Amanda's Story (27 page)

“I know, I know. I have an unhealthy fixation with you and it would be unprofessional of you to allow me to continue. I can see the words in your mind before you do.” Outwardly, he remained relaxed, but his thoughts were beginning to turn dark—a state Amanda could well relate to. “I'm not here to hurt you, or to turn you into the police; right now all I want is for Lucas Tyler to level with me, then Eldridge Adegbite can go on with his life.” He wasn't the only one who could lie convincingly.

“Amanda …” he began, but she stopped him.

“Please, don't provoke a demonstration. Trust me when I tell you that I know what you did then, and later. I can see you blowing out the oven's pilot light and turning on the gas. I know that your father met you on the stairs and that you threw him over the railing. I can hear his body hit the floor with that sick, wet thud that still resonates in your mind all these years later. I know that you watched the house burn from Willis' Hill knowing that your mother would never be able to untie herself in time. I know what you did in the solitude of your car as the roof collapsed. I can see it because you still see it.”

Adegbite's smile had disappeared and his mind was silent. A mental gag order in place while the secret parts of his mind worked on this latest development

“Well,” he finally said, with only the subtlest change in his appearance. “You have my attention. What do you want?”

“Like I said, I just want to understand the why. Let's forget about what came later; it all flows naturally from that one decision.” Amanda was sitting up in her seat, her face bright with excitement.

“Are you planning on killing someone, Amanda?”

“Perhaps.” She smiled, and raised her eyebrows.

“Are you planning on killing me?” He asked, without the least bit of fear, or even concern.

“I'm not sure.” She stared deep into his eyes and mind and began to sense his awareness of her intrusion.

“Interesting,” he said as more doors closed in his mind. “I'm afraid the answer will disappoint you,” he said after a moment. “If you read Robert Ware as closely as I believe you have, you already know the answer. I had, and still do have, a very low threshold for the monotony of life. Murder is exciting, but I am guessing you already knew that.”

“They were your parents.” Amanda probed him for any trace of human emotion.

“Meaningless at an emotional level; highly convenient at a practical level.”

Amanda nodded blankly. Lucas Tyler, aka Eldridge Adegbite, had no soul. He had killed simply to alleviate the tedium of life. “A life without rules or restraints,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Oh no, that's where you're wrong. There have to be rules, and one must exercise restraint. Otherwise one ends up on death row.”

“Society and the rule of law are an unfortunate reality,” she agreed. If she had a soul it was surely dying; her motivations were fundamentally no better or worse than his. “I would like to meet your neighbor, Senor Diaz.”

He appraised her with eyes very much different from the ones he hid behind. “Ambitious.” He smiled. “What makes you think I would help you?”

“You will either do it willingly or you will be … compelled.”

“Compelled …” His smile broadened, his mind anticipating the challenge. “I could simply pick up a phone and call the police, or even Senor Diaz. Or perhaps I could simply compel you.”

“If that's what you want.” Her smile returned and Mittens was prowling through her mind. She really would enjoy draining Eldridge of life, but like him she was intrigued by another possibility.

“No. I would like to see if this confidence is deserved or simply delusional.” He was fully unmasked now. “If you fail, he will kill you.” He looked her up and down. “Although I doubt he will do it right away.”

“I won't fail.” She stood and straightened out her dress. Adegbite watched closely as her hands smoothed out the wrinkles.

“We have a zoning issue that he is anxious to resolve. I will ask him to drop by my house at eight tonight. Would you like me to call you after the arrangements have been made?”

“It won't be necessary,” she said, staring into his shining face. He was excited about the prospect of watching at least one person die, and not by his own hand.

“One question before you leave. How did you know?”

She resisted the desire to show him only because she needed him clear-headed when he talked with Diaz. “It's a secret you don't ever want to learn.” She turned and left.

“I am happy to see that there is no family resemblance,” Angel Diaz said just before he kissed Amanda's outstretched hand. The peck burned with enough force to focus her mind. From the moment she had driven through Adegbite's gates Mittens could smell death in the air, and she strained at her leash.

“Eldridge is a distant uncle,” she said, giving him a vacant-headed smile and then turning to Adegbite, who nodded in agreement. “You travel with an entourage; are you famous?” Amanda adopted the stereotype that played in Diaz's head. He had darker, more obvious intentions as he took her by the arm, his forearm rubbing her outer breast.

“No, my dear, I am just cautious.” Diaz guided her out into the torch lit patio. Two of the four impressively dressed men followed the couple. Eldridge brought up the rear.

“So that is your house, just beyond the trees.” She pointed with her free hand and Diaz took the opportunity to lean in a little farther as he stood on his toes, pretending to follow her hand. He was younger than she had expected, and better looking. He had a dark complexion, a physique that spoke to hours of training, and coal-black eyes that reflected the light of the torches. He moved with a relaxed style that only partially hid the predator beneath. Amanda was enveloped by his aura of malice and contempt; left to his own devices he would have had “Uncle Eldridge” strapped to a chair with electrodes attached to a number of sensitive body parts and be damned with this false civility. She patted his arm in complete agreement.

“Yes, that is my home. Sadly, it does not have the view of your uncle's, but it does have some unique aspects.” His flirtation had become a little too obvious and Amanda slipped her arm from his grasp. She enjoyed the playacting, and imagined herself as Marylyn Monroe. She pulled away from him, wanting the role to last a bit longer before they got down to business. “Oh! I apologize if I have offended you. My meaning was not clear.”

“It's okay,” she said, her tone implying that her mind was not fully closed to his advance. She casually approached one of Diaz's bodyguards. “Do they have to follow you everywhere?” she asked.

“Not everywhere,” he said, following her to the edge of the patio.

She turned and found Diaz only inches from her. Eldridge Adegbite stood ten feet away, a glass of wine in his hand and a confused, disapproving look on his face. “Are your men good shots?” Amanda breathed.

“They all are expert marksmen.” Diaz was completely in the moment, an image of a partially clad Amanda strapped to a bed filling his mind.

“Maybe we should put that to the test,” she whispered to his lips. Just before they kissed, the guard facing Diaz pulled his weapon from inside his jacket and fired a shot across the patio and into the chest of his compatriot.

Diaz fell on top of Amanda, Adegbite fell to the stone, and the remaining two guards came running from the house long before the echoing report faded away. Amanda pushed the drug dealer off and climbed to her feet. Both guards watched her with guns drawn but pointed downward. She walked to Eldridge and offered a hand up, laughing. “I was beginning to think that we were in a really bad nineteen-fifties movie.”

“What the hell just happened?” His eyes were wide and his pupils dilated.

She smiled and walked over to the body now sprawled across Adegbite's lawn. She looked down and then back up at Diaz. “You said they were expert marksmen. I wanted a head shot.” Amanda began to feel Mittens take over.

Diaz had crawled on all fours and taken refuge behind a large stone planter. He didn't know where to look, and his head went from the guard behind him to Eldridge, to Amanda, and finally to his two frozen bodyguards, who were just as confused as their boss. He finally hissed at them in Spanish, and immediately they ran over to their dazed companion and disarmed him.

“I didn't think that would be so loud. My ears are ringing,” she said to Adegbite, settling into in a patio chair. She crossed her legs and reached for Eldridge's hand. “Sit, we're just getting started.”

Robotically, he pulled a chair opposite her and sat. “How did you do that?” he asked.

“You don't want to know, and you also don't want to know how close that guy came to hitting you.” She realized that she was very nearly manic; thoughts and emotions flew through her head, blinding her to the thoughts and emotions of the men around her. “Okay, we all have to calm down,” she said to Mittens.

“What are you talking about?” Adegbite asked. Diaz had risen and positioned himself behind his two loyal guards, leaving Amanda at his back.

“Just give me a moment.” She closed her fists and shook them with nervous energy. “That was great,” she finally said. “I've never done that before.” She smiled brightly at the pretend psychiatrist, intoxicated by the emotional elixir pouring out of the men around her. “Okay,”—she clapped her hands—“back to business. You three take the body and go home. All the way home, and don't come back.” They hesitated less than a second. “NOW!” Amanda screamed, and all three men buckled at the knees and grabbed their heads. Five minutes later their party was down to three. Diaz had tried to stop his bodyguards from abandoning him. Failing that, he tried to leave with them, only to end up on his knees holding his bursting head.

“I don't understand what's happening here, Amanda,” Eldridge said after Angel's howling began to subside.

“He does, at least for as long as I want him to.” She nodded to Diaz. “When you're feeling better, why don't you join us, Angel?”

It took him several minutes to gain his feet and stagger to the frosted glass table, and then into one of the two remaining chairs. “You're going to die, bruja,” he sneered.

“Hold that thought,” she answered and jumped to her feet. “I'll be back.” She disappeared back into the house.

“What are you smiling at, old man? You're next. She's going to fuck you up worse than me.”

“I think I liked you better when you were pretending to be civilized,” Eldridge said.

“Do you want to die? Listen to me …”

“I'd really rather not listen to your pleading. Try to find some dignity.”

“Fuck your dignity, man,” he spat at Adegbite, and then his head slammed into the thick glass.

“OWW, a little too hard,” Amanda said, padding her way back to the table. “Sorry Angel. I'm sort of new to this and sometimes I overshoot the mark. Does it hurt?” Amanda asked with a broad smile. “If you don't mind, I'd like to borrow these,” she turned and asked Adegbite after placing a large bread knife and a pair of pruning shears in front of Angel. “Senor Diaz? I brought you presents,” Amanda sang as Mittens fed on Diaz's impotent rage.

“Fucking bitch,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

“You know, I'm getting really tired of being called a bitch. I want you to apologize.” Amanda's playful attitude instantly became menacing.

“FUCK YOU, BITCH,” Angel screamed and tried to spit again. Instead he picked up the pruning shears and clipped off the tip of his left pinkie finger. He howled in pain and managed to drop the tool and grab his injured hand in one motion.

“Hmph, I was hoping for more,” she said and looked at Eldridge. “Several years ago, Angel cut off the fingers and toes of a warehouse worker in Tijuana. The poor man went to work one morning, found a hole in his storage shed, and a few of Angel's business associates. He lasted two whole days. How long do you think Angel will last?”

Adegbite moved his chair away from the bleeding Mexican and turned to Amanda. “I have personally never enjoyed the blood, or the brutality, but as you are my guest and Senor Diaz seems to be a willing participant, I believe that we should try to determine if he is equal to a warehouse worker in Tijuana.” He had turned his back on the sobbing Angel, who now had his head down on the table, his left hand elevated and wrapped tightly in his right.

Two hours and eight snips of the shears later, Angel wasn't looking so good. “It's time,” Eldridge said, looking at his watch. Initially, he had been a somewhat reluctant participant, but with each bloody scream he became more engaged and Amanda more disillusioned. “It's time, Amanda,” he repeated.

“I heard you,” she said rather testily. Her enthusiasm had run its course. Diaz's suffering wasn't giving Amanda what she needed. Forcing him to mutilate himself was about as challenging as shooting fish in a barrel. Even Mittens had retreated into a dark corner of her mind and fallen asleep.

“What's wrong?” a now-energized Eldridge Adegbite asked. His enthusiasm was beginning to irritate her.

“This isn't doing it for me.”

“I don't understand—you can't stop now.” A hint of desperation had escaped into his tightly controlled delivery.

“Why not?”

“Because you're not finished. Look!” He pointed at Diaz, who had rolled onto his side, blood oozing from his ruined left hand and right foot.

“It's getting cold and I didn't bring a jacket.” Amanda looked up into the stars, her arms folded across her chest.

Eldridge shook his head. “This isn't doing it for you, and you're cold? How irresponsible can you be?”

“As irresponsible as I choose. I have no responsibility to you, to him, to anyone. I am a psychopath, remember?” Amanda stood and stepped over Diaz.

“There are rules that must be followed.” He stood and partially blocked her way back into the house, punctuating his point with the large kitchen knife Amanda had borrowed earlier. “You killed one man and did that to another.” He used the knife to point at his polished flagstones and the pool of blood that ended with Diaz. “People have seen you.”

“First, I haven't done anything to anyone. Second, the only person to have seen me is you.” Amanda had turned to face the taller man. He was in full predator mode, and his unguarded thoughts poured into Amanda's mind and Mittens caught the whiff of a strange scent. Self-preservation was his first and foremost imperative, and she was endangering it, and that caused him to emit a strange emotion. It wasn't fear; that had a distinct and delicious flavor. This was considerably more sour, but strangely appealing. It was an amalgam of rudimentary and stunted human emotions. “You smell interesting.” She sniffed and took a step towards him. The sour emotion ramped up, and now Mittens began to take the mental reins from Amanda. The large, rabid dog breathed deeply and the lights in her mind began to blaze brightly.

Angel Diaz had disappeared from Amanda's consciousness; his agony had been reduced to a series of simple nerve impulses that were a far cry from what would sustain her. She needed fear, terror, and Angel was well past them. Eldridge Adegbite, however, was not. His mutant emotions tasted a little strange, but so did beets, and she had grown to love them.

His attempt to stab her met only air. Somehow he found himself facing the canyon, where an instant before he had been staring at Amanda. Diaz was at his feet and he nearly slipped in the blood as the Mexican reached for him. He kicked the prostrate man in the head and turned to find Amanda inches from him. He slashed at her face and found himself flat on the ground, the knife clattering from his grasp. He reached for the weapon, but Amanda stepped on his outstretched arm. He saw red as first one and then a second bone in his forearm snapped. A voice whispered in his ear that he was going to die, and he saw his mother tied to a burning bed.

“You're going to die,” she screamed again over the roar of the flames. He kicked his legs and rolled to his feet, cradling his broken arm as the echoes of his dead mother flooded him with adrenaline. The thought of “not being,” of the world continuing in his absence, prompted a state of near-panic.

“DIIIEEE,” his father's voice yelled. He tried to shut it out, shut her out. Amanda was the source of his visions; she was manipulating his weakness. She had invaded his mind, his thoughts, his being, and in doing so had opened a door into her mind. From a far distance he could see her soul.

“Gone forever,” his mother screamed. Knowing the source of his torment and being able to do something about it were two very different things.

“I know it's you, bitch,” he screamed into the darkness. Somehow, all the torchlights had been extinguished, and his house lights had gone out as well.

“The lights aren't out, Lucas; you're blind,” Amanda taunted him with the name his parents had given him. “Perhaps I should leave you like this, blind, dependent, and discovered.” He stumbled after her and she fed off of his torment.

“I will find you, and …” A sharp pain in his back cut his declaration short. A second stab of pain dropped him to his knees and then into the sticky wet blood.

The world was starting to reform around him, only it was a world that made no sense. There was blood everywhere and his left hand failed to follow his commands. He was barefoot and a searing pain shot from his right foot to his confused brain every time he tried to move.

He was outside and it was cold. Freezing cold. He began to shiver and could swear that this was the coldest he had ever been, even after living almost a third of his life in the Colorado mountains. He rolled onto his side and nearly passed out from pain. His left hand was alive with fire, and when he brought it to his face he didn't recognize the bloody mess. He stared at the mutilated appendage and wondered what had happened to his fingers.

He heard voices and then something brushed his shoulder. A man's leg appeared, and as he reached for it with his good hand the leg savagely kicked him in the head. Stars burst through his confused mind, and instinctively he rolled away. Another wave of agony from his foot and hand seemed to focus his mind. He heard someone scream and recognized it as his neighbor, the shrink, and then the pieces started to fall into place. He was at Adegbite's house. The prick had invited him over to discuss the security fence Angel wanted to build, and then the mother-fucker shot one of his men.