Trifecta (102 page)

Omar became still as a cement statue when Michelle got
up.  Nothing moved but his eyes, and the expression of rage on his face.  He could
feel Michelle looking at him, like the warmth of the sun on his head.  He scarcely
breathed until the feeling was gone, then he opened his eyes again.

Nakamura was struggling to get up when Michelle turned
around.  "Dammit," Nakamura said.  "This thing really hurts."

"It's broken."

"Oh.  I thought it might be."  He pulled himself
closer to the fire.  "I guess it's too soon for you to make a decision?"

"It's been made," Michelle said.

As Guy Thorner started the Jeep he had a sudden
inspiration.  There might be a car phone in the truck the giant had driven.  He
didn't relish driving all the way to the plane and then driving back to beach again
to pick up everyone.  Then he'd have to take them all back to the plane.  It would
take hours.

He shut off the Jeep’s engine and went over to the truck. 
As he gazed inside the vehicle now sitting on flat tires, he smiled and opened the
door to turn on the overhead dome light.  There was a cellular phone.  Up here,
near the top of the cliffs in Kauai, there would be little problem with transmission
anywhere on the island.

When he finally got hold of Kauai Emergency Medical Services
the man in charge had to be awakened.  Then he was disbelieving.  "You're telling
me there's one man on the beach with two broken legs, one with a broken ankle, and
another with a possible concussion who is buried up to his neck in the sand?  A
total of eight people to be rescued?"

"Yes."

"This is a joke?" 

"No.  We need help fast.  Medical services and the
law."  Guy Thorner recited a list of the people he knew on the island as references.

"You better be telling me the truth."  The man's
voice was sleepy, but very serious.

"I am.  I swear," Guy said.

"Damn.  We'll try to get there within a half hour. 
We're only a few minutes from Princeville.  We'll fly out from there."

The two witches had been sneaking quickly across
the sand, bent low so they couldn't be seen over the fire.  They dropped to the
sand on their stomachs and were slithering like snakes toward Omar.  When they reached
him they swiftly got to their hands and knees, one on either side of Omar, and started
digging.  They looked like two dogs frantically uncovering a bone.  Sand flew wildly. 
Omar gyrated like a man possessed.

Omar was free.

Michelle and Nakamura heard the frenzied commotion behind
them and when they turned their heads, Omar was standing right behind them, looming
over them like a wicked gargoyle.  He had a malevolent, victorious smile on his
face.  The two witches on either side of him were actually hissing menacingly. 

"Ah, shit," Nakamura said, right before Omar
kicked him in the head.

Nakamura ducked and Michelle lunged up when she saw Omar's
unmistakable intention.  She partially blocked the strike.

"You win, Omar.  I'll do anything you say," Michelle
said quickly.  There was no doubt in her mind that Omar would kill Nakamura.  She
stood in front of Omar, trying to block access to Nakamura.

"I'll need your entire attention, Michelle,"
Omar said, speaking slowly and inexorably.  "And so will the child.  If this
man is anywhere in the world, you will be divided.  Not that he deserves it."
 Omar glanced contemptuously at Nakamura.  "But he will be on your mind; you
will build him up to grandiose proportions, even more so because of the separation. 
I simply can't have that."

Good grief, Michelle thought, there was Omar's rationalization
for murder.  He was trying to show justification, and in his own mind believed he
was acting rationally, in all probability.  On top of that, he was trying to persuade
her that what he was proposing was a sane act.  Didn't he understand that she would
never forgive him?  Michelle decided she could act insane too. 

Michelle stepped up to Omar and put her arms around him. 
She leaned against him, resting her head against his chest. Electrical impulses
throbbed painfully throughout her whole body at the contact, but suddenly she knew
she was doing exactly the right thing.  This was the only way to fight the Necromancer.

"I can see right through you, Michelle," Omar
said, frowning down at the top of her head.

"Good.  Read my thoughts," Michelle whispered. 
She closed her eyes and put the picture of the child that she and Omar would have
in her mind, blocking out everything else.  She knew Omar had a crude mind reading
ability.  She also knew it was sometimes false and hoped it would work spuriously
now, like it had when she told him that Vincent had drowned.  She had sounded convincing
and he had believed her.  He had seen the picture of Vincent's last gasp in the
ocean, which he had somehow pulled from her imagination.  Michelle knew she had
to make him believe her images now, or they were all dead.

"You're trying to trick me," Omar thought suspiciously.

Michelle looked up into his eyes and moved her arms up
his back and over his chest until they were around his neck.  "No, I'm healing
you.  You know I can.  Your head is hurting and I'm making it all better, Omar. 
You can hear what I'm thinking.  You can read my thoughts."  Michelle was thinking,
not talking, soothingly, like she would to a small hurt animal.

Michelle had a hideous feeling that she was being
invaded.  It was awful.  Like becoming infested with tiny bugs crawling
throughout her brain.  She felt like scratching her head, the perception was so
overpowering and alien, but she had to concentrate and she shut all thoughts
out of her mind except the concept of the child she and Omar would have. 

Michelle locked her eyes on Omar's and sent pictures of
the baby with big blue eyes.  She sent images of the toddler with curly black hair,
running on chubby legs.  She sent pictures of the handsome adolescent with the mesmerizing
blue eyes that sent out flames.  The only difference in the descriptions she transmitted
and Omar's representation were in the temperament and behavior of the child.  For
her the child was composed of fun,  mischief and laughter, innocence, sweet vulnerability
and love.

Omar jerked in her arms, but she held on.

He tried to look away, but she held him fast with her eyes.

"No.  I won't get rid of the witches," Omar murmured
in his mind, and Michelle heard him.  She now understood that Omar had contemplated
his own very human destiny of endless death.  What he wanted, his final goal, was
to live on through his own progeny.  He was trying to trick the final irrevocable
enemy.  That was why he needed a child at this point in his life, when he was growing
older, prey to the dissolution, disease and limitations that all humans must endure
at the end of their lives.  He might look young, but he was painfully aware that
his ending was not that far off in the future.

Michelle sent Omar pictures of he and the beautiful child
together, running along the beach.  Of Omar lifting the baby in his arms and throwing
him in the air, only to catch the bundle as the child giggled down at him with blue
eyes into Omar's dark ones.

"You're hurting me," Omar said silently.  His
face appeared tormented.

Michelle imagined she was hurting him.  He must have hated
his own father with a passionate rage to have killed him.  He had no memories like
the ones she was presenting.  Omar's childhood had been a sterile wasteland.  She
kept giving him painful visualizations of what he had missed and what he had disassociated
from entirely. 

"I need my witches.  They're tools of my trade,"
Omar was thinking.  He sounded like he was arguing, but Michelle had not said a
word.  "I need my giant." 

V
incent and Heather had walked Guy Thorner to the
path at the back of the beach.  Now they were heading back to the fire.  Vincent
was suddenly shocked into immobility.  He stood still and stared.

"Omar's loose!  What the hell's going on?" Heather
said when she saw Omar and Michelle in an embrace.

"Ah.  We're witnessing the real fight now," Vincent
murmured with satisfaction, and no small amount of dread.  He grabbed Heather's
arm to restrain her, knowing she would try to break up the couple in close embrace.

"Doesn't look like any fight to me," Heather
said angrily.  "How the hell did he get loose?  And how can she behave like
that in front of Rod?  I'm really going to give her a piece of my mind."

"It's the Judas Kiss," Vincent said in awe. 
"I didn't realize Michelle was a transmitter.  Healer, yes, of course.  But
a transmitter too!  No wonder Omar wants her.  It's a dangerous game she's playing,
though."

"Looks like he got her," Heather said disgustedly.

"Shh.  We can't interrupt them," Vincent murmured. 
"Don't you trust your friend?"

"Of course.  I just consider some of the things Michelle
does damn asinine."

"Be very quiet," Vincent whispered.  "She's
trying to save  our lives.  Omar somehow got loose and she had to do something. 
It's amazing she's able to hold him at all.  She's had absolutely no training, just
natural raw talent."

"I don't understand anything."

"Omar probably tried to kill Rod Nakamura and she
was forced to act.  Of course, if Michelle can't control this, he'll probably kill
us all and take her."

"What can we do?" Heather whispered.

"You run up the path.  Try to stop Guy Thorner.  Michelle
may be able to stun Omar long enough for us to get out of here.  We'll have to flee
in the Jeep, even if some of us have to ride on the roof or hold on to the sides. 
Bring Guy back with you.  He'll have to help us get Rod up the path.  He can't make
it on his own.  Omar will kill him if he gets a chance.  I'm going to try and subdue
the witches."

Nakamura was trying to sneakily scuttle backwards,
to reach the tree branch that Vincent had used as a club, but it was almost twenty
feet away and he wasn't making much progress.  One of the witches shook her head
at him, glancing back at the branch he was trying to get.  The two disgruntled witches
had settled down in the sand on one side of him, watching Michelle and Omar with
angry eyes.

Nakamura knew Michelle was trying to save him.  The thought
made him furious at his impotence.  He tried to get up, to grab the club so he could
give Omar another good bash on the head while Michelle had him occupied, but fell
back into the sand, the pain shooting from his ankle up through his entire body. 
He lost consciousness for a few moments.  Then the agony made him nauseous and he
struggled to keep from throwing up.

Nakamura noticed that Vincent had come back.  He hadn't
even heard him.  Except for the crashing of the waves they could all have been in
a church it was so silent.  He could see thick silvery-grey clouds, lighter than
the black night sky, slowly covering the moon.  All the stars were winking out. 
It looked like rain was imminent.  Michelle and Omar appeared like statues.  They
had not moved an inch in about five minutes.  He thought of the calm before the
storm and wondered where that image came from.

He saw Vincent whispering to the two witches.

"You don't like her much, do you?" Vincent
asked softly, nodding at Michelle.

"What's it to you?" the dark haired witch asked. 
She was a beautiful Hawaiian with dark wavy hair flowing down her back to her waist. 
Her arm was in a cast.  Vincent thought she must be one of the women who had tried
to kill Heather on the beach.  This witch probably hated Michelle for breaking her
arm.  He figured he could use that hatred.

"She's trying to take Omar away from you," Vincent
said conversationally, smiling at the girl.  "No, don't move," he cautioned
as they both started rising.  "Let's just slide back very quietly where we
can talk this situation over."

Vincent began pushing back in the sand until he was about
fifteen yards away from Omar and Michelle, in back of the fire.  He was relieved
when the witches actually did as he asked.

"I can help you," Vincent said, when they were
settled beside him.  "See, as soon as she's finished there with Omar, I promise
to take her away.  She'll never bother you or Omar again.  She won't become his
High Priestess."

"High priestess!" spat the other woman.  "She
isn't even a witch."

"Oh, there you're very wrong.  You are observing one
of the most powerful witches in the world.  She's holding Omar with her will alone,
restraining and possessing a powerful Necromancer.  And she'll be much more than
Omar's High Priestess," Vincent said, nodding with great authority.  "Oh
my, yes.  She'll probably end up his wife.  And he'll give up everything, all of
his witches and acolytes for her, because she will demand it."

"Omar, married?  I can't believe it," the dark
witch said, glancing at the blond beside her as though the idea was inconceivable.

Vincent nodded.  "You can see her power.  Michelle
can take him away forever."

"I tell you," the beautiful blond witch was talking
now, "I just don't understand Omar anymore.  First, there's this new witch,
Suzanne.  And he makes her High Priestess.  Gets rid of Ginger, who's been with
him for years and years.  Then Samson Stoker says Ginger is gone, permanently, and
we all know what that means."

The two women nodded ominously at each other.  The blond
continued, "Just tonight, we learn from Samson that Suzanne's dead too.  It's
almost too much, know what I mean?  We don't know where we stand any more.  And
all these deaths are scary."

Vincent sat immobilized.  Luckily the two women continued
gossiping about all the other witches because he couldn't talk.  He couldn't think. 
Suzanne was dead.  He felt his heart thump into a fast rhythm and darkness swam
before his eyes.  Suzanne was dead?  His brilliant student?  She was only a little
girl, barely nineteen years old.  His heart was beating funny and he thought it
was probably broken.

Vincent rubbed his face vigorously in case he had tears
in his eyes.  "If you two women will help me, I can guarantee that Michelle
will leave Omar alone forever."

The two witches scooted nearer to hear his plan.

Michelle knew she was losing control.  The tenebrous
feeling, like thin strong cobwebs in her mind that had connected her to Omar were
disappearing one by one as though blown away on a strong wind.  She felt like she
was being engulfed in thick syrupy blackness, almost as though she was swooning. 
She fought to keep her focus, to hold back unconsciousness.

The promises to him had been false, but in her mind she
had made them so firm and clear it seemed like she was actually living an entire,
endless and wretchedly miserable lifetime with Omar.

Michelle knew she had to keep him with her a little longer. 
She struggled against the horrible faintness, feeding Omar the idea that there could
be more than one child to lead into the future.  She could feel the link reattaching
as Omar latched onto that concept.  She hoped Vincent was getting Heather and Nakamura
off the beach where they would be safe. 

Omar was gathering power and she felt painful electrical
pulses racing throughout her body once again at the points of physical contact. 
She had held him, but she had also healed him, something she evidently could not
control. 

As Omar gained mastery, Michelle felt herself growing insubstantial,
as if he was sucking out all her vitality.  A crackling intensity of electrical
energy was racing through his strong body.  He was actually expanding within her
arms and the muscles suddenly felt hard as steel.  She knew her arms around his
neck were the only things holding her body up.  If she let go she would fall.  Everything
would be lost.

Staring into his eyes she saw red sparks shooting within. 
Omar's eyes changed dramatically, bleaching to a lighter color, as Michelle watched
in terror.  Staring eyes almost as yellow as her own, made the pupils shockingly
black in contrast.  The black pinpoints drilled into her. 

The color change was dramatic enough, but suddenly unspeakable
live entities were roiling behind the golden colored irises; serpents, insects,
worms and parasitic creatures swarming.  The nightmare shapes tumbled and twisted
and jumped out at her with hideous, hungry open mouths.  Michelle didn't know whether
she was really seeing into Omar's black soul, or if the ghoulish images were psychic
projections of the real Omar from her own mind.  She felt she had her arms around
the devil himself.

She heard thunder roar and felt the first pat of fat heavy
raindrops with foreboding.  A storm was brewing and Omar used electrical energy
like a conduit.

She had diverted him with images of what she would give
him.  The beautiful child.  But women had always been play-putty in Omar's hands. 
He expected gifts.  She had to stir dreadful fear within him and she stared into
his scary eyes without flinching.  Expressing her horror could precipitate disaster.

She sent Omar dire images of the appalling
circumstances he would experience without her promises.  Images of himself as
an old man alone, no longer powerful, stripped of youth, vigor, and the ability
impress women with the enormous charm of his face and body.  There was no child
with beautiful blue eyes and magical abilities.  There were no nubile young
witches pathetically eager to do his bidding.  He was old, decrepit, isolated
and bereft.  As she did this she could actually feel him becoming weaker, his
muscles softening under her fingers.

When she felt he was weak enough, she made her demands,
hoping to shock him.  He must get rid of his horrible minion, Samson Stoker.  He
would stop the traffic in drugs.  He would get rid of the witches.  As she did this
she dangled the prize before him.  The child.

Suddenly, she could feel him laughing. 

Omar sent his own demand:  His price for the lives on the
beach right now, for Heather, Nakamura and Vincent, was the child she would give
him. 

Michelle had no choice.  If she didn't agree, he would
kill them all, load her with drugs and take all he wanted from her.  She could feel
his body filling with exaltation, read his thoughts.  All Omar had wanted was one
little egg, but he could have more.  He would take all the eggs because he had sperm
enough to make them all fertile; he had witches enough to give many children birth. 

He was cackling with glee.  He could have ten children,
or twenty, thirty, or more.  All would be exactly like him and would inhabit and
spread throughout the world.  They would eventually master the world.  He might
even live to see it.

Michelle had one last card to play, but she couldn't do
it in her mind.  He would never believe her.  She had to turn him loose to show
him, which was extremely dangerous.  On top of that, she could smell ozone in the
air.  The storm that had been accumulating in the heavy clouds above promised an
electrical storm.  It made what she planned dangerous for her.  It would be dangerous
for Heather, Nakamura and Vincent as well, stranded in the vicinity without her,
if Omar had electricity to manipulate.  But she could never let him have a child. 
She was revolted by the thought of what he would do to an innocent baby.

Michelle blanked her mind.  She imagined her thoughts as
black holes which could not be reached by any means.  Omar had to be stranded from
her intentions.  Then she blasted him, shouting in her mind:  "I am dead. 
And you are dead.  You have lost your power, old man.  You are weak in mind, decrepit
in body.  Decaying rotten meat.  Blindness is in your eyes.  You will fall to the
ground and you will not be able to rise."

She had definitely shocked him.  Michelle felt his arms
fall limply away from her.  She abruptly let go and ran straight into the ocean. 
She turned around once and saw that the witches were gone and that Omar had collapsed
down into the sand.  Heather and Nakamura and Vincent were together, watching her
with identically stunned expressions.  She felt tears in her eyes and wished she
could send them love.  She tried, sending her warmest thoughts to each of them. 
Then she turned and rushed forward, diving under the first of the gigantic waves
rolling toward her.

Vincent stood there aghast for a moment.  "She's
committing suicide," he muttered to himself.  "To save us."  He felt
grief stricken, having found out about Suzanne only a few minutes before.  Then
he was suffused with a comforting warmth like a halo of light.  He knew he was right. 
Michelle was killing herself and had sent him a moment of serenity and light.

"Oh, no.  She can't," Nakamura said, shaking
his head.  But he felt it too.  It was like a remembered song in his heart, so piercing
and poignant it was like a beautiful remembrance of something that never really
happened, but was there within his mind, a wonderful memory he could almost grasp. 
Nakamura tried to move, to get up and run into the water after Michelle, and only
managed to send radiating pain throughout his body again as he collapsed down into
the sand.

To Heather, the feeling Michelle sent was concentrated
happiness, bright for just a moment, and then it was gone, leaving her mournful. 
Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"Get Omar," she shouted.  "Michelle can
come back in if we restrain him." 

Heather tore her jacket off as she ran to the fallen man
and started wrestling with his heavily muscled arms, trying to tie them up with
the tiny sleeves.  Vincent rushed to help her.  Omar wouldn't be stunned for long. 
They had to take advantage of the situation immediately.