M Sellars - Harm none

“You mean he was there?!” Ben’s voice became instantly more animated.

“Not in the physical sense,” I expressed, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was nearby.”

“Shit! That’s all I needed to hear.” The animation in his voice was replaced by calm dejection. “So the fact that you think he somehow got ‘imself into your vision is what’s got ya’ thinkin’ you somehow tipped him off.”

“That’s my theory.”

“Well, don’t let the ice princess hear that,” he expressed, referring to Special Agent Mandalay. “She’s still givin’ me a royal pain in the ass about your involvement in this case. She doesn’t need any more ammunition.”

“How are you two getting along today?” I queried out of a mild curiosity.

“Like oil and water. Ya didn’t expect any different did’ya?” he admitted.

“You know, Ben, she’s just doing her job. You took a lot of convincing about The Craft as I recall.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he conceded. “I just don’t have time for it right now… What? Hold on a sec…” I heard him stave off a muted voice in the background. “Listen, I gotta go. You’ll call me if you have another vision or somethin’?”

“You’ll be the first.”

“Okay. I’ll check back in with ya’ as soon as we know somethin’. Later.”

“Bye.”

I lied. Sort of.

If anything relevant came into my mind via any means, conscious thought or ethereal vision, I would certainly call Ben immediately. However, I had carefully avoided telling him about my most recent dream. If my theory about Roger entering my vision was correct, then I was firmly convinced that he had entered my nightmare as well. It was my belief that he was responsible for the bizarre secondary sequence. He was trying to frighten me, and that was the chink in his armor. He was just as unsure about me as I was about him.

I didn’t tell Ben about it. I hadn’t even told Felicity the entire story. I was the only one that knew because it was something I was going to have to face on my own.

I expected Ben to have someone watching Roger’s house, and I had no idea whatsoever how I was going to handle the situation; therefore, I was somewhat surprised when the neighborhood seemed devoid of surveillance. Of course, that was just how it appeared on the surface.

The digital clock on the in-dash stereo had just flicked over to seven P.M. when I pulled down the Overmoor side street. Felicity had called me earlier to say the photo shoot was running late and that she probably wouldn’t be home until after nine. I didn’t tell her as much, but I was actually glad she’d be out late. I was certain that had she been present, she would have done everything in her power to talk me out of what I was about to do.

She can be very persuasive.

After a couple of slow passes through the subdivision, I rolled my truck to a stop behind the evergreen hedgerow we had used for cover the night before and switched off the engine. I waited in silence, my view of the house slightly obscured, and fought to gather the courage I desperately needed.

I had come here for a purpose. Roger had invaded both my vision and my nightmare. In the vision, he had demonstrated his overconfidence by taunting me and issuing a challenge. In my nightmare, he hedged his bet, playing on my fears in order to frighten me away. It might have worked had it not been for three haunting words-“Why, Rowan, why?” In every nightmare, Ariel Tanner appeared before me and asked that question. I had come to fear that most of all each time I drifted off to sleep, simply because I didn’t have the answer. I couldn’t tell her, “Why.” I couldn’t even tell myself because I wasn’t even sure what she was asking. As nonsensical as it seemed, something deep inside kept telling me that if this little girl died, it would be my fault. My fault because I hadn’t tried hard enough to find the answer to “Why?”

I was so deeply lost in my thoughts that my heart skipped a full beat when I heard the sudden tapping on my window. I snapped back from my distant stare with a startled jump and quickly turned. Carl Deckert was standing outside my window, hand raised as he prepared to rap his knuckles on the glass once again.

“Hey. How’s it going?” I asked with a smile as I rolled the window downward.

“Okay, if you like sitting around watching an empty house while a lonely old lady talks your ear off,” he replied. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’re you doin’ here?”

His answer told me why I hadn’t spotted the surveillance. They must have set up shop in the house across the street. The one whose occupant Roger had thought of as the “nosy old bitch.”

“Ben asked me to come out here and have another look at the place,” I spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn’t see through to the truth. “He wanted me to see if I could pick up anything else that might help.”

“Why didn’t he come with you?” he asked suspiciously.

I said the first thing that popped into my mind, and it actually sounded pretty good. “He said something about keeping that FBI agent busy, so she wouldn’t get in the way.”

“Yeah, those two are a piece of work,” he grunted. “She was there waiting for him this morning. They still hadn’t stopped chewing on each other when I left. I guess he probably just forgot to tell me you were coming.”

“Could be,” I said aloud, while inside my head I was saying, “Don’t call him. Don’t call him.”

He grinned and nodded, “Yeah, that’s probably it. Hell, this guy’s not gonna show up here anyway. You want me to go in with you?”

I breathed an inner sigh of relief. “No. That’s okay. I’ll be all right by myself.”

Detective Deckert gave me a slight shrug as I climbed out of the truck’s cab and shut the door. “Suit yourself. I’ll be right here across the street if you need me.”

I nodded my head as I reassured him, “I’ll be fine.”

The interior of the house was much as it had been the night before with the exception of the dark grey fingerprinting dust coating various surfaces. The lights were off, and the few shafts of the setting sun that managed to filter in between gaps in the heavy drapes harshly illuminated small slices of the room, casting the rest in hard-edged oblique shadows. I pushed the door shut behind me, cutting off even more of the external light and symbolically sealing myself into the eerie dwelling.

The expected pain augered itself up my spine and into my skull the moment I set foot in the house. I stumbled for a moment and then steeled myself against further onset of the agonizing sensations as I moved farther into the room. I wouldn’t be able to stop the pains from coming, but at least I could be ready for them.

A burning fire like molten lead filled my body, and my skin felt stretched and tortured by countless pinpricks as my hair seemed to come to life, stiffening to create endless waves of gooseflesh. My eyes were watering, and thin streams of tears began flowing down my face. I staggered against the blinding pain, peering through clouded eyes, and forcing myself to move farther down the hallway.

Unearthly screaming filled my ears as I pressed forward.

The amplified sound of jagged metal against a rapidly spinning grinder.

The mournful whistle of a teakettle.

The wail of a chainsaw.

Everything and nothing.

The piercing noise penetrated my bones, making me vibrate like a human tuning fork, and grew impossibly louder when I reached out for the basement door.

I grasped the tarnished handle tightly, refusing to let go even though it seemed to glow red hot, threatening to sear the flesh from my hand. Quickly, I jerked my wrist and flung the door wide, only to be engulfed in writhing ethereal flames.