Unhinged (18 page)

“You come back with me, Aimee Richardson, or
I swear on all that is holy, I will ground you for life.”

I smile at her, despite the danger swirling
around us. “Don’t worry, I got this,” I assure her as I place my
hand atop hers and enter her consciousness. Seconds later, the
tornado engulfs us both, forcing us up into an oblivion that
harbors an evil I never would have expected.

Chapter
Twenty

~ I Will Never Eat Corn Again ~

Rain pelts my face as I stand in the middle
of a cornfield next to a rather peculiar-looking scarecrow whose
fake eyes seem to follow my every movement. The yellow of the straw
that fills his rather oddly shaped body blends in with the corn
stalks that surround us. The rain doesn’t impede my vision as I
stare off into the distance. While some of the memory I experience
as real, it’s still just a memory. Though I feel the rain fall upon
my face, I don’t get wet.

I look around, trying to figure out what’s
going on in this memory when a roar in the distance warns me that
something draws near. I can’t tell what it is, but from the fear I
saw on Mary’s face in the park, I’m sure it isn’t good. I strain my
eyes trying to see what’s coming, but all I can make out is a green
blob with what looks like eight fingers. The engine roar is
deafening as it nears me. I stand up on the tips of my toes to get
a better look, but all I see are corn stalks falling as the green
blob stomps forward. I climb up the wooden cross that holds the
scarecrow. It’s hard, but after a minute, I’m finally up as high as
the scarecrow and clinging onto its frame to remain there. I wrap
my arms around his head and get my first glimpse at what’s
coming.

Up ahead, and closing in fast, is a corn
reaper. The reaper is dark green, has eight prongs that look like
fingers jutting out from the front of it and huge blades that churn
constantly underneath, making it look hungry. I definitely don’t
have experience with corn or reapers, but that has to be the deluxe
model. I watch as it lifts up dozens of ears of corn and cuts the
stem from the husk before it feeds them through some part that
forces the kernels loose before finally spitting the husks out the
back.

As I stand there wrapped around the
scarecrow, I wonder what it is about this whole memory that makes
Mary so nervous. As far as I know, she’s never been scared of large
machinery. I look to the right and see nothing but more rows of
corn. I look to the left and finally see what they corn reaper is
heading for. And it takes all my strength not to vomit.

In the middle of the cornfield sits a small
clearing cut into a perfect square. If I wasn’t so high up, I never
would have seen it. Within the square stand four thick wooden poles
that have been pounded deep into the ground and reach as high as
the corn stalks that surround it. Attached to each wooden pole are
the thickest ropes I’ve ever seen. And at the end of each rope,
sits a girl.

Or at least I think they’re girls. They’re
each blindfolded and wearing brown burlap sacks. Their faces are
swollen, bruised, and bloody from what I can only imagine were
multiple beatings. Each girl sits erect in the same manner with her
wrists bound behind her. Their ankles are also bound by a rope, but
only to each other. What surprises me most is that they’re
complacent as they sit bound. No one is trying to fight the
bindings or scream for help. They have to know what’s coming; the
roar of the machine is so loud I can barely think. Yet they sit
stoically, seemingly resigned to their fate, like it’s a welcome
relief from the hell they’ve experienced. I look around and see
only corn for miles and miles. If a person wanted to hold women
captive for some nefarious purpose, this would be the perfect
place.

The roar of the harvester grows even louder
as it approaches the girls, yet still they don’t move. From my
perch just a stone’s throw away from the clearing, I see that the
reaper is on a direct course for the clearing—and the girls.
Despite all of the memories I’ve absorbed in my almost seventeen
years of life, I never would have predicted evil like this existed.
I barely have time to register that the reaper is going to reap
more than corn before it breaks through the clearing and in one
foul swoop, scoops up all the girls at once, and feeds them into
the sharp blades that cut the stem from the stalk.

I close my eyes immediately, unwilling and
unable to see what happens next. I know this scene has already
occurred and I’m keenly aware that there is nothing I can do to
save their lives. I’m no superhero and I never pretended to be one.
But the overwhelming need to help these girls—even if they’re
already dead—consumes me. Their screams finally snap me out of my
shock and spur me into action. I listen as their terror pierces the
night and I realize that as bad as this is, I can’t let it deter me
from the real reason I’m here. I jump down from the scarecrow and
land with a thud on the ground. I pick myself up and start running
as fast as I can towards the reaper. Even though I know I can’t be
harmed in a memory, my heart beats fast within my chest. I’m not
sure I want to face the person who did this to those poor girls. My
confidence falters a bit as I run. I try to focus on what I’m
doing, but the closer I get to the reaper, the more frightened I
become.

I’m almost in full panic mode when I suddenly
hear Mary’s voice in my head. ‘I believe in you Aimee.’ Her voice
is soft, determined, and just as it was before this memory was so
maliciously inserted into her mind. It’s exactly what I needed to
hear.

I bear down and run faster. Corn hits every
possible inch of my body as I run through the thick field. Luckily,
if it cuts me, I don’t feel it. After devouring the four girls in
the clearing, the corn reaper has turned around and began its trek
back to the stable. I do my best to run towards the noise in the
hope that I can intercept it before it reaches its destination. I
have no idea where I’m going, only faith that I’ll get there before
the killer, or this memory, disappears. The loud screeching of
metal crushing body fragments haunts me, but it also lets me know
I’m close. As I fly by the clearing where the girls were just fed
to the reaper, the smell of iron is overwhelming. I see bits and
chunks of raw, chopped flesh on the ears of corn as I race by them,
and it’s all I can do not to throw up what little I ate for
breakfast.

I finally see the machine up ahead and am
grateful to be coming at it from behind. The last thing I want to
see is the front prongs bathed in blood. I run along the left side
of the reaper where the door is located. The window is up high, but
I can see the head of a man with short red hair. I pound on the
door, hoping the person inside can hear me. The sound of blades
working to rid themselves of extra blood and material is so loud
that my knock is lost in oblivion. Corn ear after corn ear smacks
me as I run with the reaper, desperate to keep up with it.

I knock again, but it’s no use. The man
inside can’t hear me. I look up and see a handle just beside the
doorknob. If I time it just right, I can jump onto the small foot
platform at the bottom of the door and grab the handle. It’s tricky
though, and I’m tired. If I miss, I’ll fall and then any hope of
catching up to him will be lost. Instinctively, I know that if he
makes it to the stables, the memory will be over, which will cost
me any chance I have to absorb it from Mary.

Up ahead, the red stable comes into view.
Time is running out. Winded from running, I do my best to fill my
lungs before I push up with my right leg as hard as I can and swing
my left leg up. Thankfully, my left foot finds the step. The second
my foot reaches the step I push hard and reach up with my right
hand, fingers extended, and try to grab the handle.

For a brief second, my life proceeds in slow
motion. The handle is only centimeters away, but I’m not sure I can
make it. I extend my arm as far as it can go and am rewarded by the
feel of cold steel beneath my fingers. I grab the handle and hold
on for dear life. I quickly reposition myself with both feet on the
small platform and my right hand firmly grasping the handle. I use
my left hand to open the reaper’s door. The door flies open in the
wind and hits the other side with a loud bang. I peek inside and am
now face to face with the palest guy I’ve ever seen. His eyes are
green and his hair is ginger. The look of surprise on his face
almost makes the whole episode of getting to him worth it.
Almost.

His demeanor changes a bit when he looks
forward again and sees the stable is close. He looks back and forth
from me to the stable, caught between deciding to just get to the
stable or stopping the machine to deal with his new passenger. He
throws it into the next gear, which propels the machine forward. It
causes me to jerk back roughly and lose my footing, but luckily, I
don’t release my grip on the handle. I’m able to reposition myself
to face him at the door again, his attempt to get me to fall
thwarted. His green eyes darken as he looks at me. The anger he
never learned to keep in check spills out daggers aimed straight at
my heart. His lip curls up sinisterly, like a rabid animal.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks
furiously.

“I’m the girl that’s going to send you back
to hell where you belong, asshole,” I answer as I reach out my hand
and touch his face.

The moment my skin touches his, the red
haired demon freezes in place and the familiar heat starts to run
through my body. It starts in my fingers and moves up my arm as it
fans out to include my neck and chest. But this time, I don’t mind
the pain. It’s the least I can do to the man who just mercilessly
killed four women. The shocked look on his pale face gives me
satisfaction like I’ve never known. The last thought I have before
my world explodes into a thousand white lights, is that justice is
a dish not best served cold, but rather served toasty warm and with
a hint of fireworks.

* * * *

“Wake up,” says a soft voice beside me. I can
hear the order, but my body just won’t respond.

“Wake up, Aimee. It’s all over.”

I manage to open my eyes a bit and see the
trees that grow lush and happy, their leaves fluttering in the
wind. Somehow, I’m back in the park where I first saw Mary. But
rather than sitting on the bench, I’m lying on the grass. I’m
exhausted, but I use what little energy I have left to open my eyes
fully. Mary’s face is above me and she’s smiling. I try to focus,
but it seems impossible. All I want to do is sleep.

“Must. Sleep,” I say incoherently.

Mary laughs; it’s a deep wonderful sound that
makes me happy. “And sleep you will, sweetie, but there’s something
I have to do first.”

“What?” I ask feebly.

“I have to release you,” she explains as she
leans down and kisses my forehead. The instant her lips touch my
skin, everything in the park melts away—including Mary—and I begin
to free fall into a white light. It’s a trip I’m happy to take
since it’s such a stark contrast to most of my trips. I close my
eyes and revel in the light, feeling happier than I have since all
this started. As I free fall into oblivion all I can think is,
I
could get used to this.

Chapter
Twenty-One

~ Lost But Not Found ~

The minute I come to, I know that I’m back in
the hospital. The smell of ammonia fills the air and it’s colder
than a meat locker. I want to open my eyes, but fatigue has me firm
within its grasp. I hear voices muttering, but they’re far away and
I can’t make out what they’re saying. As I slowly wake up more, I
can hear what they’re discussing: me.

“Maybe this one was worse than the last,
making it harder for her to wake up?” Brett asks, worry evident in
his voice. I heard that loud and clear, so he must be close.

“I don’t think so,” responds Evans
inquisitively. “I believe her mind is strong and can take almost
any memory thrown at her. But she’s untrained, which means it
probably takes her more energy than necessary to absorb them. Just
give her a moment more.”

As I slowly open my eyes, I take in the scene
before me. Brett’s face hovers before me, a mask of concern. The
minute our eyes meet, he smiles devilishly.

“Hey there, you,” he says warmly.

I return his smile, genuinely happy to see
him for reasons I can’t begin to understand. My head is resting on
a pillow in his lap and he’s stroking my hair—something he seems to
feel he has permission to do. If I had more energy, I’d yell at him
for having the audacity to touch me whenever he wants and whenever
it suits him. But sadly, I don’t. And even more surprising, the
gesture soothes me and helps as I awaken, so I decide to let it
go.

“How is it that I always end up on the damn
floor and in your lap?” I ask Brett. My voice sounds scratchy and
my throat is dry.

“Cause I’m the only one who’s not freaked out
by your cloudy eyes. I think it’s beautiful when it happens
actually. It’s like watching the clouds swirl around in the
sea.”

Wow.
Not
the answer I was expecting.
“Very poetic, Brett. But Poe was also poetic and you see how that
worked for him. Watch it, or I’ll poison you and leave you on a
park bench for the animals to find and feast on.”

Brett laughs heartily. “Well, I’m much more
optimistic than Poe was and I have fewer enemies. If I didn’t know
any better, I’d think your passing out is simply a ploy to get into
my arms. It’s clearly working.”

I huff and move to sit up. The further I am
from Brett, the better. He’s getting a little too comfy when it
comes to me, and worse yet, I’m letting him.

“If you have to have a girl unconscious
before she gets into your lap, then that’s your problem,” I spit at
him, angry at Brett for making me feel comfortable around him while
my boyfriend is unconscious and in pain. I turn to Dr. Evans, who
is standing a distance away by the door. “So, what happened? Did it
work?” I ask him anxiously.