Aiming myself in the direction of the yellow flicker, I stiff armed my way through a close huddle of saplings and pushed closer. As I inched forward, hollowness began to invade the pit of my stomach, mixing with the other ingredients of the night to spin itself into a thin thread of fear. I continued listening intently to the breeze, waiting for the voice that only I could hear.
“Talk to me, Debbie,” I muttered under my breath. “Tell me your story.”
The thread of foreboding began to embroider itself up my spine, bringing a chill that made me physically shiver and hug my coat tighter. I rubbed my palm against the day’s growth of scratchy whiskers on my cheeks then tugged thoughtfully at my beard as I let out a nervous laugh. If I wanted proof that I was insane, then this was it. I was out here in the dark with a dying flashlight, completely and totally ungrounded and unprotected. What’s more, I was actively inviting the spirit of a murdered woman to pop into my head when I knew for a fact that doing so was no less than inviting disaster. Yeah, I thought, I’m definitely pushing the envelope with this one.
Silence still permeated the night, leaving me with the rattle of my breathing and thump of my adrenalin-affected heart as the only audible companions. The burst of rational thought should have driven me to immediately turn and flee, but rationality wasn’t my strong suit right now. I pressed forward and the droning hum began again.
“Dead, Rowan. Dead. That’s what I am. Do something about it.”
The voice whispered past me again, working its way around my head as it bounced between mono and stereo separation.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, Debbie,” I answered her aloud yet again. “Give the poetry a rest. Just talk to me. Tell me what you saw.”
I could feel an energetic presence swirling unseen before me and I halted. Icy tendrils of death slapped outward from it, and I felt them slice effortlessly through my body, making me gasp with each strike. I knew then that I’d gone that one step further than I should and needed to turn tail and run. Unfortunately, the command to do so was being diverted upon leaving my brain, and it never made it to my legs. I stood frozen in place, unable to move.
“You’ve done this before, Rowan,” I told myself in a not quite calm voice. “This is nothing new. You can handle it.”
My subconscious immediately objected, telling me in no uncertain terms that while I’d done this before, I had done it when I was capable of grounding and centering.
I didn’t have time to argue with myself. I took in a deep breath through my nose and slowly exhaled through my mouth, trying desperately to relax and achieve a focal point. I could feel the hair on my arms rise as a field of static touched me. I became instantly aware that there was no time for the Wicca 101 exercises in which I was about to engage; I needed to be grounded now, and that simply wasn’t happening.
I steeled myself against an invasion that I feared could very well bring about an end to what small scrap of lucidity I still retained.
Dead I am! Dead I am! I do not like that dead I am!
Dead I am! Dead I am! I do not like that dead I am!
Debbie’s disembodied voice began shifting in phases about me. Pitches rose and lowered as the chant doubled and echoed, increasing in speed with each revolution as if winding itself up to deliver a blow directly into my soul.
Dead I am! Dead I Am!
DeadIAm! DeadIAm!
DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM! DEADIAM!
The mantra blended quickly as the words joined, becoming multi-syllabic noises that made my head vibrate with its bass staccato. The cadence continued to increase toward a roar of white noise, and I felt as if my head was positioned between the jaws of an ever-tightening vise.
A shrill scream pierced the darkness without warning, and my own voice joined it in absolute disharmony. I started quickly, physically tensing while my heart climbed into my throat in search of refuge. When I jumped, I involuntarily released my grip on the near useless flashlight, and it spiraled to the ground in slow motion, landing with a muted thud.
As if on a sudden gust of wind, the twirl of ethereal energy exploded outward, rushing through me, around me, and past me, only to dissipate into nothingness.
The sound of a car whooshing past back up on the blacktop instantly faded in and was followed by a repeat of the shrill scream. After a measured beat, a third warbling scream announced itself, now identifiable as the electronic peal of the cell phone in my jacket pocket.
I allowed myself to breathe and thrust my shaking hand into my pocket then withdrew the chirruping device and stabbed the answer call button.
“Hello?”
“Rowan?” Ben Storm’s voice greeted me with a quizzical tone.
“Yeah, Ben,” I answered, hoping the tremble in my own voice wasn’t noticeable. “What’s up?”
“Ya’ sound like you’re outta breath, white man,” the earpiece buzzed with his words.
“It’s a long story,” I answered, not sure what exactly to say.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I told him then repeated, “What’s up?”
“Well, I called the house and Felicity told me you’d gone to see Helen today.”
“Yeah, she got me in this afternoon.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “Well, I just talked to ‘er and she said you’d left ‘er office well over an hour ago.”
“Checking up on me?” I retorted, somewhat perturbed.
The leaves crunched as I shuffled about then knelt down to retrieve the flashlight.
“Actually, no,” he remarked, “but I’m gettin’ the feelin’ maybe I should be.”
I turned in place and located the distant silhouette of my truck up on the shoulder. Aiming what little glow was coming from the flashlight toward the ground at my feet, I began working my way toward the vehicle.
My friend was correct. Somebody needed to be checking up on me if I was going to make a habit of being this reckless. Truth was, his unexpected call had probably saved my sanity, if not my life.
I softened a bit at the realization. “Yeah. You probably should.”
The rustle of the fallen foliage was loud, and I was certain he could hear it.
“Row, where the hell are you? Ya’ sound like you’re rakin’ leaves or somethin’.”
“Somewhere I shouldn’t be,” I told him, electing to not try hiding the truth.
“Where, Row?” he asked again, sternly this time.
“A little wooded grove out off of Three Sixty-Seven,” I answered.
I could hear him sigh heavily at the other end. “Jeezus, Rowan. What the hell are ya’ tryin’ ta’ do? Make Felicity hate me? She’s gonna have your ass for this, ya’know?”
“It’s not my fault,” I volunteered the thin excuse.
“Don’t tell me. You’re gonna say Debbie Schaeffer made ya’ do it this time too?”
“Kind of,” I returned. “Something like that anyway.”
“Yeah, whatever. Look, I want ya’ to get yer ass outta there right now,” he instructed.
“I’m working on it.”
“Don’t lie ta’ me, Rowan.”
“I’m not.”
Silence filled the earpiece for a moment while I picked my way through the last of the underbrush and started back up the embankment.
“Shit,” my friend exclaimed softly. “I shouldn’t even ask ‘cause it’ll just encourage you…” He sighed as he fell into a thoughtful silence then finally spoke again. “Well did’ja figure anything out?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Man… I just don’t know what ta’ do with you… Jeez…” His voice trailed off.
“If it’s any consolation,” I offered, “you called me just in time to keep me from doing something really incredibly stupid.”
“Like what you were doin’ now isn’t really incredibly stupid?” he shot back.
“No,” I agreed. “It’s stupid all right. But what I was about to do was even more stupid.”
“Great,” he muttered.
I scrambled my way to the top of the hill and sat down on the bumper of my truck for a moment in order to rest. I flicked off the flashlight and set it aside then reached into my pocket and withdrew a cigarette.