Rita Herron - Don't Say a Word

Evil cannot be destroyed. Its black unbending heart beats on, old with rage, its tendrils of anger as choking as the twisted hands of lust that consumes man’s soul.

But the battle wasn’t over. She summoned the magic to help fight off the evil. After all, she was a traiteur, a healer, a soldier for good, though not a warrior herself.

Satan must have found a victim. A new soul to possess and carry out his vile will. Another source to spread pain and anger. She smelled his victory, a coppery scent like blood.

Her black cat, Midnight, slithered onto the stone hearth and yowled to the heavens, and her tabby, Persimmon, bellowed in a long-winded refrain of terror.

“Come here, ’tite chatte,” she murmured, scooping up the little cat in her lap. The wind chimes hanging from the porch of her wood-frame house trembled, though, tinkling and clattering so hard one of the glass angels shattered.

She pulled her black shawl around her shoulders, urging her arthritic body and mental will not to fail her. Though she’d been blind for years now, she saw things through the darkness. Living in a world without sight had honed her other senses, especially her sense of smell.

She knew each feline by its odor, as well as the unique tone of its meow, the texture as she ran a fingertip across its nose. Gorgon, an orange-striped male, climbed on top of the organ and peered out the window as if planting himself as guard against the danger waiting in the bayou.

A danger that marched closer with every passing minute.

She mentally flipped through the recipes from her book of spells, searching for one to fend off the bad coming. Not that she had power, for the magic lay in the cats.

Once upon a time, she had been a nonbeliever. But her life had taken a drastic turn into misery, and she had learned to listen to the spirits.

Her dead husband spoke to her sometimes, crying out his rage at being taken so early. Yet his demise had come from his own wrongdoings. And he had taken more secrets to his grave. Secrets that might have offered comfort and closure to some while tormenting others with the twisted viciousness of his crimes.

His transgressions were plenty. Not only to her but to humanity. And he was burning in eternity for them now.

She’d feared her grandson had fallen to the same demon. And now in death, he lingered, caught between realms. Begging for a chance to redeem his soul and go to heaven.

Titan, a fat gray cat who’d come to her during the latest storm of violence in the bayou, pawed the floor and snarled. Suddenly the earth trembled again, more violently this time, and the scent of graveyard dust filled her nostrils.

The cats slithered from their posts, tails swishing, ears perked, listening as they formed a circle. In unison, they began to scratch at the wooden floor, hissing to the heavens as they united to protect her.

But another woman needed protecting. Lex had told her so. The image of a mangled face and body materialized in her blind mind. The woman was nearby. In danger.

Someone had tried to kill her before. They’d stolen her life already. Her memory. Her face.

And they would try to finish her off if someone didn’t save her….

CRYSTAL HAD CONTEMPLATED her loss of memory and her past so many times that she thought she was going crazy. Dr. Pace had informed her that since she had suffered a head trauma, the past might be erased permanently. The emotional trauma compounded the problem.

But after sitting with the child tonight, Crystal felt amazingly calmer. A sense of accomplishment washed over her, offering hope that she might return to a normal life someday, a welcome reprieve from the endless hours of dwelling on her own misfortune and the mystery of her missing life. Another memory had also begun to surface—one of her surrounded by small children. Feeding them. Singing to them. Helping them.

Back in her room, she flipped on the television set. It was time she connected with the real world again. And maybe she’d find a posting from someone in search of her…

She listened to the news coverage about the war in Iraq and the upcoming local Memorial Day celebrations. Then a special report flashed on the screen and caused her to sit upright.

“Earlier today, police discovered the partial body of a local reporter named Kendra Yates. Her severed hand was found in the bayou but so far, the remainder of the woman’s body has not been uncovered.”

Crystal’s heart raced. Kendra Yates…Why did that name seem familiar?

The reporter continued, “Sources tell us that Miss Yates was investigating the New Orleans Police Department on charges of corruption, and that tonight Officer Antwaun Dubois was brought in for questioning. An arrest is imminent in the alleged homicide.”

Crystal frowned as the camera panned a dark wooded area where they had obviously found the woman’s severed hand, then moved back to the steps of the precinct where a mob had gathered and the police were escorting a man inside. For a second, her heart sputtered as if she recognized him. Several reporters yelled questions and accusations at Antwaun Dubois, then a reporter pushed a mike toward another tall, dark-haired man who resembled him. “Detective Dubois, can you tell us more about the investigation?”

Detective Dubois glared at the reporter. “Antwaun Dubois is innocent. The NOPD is doing everything in their power to expedite this investigation and will bring Miss Yates’s killer to justice.”

Another reporter cornered a third man, this one even taller and more intimidating. Crystal’s pulse jumped in her throat. He seemed familiar as well….

“Special Agent Dubois, were your brother and Miss Yates personally involved?”

“Was he on the take?” another reporter shouted.

“As Detective Dubois said, my brother is innocent,” Special Agent Dubois stated. “Now, please move out of the way so we can do our jobs and find the real killer.”

Crystal stared at the men as they rushed into the precinct. Something about Antwaun Dubois and the last man, Special Agent Dubois, triggered a memory. And the agent—his voice, she’d heard it before, she knew it, but she couldn’t place it….

In fact, she was almost certain that she’d met both Antwaun and the agent.

But how would she know a cop or a federal agent?

DR. REGINALD PACE COULD HARDLY stand the anticipation of knowing that he would unveil Crystal’s new face in the morning. He had sketched versions of each step in the rebuilding process on a specially designed medical computer program to craft her transition. She was going to be beautiful.

He wanted to show her off to the world. Let them know that he was the first in his state to perform such an intricate surgery and that he was a genius in his field.

The only problem was that he couldn’t reveal his work yet.

Because he hadn’t exactly followed the book on this one.

He wiped at a drop of perspiration trickling from his scalp into his hair. Didn’t matter. Crystal was his now. He had made her.

He had stood by her side when others had been repulsed. He’d soothed her in the darkest of hours and held her hand to his chest just to let her know that a breathing, living man cared for her.

Soon he would tell her that he loved her as well.

Then she would return the sentiment, and they would make love and all would be right with the world. When he’d won her completely over as his wife, then she’d sign the papers stating that she’d agreed to the face transplant, and that he was the man who had given her back her life.

Then he would be famous.

He tapped a series of keys that brought up the image of what his Crystal would look like when he finally unveiled her face, and blood surged through his cock. Exhilarated, he unzipped his pants, freed himself and slid his hand around his length. Soon he would give her the present of his seed. Then they could breed more Paces who would lend their genius to the world.