I definitely didn’t want Miranda this close to me, but it was too late. She was already inside my head, or I obviously wouldn’t be feeling the things I did. It was this realization that I clung to, using it as a shield against her onslaught and denying her control over me. My gut feeling was that I needed to cut and run right away because I no longer feared becoming her victim, I was afraid of becoming her. Given the pure insanity of that very thought, I was starting to believe all of this wasn’t just a risky move-it was a flat out mistake.
But, I also knew that if I left now, I would leave empty-handed. All the deception and trespassing I had engaged in so far were only worth the gamble if I was going to have something to show for them in the end. I had to keep going until I found something tangible that would help me locate-and stop-both of these killers.
Of course, a raging psychosexual event that might possibly leave me blithering in ethereal bliss was definitely not the result I needed, especially when one considered the imagery that would bring it about. Unfortunately, that seemed to be where this was all heading, and very quickly at that.
Since running wasn’t an option, I decided maybe I should find a different way to approach all of this. But, before I could do that, I was going to have to back out of the path I had already taken.
I started to stand up but found I was once again frozen in place, unable to make myself move. I chose to try the same thing I had done earlier-I blinked hard and willed the image to go away
But, when my eyes fluttered open, it remained. In fact, it seemed even more tangible than it had before. It looked real enough to reach out and touch, and I even found that I had to stop myself from doing just that.
Trying again, I drew in a deep breath, shut my eyes, then slipped my thumb and forefinger beneath the rim of my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose. After a moment, I let the breath slowly out through my mouth and allowed my hand to fall. With trepidation, I opened my eyes once again.
He still hadn’t gone away, and now it was even worse- because he had company.
CHAPTER 6:
The new arrival in question was a petite redhead, and it was visibly obvious from what I saw happening in front of me that she was this poor man’s worst nightmare. Unfortunately, he was not alone in that, as she was mine too.
I had a sense, within the vision at least, that a good deal of time had passed between what I had been witnessing moments ago and what I was seeing now. It appeared that the man was still alive, but judging from the visible wounds, blood, and burn marks on his face, I could only surmise that Miranda was well into his torture at this point.
As I watched, conflict stormed through my brain in the form of internal voices locked in a heated debate. One of them was demanding in no uncertain terms that I close my eyes or look away immediately. It was telling me I should do whatever it takes to break this connection. I knew in my gut this was the voice I should be listening to, but it was only one of the three bickering inside my skull; and, the other two were ganging up on it.
The second voice was countering that if I didn’t watch what was being offered, everything I had risked would be for naught. It was telling me I might miss a vital clue that would allow me to stop her. While that had once been a valid point, I wasn’t so sure if I believed it anymore.
The real problem was the second voice’s partner in all this. It was the one that worried me most. It came to me as little more than a murmur of support for the heretofore failing argument; however, I wasn’t completely fooled. I could sense that it had its own agenda with a horribly dark intent. But, even more frightening than its intent was the power it seemed to carry with it. I only wished that I had recognized that fact a bit sooner because it wasn’t until it had all but assumed control that I realized the source-it had joined forces with the sickeningly pleasant tickle that had been set loose in my body, and together they were drowning out all good sense and reason. As I had feared, Miranda was trying me on for size.
Even as I fought to maintain control, my tenuous grip on my perceived reality faltered, and the vision stepped in to take its place.
Though I can see her only in profile, I swear that my wife is in front of me at this very moment, sitting astride the bound man. She is positioned such that she is pitched backward; her arms are outstretched behind her, straining and rigid. Her hands are clamped firmly to his thighs as she supports herself. Her back is arched, and her chest is rising and falling at a quickened pace. I can hear her panting just as I can hear the man’s muffled squeals of agony.
She has one stocking-clad leg extended in front of her, bent slightly at the knee, and I see the muscles of her calf flexing as they keep a tight rhythm with her panting breaths. Her foot is pressed against the man’s upper arm, pinning it against the headboard. Her calf is flexing because she is slowly twisting her stiletto heel into the flesh of his bicep. The end of the spike disappears into the deep depression it has created, and blood is oozing from the wound.
Colors bloomed as realities once again shifted, and I found myself back in the motel room alone. The roller coaster ride of channeled visions was tossing me haphazardly about and depositing me wherever its whim desired. Not particularly unusual as such ethereal events go, but I didn’t think I would ever get used to it.
I blinked.
I remembered Ben telling me before I ever boarded the plane to come here that he was looking at a picture of Annalise and that she was a dead ringer for Felicity. I suppose, however, that simply hearing someone say something like that makes it easy to discount their opinion. Even though I hadn’t seen the picture myself, I was positive that I, of all people, would have no trouble telling the two women apart. After all, I had been married to one of them for almost fifteen years, so surely I would know my own wife.
However, at this moment my personal perception was no longer crystal clear on that point.
Without thinking, I muttered aloud, “Felicity?”
Her name tumbled into the room wrapped in a question. I knew the woman I had just seen in front of me couldn’t possibly be my wife, but the image was truly beyond uncanny.
As if triggered by my question, the light overhead bloomed, and I once again found myself with at least one foot in a different plane of existence.
I can hear my own voice echoing in the room as I utter my wife’s name.
Though her breathing never alters from its frantic pace, the woman suddenly jerks as if startled. Pushing herself forward, she sits up, still straddling the man. She stops twisting her heel then drops her foot down to the bed, and her victim is given a momentary reprieve from his agony. Cocking her head to one side, she appears to be listening intently, as if she hears my voice as well.
Slowly she turns toward me.
I study her face as she looks through me, creasing her brow. I can begin to see the differences in her features, but not at first glance, or even the second for that matter. I takes a long moment before I am certain that I am not looking at my wife.
I remember hearing it said that everyone has a doppelganger somewhere on the planet. Whether or not that is a scientific fact I cannot begin to say, but given the vision now staring me in the face, I am inclined to believe it. This woman can almost pass as Felicity Caitlin O’Brien’s twin.
She turns, and showing little concern for her victim, she drags her now bloody heel across him as she climbs from the bed. She slowly saunters toward the window at the front of the room and stands there, still listening for a repeat of the sound.
Though not fully nude as is her victim, she is scantily dressed. What little of her wardrobe there is consists of black lace and patent leather. Her red hair cascades in a loose spiraling fall down her back. It feels hot in the room, and I can see that her exposed ivory skin is damp with sweat. It glistens in dim light as she remains still except for the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathes. On her left shoulder, I can see what appears to be a tattoo of a stylized triskele.