Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) (8 page)

“I can
see
it,” Doug said.

“What do you see?”

Doug licked his lips and took in a huge draught of air, letting it out with a trembling sigh. “Yes, I
see  . . .
Janet has stopped at the top of the stairs, and she is turning around slowly as if she senses the presence in the room. Lance has stopped too and I can see his eyes darting back and forth looking for something they know is there but they can’t see. Then it seems like neither of them can move at all, like they’re frozen in place. Janet suddenly looks terrified. In the next instant the thing in the black robe is standing directly in front of her.”

“Excuse me for interrupting, Doug,” said Dr. Pasternak, eliciting a pained look from the police lieutenant, “but
could you describe this thing in the black robe a little more thoroughly?”

“It’s in the
form of a man but very tall. It’s wearing a robe that at first looks like leather, but when it moves it looks like shiny metal. The robe has a hood or a cowl or whatever the hell you call it; and it’s pulled up over the head hiding the face. But the robe is long and I can’t see any feet, and I can’t actually see a face . . . but . . . wait. Wait a minute!” Doug’s eyelids flutter as his eyes continue to swirl behind them. The doctor sees that he has become even more agitated.

“What do you see, Doug?”

“Oh, God,” Doug said. “From somewhere deep inside the hood I think I see an . . .
eye.”

“An eye?”

“Yes.”

“Just one eye?”

“Just one, and it’s
red.
So red it’s almost making me sick.
That’s why I can see it. It’s glowing like a tiny red spotlight and it’s trying to burn through my eyes and into my brain. My head! Oh, Jesus Christ, my head is going to split wide open.”

Doug was trembling and moaning a
s tears squeezed out between his closed lashes.

“It’s freaking me out so bad.”

“Why is it freaking you out, Doug?”

“Because . . . because, it’s looking at me, like it
knows
I’m here and that I’m
watching.
No one’s supposed to see it. But I do, and it
knows.
It’s whispering to me.”

“What’s
it saying?”

“
That I have been chosen.”

“
Chosen for what, Doug?”

“I don’t know. It’s says I’ll know some day but not today.”
Pasternak was now breathing in anxious gasps. “What’s happening, Doug?” he asked. “What’s happening at this very moment?”

“
He’s moved around in front of Janet, and he’s looking directly into her face. He’s no longer looking at me, but he
knows
I’m there. I swear to God he does. He’s turned away from me and all I can see is the robe, only now it doesn’t really look like a robe at all, instead it looks like dark metal, like the scales on a fish. And now he’s whispering to Janet.”

“Can you hear what it’s saying, Doug?”

“It wants to know where the children are.”

“The children? I thought it could see you?”

“It sees me from inside my head
.
But it doesn’t see Tommy and Savannah. And that’s who it wants.”

“Why does it want Tommy and
Savannah, Doug?”

“I don’t know. Dear God, I don’t
know!”

“What’s happening now, Doug?”

“Janet’s screaming. She says that the children are outside. She’s twisting and writhing like she’s trying to get away, but it’s as if something invisible has her legs bound together and her arms tied to her sides. She can’t move, she can’t kick, she can only scream. Whatever that thing is, it’s now moving closer to her face. Oh, God! Oh shit! I think she can see what’s inside the darkness of the cowl, and it must be horrible, because she can’t stop screaming in terror, and she’s screaming so loud that her mouth is standing wide open like her jaws have become unhinged. And now I see a wet stain starting to form on the crotch of Janet’s jeans. The wetness is spreading out and running down the insides of her legs. Oh, Christ, she’s so scared she’s peeing in her pants.” Doug stopped talking suddenly but his mouth was still working.

Dr. Pasternak glanced over at
Jennings and Jennings saw that the doctor’s face had gone pasty white. He was sweating profusely, rivulets of clear liquid running down his forehead and into his eyes.

And from his sleeping position on the couch, Doug was now writhing and twisting and sweating, his eyes rolling like greased ball bearings behind closed lids.

And although Rick Jennings knew the story, had heard it on countless occasions, he’d never heard it in this much graphic detail. He sat forward in anticipation sensing that this might be the closest he would ever come to knowing the full story of what Doug had seen on that infamous day.

“Now something is coming out of Janet’s mouth,” Doug said.

“What is it, Doug?” Pasternak asked. “What do you see?”

“I don’t know, but it looks like water, or steam or something. It’s sort of silvery colored and blurry and it’s shooting out fast, like a fire hose, and it’s spraying directly into the front of the cowl and disappearing, like something inside the
hood is swallowing the stuff in Janet’s stomach.
No!
. . . I think it’s different than that. I think it’s ingesting
Janet.
I hear the noise as the stuff is coming out of her and spraying into the dark thing. Her mouth is hinged open and she is making a terrible gurgling noise that sounds like someone trying to scream underwater. Then suddenly it stops and Janet is no longer Janet.”

“What do you mean by that, Doug?”

“The thing . . . stole something from her.”

Jennings
and Pasternak exchanged uneasy glances. “You mean the fluid that came out of her.”

“It’s not fluid,” Doug said.

“Then what is it?” asked the doctor.

“Her
essence. The part that makes her human. I think it took her soul.”

Pasternak again glanced at
Jennings, his face blanched, his wet eyes glazed and haunted. “How do you know this, Doug?”

“I just do. I think it wants me to know.” Suddenly Doug began to writhe on the couch as his respiration accelerated. “Oh, God, now I see . . .”

“What do you see, Doug?”

“Oh dear God, yes, Janet is just standing there like a statue. She’s all frozen and white like if you touched her she would crumble
to dust. And she’s staring with wide open eyes that are now blank and featureless, and her mouth is stretched open like she’s still screaming.”

Doug stopped talking, but his jaw was still working, as if his thoughts were no longer being translated into words.

“Do you want me to wake you, Doug?”

“No!”

The outburst was so sudden and so loud that Pasternak recoiled. He looked over at Jennings in alarm. Jennings silently motioned for him to go on.

“Okay, Doug, what else do you see?”

“Oh, God, it’s not done yet,” Doug said, almost coming up off the couch. Both Jennings and Pasternak grabbed him to hold him down. Doug was writhing beneath them and wringing his sweaty hands together. “It’s moving toward Lance now, as if something is stretching it. Like the shimmering skin is stretching like quicksilver. God, if I had to touch it I think I might go mad. And Lance is frozen just like Janet was. Now the thing is standing in front of him. And the same thing is happening all over again.”

Pasternak gave
Jennings another look of alarm but again Jennings nodded for him to continue.

“Lance is screaming now,” Doug continued in a breathless voice. “He’s trying to move, but he can’t. His mouth is twisting into a huge oval, just like Janet’s, and the dark thing is stealing from Lance what it stole from Janet. It’s all going into the darkness, toward that red eye and the terrible darkness.
Down-down-down.”
Each word Doug spoke was punctuated by a sharp almost violent roll of his head on the pillow. “Oh, God, it’s so horrible. I can’t stand it. I can’t breathe.” On the couch, Doug stopped speaking as his chest heaved up and down in great spasms.

“Is that all, Doug?” Pasternak asked. His face was as white as a bleached sheet.

Doug remained silent.

“Doug?”

“No!”  Doug gave his head a quick, almost violent shake.

“No?  What’s happening now?” asked the psychiatrist.

“Someone’s writing on the wall.”

“Someone? Who, Doug?”

“I don’t know. It’s confusing. All I see are streaks and flashes of silvery light, a dark cowl and the red eye, and . . . God my head’s going to explode.”

“Is the dark thing doing the writing?”

“No hands, no arms, just streaks. Jesus, I can’t tell!”

“What’s he writing, Doug?”

“Symbols not words.”

“What sort of symbols?”

“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”

“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”

“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”

“Lost, Forgotten, Forsaken!”

Doug repeated the words like a mantra as Jennings stared down at him. “How do you know what the symbols mean, Doug?”

“In my head. Somehow in my head.”

Pasternak looked at Jennings and his expression said:
this can’t be for real. It’s insane. It’s madness.

The police lieutenant’s staid expression said:
It may be madness, but it is real.

Pasternak closed his eyes and then slowly
reopened them. He lifted a handkerchief and mopped his brow with it. “This has got to be some kind of joke,” he said in a low and strained whisper.

Jennings
just stared at the man.

Pasternak swallowed audibly staring down at his still unconscious patient, his eyes round and bright. “Doug, do you hear me?”

Doug nodded

“Is that all of it?”

“All of it?” Doug asked “No! Jesus,
no!
It’s just the beginning.”

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Pasternak said to
Jennings. He looked like he was about to faint.

“Do you want to go on, Doug?”
Jennings said.

Doug gave his head a quick nod.

Pasternak glared at Jennings.

Jennings
nodded for the doctor to continue the session.

Again Pasternak wiped his sweaty brow. “Go on, Doug,” he said
in a shaky voice. “Tell me what’s happening now.”

“Cold,” Doug said.

The doctor looked puzzled. “Cold?”

“Cold,” Doug repeated. “So cold in here. I think I’m freezing to death.” He laid his arms across his chest and hugged himself, shivering. And as Doug breathed, puffs of cold steam came out of his mouth.

The doctor shot the detective an alarmed look. “I don’t believe this,” he whispered in awe. “What kind of trickery
is
this?”

“There’s no trickery here,”
Jennings told the doctor, “and you know it.”

Pasternak looked back at his patient. “This kid doesn’t need a doctor, he needs a
n exorcist.”

Jennings
said nothing.

“Doug?” Pasternak said. “Why are you so cold?”

“It’s the House of Bones. It’s so . . . very cold in here.”

“Where is the House of Bones, Doug?”
Jennings asked.

“I don’t know. The dark thing won’t tell me, but he takes me there sometimes in my dreams! It’s where the others are. It’s where he keeps them all.
”

“Why
does he keep them, Doug?”

“The plan.
The purpose. Something in the future. Something important.”

“What do you mean by that, Doug?”

“They’re pure and they’re smart. He needs them to be both. It’s why he takes them. Oh, God,” Doug said, writhing on the couch. “He’s turning toward me again, and that one awful red eye is staring out at me from somewhere deep inside the cowl. He wants me to shut up. He doesn’t want me to say any more, spoil the plan. But he can’t do anything to me. He can’t touch me. Even though I’m only eight years old I know there’s an entire universe inside that thing, a cold and terrifying and unforgiving universe, perhaps the opposite of the one we live in. I’ve been given a glimpse of it, and it wasn’t an accident. It knows me now, and it will never leave me alone until it has what it wants.” Doug was writhing frantically, his hands roaming his body as if he was trying to brush off crawlies. Puffs of steam continued to exit his mouth.

“Doug, what is the plan? What does it want?”

“I don’t know,” Doug said. “Something in the future. Something I’m not able to see yet. Please, I want to wake up now.”

The doctor’s round moon face, which moments ago had been a white and sickly pallor, now seemed a little healthier. He looked over at
Jennings and Jennings nodded for him to wake the young man on the couch. “If I wake you, Doug, do you think you can remember everything we’ve talked about?”