FROM THE CREATOR'S CHAIR: INSPIRATION AND ORIGINS OF AMONGST THE LIVING As an Artist, it is sometimes very simple to pinpoint the genesis moment of a creation. For example, a photograph by Anonymous, hanging in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City became the inspirtation for one of my earliest theatrical endeavors, Dark Love. The actual tragedy of a duel suicide while in high school sparked the creation of Jacob, at first a short story, and then a one-act play which has seen numerous productions around the country. Amongst The Living has deeper, more complex roots in its creation, and, as a result, is a much deeper and complex entry in the canon of my work. It was first conceived at a very dark time in my life. My partner and lover had just passed an agonizing death. It was a time of extreme questioning of the world and existence that I was a part of, religious, spirtiually, emotionally, and physically. It was also a time when I was dealing with some very difficult changes in my own person. In short, I needed and wanted a hero, and since there were none out there, I decided to create one myself, whom I could identity with, and, hopefully, tackle and conquer my own demons through his adventures. Thus sparked the creation of the character now known as Markus Hutchinson, the leading player of Amongst The Living, and currently set to be played by Joe Zaso (Virus X, Barracade)

The Character of Markus shares many similarities with other typical cinematic heros. From his macho exterior covering us his own inner doubts and insecurities, to his willingness to help one in need, even at the risk of losing his life, Markus is very much molded upon the norm. Except for one very important thing. Markus is an openly gay man in the Leather community. And he lives with a curse that has been the bane of his existence since he was born. The notion of the leading man's sexuality has turned many critics, and would be producers' heads. It is just something that simply is not marketable to them. Hence the main decision to take the independent route with this film, and not sell out, and simply erase the sexual identity of the hero to make a paycheck. The independent market ensures that I will have creative control over the script, and Markus will be the hero I envisioned him to be. Once Markus was fleshed out, with the story of the film following him on a personal journey towards understanding his destiny, and ultimately, his very identity, the rest fell into place rather rapidly. The first was the creation of the fictional town of Oakwood, Pennsylvania, where 90 percent of the film is set, (the other portions are in New York City). For Oakwood, the inspiration came from my very home town in Northeastern Pennsylvania, and the areas surrounding it. In fact, I am thrilled that we will actually be filming in the area on locations for the picture. After the setting had been established, I realized that Markus needed an enemy, or, as it turned out, many enemies. Finding inspiration from my own canon of Art, I plucked a character from Jacob, Daemon, who was, in the play, the protagonist, and formed him into the antagonist in Amongst The Living. Daemon is a character I fell in love with, and its amazing to see him more fully fleshed out here in this script. Also, Daemon will be played by a man I have wanted to work with for several years, that I hunted down out in LA, namely Derek Long (Socket, Bio-Dead).

The protagonist and antagonist set, I began filling the story with the other main, major and supporting characters, always keepng in mind that the story needed to serve them, not the other way around. Once that was complete, I began weaving in the themes that I knew I wanted to explore within the film itself. Religion. Identity. Sexuality. Destiny. And from that point on, the script took off, and became, for the most part, what exists today, although there have been several changes since the first draft was complete back in 2006. In fact, the real death of my father, in 2010, prompted me to create an additional scene between Markus and his step-father, Gregory, that did not exist in the original versions of the script. Amongst The Living is a complex story that sets the stage for future installments after it. (In fact, at one point, I was in negotiations with a television network channel to create a series based on the script, although upon seeing and hearing my plans, the story was labeled “too dark and sophisticated for network television.” I know, most definitely where the story goes from the final moments of Amongst The Living, and I hope that the film is successful enough to warrant more cinematic exploration of the word and mythology that I have created. For now, fans and the curious can check out The Oakwood Chronicles here on the site, for a look at a prequel novella featuring several characters from Amongst The Living. Coming soon will be detailed cast and character descriptions, as they are made available, as well as information on upcoming casting sessions, and fundraising opportunities. Welcome to Oakwood, and remember that we live amongst the living. We must all accept that responsibility. Peace Justin John Costello Writer/Director

The Oakwood Chronicles!

Chapter One: Something Wicked This Way Has Always Been

Every town has its history, and mine is no different. Founded in 1867 for its rich supply of coal, Oakwood (named after its founder, Ray Oak), Pennsylvania is a town that reached its heyday during the coal boom. Sadly, that was decades ago. Sandwiched between the Pocono mountains, Oakwood is a valley city, complete with, yes, a river running through it. In whichever direction you look, the mountainsides loom in the distance. The drive from the turnpike is a downhill spiral, highlighted by the run-a-way truck ramps every hundred feet or so. In the autumn the view is most assuredly beautiful with the plethora of Fall foliage. In the winter months, the view is icy and barren. Springtime brings with it a scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, and in summer, the humidity is so thick you can almost see it settle within the valley itself.

I grew up here. Many of us have. For some reason, people who were born here never leave. It's as if the valley has its hooks rooted in the flesh of its citizens and no matter what we do, we can never break its chains. Sometimes new people move into the area from the surrounding big cities. They seek escape, or a slower, calmer lifestyle. And on rare occasions, sometimes people do manage to escape. My best friend Markus managed an escape years ago, and hasn't been back since. Then again, I haven't seen him since then either. But we still send cards and letters to each other from time to time.

Yes, good old fashioned letter writing! In this day and age, could you believe it? I have never been one on the up and ups of technology. I think that in the back of my mind I can't shake that notion that someday, all this high tech computer stuff is going to fail, and then where would we be? We'd be
running like a pig searching for mud in a concrete parking lot. So yes, I am one of those women who prefer the old fashioned letter writing. I think that Markus does as well. At least, he's never complained about it to me before. He's not really a complainer at all. He's the quiet sort. Always in his head. The constant observer. He has good reason, however. Markus is a product of Oakwood, after all; he's one of us, whether he likes to admit it to himself or not.

His mother was named Gertrude. She was the local librarian at the Oak Library for as long as I knew her. She had Markus when she was in her late twenties, and unmarried. No one ever met his father. Gertrude was beautiful, possibly the most beautiful woman in the valley. She was also one of the nicest, and made an excellent blueberry pie. It was only natural that someone would sweep the woman off her feet, and that honor had gone to Councilman Gregory Folton. He loved Gertrude so much that he married her, even though she already had Markus. Gregory never acted like Markus was his boy. They clashed about everything, and he wanted a family of his own. Sadly, Gertrude passed away while giving birth to whom would have been Markus' little sister, and Gregory's heir. Being a man of duty, Gregory did the right thing and took custody of Markus. I think, however, that Gregory really hoped that it was Markus who had died, and not Gertrude and the baby. Most of all, Gregory resented Markus for his gifts and unique talents and after a fatal tragedy, their hatred for one another was solidified in a grandstanding fashion. It became, literally Markus against the entire town, and sadly, Markus lost and went away.

I, however, loved him with all of my heart. We were, and in my eyes, still are this day, best of friends, much to the chagrin of my twin brother Rick. He never seemed to like Markus that much, but then again, boys will be boys. Rick was the sports player, and ladies man. Markus was the quiet, haunted type. And when I mean haunted, I'm not over analyzing. Markus would tell me things that he'd seen throughout the town that would send me to bed at night with all the lights on in the room, and the covers still pulled over my head.

He never meant to scare me. He's not like that. Looking back on it, I think Markus just needed to tell someone, and I became that someone. He confided in me as often as I did him. I miss him terribly. In fact, when I finally rose to the librarian position at Oak Library, I begged him to come home when the other faculty threw me a party for the recognition. And yes, this was on the phone. We do speak on the phone as well. I understood why he didn't want to return and that he was busy working a case where he lives now in New York City. But I think, perhaps, he's been away for so long that he's afraid to come back here. I wouldn't blame him one bit. After all, he, in his own way, managed to escape. Why ever come back?

I realize that I'm spending a lot of time talking about Markus and that I haven't seen him in twenty years, but he's been on my mind of late due to some strange things that have been happening. Things that I know only he would understand. I fear I need his help, though I am too foolish to ask him outright.

You see, there have always been strange happenings here in Oakwood. I think it must be the same for almost every small town. We all hear the stories and tall tales, especially around Halloween. Oakwood just seems to have a larger amount of them. Everybody experiences things out of the ordinary. And of course, no body talks about them except over coffee and meat loaf at the Oak Diner. By that time, the secrets out and it begins to flow through the town with the wind. Especially if Teresa Horton is on duty. She hears more gossip than those magazine rags at the supermarket. And she's a talker, a very, long winded talker.

I myself have seen some crazy things in my life here, but for the most part, I chalked them up to Oakwood being Oakwood. It wasn't until last week, when I really became alarmed. And of course I didn't recognize the alarm until it was too late. At least, I think it may be too late.

It was Wednesday, and I was closing the library late. We had an after school program that day, and the kids were there until about seven thirty. I was alone, of course, and was going to lock up the doors when I noticed a man standing at the front desk, someone I had never seen before.

The man was very tall, I'd say over six feet, and strikingly handsome. I noticed immediately his strong jaw line, and dark hair, matching a five-o-clock shadow. His eyes, when they turned to face me, were so intoxicatingly blue, I actually had to take a moment to compose myself before walking over towards him. As I neared him, he outstretched a hand to me, and I noticed that he was wearing a tailored black suit that fit his muscular frame like a glove. Oh yes, he was handsome. “I apologize for the late hour, Ms...”

I took his hand. “Im Ms. Suttler, Jennifer.” He held my hand for a lingering moment, and then smiled. Boy, does he know how to smile!

“Ms Suttler, of course. My name's Clint Walters.”

“Pleasure meeting you Mr. Walters.”

“Please, call me Clint.” He finally let my hand go. I had to fight wiping it on my skirt to stop the tingling sensation.

“Then call me Jennifer, Clint.” I smiled back. “And it's no problem. Is there anything I can help you with?”

The man smiled again, but it was more serious somehow. “Actually, I was looking for a book about Agnes. The local book stores were all out of them.”

“Agnes, of course. We have an entire section. Please, follow me.”

I led him to the reference section on Agnes. Agnes, understand, isn't a person. It was the massive flood that struck the valley back in 1972. Coal and Agnes, those are the two things that the valley's most noted for. It was a terrible time, of course, a real tragedy. It needed to be documented, and that's what some people did. They documented it to death, if you ask me.

Don't get me wrong, I am an advocate for education, but some things just are too much, visually speaking, of course. In one of the books there is an entire chapter devoted to the whereabouts of several of the disturbed bodies at the Fort Cemetery, accompanied by gruesome pictures. The water pressure was so much that the coffins in the cemetery were ripped from the ground, and the bodies were sent flying into the trees, or being carried away with the waves. Several ended up perched upon people's porches. Others were in the streets or on the lawns. It must have been truly horrifying. And of course, these tragic events were captured by local photographers and published for all to see.

In one of the pictures, Mr. Jenkins is standing next to one of the corpses that happened to end up on his front stoop. I, personally, would never get that close to a dead body, let alone one that's been rotting in the ground for who knows how many years. But, Mr. Jenkins seemed his jovial self in the picture. He even has a copy of it framed above his fireplace next to his grand kids. Yes, we Oakwoodians are an interesting lot.

I led Clint to the section and even pulled a few books for him to take a look at. He asked if he could come back the next day and make some photocopies. He was doing a book on the area's history and was using Agnes as his jumping off point. The rest of the book would be pre and post Agnes. The order of the book didn't really make much sense to me, but who am I to say that to an obviously successful writer.

I told him “Of course”, and added that I'd put the books aside for him, and then he left. But before he did, he lifted my palm in his hand and kissed it gently. Immediately, the tingling sensation returned, but this time it was as it my entire body reacted to him. I have never met another man who had that much charisma and power over a woman, and was immediately smitten.

After he'd left, and I was finishing closing the library for the night, I began to come to my senses. I mean, how foolish was I to actually think that he may have kissed my hand for any other reason that to be polite. I was acting like a love-struck school girl, and here I am, a spinster librarian who's in her mid-thirties. I decided at that time to take it for what it was: a gesture of proper gentleman etiquette. I would forget all about the kiss, and Mr. Clint, and just see what happened the next day.

Only I couldn't forget, and that night, while I was in bed, I saw Clint again, and I am not sure if I was dreaming or not. I don't think dreams can give you visible bruises. Chapter Two: Nocturnal Fantasia of Terror

I had watched Law and Order, as I do every night, and then went to bed. I always sleep facing away from the window, with my body in the fetal position. Usually, I sleep softly, and rarely remember what I dream, or even if I had dreamed. I am not certain why that is, but its always been that way. Growing up, Rick would sometimes scream out in the middle of the night. He suffered night terrors, and dreams so violent that sometimes, he needed to take a sedative just to get back to sleep. Is it any wonder that he is now a homicide detective? Perhaps his dreams were telling him that his destiny was to fight back the monsters, so that others can rest easily until the dawn. I am the complete opposite, however. I don't think I ever had a nightmare in my entire life. Perhaps its a twin thing. I'm not so sure.

A loud noise made me open my eyes. A thud, of some sort. The clock on my beside table read 3:02am. I sat up, and glanced around me. The room was dark, with the moonlight spilling inside through the curtains. The light made intricate shadows against the walls and ceilings. After a moment, I prepared to lay my head back on my pillow when I heard the noise again. This time, I registered it more clearly. It was coming from downstairs. And sounded like someone was jimmying the front door. Someone was trying to break into my house.

I realize that my first instinct should have been to pick up the phone and call the police. It's sensible and logical. And obvious. But instead,my first instinct was to dash out of the bed, and cover up my nightgown with a robe. As I secured the belt of the robe, I heard the front door open, and close. Crap. The someone who was trying to break into my house, is now, in fact, inside my house.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon. I had to defend myself. I had to defend my house. Sadly, I'm a librarian, not sporty in any sense of the word, and don't keep weapons on display in my house, like some other folk in town. Why they think it's attractive to have a samurai sword hanging above their kitchen table is beyond me. But, at least they'd have a weapon on hand if someone broke into their house while they were in the middle of making a pot pie.

A weapon should be heavy, I knew that much. And my eyes settled on the one thing that I did have in the room that could be used for a weapon. A french vanilla Yankee candle in a jar. I wouldn't even have to get too close to the assailant. Just throw it at him, and hope for the best. The best would be that not only would it hit him in the face, which would hurt, but the force would crack the glass and make it even more upsetting for him.

I grabbed the Yankee candle, and held it tight in my hand, then listened at the door. There was no noise. Nothing. I counted to fifteen, slowly, and thought of my next move. I opened the door. Now, my bedroom sits right near the staircase going down to the living room. Standing at the top of the staircase, trusty weapon in hand, I looked downward. The room below looked dark, and silent. The front door, which was also visible, was closed shut.

It was then that I began to think I must have simply been hearing things. Or that the house was haunted. I mean, if someone was actually inside the house, I'd hear them, right? They'd be rummaging through drawers and making a fuss over what they could steel and probably sell at the weekend flea market in Plymouth. If the house was just settling, or if I just heard something say from outside, that sounded like my door being jimmied, opened and closed, well, then that's simply a trick of sound. It happens. I read a book about it. And if the house is haunted, then all I have to do is ignore the ghosts and they won't be able to do anything to me. If you think about them, or obsess over them, or try to talk with them, its then that they gain more power and can really do some damage.
It happened, believe me. There was a family a few towns away in West Pittston, that was haunted. They brought in ghost hunters and the media, and guess what? The ghosts retaliated. The husband even got raped by one of them. The library has a copy of the book that was published. Around Halloween we have to order more copies because it goes off the shelf quicker than the Harry Potters. People love ghost stories, especially when they happen to people they know, or know through a friend or acquaintance, for that matter. And the West Pittston ghost story was a doozie. I think Fox made a TV movie starring someone famous about it. I never saw it myself, but I think Swoozie Kurtz starred as the mother. She's an amazing actress; always taking risks. I wonder if she was nominated for an Emmy.

So, my mind was made up. I was either hearing things, or my house was haunted. Whichever the case, there was nothing but silence now. Just to be sure, I knew in my heart that I had to check things out. For my own peace of mind. Still holding onto the candle, I made my way down the stairs. I reached the base of the stairs, and stood for a moment in the silence. I began to feel somewhat foolish with myself when I glanced a man sitting on my sofa, smiling at me. Not just any man, but Clint.

He was wearing the same black suit that he'd worn in the library earlier, only his shirt was missing. The jacket was open, and revealed an immaculate muscled chest and abdomen, covered in dark hair. I took a step back, staring at him.

“Clint, what are you doing in my house?”

He smiled again, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “I came for you, Jennifer.”

I said the first thing that came to mind. “I have work in the morning. It's too late for visitors.” Now I realize that what I should have said was, 'how dare you! Get out of my house you creep!' but it wasn't.

Clint began to move a hand along his chest, and I don't know why, but I began walking towards him. Not so much walking, but gliding. I don't remember my legs even moving. But, I do remember dropping the Yankee candle and it smashing on the floor.

The sound of smashed glass made me stop. I looked at him and stated calmly “I have to go back to bed now,” then turned and walked back up the stairs.

When I reached the bedroom I closed the door and turned on the light. I faced the inside of the room and it felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

The floor and bed was covered in red rose petals. It looked so romantic, so inviting. Clint was on the bed, covers up to his waist. He had lost the jacket now, and sat against the headboard, with an arm outstretched over the other side. “Come to bed, beautiful”.

Again, I know what I should have done, but of course, I didn't do it. It was like I had lost all ability to think rationally. All I suddenly cared about was getting in the bed with Clint. Feeling his hands on me. Running my fingers through his beautiful chest hair. When I reached the edge of the bed, he crawled across it towards me, then knelt up. Without saying a word, he undid my belt robe, then pulled me onto the bed. He put his hands on my side, leaned in, and whispered “I need you.” Then his lips touched mine and I was lost.

The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to the sound of my alarm. I had the alarm set to Def Leopards' 'Pour some Sugar on me'. It was one of my favorite songs growing up, and it had a beat that would definitely wake someone up. As I adjusted my eyes I realized two things. One, I was naked. I never slept naked. The second, and almost immediate thought was that I hurt. I looked around the room and noticed my robe hanging on the door. I got up and painfully retrieved it, covering my body. The light fabric made my flesh sting as I put it on. I glanced at the full length mirror in the room, and realized why.

My body was covered in bruises. The top of my breasts were painted in dark purple and black. My stomach was bruised as well. I looked at myself in the mirror and wanted to cry. Even the inside of my thighs were bruised. I glanced back towards the bed. It looked ordinary. What had happened the night before?

And then I remembered my dream. Had I somehow done this to myself? Did I get so caught up in my nocturnal fantasy that I did this to myself in the heat of dreamworld passion? What was going on? I tried to focus on the dream. I remembered hearing the noise, going downstairs with the candle, seeing Clint, coming upstairs, seeing Clint in bed. Clint kissing me...and nothing else.

My eyes darted to the bedside table. The candle was gone. I threw open the bedroom door and walked as quickly as I could, which wasn't that fast with the bruises, down the stairs, and there it was. French Vanilla candle smashed on the floor. It was only a dream, wasn't it? And if it wasn't? Then, I had no idea what was going on.

I decided to ignore it. What else could I have done. My head was pounding and I took aspirins. I got in the shower and noticed that the bruises were everywhere. I began to panic, and realized that I hurt a lot more than I did before. I could barely stand, and sunk down in the tub, letting the shower water fall atop me. I started to cry. I felt suddenly violated, unclean, and frightened. One thing was for sure, I couldn't go into work.

I called and told Lucy, my assistant, that I was sick and needed a sick day, then curled up on the sofa and watched morning television to get my mind off of the evening's happenings. I left the candle smashed where it was on the floor. I'd clean it up later.

After Good Morning America, Regis and Kelley, Ellen, and a good portion of The View I was startled by a knock at the door. I immediately panicked, and looked for something to serve as another weapon.
Then I though 'if someone was going to come after me, why would they knock'? The knock happened again, followed by a voice I knew.

“Jenn, are you there?”

The voice belonged to Claire, my brothers wife, and the closest person in Oakwood that I would consider a friend. I got up off the couch, and went to the door. I opened the door, quickly realized that I forgot to tie my robe closed and saw a look on her face of utter shock.

“Jennifer, what happened?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I'm not sure?”

I led her into the house, telling her to just step over the candle, and towards the couches in the living room. As she sat down I asked if she wanted something to drink. She told me that she'd fetch us some juice and went off to the kitchen. She didn't want me moving. Jennifer is one of the big doctors at Oakwood Medical, and I trust her judgment. She is also the prettiest woman in Oakwood, since Gertude. My brother had won the lottery when she agreed to wed him.

“I stopped by the library to see if you wanted to go to lunch,” she said as she reentered the room with two full glasses of orange juice. “They said you called out sick. I'm so sure sick is the right ailment”. She handed me a glass, then sat on the other couch. She looked at me for a moment, concerned. “Where'd you get those bruises?”

At that moment everything hit me once again, and I broke into tears. Jennifer sat on the couch next to me and let me cry into her shoulders. I told her everything that happened, from the library to the dream to this morning. I ended my story with “You think I'm crazy, don't you?”

She smiled, taking my hand. “No, I don't think you're crazy. You couldn't have bruised yourself like this. And if you say that this was the same man who came into the library last night, then I believe you. Besides, I'm sure the library security cameras caught him too. No, Jenn, I don't think you're crazy.”

“But how did he get into my house? The doors not broken. And what did he do to me? Why don't I remember anything?”

Claire became very serious, holding both of my hands tightly. “Jennifer, listen to me. I want to take you to the hospital and have you take a drug and rape test.”

My eyes widened? Rape? I felt unclean all over again. “Claire, what do you mean? You think I may have been drugged and raped? That's why I don't remember everything?”

“I'm not certain, but it could be an explanation.”

“But I showered. Won't any...evidence...be long gone by now?”

“You'd be surprised at what stays around. Even so, I just want us to be sure.”

I started shaking. This wasn't happening to me. This couldn't be happening to me. Could things get any worse? Then I heard her say, “And we have to tell Rick.” Yup, things could, and did get worse.

I became defensive. “No. We can't tell Rick. What's he going to do about it anyway? He doesn't need to know any of this. Please, Claire, I'll take the tests. But please, we can't tell my brother.”

“Jenn, if someone hurt you, he needs to know. He's a detective. He could find out who did this quicker than any of us can.”

“He's a homicide detective, Claire. No one was murdered.”

She said one word. And that one word was all that she needed to say. “Yet.” Chapter Three: My Brother, My Keeper

After the horrendous tests at Oakwood Medical (the rape swatches, the drug urine test, and the pregnancy test, I kid you not), things only went further downhill as Claire brought me to the the Oakwood Police station to have a talk with my brother. The ride from the hospital to the station wasn't very long, Oakwood isn't a huge town, but the silence between Claire and myself made the trip seem longer than it took the Titanic to sink. I finally turned to her and asked “Why couldn't they just tell me the results at the hospital?”

She immediately went into doctor mode, explaining “They have several tests to do per sample. They have to look at things closely. We should know in a day or so what they find.” That didn't make me feel any better. I think she noticed, because she quickly added “You did well in there, Jenn. I'm proud of you for going through it.”

For going through it? I wanted to ask her if I had any real choice in the matter, but let it slide. I knew in my guts that I had done the correct thing, even though it left me feeling humilated and depressed. Oh yeah, and I was on my way to be yelled at by my big brother. Mustn't forget that. Granted, he's only a minute and twenty-six seconds older than I am, but believe me when I tell you that he never lets me forget it.

As we walked into the police station, I noticed the usual suspects about the main office. Reichen and Baker were sitting at their stations, talking over their computers about the latest high-tech game on the market. I've never been a gamer, as they call themselves, but I know that lots of the guys in Oakwood were addicted, no matter their age. Reichen and Baker were no exception. They stopped talking as we neared their stations and gave us complete attention. Reichen even stood up to greet us. Immediately, he looked at Claire and asked “What's wrong?”

Reichen and Baker had been my brothers best friends since high school. Together, along with Joshua Thompson, the four teenagers reminded me of the brat packers, or the clique from Grease. It wasn't any surprise that once my brother decided to go into law that the others would soon follow. I guess you can say that Rick was the leader of the gang of teenagers, and is the same now: only now he's their boss, the chief homicide detective for Oakwood.

Now, in reality, the force is run by Chief Thomas Harmon, who's been on the force for as long as I can remember. Thomas, however, is entering his sixties, and I think is happy to have Rick do the heavy lifting. After all, there aren't many homicides in Oakwood, so in a way, it's nice that Thomas gives Rick something to do. Reichen and Baker? Well, they follow my brother around like they did when they were kids. Or they sit at their stations, talking about video games.

Claire took hold of my hand as she answered Reichen's question. “We just need to see Rick for a moment,” she said. “He is in, isn't he?”

Reichen didn't buy it. I could tell by the way he suddenly tensed that he sensed something was amiss. He addressed me, this time. “Jennifer, why do you need to see your brother?”

I felt Claire squeeze my hand harder as I gazed into his blue eyes and let a smile form on my lips. Reichen was, next to my brother, the most handsome man in town. All six foot something of him. The only drawback to him was that he was one hundred percent German, and many Oakwoodians were of Polish descent. In their eyes Reichen, even though he was born here, was just as responsible for the Holocaust as Hitler. In a way, he was an outcast as much as I and Markus were. My brother thought he wasn't trustworthy as well until he saw Reichen prove his merit on the football field.

In Oakwood, High School football athletes are treated like royalty. If they're adept at playing the sport. Reichen most definitely was, and as soon as he proved that, my brother took him under his wing and he went from being an outcast to one of the in crowd.

“Its just some family business, Reichen,” I responded, trying to keep my voice steady. “I would have called, but I wanted to tell him the news in person.”

“Oh no-” this was from Baker, who now rose from his seat. “It's not your mother, is it?” He looked concerned and outwardly upset. Among my brother's friends, Baker was the most emotional. And, because of that, the easiest to get along with.

Our mother was currently in Oakwood's First Hospital, the valley mental facility. She'd been admitted there after my father passed away when we were in college. When mom found out, something just snapped, and we had no choice but to put her away. It was the hardest decision we ever had to make, and I still regret it to this day. In fact, every Sunday I go and see her. Sometimes, Rick even goes, though he still has some anger issues regarding her that he needs to work through. Anyways, when I visit her I always read to her the Sunday paper, and fill her in on the latest happenings. She just sits in her bed, staring off into space, but I know that she hears me. I also know that she understands what we say to her, but her minds too busy being away for her to respond.

“My mom's fine, Baker.”

“Oh good. I was worried for a second there.”

Reichen shot him a look.

“There's nothing to be worried about,” I said. “We just want to see my brother.”

At that moment, Sarah Worthington, Rick's secretary, strolled over to us from her station outside of his office. Needless to say, she'd been eavesdropping on our conversation. Claire let a soft cough escape her mouth as she neared, signaling all four of us to stop talking.

“Claire, Jennifer, how good to see you both.” Sarah always sounded too chippy for my tastes. Perhaps it was her petite frame, or her blond hair, or many numbers of things about her person, but I just don't like her. Neither, I think, does Claire. She put her hand out to shake ours. Both Claire and myself didn't accept the offer. Sarah continued, “Um, do you want to see Detective Suttler?”

She was suddenly all business. Claire and I exchanged raised eyebrows, and Claire responded in kind. “Yes, Sarah, we'd like to see Det. Suttler.”

Sarah widened her baboon smile. “If you'll just take a seat. He's in the office meeting with Chief Harmon and Sister Norita from St. Ignatius.”

Barker let out a laugh. “What about? The upcoming Bingo night at the reception hall?”

Sarah took that statement as an opener, and suddenly drew closer to us. “I'm not really sure, but I think it has something to do with Msgr. Connolly,” she whispered. “Apparently, hes been missing since Monday.”

“Maybe he's just up at that new Indian casino in Wilkes-Barre.” This was from Reichen. Baker added, “and why would the Chief need Rick's expertise on a missing person?”

Claire and I bother shook our heads. We knew that they shouldn't be discussing this in front of civilians, we'd both seen Law and Order too many times. Then again, we knew that when it came to tact, Sarah had none.

Claire spoke for both of us when she interrupted “Jennifer and I will just take a seat. When Rick's ready for us, please let us know.”

With that, she grabbed my hand and led me towards the waiting area. We both sat down, and watched as Sarah continued her conversation with the men.

“Can you believe her?” Claire took a swig of a bottled water she removed from her purse.

“Actually, Claire, I can.”

She put the cap on the bottle and waited for me to continue.

“The way I see it. There are certain types of molds for people. There's you, the confident, self-starter who makes something good for herself, and always strives to be better. There's me, the kind of wacky, artsy throwback to the hippie generation, and then there's Sarah. The kind of people who've seen Heathers one too many times, and is determined to be Shannon Doherty.”

Claire let out a laugh so loud that she almost dropped her water bottle. As if on cue, Sarah immediately turned and faced us. From across the room, she said “Is everything all right, ladies?”

“Oh everything is fine. Perfectly fine.” Claire responded. She gave me a knowing glance and for the rest of the time we sat in silence. During that time, I noticed that Sarah, who had eventually gone back to her desk, not once let Rick know that we were waiting for him.

When he finally opened the door, escorting Sister Norita and Thomas out of his office (had she been crying?), he stopped in his tracks when he saw the two of us, then gave a look to Sarah that wasn't that pleasant.

“The Chief will escort you outside, Sister,” my brother said in a calm voice. “I promise you we will do everything that we can.”

He was speaking in his acting voice. Rick was very good at that. Sister Norita turned to him, taking hold of his arm. “If you could, please, Rick. Not only me, but God would thank you. And if there's anyone in this town who can bring the msgr. Home, it's you.”

That pleased Rick to no end. “I will take care of it, Sister.”
“Thank you kindly. And God bless.”

With that, Thomas began escorting the nun towards to front doors. Rick began walking towards us when her voice cut through the silence. “And Rick?”

He stopped, donned his good boy smile, and faced her. “Yes, Sister?”

“I'm arranging for a special luncheon after Sunday's mass for the new priest who's serving in the msgr's absence. It would be delightful if you came to extend your welcome.” She suddenly saw me and Claire, adding “And please bring your wife and sister. The whole family hasn't been in church in a long time.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and walked out the door with Thomas.

Rick turned back to us. “What are you guys doing here?” He glared at Sarah. “How long have they been sitting here?”

Claire rose from her seat and moved in close to her husband. She whispered into his ear. “There's something we need to speak to you about.” I just shook my head when he looked my way, and then into his office we went.

Sitting in my brothers office, about to tell him my crazy story, I was struck with the memory of the principals office in High School. When you were called to the Principal's office, it was never good. The same is true about being brought to the Police Station to see my brother. I was beginning to really resent Claire for forcing me into this mess.

My brother sat behind his desk and lit up a cigarette. You'd think that someone as health conscious as he was, he'd despise smoking. Rick was in the gym at least three hours a day, perfecting his muscles. He even had a gym installed in their basement for late night workouts when he couldn't sleep. He also only ate organic food, and protein shakes. My brother is a perfect example of the muscle hunk. Why would he risk everything he had going for him by smoking? Well, I guess everyone needs a vice or two.

Claire and I sat in the leather chairs on the other side of the desk. There was a brief moment of silence, and then Rick said “What do you have to tell me, Jenn?”

I glanced at Claire who gave me a smile and I told him. I told him everything that I had told Claire, only leaving out the part about my bizarre attraction to Clint. My brother listened tentatively, finishing his cigarette and lighting another before the story was through.

When I was finished, he shook his head “And what did the tests say?” he questioned.

“We won't know until the morning, at the latest. The labs pretty backed up.” Claire answered.

“That won't do. I'll make a call.” He got up then, and came around the desk. He knelt at my chair, but kept his eyes on his wife. “How bad are the bruises?”

“They're bad.

He looked at me. “I want to see them.”

I immediately rose off my chair and took defense. “I don't think so, Rick.”

There was such anger in him, and it rose to the surface so suddenly. He was on his feet, as was Claire, who stepped in between us. “I need to see what some bastard did to you, sis.”

“She's been through enough for one day, don't you think?” Claire's voice was soft, yet stern.

“I just need to see.”

I stepped between them and unbuttoned some of the top buttons on my blouse. I pulled the shirt apart just enough to reveal the bruises near my collar bones. “Here. This is all your getting, Rick. I didn't have to come here and tell you.”

He looked closely at the bruises and took a step back. He spoke to Claire. “Are they all like this?”

She answered him. “They get worse, the lower they go.” exchanged silent words, and shook his head.

I had had enough. “Can I go home, now? We told him.”

Rick put an arm on my shoulder. I knew what was coming. Rick was going to have one of his big brother moments. “Jenn, I know you want to go home. I know that you've been through something awful, but you can't. I'm going to call Reichen in here and he's going to take your police report.”

“No way.” I pulled away from him. “How do you expect me to file a police report if I'm not even sure what happened? This morning, I thought it was only a dream.”

“You were drugged and raped. You need to file a police report.”

“But what if I wasn't, Rick? What if this whole thing is a misunderstanding? What if it was like those night terrors you had when we were kids? What if I sleep walked, and broke the candle, and somehow did all of this to myself?”

My brother stared at me in disbelief.

“You don't expect me to believe that, do you?” He focused on Claire. “Do you hear this? Is she actually saying this?”

“Rick, please...” she calmly pleaded.

“Okay, say it wasn't a dream then. What if it was like that family in West Pittston, and Clint is a ghost?”

“You are not going to compare what happened to you to that crack pot family. There's no such thing as ghosts, Jennifer.” He used my full name. Yup. He was most definitely angry now.

Again, Claire tried to intervene. “Rick, calm down.”

Rick ignored her. “Where do you get off thinking about stuff like that? Some freak followed you home from the library, broke into your house and raped you, and you have the nerve to say it may be a ghost? What's wrong with you?”

I raised my voice, not caring who'd hear. “Rick, for one thing, this happened to me. Not you. For another, we don't even know if I was raped or not. The test results aren't back yet, so we really don't know for sure what happened. I'm just thinking of options here.”

“A ghost is not an option.”

“Says you,” I replied.

He pulled Claire away to the other side of the office. “Has she been talking with him again?”

Claire was confused, and it showed on her face. “Talking to whom?”

“He's asking about Markus.” I answered. “And the answer is no. I haven't spoken to him in over a week.”

“Markus? Rick, what does he have to do with any of this?”

Rick went to his desk and lit a fresh cigarette. “Where do you think she got the ghost idea from? Certainly not the Smurls.”

“I told you, Markus doesn't know about any of this.” I already said my brother didn't like him.

“You are going to fill out a police report, Jennifer. I will have Baker make a call to the Library and get a hold of the security tapes from last night. We'll also send someone over to dust the house for prints. A car will be stationed outside, and shadow you until this bastard is found. If you don't like any of it, I can always lock you up here until the case is settled. It's your choice.”

I glanced at Claire, who stayed quiet. I think she actually agreed with Rick on this one. I looked back at my brother. There was pain and hurt in his eyes. “Fine, “ I said at last. “I'll do it your way.” Chapter Four: Evening Escalation

I spent the next several hours filing an official police report, and giving my statement to Officer Reichen. While I recounted the story, yet again, it was recognizably obvious that he was just as uncomfortable hearing the tale as I was telling it. Although I knew him from back in high school, and he's been my brother's close friend ever since, there was always an awkwardness between Reichen and me. At least, ever since the Junior Prom.

Oakwood West was the local public school, and anyone who wasn't a die hard Catholic went there. The Catholic's had their own private school, ran out of St. Ignatius. I wasn't a fan of high school. Looking back on it, I don't think any of us really were. Sure, I got along with most folks, mainly because of my brother's popularity, but I just found the entire enterprise somewhat droll. Education always came easy to me. I don't want to sound arrogant, but I pretty much breezed through my classes. And I barely even tried. It helped that I had Markus with me. He was bright, too, and we basically had the same schedule all through school. He and I would have been the perfect couple, at least I thought so. He, the strapping, mysterious going through the motions rebel, and me, the cute, but never pretty, artsy little sister of the popular kid...it would have been picture perfect. Except for one thing. Markus didn't like me in the way that I liked him. And, no matter how many nights I spent mulling over our fantasy future together, come Junior year, the ultimate result was all solidified with two words: Joshua Thompson.

Joshua was a transplant student from St. Ignatius High, and entered Oakwood West like a tornado. He immediately joined the football team, playing fullback, I think, and so my brother and the clan, impressed with his performance, added another member to their group. One Friday, my brother did something very uncharacteristic for him. He invited me to Tommy's for pizza with he and the boys. I, being sure that this was a set-up for disaster, convinced Markus to tag along. I would go to the corner pizza shop with my brother, and Markus would just, coincidentally be there. Me, being polite, would invite Markus to sit with us.

“You don't really think that your brother is going to believe that I just happened to be at Tommy's the same time you showed up, do you?” he laughed, when I told him my plan. “He may be a jock, Jenn, but he's not dumb.”

“Just give it a try, Markus. For me...” I gave him my sad kitty eyes, and, as usual, they worked. He reacted with long sigh. “It won't be that bad.” I reassured him. “And at least they'll be plenty to look at.”

When we arrived at Tommy's, Rick and I made our way inside and, like clockwork, Markus entered less than thirty seconds behind us. I feigned total shock, and let out a squeal. “Markus, what are you doing here?”

My brother did not look too pleased. “Hello, Hutchinson,” he scowled.

Ignoring my brother, I set the plan in motion. “Listen, Rick and I were just about to sit down with some of his friends. Why don't you join us?”

Markus, looking very uncomfortable, (I wonder if he was seeing something I wasn't, which was often the case), glanced from me to my brother, and then back at me. “I don't want to intrude-”

“Don't you even think that, Markus Hutchinson.” I grabbed his hand. “If Rick can have Tommy's with his friends, then I can have Tommy's with mine.”

I knew that the statement came out wrong, and Markus started laughing. Rick just stood there, brooding. The dinner was kicking off on a high note.

We were seated in the back, VIP section, of the small parlor. The boys were already there, cokes in front of them, when we entered. The looks on Reichen and Baker's faces were priceless when they saw Markus. They liked him just as much as my brother did, which wasn't a hell of a lot. I don't know what Rick had told them about Markus, but the two reacted as if Markus was an escaped convict. Meaning, they were immediately on guard. The other boy at the table was Joshua Thompson. He actually rose from his seat as we approached. My brother introduced me, and he shook my hand with a confident grip. I, in turn, introduced him to Markus, and they, too, shook hands. Not only did the handshake linger, but they couldn't help but stare into each other's eyes.

At that moment I realized two things. One, all thoughts about marriage between Markus and myself were ended, and two: I hated Tommy's pizza.

For the rest of the fall semester, Markus and I saw each other less and less, and Rick and the boys saw less and less of Joshua. Many times, outside of school, the two were spotted together. They made a nice couple, actually. Though no one would ever admit it out loud. Oakwood's got its problems, that's for sure, and when it came to Markus and Joshua, most in town were as perplexed as ever. It seemed a strange friendship. The rising star athlete, and the strange brooder, who had a tendency to 'see things' and have a plethora of nonsense stories. What most in Oakwood didn't figure out was how deep a friendship the two had developed. At least, until Junior Prom.

Up until then, Markus and I had attended almost every school or public function together. We were the odd couple, that's for sure, but we liked it. We always managed to have a good time. I was foolish to expect the same thing for the Junior Prom, when Markus dropped a bomb shell. He wasn't going.

I feigned relief, and then composed myself and asked him why he didn't want to go with me.

“Joshua surprised me with tickets to see Ted Neely in Superstar at the Cultural Center!” he howled, adding “I think he's more Jesus than the carpenter was!”

“Maybe he thinks he's Jesus.”

“Now that would be something, don't you think? All these people preaching and awaiting the Second Coming, and here he is, year after year, at the Cultural Center, playing a rock Lloyd Weber version of himself. Now, there's a story.”

I let it go, and we didn't speak of it again. I noticed, however, that the halls of Oakwood West had ears and voices, and it wasn't very long until the walls started whispering about the true nature of the boys decision to ditch prom. They had agreed to go if only they could go together. As a couple.

I guess they brought it up with the Principal, and, of course, were turned down. Things like that were simply not accepted at Oakwood West. Instead of fighting, and making a ruckus out of the situation, the two decided not to bother. And only after seeing how disappointed Markus was, did Joshua go and get the theatre tickets.

So my best friend had something to do on Prom night, but there was still the small issue of me. I was expected to be there, mostly to cheer on my brother, who obviously was on the prom court, and up for Prom Prince (he's be up for Prom King the next year, which he'd win). If I didn't show support, I'd make him look bad. I wasn't sure how, but that was his reasoning.

“What do you mean, make you look bad?”

He sat at the base of my bed, using my stuffed Ducky from Land Before Time as a football, passing it back and forth from hand to hand. “You gotta be there, Jenn. You're my sister. We're twins. I need your support.”

“Rick, you're not making any sense here. You need my support? How many times have you said I embarrass you? I give you a bad reputation?”

“That's only when he's around,” he chided. “And since he's going to be off with his fairy boyfriend, then that's not going to be an issue.” Rick said some things that were so horrible, but never seamed to phase him.

“Wait. I thought Joshua was your friend? He helped you win States this year?”

“Things change.” He tossed Ducky with more speed and force, the green stuffed animal a blue between his hands.

“Tell me the real reason you so desperately need me to go to prom, Rick. Especially if I have to go alone.”

“You don't have to go alone.”

“Then who'll be my date? You?”

He stopped the Ducky tossing. “Reichen.”

My mouth gaped wide. “Reichen? But what about Jessica?”. At the time he's been hot and heavy with Jessica Armfeldt, one of the richest girls in da valley, for about two months. I thought it had been serious.

My brother became serious. “The bitch told him that her parents won't allow her to go out with him anymore.”

“But why? I thought he really liked her.”

“Duh,” he explained, sounding a bit irked. “They're Jewish.”

Reluctantly, I had agreed to be Reichen's date for Junior Prom. And although the rumor machine worked overtime to turn it into the hot new thing at school, I managed to keep my head firmly planted in reality. Sure, he was one of the hottest guys at school. Sure he could have easily asked anyone, and they'd say yes. For some reason, I ended up being that someone. I only hoped that the night wouldn't end with me covered in pigs blood in the middle of the dance floor like poor Sissy Spacek.

Prom didn't end that terribly. Reichen was a perfect gentleman, until he caught Jessica eying him one to many times, and they disappeared together, leaving me sitting at the table for forty minutes before realizing that the two weren't going to return. Looking back, they sort of reminded me of Romeo and Juliet, and a small part of me wished them well. Of course, they officially split for good a week later, so maybe they just needed one last hit in the hay, or in the case of the dance, Genetti's room for rent by the hour.

When I returned home, around 11:30, my brother and most of the kids were out celebrating at after parties, or at Denny's. Denny's was huge in high school. Now, Denny's scares me a little, though if you're drunk, there's nothing like just pointing to your order instead of trying to sound sober to the poor waitress cursed with waiting on you.

Having changed into my pajamas, I was settling in for bed when a bang hit against the window, quickly followed by a second and third. I cautiously looked outside to see Markus standing in the yard below, holding a wrapped present. I opened the window and glared at him.

“Markus! What are you doing? This isn't Dawson's Creek, it's Oakwood.”

He laughed. “Come on down here, I've something for you.”

“Fine. Give me a minute.”

He had given me journal, the one I'm presently writing this is. Yes, it took me about twenty odd years, but it's proving useful now. We spent the rest of the night talking about Prom and Ted Neeley, and together, we shared a lovely dance under the moon...

I had become lost in my old thoughts when my mind was swept back into the here and now. Reichen had gone very still across the table. I tried not to look at him, and instead, focused on the wrinkles on my hands. I shouldn't have this many wrinkles.

“If it's any consolation, Jenn”, he was saying. I looked at him then. “I believe you.”

“What's to believe, Reichen? I don't even know what to believe.”

He leaned towards me. “This is hard for you, I'm sure. But from what you said, and the pictures of your wounds (Claire had the courtesy of taking them at the hospital, knowing the police would need them, and that there were no women on the force), I don't see how they could be self inflicted.” I think I may have started tearing up, because he touched my hand lightly, and grinned. “That's a good thing.”

“How?”

“It means that we'll get this asshole.”

Baker drove me home mostly in silence, and I noticed that there was an unmarked police car stationed two houses away. I wasn't sure who had pulled the short straw and was forced onto guard duty, but part of me was happy that my brother had shown that he cared. I settled on the couch with a pot of tea, and vegged in front of the television. The next time I looked at the clock it read “3:05am”. Shit. I felt like I hadn't any sleep at all, and I had to go to the Library in the morning. It is a recession, after all, in the entire country. And in Oakwood, that meant, major Depression.

I heard water. Not rain water, but the shower. Had I been sleepwalking? Did I actually go to bed, and ended up down here? I touched the teapot, which was obviously cold. And full. I didn't even pour myself a cup. I went upstairs, and headed towards the bathroom. Steam was leaking from beneath the door. And then I heard the voices coming from within. There were giggles and moans, and the slightest trace of laughter.

I braced myself, knowing I had to open the door, but also knowing I shouldn't. I should just go back downstairs and outside, telling the guard cop that someone had come inside. That would be the sensible thing to do in the situation. But if someone had actually come inside, then wouldn't it make sense that the guard saw them, and let them in? Maybe it was Rick and Claire? But why would they be in my shower, let alone in my house, without letting me know? My head hurt. I wasn't making sense any more, which left only one option. I had to open the bathroom door.

The shower was on all right. And the bathtub was full. Of naked people. The shower curtain was laying on the floor, giving me a full view of the spectacle. A petite woman was sandwiched between three men, one in front, another behind. The third was behind the man in front. The four were entwined, and moved as one body.

I was too shocked to move, as the man in front turned to face me. It was my brother. He thrust into the woman while making the face he often does when he lifts weights. “Hey sis,” he grunted, then planted a firm kiss on the girl.

The man behind him laughed. I recognized the laugh. It was Reichen. And he was thrusting my brother to the rhythm that Rick had established with the girl. “Looking good Jenn,” Reichen smirked. “Care to join us?”

“I don't think so, boys...” This from the third man who was behind the girl. Of course, it was Clint. “She's all mine.”

He stepped out of the tub, and stood tall and grand. God, was he perfection. The water droplets seemed to remain on his skin, collecting in his chest hair. I wanted to run. To run away from him. To race towards his embrace. Away. Towards. Away. Towards. My pulse quickened as he stepped to me, making the decision no longer mine.

I was suddenly in his arms, my face against his chest. His nails ripped through the fabric of my pajama top, and his hands pressed against the skin of my back. I looked up at him and he bent his head down and kissed me. Hard. His hands were at my hips, lifting me off the tiled floor. I tried to fight him, but my body and mind didn't agree. His tongue was sweet in my mouth, and I craved more. He was a drug, and I was addicted. I stared at him as he moved forward, pinning me against the now closed door behind me. I glanced downward to see that I was at least a foot and a half off the floor. Clint was strong.

I felt other hands on me, from behind, wrapping my arms and legs. Had they come through the door? Clint let go of me, and stepped back. I was suspended against the door, and the harder I tried to move my arms and legs, the more I felt pressed against the wood behind me. Clint stood at attention, in more ways then one, cocking his head to the side. He grinned and his eyes flashed red. “This won't do.”

I felt my chest heave forward. The fabric of my top split open, revealing my bruised breasts. The same happened to my bottoms. I was suddenly naked.

Clint was directly in front of me again. “That's my baby girl.” He traced one of his hands down my cheek, over my neck, and breasts. The touch sent electricity pulsing though my body. No matter how afraid I was, my body was tuned to one emotion. Need. I closed my eyes as I felt Clint below. His hands parted my legs, and the stubble of his five o clock shadow brought a new sensation on my inner thighs.

I darted my eyes open once again as his tongue entered me. I writhed at his skill, and then stiffened as I saw what was happening back in the bathtub.

The girl was a bloody mess. And obviously dead. Her flesh was marked with recent slices, the blood pouring out of it. Her skin was gray and crinkly. Reichen had taken over Rick's place in front of the girl, and Rick was now behind her. They, too, were bother bloody, but unlike her, they were unscathed, and very much alive.

Reichen laughed as he kissed the corpse. Rick thrust deeper into her backside as he reached around, and grabbed her nipple between his fingers. The nipple snapped off the body with ease. Reichen pulled his head back from the kiss and giggled. Rick raised the nipple to Reichen's lips. Reichen licked the tip of it, then took it into his mouth. Both men let out boisterous laughs as they simultaneously resumed sex with the dead girl, and also, began eating her flesh, in a very sensual manner. Their mouths were soon both covered in the girl's blood, and as they forced themselves inside her, front and back, they seemed to squeeze the body between them.

A sudden pain alerted my eyes to what was happening to me. I glanced downward. Clint looked up, smiling. His teeth were razor sharp and mouth covered in gooey liquid. My blood. My legs were suddenly cold, as I felt the blood flowing from my womb, down the legs and to the floor in buckets. Clint was on his feet again, facing me. “This is only the beginning, baby.” He cupped my breasts in his bloody hands and thrust himself inside me. The force was so great that I let out a scream that I didn't even know was there. Chapter 5: Lies I Tell Myself

I woke up in one of the sterile patient rooms of Oakwood Medical. Upon opening my eyes, my head pounded. It was as if my brain were beating against my skull screaming “I want to get out!”. I tried not to move my body as my eyes took in the scene before me. My right arm was connected to an IV of some sort. I raised my left hand up to me head and sure enough, there was a nice bandage on my forehead. I had definitely fallen.

I let out a small audible “Shit” when I noticed something, nay, someone, sitting in one of the visiting chairs, head between his knees. It was my brother. What would I say to him? I remembered the events of the evening with extreme clarity. I remember Clint, and the boys, and the rotting corpse. I know that I was not dreaming. I was awake, wide awake, until Clint dropped me from his arms and I smashed to the floor. But I couldn't tell Rick that. He would think I was losing my mind. Or already had a seat on the crazy train. I simply had to act normal. It was a fall. Nothing more dramatic than that. But could I pull it off?

Rick looked up from his knees at last. For a long moment he didn't say anything, just studied me with his eyes. His eyes looked haunted. He needed more sleep, and probably a cigarette or two. He shook his head in silence and it was all too clear. He was disappointed. Somehow, I had once again, caused a shock to his ego. Again. I tried to clear the silence. “Good morning.”

Rick went into detective mode. Emotions on lock down. “What happened, or don't you remember?”

“I slipped in the bathroom.” Which was true, for the most part. He said nothing, and so I continued, filling him with further information. “I had fallen asleep, and then when I woke up, I had to use the bathroom, and wanted to take a shower. I walked into the room, turned on the light, and then, I don't know, I turned around too quickly, I guess, and my left ankle gave out.”. I remember that when Clint dropped me, my left ankle had been twisted as it hit the floor.

“You're ankle is sprained, yes, but you should be fine.”

“And then, I just screamed, and went down.”

Rick moved closer to the bed. I wasn't sure of what he was going to say, but I didn't expect what came out next. “Baker looked though the security tapes at the Library. No man was seen going in or out that night after 5:30pm.”

I began to respond but he held up his hand. “We rushed the test results. There was nothing found to indicate rape. And you aren't pregnant.”

“Rick, I told you that I may not be. I told you that my initial thought was that I had a night terror. You're the one who didn't believe me.”

“Jennifer, there are bruises on your body. In places that, unless you were tripple jointed, you couldn't do yourself, and they're not the kind of bruises that occur from a fall.”

“What do you want me to say, Rick? I don't remember. That's true.” up, he thinks I've gone batty. “You think I'm going mental, don't you?”

“When we brought you in we sent you for a brain scan and ETG. There's no abnormalities to associate with any mental blockage or breakdown.”

“I'm not crazy, Rick.”

“I don't know what you are, Jennifer.” And with that he stood up and walked out of the room. I watched him go, and then the tears began flowing. I was crying a lot recently, but at least my skin was being moisturized.

A nurse entered the room. I could tell she was a nurse because of the blue colored lab coat. Only the Doctors got the opportunity to wear white. I think it's because stains come out easier on the colored fabric. The nurses always do the heavy lifting; the grunt of the work. They get their hands dirty, in more ways that I would ever imagine. I respect them a lot.

The nurse smiled pleasantly as she came to the bedside. “Good to see you awake, Jennifer, I'm Judy.”
I tried to smile back, and must have looked ridiculous.

I said the first thing that came to mind. “Glad to see someone's happy to see me.”

Judy glanced back to the door, and then took a seat in the chair. “He's been here since they brought you in last night.”

“He thinks I'm crazy.”

“He just doesn't understand certain things, that's all.” The way she said it, made me curious. She didn't sound like she was placating, or being cheery. She sounded like she knew something that I didn't. I needed to test the waters.

“What, exactly, are people saying around here about me?”

“You know, next to high school football season, gossip is Oakwood's greatest pastime.” She held my hand. “You're going to be okay, you know that.” She made a statement, not a question.

“Every day's a new day, Judy.”

“Exactly, and you're going to whip this thing in the bud. You just have to realize that its nothing the police are equipped to help you with.”

All of a sudden my back stiffened, and I clenched the nurses hand. She did know something. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and me, Jennifer, I know that this town's full of things that the police can't protect us from.” She removed her hand from mine, and in its place was a charms. It was intricately carved into a variation of the Pentacle, and had the weight of silver. It seemed too heavy for its size.

“What is this?”

“Something to help you. If you believe.”

“Believe in what?”

“It's power.”

I looked at the charm in my hand. “You've seen the doctor reports. You've heard my brothers and the others talking. Do you know what I'm dealing with?”

She was utterly serious when she replied. “Keep the charm on your person. It will help you. I can't get further involved than that.”

Our conversation was cut short. Claire walked into the room, and after taking in the scene, let out a giggle. “Sorry to break up some girl talk.” Great, she was feigning happy too.

Nurse Judy gently rose to her feet. “I was just making sure she was comfortable, Dr.”

“Where's Rick?”

Judy glanced down towards me. “I don't think he's coming back, Claire. I'm sorry.”

Judy looked uncomfortable, I know I was uncomfortable, but Claire stood solid. “If I could speak with Jennifer, for a moment, Judy.”

“Of course, Doctor.” And with that, Judy left us alone. My hospital room was a revolving door. One in, the next out, and another one in.

Claire came over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. “What did he say to you?”

“Oh you, know, the usual. He thinks I'm crazy. That I made everything up. He doesn't even believe that I fell and hit my head last night.”

“When the guard heard you scream, he ran in and found you on the bathroom floor. Your head looked far worse than it actually is.” I must have looked concerned, because she added “You're fine.”

“I told you that I didn't want to go to Rick. I told you that I wasn't sure if I had dreamed anything or not. As much as I don't like playing the victim, I hate being labeled the perpetrator.”

“I'm going to be honest, with you, Jennifer. I don't understand the bruises. I'm a doctor, and I have to do the right thing. I was concerned, and followed the chain of thought that I deemed best to reach a solution. We all know how that panned out. I still have no idea how you got bruised, but I do, however, believe you.”

She rearranged her balance on the bed and let out a sigh. “You know, when I came to Oakwood, I was tired of living in the city. Philly just didn't cut it for me, and that city's no where close to the real cities. I wanted an easier, care-free life outside of work. Do you know what I quickly found out?”

“What?”

“This place is weird.” She grinned, raising her eyes. I had to let out a laugh.

“Weird, huh? That's one way to put it.”

“I hear you all the time speak of your friend Markus, and what he saw when he lived here. And how the town reacted.”

“If they could have run him out of town with torches and pitch forks they would have.

“From what I hear it wasn't that less dramatic. But the point is, everyone has a story or two. Everyone has seen or heard something. And not from third person perspectives here.” She looked nervous now. “Even I've seen some things that I can't figure out.”

“Like what? What have you seen, Claire?”

“How bout I tell you about it when we have some more privacy, okay?” She was taking the easy road out, but she looked sincere enough that I didn't push the matter further. “I'm going to prepare your release papers. You should be free to go in about a few hours.”

“What about this?” I motioned to the IV.

“I'll send Judy to help remove that.”

And with that she left. What did she mean she saw things too? Who would she think was going to listen to what she was telling me? Was the room bugged? Judy did return and help prep me to leave, giving me my clothes and personal items. But she said nothing more of the charm. She was strictly professional. I believed in what she told me, and placed the charm in my jean pocket.

As I was escorted out of the hospital, after signing several forms that all seemed to say the same thing, I was placed in a cab and driven home. Once away from the hospital, I told the cab to stop at the Library. I needed to do some things, make sure things were in order, and conduct a little research on my own.

As I exited the cab, I was struck by the strength of the sun. Even at this hour, nearing five pm, the sun burned down on my skin. Maybe it was the bruises. I stared up at the sun, and squinted my eyes. Feeling dizzy, I opened the eyes, and made my way to sit on one of the stone benches outside the library. I should get something to eat, soon. Hospital food just didn't cut it.

I had an idea.

I pulled out my mobile and dialed quickly. After three rings, he picked up.

“Hutchinson.” His voice sounded confident and guarded.

“Hey Markus, it's me, Jennifer.” I tried to sound cheerful, but not sure if it worked.

“Oh hey,” he was sounding more himself. That was good. “How are things?”
“I'm sorry to have phoned, Markus. I hope you're not in the middle of something.” He was always in the middle of something.

“I have a few minutes. What's up?”

Do I tell him the truth? Do I leave out bis and pieces? Suddenly I was fumbling over words. If I could tell any one, anything, it was Markus, right? Yet, somehow... “Do you remember the Smurls?”

Markus laughed. “Of course I remember them! That tv movie still makes my day.”

“Right. Well, their house was haunted. Correct?”

“So they claimed. Though, honestly, Jenn, how many times did we drive over there? I've never seen or sensed anything.”

“They said that they had it cleansed. Called those Warren people in.”

“Maybe they did. I can't say for sure.” He voice became lower. “Jennifer, what's going on?”

“Nothing, I promise. I just want to know some information.”

“Information. Okay.”

“So they had a haunted house, and it was cleansed, if it was ever even haunted to begin with.”

“I guess so.”

“What about a person? Could a person be haunted?”

He was silent, and it was deafening. Finally, he said “Jennifer, tell me what's wrong.”

He knew I was leaving out something. Damn. “Markus, I'm fine. Really. There's just been you know, strange things happening with one of my employees.” I hated lying to him, but I didn't want him to worry.

“What strange things?”

“She keeps seeing this man. And I guess they talk. And sometimes they do more than that. And she has bruises she says are from him. But no one else has ever seen him.”

“Bruises where?” He was in business mode now.

“All over basically. But the worst of them are around the erogenous zones.”

“And you know this information because?” I felt he was baiting me, but I couldn't give into him.

“I found her in the bathroom this morning crying. She had an episode last night, that's what she called it, and doesn't think she could take it any more.”

“I would say go to the police, but I know your brother wouldn't believe her.” Yup, Markus knew Rick so well.

“What about the hospital?” I questioned.

“Are the bruises bad enough to warrant medical attention?”

“Not really. She said she aches, but other than that, she's not in any severe pain.” I was talking about myself in the third person. I didn't know how long I could keep it up. “Markus, is there anything that you're aware of, or that you've encountered that this thing may be?”

“And you believe her?”

“Absolutely.”

He thought for a moment, and I think I heard him light up a cigarette. It was a nervous crutch for him. I think my brother was simply addicted. “There's folklore and history on things called Incubi and Succubi,” he stated. “They're sexual demons, of sort, that gain power by sexually assaulting and draining the life force from their victims.”

“Incubi and Succubi.”

“The Incubus is the male variety. That's the first thought right off the top of my head. I haven't encountered them directly, though they've been associated with some of my cases. By the time I'm brought in, it's almost too late for some of the victims, and when that's the case, the bastards have left them to die.”

“Why is that? I mean, why do they wait until the last minute to bring you in?”

“Even though my team is a licensed and recognized unit in the force, the last thing the NYPD wants is to have another paranormal investigation. The media sharks eat that up. So its not usually until all other avenues have been explored, and explored again, that they call us in. And usually, the situations reached dire straights.”

“Are you working on anything now?”

“Actually, I'm working on a missing person case.”

“Missing person? What do they think happened?”

“They boy's father swears that it was The Boogeyman.”

“You've got to be kidding me!” There was genuine excitement in my voice. “They Boogeyman? Do you think it's real?”

“I can't tell you much, being an ongoing investigation, but from what I've seen so far. Yeah. I believe him.”

“Have you seen it yet? The Boogeyman, I mean.”
“No. But since I've been on the case, the past five days or so, it seems my childhood nightmares have begun to manifest themselves.”

“You amaze me, Markus Hutchinson! The life you live. Do you think you'll find the kid?”

“We'll see. Tonight we're literally entering the closet.”

The closet. He's joking, right? “You're going back in the closet?”

He let out a laugh. “Funny, isn't it? No. The kid was taken through his closet, when we checked, sure enough, there's a vortex there. So tonight, I'm leading the team inside it to see if we can find the kid.”

“How poltergeist!”

“Too bad we don't have our own Tangina.” he replied.

“You don't need a Tangina, Markus. The team has you.”

“Yeah, well, I hope I'm not leading them into danger, but you never know.” He was suddenly distracted by another voice in the background. He came back on the phone. “Listen, Jenn, I hate to cut this short, but I've gotta go. They want to hold a meeting before tonight. Did I answer your questions?”

“Yes, you did. Thank you.”

“Tell the girl that she should look into the Incubus. Also, go get some things at that apothecary in Wilkes-Barre. They should be able to help her.”

“Thanks again, Markus. Good talking to you,”

“You too.” And he hung up. We never said good bye to each other. It was a rule we had. I had only made the mistake and slipped once before. And it was the last time I had seen him. CHAPTER SIX: Tragedy at the Commons

When I entered the library, the assistants put on their best show of normality. They pretended, to their best ability, that it was simply another day, and I was stopping in to check on things on my day off. Not one of them asked a single question, or commented on my appearance, and the recent police presence at the branch. On one hand, I was relieved. On the other, I was more uncomfortable than ever. The simple fact that I knew that they knew, something had gone horribly wrong, was enough to unleash a cloud of tension and unease through the library itself, and especially through me.

After saying some brief hellos, I went into my the research room, and sat at one of the stations. I decided to put the awkwardness aside, and focused my attention to the task at hand.

Incubus.

As soon as I logged on to the library's internet system, I looked it up. Supposedly, an incubus was a lower-class demon that preyed on women, and sometimes men, who were sound asleep. Sort of like a dream lover, only this lover took away your breath and, ultimately, your life. There were several variations on the mythology and origins, thank you Wikipedia, however mostly they said the same thing. They also said that in order to get rid of them you needed an exorcism, or death. Since I was in no way a good little Catholic girl, I firmly admit that I am a Christer, the exorcism was out of the question.. As far as death? Not a good idea either.

Overall, the possibility of my stalker being an incubus was an interesting concept, but I wasn't fully convinced that Clint had been an incubus, and that I was asleep during all of his visits. Maybe my brother was right. Perhaps I was going crazy. I didn't like that idea either. There had to be something that I was missing. There had to be a reason for this to be happening, and to me. I began to lose myself in my frustration. I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't focus. I let my mind wander.

I was at the Carnival at Kirby Park and the sun was setting on a brisk autumn day. I loved the carnival, and each year I'd look forward to its sudden appearance on a Friday morning. The once green, tree-paved park would be bustling with music and attractions. Each and every year I'd make it a point to go and check out the scene. The rides were usually the same. The Spider, the Tilt-Whirl, Ferris Wheel and Salt and Pepper Shakers, but I never minded. As soon as you walked past the clown ticket takers at the gate, it was as if you were in another world.

The Oakwood Carnival was my Disney World, and since I've never been to Disney World, its nostalgia brought out the child in me.

I was standing in front of the Ferris Wheel, watching families and couples go round and round. Their jovial laughter filled my ears, and I couldn't help but smile and giggle. My mother had always told me to look to the simple things for pleasure and reassurance. We were a middle-class family, when there still was a middle class, and we did okay for ourselves, but were were ever rich. I never minded the fact, because I had a bounty of an imagination, though I know that our families financial status affected Rick.

Rick was friends with the popular and rich kids, and needed to uphold that image. Sometimes, I'd hear him screaming at my mom about needed this or that, and he'd make her cry. My father would come home from work, and would play the peace keeper. No matter what Rick wanted, my father, god rest his soul, would find a way to give it to him. Not that I was ever lacking for anything. My father cherished his family. That's just the sort of man he was.

“Balloon animal for the lovely lady?” a voice asked. I took my eyes off of the spinning wheel, and gave him a smile. Before I could reply, however, he set to blowing up a long pink balloon. “Pink's your favorite color, I could tell,” he grinned. Actually I prefer forest green, but I didn't want to hurt the man. Instead, I replied “As a matter of fact, it is my favorite color.”

He seemed pleased with the response, because he quickly set to twisting and turning the balloon over and over again. His hands feverishly moved, and his face grimaced in concentration. I watched him in awe as he suddenly revealed his creation with a laugh and a “Voila”

He held out a pink unicorn. How had he made it with one balloon? I went for my wallet, and he pressed it towards me. “No, miss. No money necessary. You're gonna need the luck.”

A scream rose behind me, and I turned around. The Ferris Wheel kept turning, but it was dripping blood. The passengers of families and couples were all dead, their faces pale and bodies blood soaked. The wheel kept turning as more people began screaming. “Quick! What happened? Someone stop it!”

One by one the bodies in their carts fell forward, and fell out of the spinning wheel, crashing down to the ground below. People began running away in all directions, trying to miss getting hit by the falling bodies.

I stood, too shocked to move. I heard a pop, and looked at my hands. I was holding the Unicorn even though I didn't remember taking it from the man. It was slowly deflating.

A sound of screeching steel cut through the screens. The Ferris Wheel was coming to a stop. I stared, shaking, as the cart came to a stop at the bottom platform. Within it was Clint.

He was dressed in a black tuxedo, and held a red rose. The security bar of the car lifted up, and strolled out, directly towards me.

I was immediately focused solely on him, and my body ached for his kiss, his touch. I wanted him to devour me. Wholly.

He stood directly in front of me and held out the red rose. “I hope you like my gift.” I assumed he meant the rose, but he quickly pointed to the disaster behind him. “See. I did this just for you, my dear Jennifer. Just for you.”

He laughed then, and his laughter made my flesh burn, not with desire, but with utter fear.

Someone touched my shoulder.

I looked up.

“You fell asleep, Jennifer. Are you okay?”

It was my assistant Lily. I was sitting at the research station. “Oh, sorry, Lily.” I glanced at the screen to read the clock, but the screen had gone black. “What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Six?” Where had the time gone?

“Come on. I'll drive you home.”

Lily was gracious enough not to ask about any of the details of my predicament as we drove through town. She did, however, let me in on more information on the missing monsignor, and on the visit she had at the library earlier that day from Sister Norita, and the new priest, Fr. Richardson.

“I don't even see how they could accepted her into the nunnery,” she was saying. “She's just evil.”

I let out laugh. Norita was the prima donna of the Catholic Parish. She was most definitely a bitch. “I wouldn't go so far as to say that she's evil, Lil. She's from a different generation, that's all.”

“She's from the Dark Ages, Jenn. I'm telling you. While she was in the library I had a constant bead of sweat on my forehead. I kept waiting for her to take out that clipper thing that she uses. Let me see the whites of your eyes! Let me see the whites of your eyes!” She waved her hands in front of her, smirking and doing a witch cackle.

“Why was she even at the library? And with the new priest?” Norita very rarely frequented the library, unless it was bazaar time, and she wanted free publicity. As soon as summer begins to set in Oakwood, the churches all throw their bazaars. The home made pastries, the instant bingo. I'm telling you, on weekends, if the weather is good, these become the social outing to be seen at. And as much as people say that they are donating their time for the greater good, or for charity, as far as I am concerned, they only do it to size one another up to determine the social pecking order for the upcoming season.

“She said she was showing Fr. Richardson around town. Giving him the tour. And, Jenn, let me tell you. I'd give him a tour of anything any day! Or Night!”

I was dumbfounded. “He's a priest!”

“He may be a man of the cloth, but wait till you see him! He'd look perfect in a loin cloth! Or without!”

I let out a hmmph. Lily lowered her voice to a whisper. “I'm going to hell, aren't I?”

I let seriousness wash over my face, and turned to her. “Lily, I hate to break this to you.”

“What?”

“If this priest is as good looking as you say he is, well, then, there's only one reason for it.”

“What's that?”

“He's gay.”

“You don't think that, do you?”

“Of course I do! Look around da valley! All the obviously straight priests are old, haggard, overweight and drunks! The good looking young ones? Gay.”

“Do you have any proof to back your theory?”

“Sure. Do you remember Fr. Burns?”

“The blond? Of course I remember him. He was handsome too. And he seemed so together. I liked him.”

“So did the boys at Sneakers. And when one of them got a little too close, and showed up at the rectory trying to make Burns leave the priesthood for a life of sinful bliss, that's when Norita sent him away.”

“How do you know this?”

“I go to Sneakers.”

“Do you really? I mean, are you?”

“No. I'm not a lesbian. I just think that the gays have more fun. And it may be a dive, but it's a good time.”

“I can't believe that Fr. Burns? We were all told that he had a nervous breakdown and had to go into First hospital. And then went back to Tennessee, or wherever he was from.”

“Again, that was Norita's doing. The Priests of Ignatius may be the ones speaking from the pulpit, but trust me. It's the women in the habits who run the business.”

“So do you think the Msgr. really just disappeared? Or is there something more sordid going on?”

“I sure hope it's something sordid. It sure would make things more interesting.”

We drove on, and the car ride was a breath of fresh air. I was finally relaxing. The past few days had been so stressful, so confusing, so pain inducing that I had forgot how to be myself. Lily is more than my assistant. She's a great friend.

The car came to a halt when he hit Wyoming Ave. We found ourselves stuck in a traffic jam. “What's this about?”

“I don't know. Everyone just stopped.”

I could see through the windshield that all traffic ahead for the next block was stopped. People began getting out of their cars. “What is going on?”

Lily let out a cry. “O Jenn, look! The Commons!”
The Commons was the largest residential building in Oakwood, and at one time had been Section 8 housing. A few years ago, however, a local real estate tycoon managed to kick the poor families out of the apartment building, did major interior renovations, and the re-sold the units as condos and luxury apartments. Of course, luxury to Oakwood was the cost of a Studio apartment in New York City.

Indeed, people were rushing towards the Commons. I couldn't yet make out what caught everyone's attention until I saw a man raise his head at the building and point upwards. And then I saw. Clearly.
People were falling from the windows on the upper floors. One after another, they were falling down to the pavement below. The Commons is 15 stories high. That's quite a fall.

Lily was shaking. “Why are they all jumping?”

I kept calm, remarkably. “They don't look like their jumping, Lily. They look like they're falling. They're just falling.”

“This is terrible! Terrible!” As she said the words a body crashed down, and people shrieked. From the looks of it, the body was a child. “What are we going to do?! We have to do something!” Lily was panicking now, and tried to put the car in reverse.

“It's no use, Lily. The ave's too backed up.” I opened the door calmly, and stepped out of the car. Lilly called from within. “Jenn, what are you doing?”

I turned my back on the scene in front of us, and did the only thing I could have done. I took my cell phone and called the police station.

“Oakwood PD. How may we serve you?” The voice on the other end was Baker.

“Baker, it's Jennifer. I think you need to send some guys and a medic team over to the Commons. Immediately.”

“What's happening?”

I told him. He hung up. I got back in the car.

“You called the police?” Lily's voice was shaky. Her face paler than usual. The crowd was growing as more people kept falling out of the building. I stared ahead, trying to down out the crowd and focus my eyes on the “My daughter's an Honor Student” bumper sticker on the volvo in front of us.

Why were these people falling? What was in that building?

My head suddenly was filled with carnival music. It was too much. I opened the car door, ran outside, and puked on the sidewalk. CHAPTER SEVEN: HERE, IN MY HEAD

I was determined to walk the rest of the way home. Much to Lily's protestations, and Baker and Reichen's, once they arrived less than five minutes later. Not only was my head thumping, but now my stomach felt like a vice was clenched around it. I needed some air. I needed some time to process everything that had been going on. I needed some time to be in my head, and to straighten out if there was a connection between my dream of the carnival and the tragedy at the Commons. While I was keeling over and losing my lunch I also came to the realization that I had, perhaps, been moving too fast. That I was acting on instinct; on emotion, instead of using my rational mind. One thing was certain. At the rate I was racing, I wasn't sure how much longer I could stat ahead of insanity.

“Listen, I'll be fine.” I hoped it sounded confident.

“I don't think so,” Reichen responded. The traffic was once again flowing, and Lily had moved the car the Gateway parking lot across the street. Baker and other officers were securing the area surrounding the Commons and assessing the situation. “If you asked me, I'd say your brother is being an ass. He never should have let you fend for yourself this morning, no matter how pissed he is at you.”

“He didn't leave me to fend for myself. Claire was there, Reichen.”

“Who was working at the time.” He looked at me with serious eyes. “Why didn't you call me, Jennifer? Or Lily? Someone would have taken you home.”

“I'm not a kid anymore. It wasn't serious injury. I was fine. Perhaps a little over tired, but I was fine. Trust me, if I was in bad shape the doctors wouldn't have signed my discharge papers. I was fine. I just got sick to my stomach when I saw...” My eyes began welling up, and no matter how hard I tried to stop the tears it was a losing battle.

Reichen turned to Lily, who had been silent for most of the conversation. “Can you take her home?”

“Of course, Officer.”

“Now. Before her brother arrives on scene. I don't want this day to get any worse.”

And without saying another word, Reichen left me with Lily and moved away to join the others. “Lily, I...”

“No use,” she cut me off. “I'm taking you home.”

“I can't win, can I?”

“Not this time.” And she grinned, opening the car door for me.

Once home, I was able to be strong, and gently told Lily that she needn't sit with me. I was determined to have my 'me' time. There must have been something in my voice, or in my eyes, because she backed down quite quickly, only reminding me to phone her if I needed anything. As I watched her car pull off down the street and turn the corner, I breathed a sigh of relief, and settled into my home. I brewed a pot of tea, and sat in the living room. Deja vu, right? Only this time, my mind was clear and clean, cleaner than it had been in days. I sipped my tea and sat in the darkness, forcing myself to process.

First order of business: The mysterious Clint, and my unwavering attraction to him. Suppose I was truly imagining him? I tossed out the Incubus research and focused on that. He was a part of my subconscious. I had taken a few psychology courses in both High School and the Luzerne Country Community College, where I had attained by degree. Granted, by the time I had entered the college I had already taken Honors Psych in high school. I was pretty well prepared for the course, and at one point I got into a nasty debate with the Professor, a Ms. Stefanko.

We were learning in our text book, named, appropriately enough, “Psychology”, or as I liked to call it, “Psychology For Dummies”, the different hemispheres of the brain. The way Stefanko conducted the class was nothing short of ridiculous. She would assign us a chapter to read, and then, in the class, we'd re-read the chapter aloud, taking turns on paragraphs. When a bullet point was reached, easily visible due to the bold font, she would remind the class that “This is important, kids. If I were you I'd highlight it.” She'd confirm her statement by adding, “Like I always said, if it's bold, it'll come back to haunt you on a test later.”

Now, I'm not sure if Stefanko simply dumbed down the class, or if she was really that dumb. She had also taught Natural Science at the high school, so I was familiar with her interesting technique. At least in Natural Science, she managed to make things interesting. For example, when we were discussing the make-up of the layers of the earth, if there was a student who was causing her grief, or if she simply wanted to get a rise out of them, she made an example of them by naming a tooth pick after them, and then sticking it into the model of the earth she used for the lesson. “Let's place Markus in the Mantle,” she'd say, sticking the toothpick in the middle red section of the round earth. “Now if this was Markus, he'd melt in seconds.”

I found her a bit rash, but Markus loved her. In his eyes, Stefanko could do no wrong. When she sent us out hunting rocks for the stone, rock, and mineral unit, Markus dragged me up to Francis-Slocum State Park for hours on ever Saturday of the unit's length, where we'd go rock hunting in the woods. Not my cup of tea, I assure you, but for some strange reason, those days hiking and getting lost (which happened every time, mind you), showed me a different side of Markus. He became a professional archeologist, complete with a boffo accent! It was hysterical.

Of course, Markus was gone by the time I took Psychology for Dummies at LCCC, and Stefanko, in her teaching methods, lost that crazy knack of hers. During the lesson in question, after she had informed us about the bullet point cerebellum, which I dutifully highlighted, I raised my question.

“Yes, Ms. Suttler, a question?” Since she preferred Ms. Instead of Miss, we all became Ms.

“Yes, Ms. Stafanko.” I noticed immediately that many of the classes faces turned to me, scornfully. I guess they enjoyed the boring re-reading format.

“I was just wondering if we were going to discuss Phineas Gage.” I stated calmly. “I realize that he isn't mentioned in the chapter...” I wonder if she understood the dig to the three writers credited with writing the boring book. “But perhaps what happened to him would illustrate the notion of the independence of the left and right hemispheres.”

As I waited the few seconds for Ms. Stefanko to answer, I saw her go through a physical transformation. It was as if fire had ignited beneath her ass. She got out of her seat, and jumped on top of the desk. This little move caused a stir of concern for the rest of the class, but it was a classic Stefankoism. Her grin widened, and she responded. “I'm so glad you brought that up. Perfect, perfect question! We've got a winner! We've got a winner!”

Uh oh. The old Stefanko was back, and the next thing I knew, she had us go all Dead Poets Society on the text book and rip out the chapter, one page at a time, tossing the paper on the floor. The class was mesmerized as Stefanko went on telling the tragic tale of Phineas Gage, picking people to be his fellow rail-track layers, and his future wife. She even picked Marty Komitzky to be the evil railway spike that went through the lad's chin and exited his head, separating the brain hemispheres in two. Marty was a creep, no doubt about it, and last I heard, he was serving a long sentence in the Oakwood Penitentiary for armed robbery. He had used a metal spike as a weapon, I kid you not.

For the rest of the semester Stefanko threw out the textbook, and lot of paper was discarded on the floor. When she began to speak of the unconscious, she did so in correlation with the constant struggle between the Id, Ego, and SuperEgo. From the way she explained things, it was as if the battle for Middle Earth was being raged inside our craniums. It was interesting, however, that the fact that we only use a small percentage of the brain, and that the unconscious portion of the brain is so vast and nearly incomprehensible, sometimes even creeping into our consciousness when we least expect it.

At these times, the battle between the Id, Ego, and SuperEgo is in favor of the Id, our primal functions. Needs, Desires, Vice, the things that the Church tell you are bad, bad, bad. Using this notion, I formed a reason for Clint's appearance in my life.

I was in need. Specifically, sexual need. Though I was pretty, I wasn't what you'd call a beauty. I was no Gertrude Hutchinson. I wasn't Marian the Librarian. There were no trombone playing leading men wooing me. In fact, to be honest, I never had a single boyfriend that lasted longer than a few months. Claire had tried to fix me up several times, even with the new hot pediatrician Dr. Tomshack at Oakwood Medical, who, if you asked for my opinion, looked like he'd be happier on a football team then dealing with Oakwood's youngest generation day to day. That one lasted only three weeks. I'm sorry, I'm not one to judge, but women's panties belong on women, thank you very much, and he looked utterly preposterous in them. But, whatever lifts his mast. Not my problem. I broke up with him on the spot, and even gave him a parting gift: a 35% off coupon for Victoria's Secret. I was going to pick out something for me to wear on a date in the near future, but, I figured, he may enjoy picking a few things out for himself? Hah, does that make me a bitch? Or a realist? I say a Realist all the way.

Anyway, the romance department of my life was dryer than the greatest of deserts. It had reached the point of near desperation. Every time I thought about my lack of love life, I got angry, insecure, and horny at the same time. Not a nice combination. Perhaps Clint was a manifestation of all of that. A product of my unconscious screaming at me to water and nourish the sands of my heart and body. The fact that each time I saw him ended badly could be a reflection of my insecurities. What started off as a perfect man, my Ideal, if you will, ended up horrible and painful for the mere fact that perhaps I was afraid of the intimacy. I was afraid of getting close and letting someone know all of me. I was afraid of once again getting hurt. In a strange, convoluted way, it made some sense. And I felt better. I determined myself that the next time I saw Clint I would not fight him, but go with the flow, and embrace the nightmare, however horrible. I'll try to enjoy it. And then, I will be able to conquer it. Makes perfect sense.

After refilling my tea pot I put on the television and turned to the local news. Candy Cassadine was live at The Commons, looking all Barbie as ever.

“Officials are just now finishing a clean up of the area outside the Commons, where the bizarre tragedy occurred this afternoon. I am here, live, with Chief Thomas Harmon.” The camera zoomed out to include Thomas in the frame. He looked worse for wear. He'd had a bad day. “Chief, can you please try to explain what you discovered this afternoon?” She shoved the mic into his face.

The Chief cleared his throat. “I can not say much at this time, but each of the 19 victims have been confirmed dead. An investigation is underway to determine the cause of their deaths.”

“Investigation? Didn't they all jump out of the windows? That seems like a suicide to me, Chief.”

Got to love small town reporters.

“We've ruled out suicide, Candy.” Thomas responded. “Det. Hutchinson is heading up the homicide investigation.”

“Homicide? What makes you think that this is a homicide?”

“I'm sorry, but I can't go into details...”

“We're a small town, Chief. If there is a killer out there, with all due respect, we all deserve to know about it. To protect our children. We need the details.”

The Chief's face had turned completely red, and Candy knew she had him where she wanted him. “Please, Chief, why are you treating this tragedy as a homicide?”

Once again he cleared his throat. “The victims were all examined by the Medical Examiner, and were found to be dead for more than 12 hours.”

“Which means?” The tone of her voice hinted that she didn't like where this was going.

“Which mean that the bodies were already dead before they fell out the windows.”

Candy's face turned white, while the chief's became even redder. She looked straight into the camera. “More on this story as more details develop. Back to you, Bruce.” and the live stream went dead.

I turned the channel, but my brain was still tuned into the news. Dead? 12 hours? They didn't look that dead as they jumped out the windows. Something wicked was going on at the Commons. But it had nothing to do with me. Or Clint. Or the dream of the carnival and the dead bodies in the Ferris Wheel that had similarly fell to the ground after they were dead. It was just a coincidence. A purely far fetched one, but a coincidence. It had to be.

Just then thunder clapped outside, and I darted my eyes to the front window. The sky that was, moments ago, clear, was now heavy with storm clouds that were releasing its contents on the streets below them. Lightning flashed, followed by another thunder clap. I peeled back the curtains and stared outside.

Most people find storms disquieting. I've always loved them. My father, Rick and I would sit for hours on our screened-in back porch, watching storms rage in our back yard. He'd hold me tight as we'd sit for the duration, watching the trees blow in the wind, and the lightning and the rain. Some of those moments with him were the happiest memories I have as a child. Rick was always wary of the storms, but me and dad? We were enthralled. “The strength of Mother Nature,” he would muse. “No matter how strong man thinks he is, there is no comparison to the awesomeness of her power.” I agreed with him wholeheartedly.

You didn't mess with Mother Nature, and expect her not to retaliate. I admired her very much. She didn't take shit from anyone. And she had an arsenal of weaponry that could destroy anything man made.

The storm was raging on Maple Avenue, and I was content. The lightning came one after the other now; a strobe light in a rainy discotheque. Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat as my eyes focused on the center of the road.

A man stood. A naked One-Armed man.

He was lean and thin. He looked upwards as the rain pelted down on him. I stared at him bewildered. He turned his head towards me and smiled.

It was a knowing smile. But what did he know?

The lightning flashed again and he was gone. Was my mind playing tricks with me? Was this a part of my unconscious as well? I couldn't tell you. But he was scary, that's for sure.

I decided to close the curtains then, and while the storm still raged, I went in the kitchen and made myself a salad for dinner. By the time I returned to the living room to eat, the storm had passed and the night was silent outside.

I put the television back on and watched a reality show on the television. I had always said that if folks wanted to make a reality show to top all others that they should make one about Oakwood. On any given day, the events and people of Oakwood were more strange than any Soap Opera, or any Reality Show ever created.

As it turns out, it was a mini-marathon of the show, and I, of course became addicted. By the time the last episode ended it was midnight. I was tired. I decided I needed to go to bed.

I went upstairs, showered and changed, and got into bed. My last thought before falling asleep was to Clint. If he was going to visit me, I would embrace him and whatever he offered me. Completely. CHAPTER EIGHT: ESCALATION

Clint never came.

That was the first coherent thought that entered my brain as I opened my eyes the next morning. Clint never came. There were no dreams, no visitations, no feelings of unease the night before, I slept soundly and deeper than I had in days. I woke up on Saturday morning with the sun shining into the bedroom, and felt like myself again. The new dawn was welcoming a new beginning for me as well.

Yea! I had survived the week. I was looking forward to the weekend, with two days off to get my life back together and organized. Usually, every Saturday I met Claire for lunch. It was a sort of ritual between the two of us. However, Claire had always confirmed the lunch date on Friday's. That hadn't happened this week. Between everything that has been going on, and the fact that I was sure that my brother was still thinking harsh thoughts towards me, I assumed that this Saturday I'd be on my own.

The prospect of this didn't bother me one bit. I had a lot to catch up on. My house, I'm certain, was tired of being is a state of disarray, and required my excellent Cinderella skills to bring it back to looking like itself once again. I also had to accomplish laundry, and perhaps do some yard york in my pumpkin garden in the back yard.

Before I could get to any of those, tasks, however, I needed to wake up. Which meant that I needed some coffee. As the coffee pot brewed in the kitchen, I turned on the television. Saturday mornings basically gave you four television options for your viewing pleasure. The first was kids cartoons. I remember being obsessed with them growing up, and hating Soul Train for signaling the end of my Space Ghost marathons. Alas, as an adult, the current cartoon line up didn't do anything for me. The cartoons were nothing like the one's I grew up with. I couldn't understand these new, Japanese-inspired story lines and characters. And the animation wasn't quite right either. Why the big eyes? Could someone please explain that to me? So, the cartoons were out.

The second television option were the numerous infomercials pertaining to getting that perfect sculpted body. Now I'm not in bad shape. In fact, on good days I think that I'm well over average, but I'm no where near perfect. Even so, I hated these infomercials. No matter what they were selling you it came with the unsaid tag line stating that if only you looked pretty and fit can you be happy. I just didn't buy that. I was also not a fan of Chuck Norris, or Jake the Bodybuilder, or that woman from the Biggest Loser. So, the infomercials were out.

The third television option was listening and watching the televised evangelical preachers preaching their sermons to the television viewing devotees. That was definitely out. Sorry, not going there.

Which left one option available. The Saturday addition of the local morning news. I flicked over to channel six and, after retrieving my coffee, sat on the couch and watched our local anchors fill me in on the highlighted news of the day and previous week.

Bob Marshak was finishing his rant on the week's local sporting events, and grinning after being able to confirm that in the fall, Oakwood West would have a top-notch football team that could take them all the way to the Nationals. The high schoolers had already begun training camp for the fall semester, and yet it was only July. I felt bad for those kids. They were missing their summer vacation. I hope it was worth it to them.

Bob finished making a not-quite funny joke about tackling quarterbacks, and the main anchor Susan Kyle, laughed half-heartily before moving on to the next story.

“Considering the recent tragedy that has happened here in Oakwood, it is my pleasure to report to you something to lighten your spirits. This week's Good Things Are Happening segment is dedicated to a unique charity effort to help build a new, state-of the art pediatric wing to Oakwood Medical. And before we begin, let me just tell you that this story is tantalizingly good.”

The taped report began with the music of the theme song to Baywatch. I had to smile as I heard that refrain “I'm always here...” as images of David Hasselhoff running down the beach danced in my head, to be immediately replaced with images of David Hasselhoff stumbling on the floor trying to eat his hamburger in a drunken stupor. I admit that I am a fan of the Hoff. He was very good looking, when he wasn't drunk, and I even admired his outlandish fashion sense. Hell, if Germany loved the man, then there was room for me as well. But why was Oakwood, which is near no beach, use the Baywatch theme for a local news charity report?

And why was Ms. Susan Kyle standing outside the Oakwood Police station? I watched with interest, as she continued her report from the scene. “They've done it in the big cities. In New York, and Los Angeles. And this year, the Oakwood Auxiliary Board is trying it out. Oakwood Style.” Susan proudly produces a Calendar as the camera zooms in to capture its glossy cover in full glory. As my mind processes the words and image, she speaks in voice over. “That's right. This fall will see the release of the Hunks of Oakwood charity calendar, and I am proud to have spoken to the lucky man who not only was chosen as the cover model, but has a complete pull-out center spread.”

Holy shit it was my brother!

The camera pulled back and magically Rick was standing next to a giddy Susan. “Now I am here with a man most of you know. The town hero, and not to shabby looking, Detective Rick Suttler.” She was beaming. My brother looked confident and cocky. You know, the usual.

He was wearing his usual black suit and no-tie combo. I must say that the ensemble didn't work for everyone, but it certainly worked for my brother. When he wore ties, sometimes the muscles in his neck made his shirt look too small with the tie button fastened.

“Detective Suttler, first off. Congratulations on being picked to be the hottest hunk in Oakwood.”

My brother let out a chuckle. “I don't know if I'm the hottest, Susan, but it is certainly an honor. And the sales will be going to a great cause.”

“Detective you're being modest. But yes, the sales will be going to a great cause, and one that you are directly related to. Your wife is part of Oakwood Medical's doctorial staff.”

“Yes she is.”

“Now, what does she think about you baring it all for charity?”

“I'm sure she sees the fun in it. Not to mention it's all for a great cause. The children are our future, after all, and we need to take care of them the best we can to make sure that they have the best possible future for themselves.”

I almost spit out my coffee. Rick hates children. “Come on, Susan, you're a reporter! Get to the real reason he's doing this!” I actually spoke out loud to the television. It does happen all the time.

It was like the reporter read my mind. “And how do you fell about exposing yourself to the masses?”

“I think that you have to give the people what they want. And if I am what they want, then so be it. I just want them to buy the calendars!” Yup, this was more like my brother.

“Now, not only the cover model, but you have a month as well.”

“November.”

“Yes, and also the center two page spread. Were you at all nervous about posing for the pictures?”

“Not one bit Susan. I think that you should take care of your body as you would your health.” Yup, he actually said that. “And I'm proud of my body. There's nothing to be nervous about.”

“And would you mind giving us a taste of what we will see when we we buy the calendars?

“You want to see my chest?”

Susan actually blushed. Not that great a reporter. My brother had her licking out of the palm of his hand.

“If you wouldn't mind.”

“I'll give you just a peek, how's that?” And he unbuttoned the shirt, pulling the sides apart to reveal his chest and abs. I swear you could hear Susan, and I think the male camera guy, sigh off camera. But my brother wasn't done yet. His pecs began moving up and down. The camera zooming in on them.
Rick timed the show perfectly, and before you knew it, he was buttoning his shirt back up.

The camera zoomed back and Susan looked a little frazzled. “Why, that was quite a tease Detective.”

Rick gave her an evil grin. “Who said anything about teasing?”

Susan let out a giggle that belonged to a teen-aged girl, not one entering her forties. “Watch out Situation. This Oakwood Hunk is coming to arrest you!”

And the reel cut off. Susan sat behind the news desk, joined by Chad Silverton. Chad laughed, a little too much, as she was busy blotting her face with a tissue.

Would they try to recapture some integrity? They were supposed to be professional news folk, and all that.

Chad cleared his throat. “That was definitely a good story for you, wasn't it, Susan?”

Susan beamed, “Of course, definitely good things are happening in Oakwood.”

And they went to commercial. No redemption, No information about where the calendar will be available or when to run out and get your copy. Nothing news worthy. Nothing professional. And I'd be left with the image of my brother's dancing pectorals in my head all day long.

I reached for the remote control as I heard someone pounding on my front door, followed by a familiar, unwelcome voice. “Jennifer, Dear, are you home?”

My body's reaction to the voice said millions. Goose bumps, I swear my heart skipped a beat. I didn't want to open the door. I wanted to run and hide. But the pounding continued. “Jennifer, are you all right in there?”

I was left with no choice. I got up and opened the door, feigning a smile towards what stood on my front porch.

“Sister Norita, what a surprise!”

She, too, was feigning a smile. Glad to know we shared one thing in common, even if that one thing was mutual hatred. “Oh good, Dear. So glad you're home. Are you okay? Your brother told me about...” and she whispered the next two words. “...the accident.”

It was as if she'd summoned the Candyman. I was suddenly very aware of the healing bruises on my body. They all started to ache. At once.

“I'm fine Sister, really, Accidents happen.”

“Well that's good. Then you won't mind if we come inside and have a little sit down for a moment?”

In no way did I want this nun in my house. And why was she speaking in the royal 'we.'? It was then that I noticed the other person standing on the porch. My eyes widened at the sight of him.

Norita continued, “Oh, forgive me Father, where are my manners? Jennifer, this is Father Richardson. I've just been showing him around, and introducing him to his new neighbors.”

I looked at the priest. Lily was right. This man was gorgeous. Tall, dark, and romance-novel steamy. In a way, he reminded me of Clint. It was something about the eyes. “Welcome to Oakwood, Father.” I managed to say.

He smiled back, “Thank you, Ms. Suttler.” How'd he know my last name? Norita must have told him. I can only imagine what else she said.

“Can we come inside now?” Norita questioned, the persistence drooling from her lips. I glanced up at the Priest to see him mouth the word 'bathroom'.

“Um sure, come on inside.” I opened the door and Norita gently pushed past, going into my house. Father Richardson held the door open while he, too entered. “Thank you,” he whispered.

And we were back inside. Norita had placed herself at the base of the stairs. Subtle, that one.

“Could I get you both anything? Water, or coffee, or tea?”

The mention of liquid, I admit, was deliberate. Norita bore a hole in my forehead with her stare. Then she seemed to remember the company she was in, and smiled meekly. “If it's no bother, would I be allowed to use your facilities?”

“Of course, Sister. The bathroom's right at the top of the stairs.”

“Bless you, dear.” And she bolted.

I was left with the hunk, I mean, the priest. “What can I get you, Father Richardson? Something to eat or drink?”

“Some coffee would be heavenly,” he replied, “And please, call me Jon. Just not in front of Norita.”

I let out a laugh. The priest had caught on to the nun quickly. That scored points for him. “Sure. Just make yourself comfortable on the couch. I'll be right back.”

I went into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and brought it back to the living room, along with cream, milk and sugar and Sweet & Low. I placed it on the table. My hands were shaking? Why was I so nervous? Oh yeah, the nun was upstairs.

Father Jon seemed to notice my nerves as well, and he placed his hand gently on my wrist. “Thank you, Jennifer. Why don't you sit down?”

I did what he said, sitting down on the other side of the couch. He looked at me, as he prepared his coffee. “I take it the Sister's not a regular visitor?”

“Can I be honest with you for a moment, Father?”

“Of course. And please, it's Jon.”

“Okay, Jon. I know I'm probably going to hell for saying this, but the truth is I'm pretty sure we hate each other.”

I am not sure what I expected his reaction to be, but he laughed out loud. “Ah, so you were in her Sunday school as well?”

“Good guess.” I sipped my own coffee.

“She is a feisty one, I will admit. But you have to give her credit for the fire within her. It's not an easy job if you really think about it.”

“No, I imagine it's not. May I ask, what convinced you to become a priest?”

“I guess for me it's because I hadn't met the right girl.” He grinned, and I'm sure I blushed. I could feel it. “But seriously, it just felt like something I had to do. When our Maker comes calling, I'm not sure we really have much choice.”
The answer seemed perfect, even though it really said nothing. I really needed a man. Shit, I shouldn't think that, especially with a priest on my couch and a crazy bat nun upstairs in my bathroom doing who the hell knows what.

“Well, welcome to Oakwood, Jon.”

“Thank you, again.”

We sat in silence for what seemed eternity. He broke the silence first. “I'm sorry to intrude, but Norita had mentioned something to me.”

I glanced at him like I knew what was coming. He reached out and placed his hand over mine. “Is there something you may want to talk about?”

I don't know if it was the question itself, or the physical contact, but I started crying. I couldn't help it. The Priest moved closer to me on the couch as Norita came down the stairs. “Everything all right?”

We both stopped moving. I stopped crying. It was Jon who responded. “Yes, I think we're both fine.”
We locked eyes and he moved back to his side of the couch.

“Well, look at the time.”

We all looked towards Norita.

“If we mean to be keep our lunch meeting we'd be best to get a move on.”

The Priest stood up from the couch. “Of course, Sister.”

I stood up as well, though kept silent.

The priest offered my a card. The clergy had business cards now? How novel!

“If you ever need to talk, about anything, please, do not hesitate.”

I took the card and thanked him, then walked him over to Norita and the door.

“And Jennifer,” the nun stated flatly. “Not that you'd be interested, but Fr. Richardson's introductory mass is tomorrow Perhaps you'd find time in your busy schedule to make an appearance.”

I wanted to slap the bitch. Instead, I smiled. “I'll check my schedule, Sister.”

“I hope to see you there,” the priest said. “It was pleasure meeting you, Jennifer. And thank's for the coffee.”

Nortia never thanked me for the use of my bathroom. I closed the door on them and wanted to rush upstairs to see what damage she'd done. Then I thought foolish. I can't believe I cried in front of a priest. A priest who was also a man. A handsome, strong, man...who's a priest. A Priest! Ack, I was in emotional and hormonal overload.

I collapsed back on the couch and focused my attention on the television once more. The local news was over, but the National News from New York City was on. I wasn't prepared for what I'd hear the anchorman say.

“And here in Manhattan, reports are coming in that Special Investigator Markus Hutchinson has gone missing. The NYPD are remaining silent, only revealing that Mr. Hutchinson was working on a case involving a missing boy.”

I turned off the television. Holy Shit. This can't be happening.

Markus was missing. CHAPTER NINE: ESCAPE VIA APPLETINI'S

After hearing the news my first thought was that Marcus was going to be really pissed off. He wasn't someone who sought out the spotlight. He was much more comfortable in the shadows. The fact that the news media knew his name and mentioned him would turn his stomach. Marcus still isn't comfortable with his gifts, as I call them. Marcus calls them his curse. I am not sure exactly what it is that makes him different, but I can attest that it is that difference that makes Marcus Marcus. It is his gift that allows him to help those that he helps. And he never says no.

After he left Oakwood, I didn't hear from him for several months. I had no idea where he went, or what he was doing. Worse yet, I didn't even know if he was still alive. When I received his first letter, I read it over three times before putting it down. I was so relieved to hear from him.

Dear Jennifer,

I am writing this letter to you because I didn't want to use the phone, in case your brother or parents wouldn't take the call. I am okay. Actually, I am in New York City, and I managed to find a job. An interesting one, but something to pay the bills, at least. I am living in a small studio that is the size of your bathroom. Seriously. It's in an area they call Hell's Kitchen., which is a fitting name, at least I think so. The rent was cheap because people say that it's a bad area. Lots of gang activity and drugs. I haven't seen any of that yet, and I'm not really afraid of things like that. When I met my neighbor, a cherub of a blue hair with two little pugs, Ms. Gorgolia, or something (she has a thick East-European accent, so I'm not sure if it' s her name), but anyway, she was very concerned for the safety of 'a child' my age. If she only knew that the last thing I ever was could be a child! Of course, I won't tell her anything, but she's a nice lady.

Oh, let me tell you about the job. Are you sitting down? If not, sit down. Good. Okay, I am working with the NYPD. And I'm not kidding, Here I am, not even twenty, and I am working with the men in blue. You know what I think about men in uniforms! Before you wonder, no I am not an officer, I don't wear a badge, or gun, or even a uniform. I am more like a consultant, and I just sort of fell into the position.

Do you know that there is a special investigation team dealing with the supernatural? Neither did I. But that's who I'm consulting with. I was doing some sight seeing, and went up to Central Park. I just kept wandering (The place is huge), and I came upon a castle. I kid you not. There is a castle in the middle of Central Park! It's not huge, but it's definitely a castle. You can go inside it and up these stairs, where you have a great view. I was looking out over the park when I saw something down below.

The sun was setting, and there was a glow on the horizon. The park was beginning to be lost to the shadows of the night. And there, in what looked like the castle's front yard, was a man dragging a girl's body behind him. The man, okay it wasn't really a man, but I am not sure what it was, was walking with long strides, but not at a rush. The girl was unconscious. At least I thought she was. I raced down the stairs of the castle and when I came back outside, I noticed that the man had stopped. He stared at me with yellow eyes, and when he noticed that I was staring back at him, he snarled, and threw the girl up over his shoulders.

It was then that I heard other people yelling, and suddenly, there were four members of NYPD on the scene. They were looking around, and talking to each other frantically. They didn't notice me at first. They were looking for a little girl.
“She has to be here,” one of them, a tall blond man said. “I can feel her.”
A red-haired woman responded “Then where is she?”
I looked at the man holding the girl and realized that the police couldn't see them. I found out after wards that when the 'man' was still, they couldn't feel him, or her But I could. I quickly weighed my options, as the tall blond officer, who's name is Thad, walked over towards me.
“Hey, did you see a girl around here, by any chance?”
I think I blushed, because he leaned in close enough to whisper “It's okay. If you saw anything, we'll take care of us. Just tell us, and we'll make sure you're safe.”
For some reason I decided to let him know what I saw. I whispered back. “The man is holding her over his shoulders. He's standing about three yards to your left.”
Thad looked at me, with was I assumed was shock, then looked back at his partners. The next thing I knew the woman, Cheryl,quickly shot her gun towards the man. She was taking a risk, because she couldn't see him, but when she fired the gun he dropped the girl and tried to take off. The dart (it was a dart in the gun, not a bullet), struck the man and he went down. Thad was upon him, as the others tended the girl. I don't know what Thad did to the 'man', but the body disintegrated. The girl was okay, and Thad came and thanked me. He said I had saved the girl's life. He also offered me the job of consulting with them. I took it. I like it. For the first time I feel like I have some purpose. Plus, Thad and Cheryl are really cool.

Don't tell anyone about any of this, though. Most folks in Oakwood consider NYC to be Babylon. This would only confirm their twisted beliefs. I actually miss Oakwood, but don't tell anyone that either. Living in New York is so different. In Oakwood, everyone knew everything about everyone else. Here, there are so many people I feel like a stranger. I guess I am a stranger. It does get lonely at times. I miss you. I miss our walks and time together.

I need you to know that if I could change things that happened, I am not sure I would. I mean, the thing with Josh, of course I'd like to change that, but what happened after, I don't think I'd change any of that. When you see Gregory again, please don't tell him that you spoke to me. Not that I think he'd ever ask you, but just in case. I never ever want to see or hear from him again. Maybe as time goes on that will change, but I doubt it.

In the meantime, I am trying to figure things out. Thad has been a real help. We've had some long talks about things. I can trust him. Which is nice. I think I'm going to be okay.

Please write me back when you can.

Love,
Marcus.

And now, he was missing. And it was on the news. He's changed a lot over the years, but then again, we all have. No matter how hard we try, time makes us grow up eventually. Well, so much for a relaxing Saturday.

I pushed thoughts of Marcus aside and was determined to accomplish at least some of my chores. After loading the washing machine, I cleaned the kitchen, and after putting in the second load of clothes, moved on to the living room. I was making good time, and was pleased with myself, when the telephone rang.

“Hello?”
It was Claire.
“Hey, Jennifer, how are you doing?”
“No complaints. Just getting some house chores done.”
“Sorry about lunch today. But can I make it up to you with drinks tonight, if you're feeling up to it?”
“Sure. I think I could use a drink or two.”
“You and me both.”

She picked me up at eight, and we arrived at Sneakers around eight-thirty. On the ride over I filled her in about the news about my visit with Norita and the Priest, and she shared her frustration about having to deal with the scene my brother did on the news.

“I can't believe he started stripping! On Camera!”
I let out a laugh. “Really? I saw that coming from the first second he started the interview.”
“I know, and I should expect it. I do expect it. He's a flirt. He's always been a flirt. But I'm supposed to be his wife.” She was taking this a lot harder than I thought she would. Was something else going on?
“Claire, my brother loves you, you know that. He's just...” I was trying to find the right words.
“He's just Rick.” She took the words right out of my mouth.
“There is another angle to view this from.”
“Really? And what's that?”
“You're married to the number one hunk in Oakwood. You're going to be the talk of the Oak Diner!”
I let out a laugh, and, thankfully, Claire let out one as well. “Yeah, I may be married to him. But you're his twin.”
“I've dealt with his looks years ago. Besides, I'd take brains over beauty any day.”

We pulled into the rear parking lot of what appeared to be an old, boarded up building. We found a spot amidst the few cars (it was still early, the bar only opened at 8pm) and got out of the car.

The red door to Sneakers was lit by a single bulb hanging above it, flickering in the evening night. If it weren't for the light over the door, and the sign letting patrons know that they were expected to show legal ID to enter, no one would have guessed that the building, which had the appearance of a condemned home, was a business, let alone a bar. It was a great marketing strategy for the owners of Sneakers, and sadly, a necessary one.

Sneakers was a gay bar. The only gay bar in Oakwood, Pa. To say that Oakwood was pleased by its homosexual population, was giving them a lot more credit than they deserved. Sure, Sneakers was packed on a Friday and Saturday night, but the town would never allow it to be too popular. Or to call attention to itself. There were still many folk in Oakwood who placed their religious beliefs before many humane interests, and the gay population knew that all too well.

You may ask yourself why Claire and I would choose to go to Sneakers, instead of, say, Dougan's Pub or Hops & Barleys, the two popular mainstream establishments in the area? The reason is simple. Sneakers, for all its bizarreness, was nothing short of a blast every time we had been there. Tonight was sure to offer up laughs and gasps as they were hosting their monthly Strip Karaoke contest, or as we liked to call it, the 'please don't take your clothes off and try to sing Scareoke contest.”
We entered the bar and walked past the small table that would be occupied by ten the bar's version of a door man. The bar itself is a juxtaposition of style and design, beginning with the combination of wood paneling and an gold Asian-inspired design over red wall paper. The bar itself is a curved bar, with nice Oak finish. Along the back of the bar area, which is actually the front side of the building, a large plasma flat screen was displaying Cher's Farewell Concert Tour. The patrons sat around the bar, watching the screen is complete awe.

“It's like they didn't have a chance to see her the three times she came to Wilkes-Barre for her four year long Farewell Tour.” Claire stated. She wasn't so much a Cher fan.
“You don't understand,” I responded. “She's like their god. She could do no wrong.”
“I have one word to answer that.”
“Which is?”
“Mermaids.”

We laughed a little too hard, and suddenly were very aware of the faces at the bar turned to face us. Clare broke the silence first with a “Hey, every one!” as we passed the pool table where the resident DJ was setting up his equipment for the karaoke event. There were nods of hello from the mostly male, middle-aged clientele, and the they were back to gawking at Cher as she began a medly/mash-up of Half-Breed and other early hits. Claire and I took a seat at the bar, on two very different stools. Her's looked like it was brand new, and mine was held together with duck tape. Ah, Sneakers.

We no sooner got settled, than we were greeted by Bob, the bartender; Sure he was missing a tooth or two, but he smiled a welcome grin anyway. “Welcome back to Sneakers, lovely ladies. Will either of you be competing for our contest tonight?”

Claire shot me a look. I shrugged.
“I'd love to, Bob, but I'm not that great singer, but I would love one of your excellent Appletini's.” She was so smooth, she was off the hook.
Bob responded in earnest, then focused on me. “What say you, Ms. Jennifer? If your brother can strip on the news, certainly you can give a little show for us here at Sneakers.”
It was the last thing I expected to hear him say. But, of course, he had seen my brother's antics on the news. By now, it must be common discussion. Especially with the gays.
“I'd like a Berrytini, Bob, and sorry, I'm just not in a singing and stripping mood tonight.”
“That's okay, Ms. Jennifer.” He was really that polite. “Besides, if I know you I would say that you were fretting over your friend.”
Fretting over my fiend? What was he talking about?
“I'm sorry Bob, but I'm not sure who you're talking about?”
“I'm talking about that friend of yours in New York City. The Hutchinson kid that's missing.”
Claire stared at me now with anticipation of my answer. “It's fine, really, Bob. I'm not worried. Sometimes the police don't always tell the public and news what's really going on. I'm sure my friend can take care of himself.”
“I'm sure he can.” Bob replied, then went off to prepare our drinks.

When were were, for the most part alone, Claire cleared her throat. “Why didn't you tell me that something was going on with Marcus?” She sounded sincere, which was nice. She'd never met Marcus, but had been present at several of arguments between my brother and I on the subject.
“I don't know. I just heard the news today myself. And with everything else going on, I guess I didn't think of it.”
“What happened?”
I told her the little bit of the information that was on the news, adding “I spoke to him yesterday, and he told be about the case. He said his team was going to go looking for the boy last night.”
“Where were they going to go?”
Did she really want to know? Could I tell her? I took the chance. “The boy was taken in his closet.”

Bob had returned with our drinks, and just in time. Claire placed a credit card on the bar, “Please start a tab,” and then took a long sip of her drink. By her reaction it was clear that I shouldn't have told her.

While I let the news sink in I took a few sips of my own drink. When I placed the glass back on the table, I noticed that Claire had her phone out. I watched as she dialed, then held the phone up to her ear. “Rick, when you get this, please call. I need you to do me a favor. Love you.” She ended the call and put the phone on top of the bar.

“Is everything okay?” It was the best thing I could think of to ask.
“We'll soon find out.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he calls back I'm going to ask him to pull some springs to find out information on what happened with Marcus.”
Was not expecting that. “Claire, I appreciate it, really, but you don't have to do this.”
“Jennifer, you just told me that your friend was going to try to find a missing boy by entering the closet where he went missing, and that after he entered said closet, he went missing as well, correct?”
I shook my head. “For the most part.”
“I want to know what happened! This is fascinating!” She took another sip. “This is good.”
“Claire, but do you think Rick would ever? I mean, he hates Marcus.”
“He hasn't seen the man in over ten years. Trust me on this, Jenn. He'll be willing to help us.”

Two more drinks later the bar was packed, and the DJ took to the small stage to announce the official start of the contest. Claire and I were both giddy, and turned our stools in the direction of the small stage set up for the performances. Rick had yet to call her back.

The first performer sang a Sneaker's classic, Bette Midler's The Rose. He was a scrawny man in his late fifties, and sounded like he was born deaf. He wasn't. Claire laughed uproariously through her hands as he started unbuttoning his shirt on the second verse.
“I never imagined that someone would strip to this song,” I flatly stated.
“I hope to god no one ever strips to this song again,” Claire stated.

The performer was lost in the words and the striptease, obviously unaware of the awkwardness of those who watched him, especially from the younger crowd that had arrived shortly after ten. It was like a car wreck. I was transfixed to the scene in front of me. I couldn't help it. This performance was one of the reasons Sneakers is the best bar in Oakwood. Hand's down.

Most hand remained down once the man had finished. Claire was not one of them, clapping and laughing loudly in approval. She needed the release. Badly. The DJ thanked him, then called up the next victim, a young man who looked sixteen, but of course, had to be over twenty-one to get into a bar. The youngster was wide-eyed as the music revved up, and the opening chords of “Criminal”.
“I've been a bad, bad, girl” the boy crooned.

Claire whispered in my ear. “Ooh, this one's gonna be good.”

By the time we were back in the car it was close to one thirty. Rick still hadn't returned Claire's call, and it clearly bothered her, if the fact that she glanced at her phone ever fifteen minutes was any signifier. I thought about bringing it up, but if she wanted to talk about it she would. Although we were in the bar so late, we had both switched to sodas or water by eleven thirty. Both of us were sober, and were pleased with the fact that we survived the contest without wetting ourselves. The winner of the contest ended up being a bar regular, Heidi, who belted out “Private Dancer” and brought down the house, and also stripped down to a black neglige.

“I totally lost track of time,” Claire mused while the car pulled out of the parking lot.
“Tell me about it. And I have to go to church tomorrow.”
“You? Church? Is your crush on that Priest that bad?”
“I don't know. There was something about him this morning. Besides, he's probably gay.”
“But you're going to the church anyway.” She made it a statement.
“I guess so. Besides, with the way things are going, I can use all the help I can get.”

Claire changed the subject. On the rest of the ride back to my house I thought about what I had said to her about going to the church. It occurred to me that I hadn't given the notion any thought until it came out of my mouth. Which was strange. I really wasn't planning on going, really didn't want to be going, but I knew I now had to. I just hope my mind wouldn't tell me to join the Nunnery next. CHAPTER TEN: COMMUNION

I couldn’t sleep. It was like an Oakwood Town meeting was in full swing inside my brain.. Too many questions and concerns about too many things. Too may options, and opinions, and worries. You know you’re having a tough time falling asleep when you manage to watch the full run of the MSNBC line up and it begins to repeat its cycle. Before I knew it the clock read 3:15am, and it was only then that I think I actually fell into dreamland. One I certainly wasn’t expecting.

I was standing in a junkyard. It had to be a junkyard. All the cars and trucks were in various stages of decomposition. They seemed larger than life, as they were positioned one on top of another at too severe angles. The colors of the cars were vivid, and although I stood on a filthy pavement, the cars themselves looked clean and shiny. They were bright crimson and yellow, and dark blue and black. Sure, most cars come in those colors, but there was something unnatural about them. I glanced around the area, and couldn’t see anything but cars. There were two separations between them, one to my left, the other to my right. Other than that, the cars created a wall surrounding me, reaching about three or for cars high. I had a sudden urge to run, but where to? In which direction?

A car door slammed, and horns wailed. I screamed, covering my ears from the piercing noise. In front of me the wall began to shake and I heard an engine revving up. I started walking backwards, keeping an eye in front of me. My back pressed against the wall of cars behind me. A roar sounded as a car flew over the wall towards me, flying. And unmanned.

The car flipped over in the air, and landed on it back, on the ground, stirring the dirt beneath it. There was no explosion. No fire. The car just sit there, and I noticed that there was large silver lettering written on its underbelly. I also noticed that it didn’t have the underbelly of any car I had ever seen before. There were no gears, no wires or pipes. Simply a bottom of silver, and the wheels. I waited for the next thing to happen, but nothing did. There was silence once again. I should have been scared. But I wasn’t. I was calm,. Even though I knew I had to get out there. But now I had to get around the flipped over car, which blocked the two possible exit routes.

I neared the car, taking a longer look at its silver underbelly. The word that I had noticed read “MATCHBOX.” I had a thought. Were these Matchbox cars? Rick and I would play with them when we were kids, but how did I end up in a junkyard full of them? And why? I began walking towards the left exit, when I heard a child cry off to the right.

It was the first sound I’d heard since the silence returned, and I was inclined to follow it. I crawled over the center car and made my way to the right-sided ‘exit’. When I reached the opening, I looked around me. The wind had picked up, and the center car was spinning on its hood. The dirt around it we being thrust upwards into the air like a tornado. The cry came again and I ran.

I ran down the path surrounded by cars on each side. As I passed a portion of the cars they would come alive and block the area behind me. I kept running towards the cry, not even thinking about what I was racing towards.

Again, I wasn’t so much frightened, but curious, and the curiosity propelled me forward.
As I ran, the scene of cars swirled around me, creating a vortex of color and light. I was the epicenter, with the whir of the cars flying around me, up into the air.

I tripped, and smashed my hands down on the ground. I lifted a hand up, and noticed a line of blood dripping down my palm. I must have scratched it on a rock. I managed to stand up and noticed that the scene before me had completely changed.

I was standing in a desert. A purple sun was setting over a large dune rising like a mountain in front of me. Again, I heard the child’s cry. This time, behind me. I turned around, and faced another, smaller mound. This was not made of sand, however. The mound was made of bodies. Children’s bodies.

The bodies were piled high atop each other, and measured in the thousands. A man in a bizarre costume and make-up stood at the top of the mound, and his weight squished the children below him. His costume, or what I thought was a costume, was brown and green, and made him look like a twisted variation of a turtle. He rose his head on a fleshy neck, and cocked it towards me.

“What is the meaning of this?”

At the base of the mound was the origin of the cry. A young boy was trapped in a cage, not of iron, but of bone. The bones that were once the shell of a large turtle. What was with the turtle thing? Again, the thing atop the mound spoke. “You have no business here.”

“No. She doesn’t.” I recognized the voice. Marcus ran to my side. He was covered in sand and sweat. He grabbed onto my arm. “Jennifer, what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? This is my dream! What are you doing here? And what the hell’s all this?”

A look of alarm crossed Marcus’ face. “Your dream?”

The creature on the mound jumped off, landing a few yards away from us. “You seem lost, child. Tell me what’s wrong.”

I felt inclined to answer the creature, but Marcus pulled me aside. “Jennifer, listen to me. Don’t say anything to it. Don’t answer it. Don’t even look in its direction.”

From the corner of my eye I could see him approaching. Marcus held me tight. I looked up into his eyes, and for the first time I felt fear. “Marcus, what’s going on?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that as well, but until we do, just listen to me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Run,” he said. “And no matter what you think you hear, or whatever you see, just keep on running.”

I shook my head. The creature was very close to our sides now. “Marcus, I don’t understand.”

“Just do as I say, Jennifer. Run.”

The creature charged us, and Marcus whipped away from me, charging the creature back. They locked bodies, and fell to the ground.

I ran. With the two fighting and cursing behind me, and the child still crying, I ran through the desert and never looked back. The desert began to disappear, the sands sinking into the ground around me.

I found myself in a black room. Black, shiny floor, walls and ceiling. I stood in front of a single door, marked by mirrored glass. I stared at my reflection. My face was covered in sores, puss oozing down my cheeks. I lifted my hand to my actual cheek and felt the warm, gooey liquid. I started to scream.

My reflection let out a laugh, and smiled. “It’s time to choose, Jennifer,” it said. “You’re dying. The cancer inside of you has taken over. Your body will rot, and you will suffer painfully and slowly. When your body is nothing more than flesh stretched over bone, your nerves will continue to feel the agony of decay and you’ll be left with a silent, never ending scream. Alone.”

I fell to my knees, drowning in the sound of my sobs. What was happening? I looked down at my hands and they seemed normal, fine, but as I glanced up at the mirror, they were bloodied and pussy. My reflection let out a laugh.

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “She’s mine.”

I glanced backwards. Clint stood directly behind me. The weight of his single hand on my shoulder sent chills through my body. He stared intently at the mirror.

“She’s mine.” He repeated, then raised his other hand towards the door. Fiery blue veins extended out of his outstretched palm, flying through the air. They smashed into the mirror and it exploded in glass shards.

I let out a scream and gasped, sitting up in my bed. Outside, the birds were chirping in the morning sun, and I could hear the faint drolls of church bells from the morning mass. It was Sunday, and after the nightmare I had the night before, I think it was only appropriate that I went to church. Besides, I would need all the help I could get, and, of course, it was only appropriate that I welcome the new Priest to the parish. That, and I could same money on lunch afterwards by getting a plate at the celebration buffet.

So I put on my Sunday best, meaning a deep blue dress that showed off my curves but at the same time was demure and fitting of a librarian, and headed over to St. Ignatius. When I pulled into the parking lot at 11:30, I was struck by how full it was. The churchgoers in the area were not early risers when it came to attending Sunday service. Usually when I had gone before, the pews would be near empty until ten minutes before the service would start, and only then would begin to fill up. Especially in the summer months. I’ve never seen it like this before, Either Norita had intimidated more people than I had thought, or the good folk had let their curiosity get the best of them and had all dragged their families to see Fr. Hotness in action. I was betting on the latter. After all, in a twisted sense, that was one of the reasons that I was there.

I found a parking space near the far end of the lot, and got out of the car. Walking up towards the church steps I could see Norita near the door, welcoming everyone with a friendly, put on smile. “Welcome,” she would state. “Good Morning. Lovely to see you.” etc. As I approached, my stomach was tied in knots. Nortia was busy speaking with a newly wed couple, and I tried to sneak around her and head into the church. Damn, that nun was quicker than I thought.

“What a surprise!” As soon as she said it, I was frozen in mid-step. I had almost made it past her. Almost. I faced her, and smiled. “Good morning, Sister.”

“I had a feeling you’d be here, even though I know it is out of character,” she replied, still with a painted smile beneath her habit. “Just in case, I asked your dear brother and his wife when they arrived.” Rick and Claire were here? “He said rather obliquely that you weren’t going to be here. The doctor just kept her head low.”

“Well,” I replied, “Here I am. I’m going to go in now. Excuse me.” I tried to move away from her, but she grabbed me by the arm.. I couldn’t help it. I glared at her.

“It won’t help, of course.”
“What won’t help, Norita?” Definitely time to drop the Sister Act.
“Coming here. I won’t help.” She suddenly leaned in close to me, pulling me down towards her face. She spoke in my ear. “Those who fornicate with the demons are
damned.”
I pulled back away from her in shock, and she just as quickly turned her focus to another family, greeting them with pleasantries. What the hell did she just say to me? Shaken, I entered the church.

Even though the parking lot was full outside, the interior of the church was large enough so that it wasn’t over crowded. Yet. I stood in the aisle behind the rear pew, and searched for an available seat. As I was scanning the area, I noticed a friendly face smile and wave towards me. A second face next to her turned back for a look, and wasn’t as friendly. I had found Rick and Claire.

Claire motioned for me to join them. There was space on either side of them. I walked up the aisle closest to Claire, and when I reached the end of their pew, gently genuflected (it’s just what you do) before squeezing past the other people already within the pew to sit next to her.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you here, Claire.”
“After you said you’d be here, I had to come. Besides, my curiosity is peaked about this priest. I even dragged Rick.”

Rick, who hadn’t even glanced our way, was reading through the church bulletin. I put my head in front of Claire’s and smiled towards him. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

He looked then, and tried to give me a grimace. “I’m supposed to be angry with you. She didn’t tell me that you’d be here.”

“Well, we’re twins. We can’t be angry at each other. And you’re going to need someone to help manage your celebrated modeling career.” I just had to say it.

He blushed for about an single percentage of a second, and then let out a soft laugh. “You saw that, did you?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were going all crazy, Jenn. I wasn’t going to interrupt your neurosis to talk about myself.”

Yup, everything was back to normal. “Of course you wouldn’t. That wouldn’t be proper. But then again, I’m not sure how proper it was to do that little striptease on the news.”

“You’ve got to give them what they want, sis. You know that.”

It was Claire’s opportunity to jump in, and she took it. “Ever since we got here, he’s so certain that everyone’s undressing him with his eyes. I tried to remind him that we‘re in church.”

“I told her it didn’t matter.”

“Brother, you best be prepared. As soon as the new priest comes on the scene, you may have competition.”

He brushed the comment away with a wave of his hand. “Bring it on. I’ll prove to him that I have the bigger guns.”

And a blue-haired woman in the pew in front of us gasped, complete with hands slapping over mouth. She twisted her head back over her shoulder. Rick was right on it. “I’m so sorry Mrs. Bachman.”

“Oh, no, Detective, I just remembered that I left the dryer running.” She so wasn’t a good liar when put on the spot.

“You look lovely this morning,” Claire stated.

“Yes, you most assuredly do,” Rick added. Mrs. Bachman’s face went immediately from Caucasian to Cherokee. “And don’t worry about the dryer. I’m sure it will be fine. Just make sure you go home after mass and check on it before meeting the other ladies for your bridge group.”

“Of course Detective. Thank you so very much.” And she quickly turned away from us. Claire was holding back audible tears, and Rick was very pleased with himself. I was, more than ever, certain that all three of us were going to Hell.

Rick reached over to me, and took my hand in his. “Sis, I was really worried about you.”

“I know you were, Rick. I was worried myself. But everything’s fine. I’m going to be fine.”

As if on cue, the organ from the choir loft came to life, and the opening hymn began. Everyone rose to their feet and focused on the center aisle as the prelude procession began.

Claire tried to hold onto Rick’s hand, and I couldn’t help notice that he had hesitated before finally giving in. Something was definitely going on there.

The lector, and alter boys passed us, followed by the two Eucharistic ministers. Then came Fr. Richardson. All eyes were transfixed on the man as he passed. Claire leaned in close to me and whispered “He is so definitely gay.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed, and then he glanced my way. A huge smile formed on his lips, and he seemed to nod in my direction. In my head it was like I could hear him say “Thank you for coming, Jennifer.”

My cheeks flushed over, and remained that way for the next ten minutes. By the time Fr. Richardson took to the pulpit the energy in the room had died down a bit. The ladies were behaving themselves, and the men, including Rick, looking detached and bored. It was as if all the hype and hoopla over the newest member of the Parish was erased when it was confirmed that yes, he was a priest, and not a Chippendale dancer.

He softly cleared his throat, then positioned the mic to face his lips. “Friends,” he began. And at that moment, once again, he had the audience transfixed. Even Rick was alert once again, staring at his new rival. “I want to first thank each and every one of you for joining me this morning.” As he said it I could swear he was speaking directly to me. Then again, I am sure that all the women, and some of the men, were thinking the same thing. This guy was definitely good. “As I made my way around town these past few days, and had the opportunity to meet many of you, you realized something that sank my heart. The people of Oakwood need someone to help lift them up. They have experienced, very recently, in fact, great tragedy and loss. Oakwood, now more than ever, needs a hero. And I will do my best to be that hero.” And the ladies began clapping, soon followed by the men.

All around the church the clapping grew, along with audible ‘Amen’ and “Praise Jesus.” When did Oakwood leave Northeastern Pennsylvania and replant itself in the deep south? And we were Roman Catholic. Not even Baptist. No where near the Southern Baptist. I looked over at Claire. She seemed as confused as I was. Rick, however, looked pissed.

The priest quieted everyone down, and continued his speech. “Now, I am no Superman. I can not move boulders. Or leap tall buildings. I can not save Metropolis from the Green Goblin. But there is something that I can do. I can cleanse each of you in God’s light. I can ease your suffering. Your hurt. Your fears.”

And again, it was like he was speaking directly to me. I was beginning to feel wary of the man.

“In today’s readings we heard about the glory of God’s light. That, my friends, is something I can most definitely give to you. For you, each of you, deserve it. Whole heartedly.”

And again, applause.

“What happened at The Commons was unspeakable. I am sure all the members of our fine police force are working diligently on solving the mystery as to why these innocent people were slaughtered and then thrust from their homes down onto the concrete below.”

Rick stiffened. Jennifer grabbed his hand. I focused on my brother. He was at full alert.
“But no matter how strong, and smart the police are, I know that they do not possess the skills to give you comfort. They can not keep you safe.”

And I swear he was looking at Rick. All of a sudden, everyone around us seemed to be glancing in his direction. Rick just stared back at the priest. Sunday Church had turned into the duel at the OK Corral.

Claire let out a whisper. “What is he doing?”

I couldn’t help it. I let out my own whisper that sounded something like “Fuck”, so I had to back it up with a cough.

The priest continued. “No matter what they do, my friends, they can not ease your anxiety and give you rest. But I can. And I will.”

All eyes were on the pulpit once again.

“This Wednesday, in lieu of the normally scheduled morning prayer, I will be holding a special Mass of Cleansing. I will personally wipe away all our fears and anxieties. The Commons. Your missing monsignor. Your financial and familial woes. Your health concerns. All will be cleansed, and I will bathe you in glorious light of our Lord.”

Not just applause, but people rose to their feet in jubilation. Tissues were pulled out of purses, noses sniffed and blown, tears flowed down cheeks. Reluctantly, the three of us stood, for no other reason than to not pull more attention to ourselves. Between us we exchanged knowing glances. Something wasn’t right about this. Something was way off.

Once again, the priest calmed everyone down, and the mass resumed. Before we knew it, it was time for Communion, which was the most awkward moment of any mass, with the possible exception of Good Friday, when we were forced to venerate the cross.

When the ushers reached our pew, we all stood like good little Christians. I stepped out of the pew first, and let Claire and Rick pass in front of me in the line. As Rick passed, I gave his hand a squeeze to let him know that I was on his side. He was shaken up by the homily. And Rick never let it show in public that he was ever shaken. I stepped behind my brother in the line as we made our way up to the altar, and to Fr. Richardson.

As we walked up, I couldn’t help by sense the smell of smoke coming from the back of the church. I actually glanced backwards. Besides the ushers and the line of the faithful, there was nothing. Claire received her Communion, and stepped aside. Rick was up next.

The priest glanced at Rick with intent eyes. “The body of Christ, Detective.”
Rick let out a soft “Amen” as the priest placed the host onto his tongue. Rick closed his mouth, eyes staring at the priest for a lingering second, as if communicating to him that ‘it was on’. He then stepped aside, and it was my turn.
I took that final step up towards Fr. Richardson, and his face glowed with warmth and kindness, and sexiness. In an instant, all the confusion, doubt, and questions I had had from the homily were non existent. He held the host up in front of me. “Body of Christ, Jennifer.”

He smiled, and I felt like a school girl, grinning back. “Amen, John.” I replied. I immediately knew that I just did a huge faux pas, but he acted like nothing had happened, and placed the host gingerly on my tongue. I could swear he added a “that’s my girl”, (Which would be preposterous), but I was too focused on the sudden taste in my mouth.

Now, the host tastes like nothing really. Okay, it may taste a little like card board or paper, but the taste is seriously non descript. And it evaporates in your mouth seconds after you close it. What I was tasting was honey, and salt, and nectar. It was too odd.

I stepped away from him, following Rick (The whole exchange took about 8 seconds), and then the screams from the back of the church began.

We all stopped walking as the doors flung open. Norita screamed as she ran, pushing the ushers and people out of the way (who had also began to panic),up to the base of the last pew. “It’s Monsignor!” she cried, collapsing to her knees. “It’s Monsignor!”

Fr. Richardson handed the host to the altar boy standing at attention next to him. “Everyone stay calm!” he exclaimed. Rick took the opportunity to spring into action. He removed his token suit jacket, which Claire dutifully caught, and then raced towards the doors.

People were panicking. Rick yelled over the crowd “Listen to him. Stay in here!” and then ran into the billowing smoke at the entrance door.

Claire ran after Rick, and I went to follow, when Fr. Richardson caught me by the arm. “Jennifer, don’t. Let them do their job.”

I glared at him. “He’s my brother!”, and pulled away, racing towards the back. As I made my way down the pews I noticed others moving after me. I found enough voice to yell “Stay here. Listen to the priest and Rick” as I passed. That stopped most of them, but grabbed my arm. It was becoming an annoying habit of people. I turned back to see Baker.

“My brother…”
“I know,” he replied. “Let’s go together. But this way.”

He held out his hand and I took it. He pushed open a side door and we exited.

The scene outside, for all its chaos, was more calm than the one we had just left. On the grounds directly on the side of the church, off from the church steps, was a burning cross. Rick was with the Oakwood Fire Department at the nearest fire hydrant, hooking up a hose.

The fire men held it, positioning it towards the flames, then released the water. As the flames died out, a charred figure appeared on the cross. It was the monsignor. Rick kept his composure, only glancing back to Claire. Baker walked me over to her, then went and stood by Rick.

“We’ve got to see if he’s still alive!” Claire yelled! “Rick, can you tell? Is he still alive?”

The firemen had put out the fire in record time, and on cue Rick and Baker rushed to the cross. They stood at the base of it, and Rick just glanced back towards us. Baker had gone to his knees.

Claire approached, gripping my hand, so I had no choice but to join her. Behind us, Fr. Richardson had exited the church and stood atop the steps.

The man on the cross was definitely dead. Worse than that, he had been crucified. Large stakes went through both of his wrists and his feet.

“Oh my god,” exclaimed Claire. “Do you see that?” She was talking to Rick.

“His mouth’s been sewn together. He couldn’t scream if he wanted to.”

Behind us, the priest yelled. “Take him down! Someone, please take him down!” All the calmness and serenity that he had inside the church was gone. I guess he might not be the superhero he promised after all. CHAPTER ELEVEN: No Rest for the Wicked

Within moments the police, medics and fire company arrived at the church. And minutes after that, we had separated. Rick had gone straight to the station, while Baker remained on scene to complete the investigation. Norita was loaded into an ambulance (she was more effected than I had thought by the event) and Claire went with her to Oakwood Medical to make sure that she received prompt treatment. I was about to make my way home when Fr. Richardson asked if I would take him to the Police Station so that he can get the necessary paperwork completed in a timely manner.

After some internal debate I agreed (he was a priest. How could I say no?) and we were in my car and away from St. Ignatius. Being in the car next to him made my skin tingle. He had changed before we went, and was wearing a pair of black jeans and black t-shirt. He looked too much like a soap opera hunk, and nothing like a priest. It was unnerving as hell. The short trip across town to the police station felt like it took hours. As we stopped at the light near the Commons, the atmosphere in the car felt as dense as a bowl of chowder. Someone had to break the silence. “Do you believe in demons?” I am not sure why the question came out of my mouth, but I couldn't take it back.

Father Richardson turned his face towards me, and it was evident that he was disturbed. By the events at the church, or by my question? The jury was still out. “I think I have to belive in demons. If I didn't, then how could I believe in God and the angels?” His voice was calm, and thoughtful. “Do you believe in demons, Jennifer?”

I hadn't expected him to throw the question back to me, so I wasn't sure how to answer him. I did the best thing that I thought I could do and ignored it. “I think there's something evil here, in Oakwood.”

“A demon, you mean?”

“I don't know for sure. But something. Too much has happened recently. I believe in coincidences, but this is ridiculous.”

“Oakwood is a strange little town,” the priest responded. “Do you want to know something?”

“Sure.”

“When Sister Norita was taking me around the town, I got to talk with so many people. Everyone seemed to have a story to tell.”

I let out a chuckle. “Next to high school football, gossip is Oakwood's favorite pasttime.”

To my surprise, the priest laughed as well. “Not gossip, exactly. But a story. It would be a lie if I were to tell you that most everyone I spoke to didn't mention some strange things that they saw in this town. Things that they couldn't put a finger on. Things they considered unnatural.”

“That's Oakwood, Father.”

He placed his hand on my thigh. “What's your story, then, Jennifer? What have you experienced?”

I was taken back. For one thing, I wasn't comfortable to share my recent happenings with the priest. For another thing, his hand was now resting on my thigh. Isn't there some cardinal rule or something about physical contact between a priest and a lay person? “What makes you think that I have a story?”

“You wouldn't have asked the question that you did if you didn't,” he responded.

“I think you've had enough craziness for one day, Father, without me telling you my drama.”

“I hope, someday, you'll feel comfortable enough to confide in me.” He gave my thigh a little squeeze.

“Perhaps one day I will”. And I pulled the car into the police station parking lot.

I sat in the waiting room as Rick and Fr. Richardson argued behind the closed door of Rick's office. I couldn't make out enough of the words to clearly understand the argument, but I knew that it wasn't good. After the priest's sermon that morning, I am sure my brother felt that he had something to prove. He was, in his own mind, the king of this town, and probably viewed Fr. Richardson as an intrudor. Or even, an interloper.

As I sat there trying to mind my business, I couldn't help but notice the other action going on throughout the station. Reichen was posed over Sarah's desk, speaking low enough that no one besides the two of them could hear what he was saying. In response, Sarah would let out a loud giggle every few minutes, utterly forced, if you asked me. But then again, in my not so humble opinion, there wasn't a single thing about Sarah that wasn't forced.

Thomas zipped back and forth through the station, making himself feel busy. Yes, he was, techically, in charge, but it was obvious to everyone that he had lost his drive several years ago when his wife passed away. Since then, the station and his work was all that was keeping him alive, rather than merely existing. If his job was taken from him, who knows where he would end up?

One thing was for sure. For everything that was going on at the station, no one said a single word to me. On one hand it was fine. I really wasn't in the mood for play acting. On the other hand, I wondered why I was always the outcast. After what seemed like forever, a smiling face entered the station and made her way towards me.

“How's Nortia?” I asked, while Claire took sat down next to me.

“She'll live,” she replied with a dry droll.

“That bad, huh?”

“You'd swear she experienced the rapture, Jenn. I've never seen someone so over the top?”

“Well, someone was crucified outside of the church. Even here that doesn't happen every day.”

“There's the question, Jenn.” She turned to me, suddenly all business.

“What do you mean?”
She lowered her voice to a decible slightly higher than a whisper. “Why do it today? Why during the new priest's first mass? Why a crucifixion?”

“You sound like Nancy Drew?”

“Well, haven't you been asking the same questions? I wonder if that cult is back in town.”

That cult that she was mentioning hadn't been seen in Oakwood in about six years. They had started off as a small group that gathered along the river bed, practicing naturism, or something. No one had thought that the group posed any threat, so no one paid any mind as their numbers soon grew. It wasn't long before animal remains were found littering their space after they would have one of their gatherings, but even then, the animals were squirrels or possums, and people still managed to look the other way.

Until word got out that they were planning a human sacrifice. Then, the Oakwood police were forced into action, and nerely got to the scene in time to save the young girl from being gutted with a butcher knife. Several arrests were made, and the cult dissipated, and the town moved on.

“Why would those people start up again now? And aren't some of them still in jail?”

“I guess so.” and she took a deep breath, her eyes widening. “Hey, why don't we do some investigating ourselves? Try to look where Rick and the others would pass by. Besides, this can be just the thing you need to get your mind off of, you know, what's been happening with you.”

“I don't know Claire. This whole thing looks pretty intense.”

“Are you underestimating us?”

“No, of course not...” I so wanted to change the subject, but how? “The Priest squeezed my thigh.” And with that the conversation came to a complete halt, and spun into another direction.

“Are you sure?”

“I would know what it feels like to have someone squeeze your thigh, Claire.”

“Did you like it? Was it a firm squeeze, or soft and gentle?” She sounded like a schoolgirl on the playground.

“He's a priest,” I responded, exasperated. “Doesn't that bother you in the least?”

“Honestly, it doesn't. He is a man, after all.”

“I thought you swore he was gay”

“Maybe I was wrong.”

Rick's office door opened and Fr. Richardson exited, followed by Rick himself. Rick was beaming. He'd obviously won whatever argument they had had.

“You do what you want, Father,” Rick was saying, “but don't expect the Oakwood police to back you up in this. I think it's too soon.”

“It's exactly what this town needs, Detective. After what happened today, it's more than necessary.”

“I think these people need time to heal. “I don't think that they need to be bombarded with religious fearmongering.”

I was surprised. I didn't think that Rick ever heard that word. Next to me, Claire looked equally surprised.

“This town needs to be shown the light, Detective. And I intend to bring it to them.” Instead of waiting for a reply, Fr. Richardson walked through the office and exited the front door. Claire turned to me.

“Weren't you his ride?”

“I thought I was.”

Rick motioned us to follow him into his office. Claire and I both stood and made our way to his door. He patted me on the back as I passed him, then focused his attention to Sarah. “Don't you have some work to do?”

Reichen quickly walked away from her desk, and she sheepishly replied, “Yes Detective, I'll get right on that.”

Having reclaimed his position of authority he closed the office door, sank on the leather couch, and lit up a cigarette. “Today has been fucking crazy.” He took a drag and let the smoke drift slowly out between his lips.

I wanted to remind him that not every day can be spent posing as a centerfold model, but I didn't want to press my luck. Things weren't really settled and back to normal between the two of us, and I didn't want to make matters worse. My brother looked like he was stepping over the edge, and I had to somehow coax him down to safety. A small bead of sweat had formed on his brow and he steemed on the couch. I hated when Rick got this way, because he was so unpredictable.

Claire was nervous as well. “Can we do anything, Rick?” All the lets take this case and run with it drive was washed away like Main Street beneath Anges.

“Have you spoken to Manning?” Rick replied. Dr. Manning was Oakwood's Chief and only Medical Examiner. Well into his sixties, Manning looked like a math teacher, a waspy, bispectacled, nose twitching, calculator watch wearing math teacher. No. I didn't like math, and I wasn't a huge fan of Manning. But, you can't like everyone.

“just briefly,” she replied. “The body was bady burned, and he seems to think that the burning began before he was put up on the cross.”

“Jesus,” was all Rick said as there was a sudden knock on the office door. “Open.”

In walked Baker

Baker stood near the doorway, not his unually chipper self. It was obvious that the events of the day had taken their toll on all of us. Claire and I stood up, prepping to leave. “We'll leave you two alone to talk,” Claire stated.

Rick reached out and took her hand. He gave her look that combined undying love and extreme need. He glanced at Baker. “No, it's fine...Baker, do you have any issues with them staying?”

“I'm fine with it,” Baker replied. “After all, you're the boss.”

“Good.” He smiled at his wife and I. “Sit back down.” We all obliged, and Baker moved further into the room. “So, what news do you have for me?”

Baker let out a sigh. “Not good, Rick. I've canvased the area, along with CSI. No one saw anything, there were no prints found. And surprisingly, no witnesses, on a Sunday afternoon when thee street was crawling with families.”

“How can that be?”

“I haven't the slightest idea. I've spoken to everyone. The Moshaks, the Andersons...” he paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Boss, Doc Williams was outside the rectory when it happened, working on the hedges.”

“Then he definitely had to see something, Baker. He was right there!”

“You'd think so, right?” the officer responded. “But he didn't see a damn thing.”

I glanced at Claire, who widened her eyes. What was going on?

“He had to see something, Baker.” Rick exclaimed, lighting a fresh cigarette.

“He said that one moment, the street was quiet, and the next, there was a burning cross on the ground in front of the church. He said it just appeared there. Out of thin air.”

“That's not possible. Someone must have saw something, or else someone's lying.”

“We know these people, Rick. They are all good people. I don't think they're lying. What if...” and he stopped talking.

“What if what, Baker?”

“It's totally crazy, boss, but what if the reason no one saw anything was because someone did something to us? Like mass hypnosis or something like that?”

“Mass hypnosis?” Rick stood up and faced his friend. “Take your science fiction fantasy theories elsewhere, officer. Get back out there and find hard evidence and clues to help solve this case.”

“But Rick, I...” his voice was trembling.

“Now, Officer. I don't want to have to tell you again.” Baker left the office and Rick turned to face us. “Can you believe this crap? It's like I'm working with idiots!”


I left the station shortly after that, and of course, nothing was accomplished. In my opinion, Baker might not have been so far off on his theory. I, too, believed that the neighbors were telling the truth. But, I also knew my brother. He hated anything out of the ordinary. I knew that he's have no more talk of anything supernatural.

As I pulled onto my street, I switched gears and began planning the rest of my afternoon and evening. I was determined to have a relaxing time, perhaps a bubble bath with a glass of wine, or a read through a good classic novel. Yes, for a librarian, I do love my books. I think those new E-Readers and Nooks are distructive. I want an actual book in my hands, not a computer screen. You may think that I'm crazy, but there's something about the feeling of the pages, the smell of the ink, no matter how old. It's comforting.