. Through the haze a scene emerges. An attractive, extremely attractive young woman, the woman that beckons me, walks down the corridor…hotel. She passes numbered doors, stops at one. 268. Looks over her shoulder. She nods to me. She knows I’m there and she wants me to follow.